I close my eyes and exhale, hearing the notes rising and building around me. Lily says this is the best part, so I’m going to try to be a good student. I breathe in and out, letting the music be my sole focus, and find it’s not as difficult as I thought, especially at this point where the entire room feels like it’s full of music.
My chest tightens again, my breathing getting faster. I feel my adrenaline picking up, my heart rate increasing. All because of some music.
I’m nervous that Lily will notice the change in me, that she’ll think less of me as a man for being so affected by a piece of music. As the song fades from its intensity, still going but softer now, I turn my head to check if she’s looking at me and judging me.
She’s not. Her eyes are still closed, but tears run down the sides of her temples.
Is she sad? She doesn’t look like she’s crying out of despair, but something tugs at my heart, and I feel the urge to touch her. Comfort her. So I move my hand just two inches to the right, where I know her fingers are, and cover her hand with mine.
At first, she’s still. But then she turns her hand over, her smooth palm against my rough one, and laces her fingers through mine. Warmth spreads up my arm and into my chest. Holding hands, we finish listening to the rest of the song.
I mean, piece.
CHAPTER 12
Lily
FRÉDÉRIC CHOPIN — NOCTURNE NO. 2 IN E-FLAT MAJOR, OP. 9
RED ALERT! RED ALERT!
RYDER HAWTHORNE IS HOLDING MY HAND!!
Look, I know he’s just doing it to be nice, like an older brother kind of gesture. He probably saw me crying, which was my natural response to the music, and felt sorry for me. I could see Henry doing the same in this circumstance. Adam would get angry and ask who hurt me, and Peter would crack a joke to brighten my mood.
But Ryder’s touch doesn’tfeelbrotherly.
At least not to me.
We finish the last few minutes of my favorite piece, and I know I’m going to think of this moment every time I listen to it in the future. I can’t tell yet if that’s a good or bad thing.
As soon as the last note ascends into silence, Ryder pulls his hand away. Darn.
He sits up, and I follow suit, wiping the tears from my face. His expression is full of concern. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m what they call a ‘highly sensitive person.’” I make the finger-quotes and give him what I hope looks like a self-deprecating grin.
“What’s that?”
“I have big feelings and emotional reactions. My mom said I was a very sensitive kid. I cried easily… I guess I still do.”
“Yeah. I remember that.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment.Great.Ryder remembers me as the little five-year-old who cried every time her feelings got hurt.
I think he can sense my shame, and he continues, “But you didn’t seem like that now. You’re not…weak.”
I snort a laugh.
“No, really,” he says. “You’re tough, and you’re not afraid to tell me how it is. I can tell you’ve got some grit now.”
“Tell that to my brothers,” I reply.
“I would,” he says, quicker and more firmly than I expected. A wry grin appears on his handsome face. “But I can’t let them know I’ve seen you.”
I return his grin. “True. Well, as long as you want to stay alive.”
“Hah.” The silence stretches for a minute, us grinning at each other, before my eyes dart away to my hands. Idowant him to stay alive. But I don’t want my brothers to know about him either.
