SIMON MILLER
I was exhausted.Drained. I had been sucked dry—not in a fun way—and my soul was now a shriveled-up raisin.
When Pierce’s parents were walking toward me after the performance, my only thought had been to hold it all together for a bit longer.
Don’t talk too much.
Don’t be an asshole.
Don’t be too much in general.
And definitely don’t embarrass Pierce.
But then Pierce had wrapped an arm around me and pressed tender kisses to my sore, throbbing fingertips, and what threads I’d been clinging to as I’d held myself together had slipped away. All I could do was nod and follow commands.
This happened too often after a grueling schedule. I’d been trying to keep up with Pierce, work on my concerto for the orchestra, and perfect my playing for tonight’s performance. Not to mention I’d been worried about disappointing Pierce’s parents. Now that the performance was complete, I could pause for a bit to catch my breath.
The problem was that I felt like I had nothing left. Everything—even thinking—felt like it was too much.
Pierce held the rear passenger-side door open for me, and I didn’t question it. I climbed in, hugging my violin case to my chest. A hand patted my hip, and I blinked, gazing up to find Pierce bending in the still-open doorway.
“Keep scooting.”
He was getting in with me? Looking past him, I finally spotted a second person. His driver. Pierce liked to drive himself, but I knew he kept a full staff at his house. I scooted to the next seat and closed my eyes. The rich leather creaked and grumbled under Pierce as he climbed in beside me. The door shut, closing out the world.
“You can just drop me off,” I mumbled as I heard the driver take his place behind the wheel.
“Why are you so exhausted? Have you not been sleeping?” Pierce asked gently.
I grunted and rolled in the opposite direction so I could rest my head on his shoulder. Every muscle tensed as I waited for him to push me away. His parents weren’t here, and his driver wouldn’t rat Pierce out. There was no reason for Pierce to let me stay close.
But he didn’t push me away. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gathered me closer. “Grunting isn’t an answer, Simon. What’s going on?”
“Tired. I’ve been busy. And it’s…exhausting sometimes…playing. I…” My voice drifted off, not knowing how to put what I was thinking and feeling into words. Sometimes I poured so much into my playing that when I was done, it felt like there was nothing of myself left. I became a hollowed-out shell that needed time to be refilled. My soul had escaped with the notes and flown away, leaving behind a thin, fragile vessel that was one stiff breeze away from shattering.
But how was I supposed to explain that to him? I’d been lucky enough to encounter a couple of other artists in my lifewho understood it because they felt it as well, but to explain it to someone who didn’t perform or create was useless. The few times I’d attempted it, all I’d got in return were skeptical looks and placating nods. They thought I was faking it—another prima donna drama queen who had to have the spotlight constantly. I could put up with most of the world thinking that about me, but not Pierce. Never Pierce.
“Take us home, Edward,” Pierce ordered in a low, firm voice.
I wanted to argue, to say that I’d be fine alone in my own place, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Right now, I was cuddled against Pierce, feeling warm and safe. He wasn’t asking any more questions, and I didn’t have to say anything else. I didn’t even have to think. The world faded away, and I was lost in him for a while.
The drive seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, but I knew Pierce didn’t live downtown. Sadly, I wasn’t sure where he lived. I’d always assumed that it was somewhere near Declan and Sebastian, but I’d never seen his house.
When Edward parked the car in front of a large house with dark-red brick and a multi-gabled black roof, I forced the jagged pieces of my mind into some semblance of working order so I could climb out of the vehicle in a dignified manner. I didn’t bother to glance up at the structure, but followed Pierce up the short stairs and through the door, still clutching my violin to my chest.
“Would you like me to hold your violin while you remove your coat?” Pierce inquired, jolting me back to reality. I’d been staring at the gleaming parquet floor and the long, thick rug under my feet.
“Uh…no, that’s okay.” I shifted the case from one hand to the other as I slipped out of the coat. A woman in a neat black uniform appeared out of the ether to take my coat and Pierce’s.
“Sir, Mrs. Cantrip has prepared a light, cold meal for you. However, now that we have a guest, would you like me to order up some hot dishes for you both? I believe she has a lovely minestrone soup that she can heat.”
“Simon?”
I shook my head. Soup sounded heavenly, but it felt like it was more work than I could handle. It would require sitting properly and operating a spoon and napkins. All I wanted was to curl up in a ball.
“No, thank you. I just…let me close my eyes for a few minutes, and then I can get out of your hair.”
“You’re not leaving here tonight. You’re in no shape to be on your own.”
