“It’s new.” His voice is barely above a murmur. His fingers rest on the keys, not playing, just touching.
“I like it.”
Silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but weighted. Heavy with things neither of us is saying.
I let out an involuntary shiver.
“Cold?”
The house isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but I left the hoodie I’ve been wearing for days in the nest. “Maybe a little.”
Atticus pulls me into his lap. One moment I’m sitting beside him, and the next I’m settled across his thighs, my back against his chest, his arms reaching around me to rest on the piano keys. His fingers slide beneath mine, positioning them on the ivory, so when he starts to play again, it looks like I’m the one making the music.
“I think I might have really messed up here,” I finally admit.
“You think?” he asks, breath warm against my ear. His tone is neutral, neither affirming nor denying the statement.
The melody is simple this time. Something in a major key, almost playful. His fingers guide mine through the chord progressions, and I feel the vibration of each note travel up through my hands, my arms, settling somewhere behind my sternum.
“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so selfish,” I whisper. “Mason never would have been stuck here in heat if it wasn’t for me.”
Atticus hums, not breaking the gentle rhythm. “That is probably an accurate statement.”
The words sting, but I can’t argue with them. I took the heat inducers because I was scared of flying. I showed up at Judah’shouse because I wanted someone else to deal with my mess. I dragged Mason into this situation without any consideration for what it might cost him.
“I feel like I should apologize to you.”
His fingers move beneath mine, plucking out a new set of chords before he answers. “Why is that?”
I hesitate, feeling suddenly foolish. “You were just in the room with us. You saw what happened.”
Atticus huffs a laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into my spine. His breath tickles my ear, and I shiver despite the warmth radiating from his body. “Are you asking if I’m jealous?”
“Now you’re making me sound self-centered.”
“Firebird, youareself-centered. You will happily let anyone unwilling to make you the center of their universe fuck right off. It’s one of your more charming qualities.” The chords shift again, transitioning into something minor, more contemplative. “But if you must know, seeing you with them was…the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
I twist to look at him over my shoulder. His green eyes are dark in the dim light, unreadable, but his mouth is curved in that half-smile I’ve come to recognize as genuine rather than performed. “You’re really not bothered?”
He presses a kiss to the curve of my neck, a bare brush of lips that makes me shiver.” Anyone who’s hung around you for more than five minutes could see what you and Mason mean to each other.
“I only ever stepped foot on that jet for you,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’m here for as long as you want me.”
He resumes playing, letting me sit with that.
The music fills the dusty sitting room, echoing off walls lined with faded portraits and furniture draped in white sheets. Through the window, the first hints of dawn are beginning topaint the sky in shades of pink and gold. The house is silent around us, everyone else still asleep or pretending to be.
“I have no idea what’s happening,” I finally whisper.
Atticus doesn’t stop playing. His fingers keep moving beneath mine, guiding me through a melody I don’t know but somehow feel in my bones.
“What do you want to happen?” he asks patiently.
The words escape before I can stop them. “I’m afraid to say it out loud.”
Atticus doesn’t push. He just lets the question hang between us while his fingers coax something beautiful from the battered keys.
After a long moment, he shifts the conversation. “Have you thought any more about that movie I mentioned before?”
