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My heart shatters just watching him.
“Go to bed, baby.” He feathers his thumb across my cheek. “I promise we’ll talk.”
I follow his gaze to the hallway.
She’ll know what to do.
Look after him, Jess.
***
After leaving Jake with his memories, I couldn’t sleep. I changed for bed, rid myself of the day’s makeup, and tried to curl up with a book, but nothing worked. I stared at the ceiling for so long, I have it memorized. When I heard Jake go to bed after his shower, a small part of me was disappointed.
Who am I kidding?
A big part of me was disappointed.
Selfishly, I wanted him to come to me. I wanted to try to soothe the parts that fractured tonight.
But the person most capable of mending him isn’t here.
Fighting the urge to leave my room and go to his, I distracted myself with a hot shower, and after more tossing and turning, I knew I wouldn’t sleep.
Not when I knew he was down the hall, haunted.
When silence engulfed the house, I tiptoed downstairs, knowing the only thing to rid my mind of the countless thoughts was sitting on the other side of the house.
Not bothering to switch on the light, I pulled out the piano stool and sat. The moon illuminated enough of the keys, but I don’t need to see them. My fingers already know.
Playing the first note, I still. I don’t want to disturb him, but I already know he won’t hear.
Wrapping my hair in a knot on top of my head, my fingers tap over the notes, eventually finding their melody. All my racing thoughts seep through my fingers until I’m left with only music.
I play and play, close my eyes, and lose myself in the sounds lingering in the air around me.
Unsure of how long I’ve been playing, I feel a familiar tingle along my spine—the same one I always feel when he’s nearby.
I keep playing.
He keeps watching.
But I don’t break to look up.
He watches me for endless minutes until I feel the heat of his body on my back, and my fingers hesitate over the keys.
“Keep playing,” he says and goosebumps dance along my skin. I lean my head back just an inch, but I don’t stop playing. Instead, my fingers keep pressing on the keys, switching to a different melody, and I allow the sounds of the music to fill the silence between us.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, letting my eyes wander over every toned muscle in his bare chest.
“You didn’t.” He shakes his head.
I meet his gaze before it falls to my lips and my finger slips to the wrong note.
Legs on either side of mine, he sits behind me, pulling me into him, and an uneven breath whooshes from my chest.
I’ve never been so grateful for muscle memory because I have no idea what I’m playing, and my heart is pounding so loudly behind my ears that I can’t hear the music either.
I’m not sure if he does it to comfort me, but when his warm fingers grip firmly to my thigh, we both inhale sharply. I wasn’t expecting his touch, and I hate when my body has a response to him, I shouldn’t be having. My heart shouldn’t be pounding so hard in my chest it’s providing a bass to the music, and my hands are trembling. I’m only wearing an oversized t-shirt, so I’m sure his breathing is frantic because he wasn’t expecting to feel bare skin. But when he doesn’t take his hand away and continues to massage the pads of his fingers into my flesh, I try to concentrate on the notes in my head.
