Part Two
AN UNEXPECTED ARIA
CHAPTER 7
Haunted Melodies
LIAM
TWENTY YEARS LATER…
The club was packed, the air thick with sweat and perfume and the electric buzz of a Friday night crowd in New York. I could feel the energy from my place on the stage, the piano keys cool and familiar beneath my fingertips as I played.
It was a routine I knew well, a persona I slipped into like a second skin. Corey King, the enigmatic musician with the haunting melodies and the ever-present mask. A mystery, a cypher, a blank slate for the audience to project their own desires and fantasies onto.
But beneath the mask, beneath the stage name and the carefully crafted image, I was still just Liam. Liam, the boy who had loved and lost and been broken in ways that still ached, even twenty years later.
I let the music flow through me, pouring out all the emotions I couldn’t express in words. The longing, the grief, the bitter sting of regret. The memories that still haunted me, no matter how hard I tried to outrun them.
As my fingers danced across the keys, I let my mind drift back to that fateful night, the night that had changed everything. The prom, the confrontation, the devastating realization that the world I had built with Caleb was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to tumble at the first gust of wind.
I could still see the shock and betrayal on his face as I ran, could still feel the sickening crunch of metal as the driver lost control of the car, could still taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth as I lay there on the side of the road, broken and alone.
I had survived, but a part of me had died that night. The part that had believed in love, in happiness, in a future that wasn’t shadowed by fear and shame and the suffocating weight of other people’s expectations.
I had rebuilt myself, piece by painful piece. Had carved out a new life, a new identity, far away from the small-minded town that had never understood me. But no matter how many stages I played, no matter how many fans screamed my name, I could never quite shake the feeling that something was missing.
Or someone.
I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. It had been twenty years. Caleb had probably moved on, found someone else, built a life that didn’t include me. And even if he hadn’t, even if some small, secret part of him still remembered, still cared.
“Hey, it’s me, the guy who broke your heart and then disappeared for two decades. Want to grab a coffee and catch up?”
I snorted, my fingers faltering on the keys for a moment. Yeah, that would go over well.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder. What if I had stayed? What if I had been braver, stronger, more willing to fight for what we had? Would things have been different?
Would we still be together, growing old and gray and disgustingly happy, the way I had always dreamed we would be?
I would never know. And that, perhaps, was the greatest tragedy of all.
I stepped off the stage to a roar of applause, the sound washing over me like a tidal wave. It was a feeling I knew well, a rush of adrenaline and ego that never quite lost its shine.
But even as I smiled and nodded my thanks, my eyes were already scanning the crowd, searching for something - or someone - to take my mind off the memories that always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface.
And then I saw him.
He was leaning against the bar, all broad shoulders and confident swagger, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He was exactly my type - tall, dark, and dangerous, with a look that promised all sorts of delicious trouble.
I felt a familiar heat coil in my gut, a hunger that had nothing to do with food. It had been too long since I’d let myself indulge in this particular vice, too long since I’d lost myself in the oblivion of a stranger’s touch.
Maybe it was time to change that.
I made my way through the crowd, brushing off the compliments and propositions with a practiced ease. I had no interest in fawning admirers or starry-eyed groupies. I wanted something real, something raw and primal and unencumbered by expectation.
I wanted to forget, even if just for a little while.
I reached the bar and signaled for my usual, a double shot of whiskey neat. The bartender knew me well, knew that I tipped generously and didn’t like to be kept waiting.
