I looked into her fascinating heterochromia eyes, getting lost in them.
“Play something for me,” I said. I still didn’t know much about Emmy’s life before she came to California. If I wanted, I could probably find the reason her hands were like this, but I wanted to hear it from her.
Obviously, whatever happened still affected her. She didn’t talk much about music, even if it seemed to have been a huge part of her life. Hell, she’d still made it into a career despite everything. I wanted to hear the story from her lips.
I wanted her to tell me everything, to give me everything.
I wanted her fucking trust—and how careful I would be with it.
I waited for her to tell me no. To make up some excuse.
She bit her lip, something flashing in her eyes and turning them more brown than green tonight, before slowly moving over on the bench and patting the empty spot next to her.
Wordlessly, I sat, her warmth engulfing me like a warm hug.
She took a deep breath before letting her hands drift to the keys, and then she played a song I had never heard.
The melody was haunting and beautiful. I watched the way her delicate fingers moved across the keys. Her left hand played what seemed to be only two simple notes while her right did most of the work.
She made it look effortless. Easy and so damned efficient. I was in awe of her.
Fuck.
Her head turned, and she looked at me as she continued to play, a sort of happiness dancing on her face that made me realize how badly I wanted to ensure it stayed there. I would do almost anything to make it so.
Then her brow furrowed, and sweat gathered on her forehead.
I frowned.
She looked like she was in pain, and I didn’t know why until a sharp note rang out. She stopped playing. I didn’t need to be an expert in music to know she had hit the wrong note.
For a moment, we didn’t say anything to each other.
This one wrong note was working against all the other right notes she had played, and it was fucking winning.
I didn’t know what was going on inside her head, but it couldn’t be good. And I didn’t know what to fucking say that would make it okay. To bring back the happiness I had seen in her eyes before.
“Emmy—”
She slid off the bench and ran up the stairs without saying anything. The slam of the bedroom door sounded moments later, loud in the empty house.
My fists clenched by my side as I stared at the stairs.
Fuck.
I waited for a beat before I followed her.
She was sitting in her spot in the recliner and looking out the window at the streetlamp.
Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her arms were wrapped around them, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible.
I stood at the threshold and watched her. She looked so fucking sad. All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms, but I wasn’t sure if that was what she needed or wanted from me.
“Emmy. It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not,” she interrupted.
I nodded and stepped in front of the recliner, kneeling on the floor.
