Then I pivot and duck into the bathroom.
I splash my face. Again and again. I count my breaths. Wait for the women beside me to leave.
When I step out, he’s there. Leaning against the lockers like the ghost of every version of us we could’ve been.
“Hello, Autumn,” he says.
“Mr. Rochester.” I nod. Start to turn.
“Do you honestly think I’m leaving this building without talking to you?” He’s behind me now. His mouth brushes near my ear.
“I think you should,” I whisper. “I didn’t come here for you.”
He clasps my hand, his thumb brushing the top of it like he’s checking if I’m real. Then he gently pulls me with him—down the hall, into a room where open instrument cases line every table.
He lets go, but he doesn’t back away. His gaze holds me in place like thread pulled tight.
I don’t speak. I won’t break first.
Adeline. Applause. Airport.
That’s the order. That’s the plan.
“You haven’t called me once since you left,” he says. “I’m surprised…”
“I don’t see why. That’s what people do when they break up.”
“Then someone usually comes to their senses rather quickly.”
“Or they realize they don’t have nine lives and don’t want to spend the next few years losing at the Q&A game.”
“You’re being overly dramatic again.”
“No,” I say, voice steadier than I feel, “I’m showing you what boundaries look like before I leave you—again.”
He stares at me. Long and hard. Then he kisses me.
And I let him.
My lips part, and his tongue finds mine. Our mouths meet in a rhythm so familiar it hurts. My fingers dig into the front of his shirt, and he exhales—low and guttural—against my cheek.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper. But I’m already gone.
His hands slide up my thighs, his fingers rough and reverent, tugging my dress higher until cool air hits my skin. I shiver. His palms are hot, his touch sure.
I fumble with his zipper. He groans against my neck, a raw sound that vibrates through me. He slides my panties to the side, dragging his knuckles across me until I gasp.
His mouth trails fire along my jaw, down to my neck. His teeth graze my collarbone, and a soft moan escapes before I can stop it. His body presses me into the wall, the sharp edge of a violin case nudging my hip as his hand cups the back of my thigh and lifts.
I wrap around him like it’s instinct. Because it is.
He pushes inside me slowly, deliberately, filling me with everything I’ve missed and everything I can’t keep. The stretch makes me whimper. He kisses me hard, holding me like the answer to a question he’s never been brave enough to ask aloud.
Our breath tangles. Our bodies rock together in a silent goodbye.
His hands cradle my face as I cry. He kisses my tears like he’s memorizing the shape of them. Like he knows this is the last time.
And when we fall apart together, it’s quiet. Shattering. Final.
