Only the thought of being separated makes me want to rush off stage and never play again.
I catch his silhouette, his imposing shadow, and I instantly calm down, taking my seat.
Once I hit the first note, it’s my story I spin, embarking the audience on a soulful ride to experience my agony, my hopelessness.
Tonight, I break free and improvise, creating a different storyline on stage. I am too far gone to discern the gasps.
My hands fly over the notes in a wild chase of black and white keys.
Eyes closed, my head switches from right to left, fully in sync with the melody tangled with my soul. Raw emotions drench each sound, pouring from my fingertips straight into the auditorium. Fully engrossed in expressing my deep-rooted agony, time slips away, and I reach the end of my story.
I hit the last key, the ending echoing with a chilly, haunted note. Everyone holds their breath, aware it’s not a happy ending. For that, I would need my man to help me rewrite it.
Wishful thinking.
A storm of applause follows, perhaps the most I’ve ever gotten.
All I care about is seeking his eyes, wanting to know if my composition affected him as much as it did me.
His eyes brew a storm that speaks of destruction. I gulp, needing to erase the distance, heal the pain I caused. I need him to hold me, or I’ll break apart in front of these strangers.
Nothing makes sense without him.
I rush to Mika, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him. Looking up at him, I am about to open my mouth to apologize and beg him to take me somewhere where we can love each other freely when my best friend snatches me to her side.
“You were fantastic. How is it possible that you got even better?” Calla asks.
She looks as gorgeous as she is lethal with her long silver hair and eyes, her body adorned in an elegant dress, a testament to her discipline.
Next to her side or, better said, glued to her side is my brother. He narrows his eyes at Mika, wearing a suspicious glint.
I hug her and say through the lump in my throat. “You came back a day early.”
She smiles candidly. “I didn’t want to miss another concert.”
In the beginning, I was terrified of her, thinking she would be responsible for my brother’s death. Instead, she became his wife and, on the way, my best friend and the sister I never had. Calla is also Mika’s sister.
I hug my brother next, but afraid guilt is written all over my face, I avoid his gaze. Could I be any more transparent?
“Come on, it’s time to celebrate.” She eyes me with a knowing look, as if telling me to help her out here.
“Aren’t you tired?” I rush to ask.
She sticks a thumb at her husband, grinning teasingly. “No, and he tried.”
My brother shakes his head at her antics. “I heard you. Later, wife.”
“You love to play with fire,” I tell her.
“I guess I love the burn,” she says unapologetically, looping her arm around my elbow, and she whispers, “I can’t wait for you to tell me what happened in our absence because both you and my brother flashguiltylike a neon sign.”
I open my mouth then close it, but she arches an intent brow at me, and I give in. “I screwed up.”
She hugs me sideways, and I soak in her silent support. “I can’t imagine it being so awful. Fears are mostly in our heads.”
I shake my head at her. This one is real.
“My brother…”
