by Cassie Mae
He leans down, pressing his lips to mine and continues the slow steady rock. His pace picks up, and he thrusts into me over and over until the pressure explodes, and we collapse against each other.
Etta James’s voice echoes in my head, and I smile at the words.
At last is right.
The soft tapping of the needle bouncing against the record player stirs me out of the coma that Paige has sunk me into. She breathes heavily next to me, her lovely naked body sprawled out in the aftermath of pleasure. I test my movements, making sure I won’t rouse her from her deep, peaceful sleep as I slip out from under her arm and manage to get to my feet. I bow to the inventor of memory foam.
My lips tilt up as I gaze down at her, my chest warm as I realize that I haven’t seen her relax after our times together. Everything feels different. Better. There is no word in any known language to describe it. Even the word “love” seems to do it an incredible injustice.
I reach into the drawer behind me, pulling out a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. Pepper perks up from the corner, his collar chinking as he scratches his ear. He looks at me expectantly, and I nod toward the bed.
“Go ahead, buddy,” I whisper, and he hops to his feet and takes a few prepping bounces before he finally manages to hoist himself up on the mattress. I catch the smallest of sleepy smiles on Paige as the heavy pup curls up next to her.
It’s a sight I want to see again. Over and over again. I laugh at myself, shaking my head as I slip quietly out of the room. A relationship was so far down my list of priorities that I’m not prepared for this. I can hardly contain myself. I step into my record room, the room I haven’t had the courage to enter, let alone actually play any of the albums, until hours ago. Does Paige even know just how hard that was for me? Or was it suddenly second nature…to pick up the vinyl and set it on the player without another thought?
I lift the needle and switch the turntable off. I don’t remove the record, though, only watch it spin to a stop and memorize the picture as the one I will recall whenever I feel the darkness creeping in. Maybe I am capable of that strength that Paige so easily exemplifies. It took a while, but her passion is becoming contagious. My house suddenly is too silent. The void of sound doesn’t calm me like it used to; I sense an uncomfortable emptiness that was there all along, but now that I’ve felt what it’s like to be completely fulfilled, the silence is just a punctuation of how alone I was.
Paige and Pepper are still snoozing in the other room, and I carefully shut that door so I don’t keep them from a full night’s sleep. My heart thuds louder and louder in my chest with every step down the stairs. I clutch it, reminding myself that while this erratic beating is just another episode of paranoia, life can be short. My father had everything at his fingertips, and one day it was gone. I wonder what regrets he had, what business he wished he’d finished. And I still wonder why he gave all that business to me.
My breath comes out harsh against the edge of the banister before I reach out and flick on the solo light in the sitting room I keep closed off.
The grand piano has a layer of dust over the black, once shiny wood. I try to dig up the memory of the last time I sat in front of it, and I just can’t pinpoint it. I think one day it was just too much for me, and ever since, I’ve half wanted to sell the thing, or see if it truly is like riding a bike.
My footsteps fill the silence of the duplex, the thuds matching that of my heart before the creak of the unused bench jolts me out of my head. That noise strikes up a memory—my father slumping down in front of this piano, covering his eyes with one hand while his iPod rested in the other. It wasn’t long ago; my parents had split, and I… I was there to make good use of my father’s money and booze. He grabbed at the chord dangling from his ears, yanking the buds out. He threw the iPod across the top of the piano, and then buried his face into the palms of his hands.
I’d eased down on the steps, watching him through the slats of the banister like I was suddenly seven years old again. The moment seemed so insignificant; either I was too drunk to really think his problem was beyond an overworked man, or I was past the point of caring; I never thought twice about it until now. Maybe my father wasn’t in love with music every moment of his life.
I take a deep breath, swiping a hand over the wood covering the keys. Dust swoops up into the soft light overhead before settling down elsewhere. I wipe my palm on my shorts before lifting the cover and exposing the rarely touched piano keys.
Six years? Seven? Maybe more than ten. I don’t remember when the last time I settled my fingers and let them fill the air with the melodious sound of the piano. Not an accidental plink while passing. Not a mindless glissando. Not a solitary note.
It’s most definitely out of tune by now, but I should take advantage of this small spark of desire to play. I don’t know when or if it will ever ignite again.
I let out a sigh, closing my eyes and daring to touch the keys. The moment my fingers hit, it sends a thousand memories through my fingertips. What song do I even begin with? Nothing I remember feels appropriate after the moment I experienced with Paige. All angry and forceful tunes… songs that I played in my angst-ridden adolescence. But, at the same time, they feel completely appropriate. Nothing breaks the silence like a harsh and passionate melody.
My foot presses down on the soft pedal, the only hope I have that it won’t disturb Paige or Pepper closed up in my room.
I count off in my head, one, two, three, four, and my fingers naturally find E Minor. The harsh sound of the solemn chord jerks my eyes open. It fills the entire room, echoing off the walls, surrounding me in the notes; I hadn’t realized that in their absence, I’ve become someone I don’t even know.
My right hand starts off a soft, slow version of a song my mother taught me that I can’t recall the name of. It’s a simple melody, one that my six-year-old self-mastered in only a few short lessons. I let it take control of me, ignoring the minor mistakes. Right now, music isn’t something to be feared; it’s something to be embraced.
I have that woman sleeping in my bed to thank for this.
My lips quirk upward as I slide into another song, creating my own mashup of my childhood. The longer I play, the more songs find their way back into my mind. Not just the angry notes, but the softer, happier ones. The contrasting tunes flow from my fingers as if they have ached to be let loose for years. The beating of my heart falls into harmony with the piano, and for the first time since I’ve moved into my father’s place, I feel at home.
I hear Pepper’s collar shaking on the stairs, catch a slip of red in my peripheral before Paige eases down next to me at the piano, the scent of one of my t-shirts filling up the space. Not a word passes between us as I take the jovial tune I was playing into a quieter ballad. Her head rests on my shoulder, and I feel her gaze drifting up to my face before following my arm down to my hands. The power of it causes me to put a hiccup in the song, but I laugh it off and correct the mistake.
After a moment, she lifts a hand and places it on mine. Not to stop me, I don’t think, but to feel the muscles and tendons as they carry the tune. Her gentle caress encourages me to up the tempo and end the song early.
I tap the last notes, the soft plink of the G echoing around us until it disappears into my chest. Paige shifts next to me, her chin resting on my shoulder, her eyes soft and gorgeous in the dim light.
“Here I thought this piano was just for show.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “It was.”
I turn to her, taking her face in my hands, holding her in the way I feel about her—as if she’s something very precious. This woman has pulled me out of a darkness I didn’t even know I was lost in, impressed me beyond words with her strength, her spunk, her harsh honesty. I never in my life would’ve thought I’d find someone like her, let alone fall so hard.
I press my lips to hers in an innocent kiss, one that she won’t interpret as one that I use to relieve stress or anger. This one she’ll know
is to show her, plain and simple, that I’m forever grateful for her.
She licks her lips when we part, moistening the metal on her lip ring. My thumb reaches out to touch her lip, jealous that she has access to such a beautiful work of art at all times.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” she blurts out, and I chuckle at the irony that she stole the words straight out of my mouth.
“Sorry for waking you,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead before dropping my hold on her face. She lifts a shoulder and settles a hand onto the keys.
“Pepper woke me. But you’re not entirely blameless for that one,” she says, doing a trill against C and D. I grin and move my gaze to my dog resting near our feet. The big guy is a bed hog. You play, too?”
“Some,” she admits, weaving her arm through the crook of mine to settle both hands on the piano. “I’m more familiar with the guitar.”
“Know Hot Cross Buns?”
She humors my poor excuse for a joke by playing the first few notes of the kids’ song, then stuns me silent by singing along with it.
“What?” she says through a grin, jerking back at my lifted brow.
“I just forgot how beautiful your voice is.”
She rolls her eyes. “I believe you’ve been in the company of too many auto-tuned talents.”
I playfully hit a chord on the piano between her hands. “Care to tell me what notes those were?”
Her eyes narrow. “F, G, A.”
“Sing them.”
She shakes her head, pressing her lips together to fight away a smile. Turning back to the piano, she puts her hand on top of mine, carefully massaging the skin, long enough that I forget what I asked of her… until she does it.
“F, G, A.”
I let the echoes of her voice fill up the space around us, let it seep into my soul. There is a chance I could listen to that, and only that, for a lifetime.
“You’re right,” I tell her when I can no longer feel the vibrations of her voice in my chest. “She may be a money maker, but Ruby doesn’t hold a candle to true talent.”
A deep shade of red splashes her cheeks, an unexpected reaction that has my eyes widening. Paige is a far cry from a shy or easily flustered woman, always playfully disregarding any rare compliment I send her way. Maybe this newfound relationship between us has opened up another side of her. It sure has for me.
“Minka Scott.”
My brows pull in. “What?”
“That’s who wrote Caged in You.”
I draw my hands away from the keys, turning on the bench to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
She’s quiet, toying with her lip ring. Her eyes lift up to mine, and I see a glass wall I’ve never once seen before. I see it shattering into a thousand pieces, breaking down and revealing someone I barely recognize.
“Because I ran away from that a long time ago. I came here to get away from Minka Scott.”
“What’d she do to you?”
She shakes her head like I’m missing her point, but in my defense, she isn’t being very clear.
“Minka Scott was a doormat. Whenever something stood in the way of her dream, she just backtracked instead of facing it. She’s someone I’m not proud of, and if she has to sign some form allowing the two people who ripped out her heart to take ownership of her words, her thoughts… she’d do it. Because that would be easier.”
“You’d rather she sue us?” I ask, confusion still prodding at the corners of my mind. “Or rather we lose out on a lucrative deal?”
She shakes her head. “That won’t happen because I wouldn’t do that to you.” She sighs and waves a piece of her red hair over her shoulder as the pieces slowly start to fall into place. “I thought I left my past behind in New York, but I should have known it would find me.”
“What are you saying?”
“I changed my name, dyed my hair, packed everything and brought it here so I wouldn’t have to face my ex-best friend and my ex-boyfriend. Because after I found them in bed together, I couldn’t bear to look at them. Ruby’s contract should be mine, but instead of staying behind and fighting, I left because I’d rather run than deal with it. It took a long time, but I finally came to terms with it and accepted that I didn’t fight, so now there’s nothing left I can do.” She hits a key on the piano and then locks her eyes on mine. “I’ll sign the documents.”
My mind struggles to catch up. Paige is running? Hiding? As more of the truth comes out, a swell of anger fills the center of my chest, and I push up from the piano bench and hurry to the laptop perched on the kitchen island.
Minka Scott. Google brings up a single match—an image of a young woman with a guitar, taken in a New York open mic club I recognize from one of my many road trips. I enlarge the image, focus on the smile, the green eyes. Hidden under an unfamiliar hair color and a few less piercings sits a blonde and tanned Paige, caught in a moment of pure joy behind a microphone, fingers poised on the acoustic instrument.
“How many have you written?” I ask, my voice thick and heavy, careful and practiced. It’s the voice I’ve used at the office when I felt the need to hide behind the damn suit.
“On their album?” she says in a small voice. “I’m not sure.”
Clenching my jaw tight, my eyes cut to hers over the laptop. I can feel the temperature rising up the back of my neck, anger flaring up in my midsection. “You want to sign your songs over?” I grit out.
The doe-eyed expression is so foreign on her, like it doesn’t quite fit the person I’ve been falling for over the past month. Her shoulders lift slowly, her mouth open with a loss for the words. I run a frustrated hand through my hair and turn from her, begging my body to get a grip on itself before I explode.
“I won’t cause the label any trouble,” she says in what I assume is an attempt to calm my temper. Only it adds fuel to the inferno.
I cut my gaze over my shoulder. “I don’t give a damn about the label.” Truthfully, if it was just about that, I’d tear that contract sitting in my office desk and draw up a new one for her. No… this isn’t about that at all.
I face her dead on, take in her confused expression, the broken down stare, her folded arms over my t-shirt. She’s an entirely different woman—someone who is everything she taught me not to be. I see a hypocrite standing in front of me. A woman who gave me such grief over my pain and weaknesses, told me to face them, fight them, only to be running away from her own problems. I feel so blinded, so betrayed, like I’ve been played a complete and utter fool.
“You should leave,” I say, pushing past her into the sitting room. I smack the light off over the piano, vowing to sell the thing the first opportunity I get.
“Wait… what?”
“Get out.”
She grabs onto my arm and yanks, trying to force me to face her. “Why the hell are you so pissed? I told you I’m not going to cost you any money. Ruby can have that song, and everyone can cash in from it. It’ll save the label from all this shit media that’s going on.”
“That’s the problem, Paige.” I give in to her tugging, swinging around. She stands up against my size, showing me a small glimpse of the woman I know and fell for. “Do you know how I see you? Do you have any idea? You’re this strong, beautiful woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone, including me. I’m your boss, and you give me lip, tell me to grow a pair, push me into doing the things that scare me. I was drowning, and you were my life raft. Yet here you stand, running, hiding, letting everyone take away what you really want. Are you using me as an excuse to ignore your own issues?”
She shakes her head furiously, but her voice stays locked in her throat.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? I told you about those songs a week ago.” My anger boils up again. “Or is it Minka Scott? Which one are you? Who the hell are you?”
Her teeth clench, and I can feel her anger boiling up as well, but I keep going, knowing mine has spilled over.
“I’m not going to be your ‘pro
ject,’” I tell her. “I’m not someone you can live vicariously through while you run away.”
“That’s not… God, I’m not meaning to do that!” She runs a tense hand through her hair, frustration evident in every movement she makes.
“Then what are you meaning to do?”
“I have problems. History. Everyone does. Including you, so don’t stand here and act like you’re some damn saint.”
I shake my head, biting my tongue so it doesn’t lose control of itself again. Catching the piano in my peripheral, darkened now that I’ve shut the light off, I feel my heart fall like a dead weight into my gut. I feel so raw, so exposed and betrayed, sharing more of myself with another person than I ever have, only I’m not sure if I know that person at all.
“Please leave,” I say, quieter but using a more definitive tone that closes the door on our argument and locks it tight. Her plump parted lips close, forming a thin straight line. She gulps away whatever retort she may have had and slips around me and up the stairs. I wait in the silent space; the only echoes now are the sounds of my lashing words rattling in my head. Pepper cautiously steps up next to me, nudging my leg in an attempt to calm me down.
Paige comes back fully dressed, tucking a strand of that unnatural red hair behind her ear, letting it catch on her glasses that I doubt she even needs to wear. The sun starts to peek through the slats of the blinds, alleviating the notion I have of walking her home. As angry as I am, I do care about her safety.
She turns the knob, pausing in the open doorway.
Tell me no, I hear in my head, a voice of hope that she turns and fights. That she tells me I’m being ridiculous. Turn and attack me, prove me wrong, erase the doubt pricking under my skin.
But the next sound that is heard through my empty place is the clicking of the door as it closes behind her, followed by the soft whine of the only companion I have left.
I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have walked away so easily. But when I saw the storm brewing in his gray eyes, the shine being dulled by anger and betrayal, I couldn’t stand to look at them for another second.
