I should have stayed in Phoenix.
The piano bench creaks beneath Liam’s muscled form as he sits down beside me. Just having his thigh pressed against mine helps to relieve the invisible pressure crushing my lungs.
“Beau. Look at me.”
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Cause I’ll cry.”
Liam lets out a heavy sigh. “Then cry, Beau. Wish I fucking could.”
My head pops up. When I look at him, his expression is stoic, but there’s pain in his eyes. “Liam.”
He shifts his position on the bench so he’s straddling it. Then he pulls me into his arms.
Tears leak from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I had it all figured out. All the fucking notes. The tempo. I wrote lyrics, Liam. I haven’t written decent lyrics in forever, but I’ve been rotting on your couch so long I wrote goddamn lyrics I’m actually excited about. And I can’t do shit with them because I can’t play through the song without making a mistake.”
Liam rests his chin on top of my head. “You waited seven years for me.”
“What?” I murmur, confused.
“It’s been seven years since I left you in a New York hotel to board a plane for a European tour. You waited seven years forme, of all fucking people, and yet you can’t give yourself a few months’ grace with music after having your head cut open.”
My chin quivers. “See? Knew you were mad at me.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I’m not mad at you, Beau. I’m mad at the part of your brain that’s making you think you need to wear yourself thin to get back to producing hits. Because youwillproduce hits again.”
Throat swelling, I fight to swallow. “But what if I don’t? What if I never get it back, even after all your support? I don’t know who I am without music.”
“You’ll always have music. It’s this pressure to produce you don’t fucking need. You don’t owe anyone anything, Beau. Not at the cost of your mental health.”
The tears really start falling, and soon, I’m sobbing into his shirt. “I’m tired, Liam. I’m so fucking sick of being tired.”
“Then rest, baby. Let me hold you for a while.”
I would be embarrassed that I’ve slipped into those silly hiccup sounds from crying too hard if not for him telling me how perfect I am the whole time. How beautiful and sweet and funny I am.
How I’m everything he’s been waiting for.
After I’ve soaked his shirt, he eases me back and tugs off my hood. I wince, hating being exposed to him when I feel like I’m at my fucking lowest, but he just leans in to press a kiss to my scar. “I’m going to support you no matter what, you know that, right?”
My chin trembles as I lower my head. “I do. I just…want to be me again. I don’t want to be a burden anymore.”
He grips my chin and lifts it. “You arenota burden. Your circumstances may have changed, but you are still you. You are still the man I love.”
“Fuck.” More tears spill down my cheeks. “You know I love you, too.”
His throat bobs. “Yeah. But it’s nice to hear it.”
My heart thuds painfully. I raise my hands to his cheeks, stroking my fingers over his stubble. His eyes are as dark as coals in the low lighting of the studio, but somehow they hold warmth as he stares back at me.
I lean in to kiss him. “I love you, Liam Beckner. Always have. Always will.”
He nips at my bottom lip. “Good. Now, do I need to keep lecturing you, or are you going to be kinder to yourself?”
I chuckle. “Told you I’m a mess.”
