“Go on,” he urges with a hint of irritation.
Closing my eyes, I draw a leveling breath, then place my hands over the keys and ease into the sparkling cascade of rapid notes mimicking the first spring of water. The beautiful sound of the piano strings vibrates into the room and hits straight into my starved soul. I thought I was doing better, but as I play through the five pages of sweeping ups and downs, I realize I’ve only just been getting by. It’s like having been stuck underwater with a half-empty oxygen tank for years and finally breaching the surface and breathing fresh air.
I pour my soul into the music, my breathing synching with the sweeping cadence. My heart swells, beating harder and steadier. New life seeps through my veins, and I sway along with it.
I play the last two lines with closed eyes, and when I stop, I have forgotten everything about where I am. Keeping my eyes closed, I try to cling to the moment of oblivion, remaining deep in the warm embrace of the music.
What I wouldn’t do for another minute like this.
Everything.
A sharp voice takes me out of the warmth and into the cold. “With rigorous training, I’ll be able to get you ready for the competition in September.”
I turn my head to look at Ian with surprise, hope beating in my heart along with the lingering pulse of the music.
“It will require your full focus and discipline,” he continues. “Your technique is slipping, and your timing is off, but I can correct that if you’re willing to put in the work.”
“Really?”
Ignoring my flabbergasted question, he points at the bench I’m sitting on, delivering his command as if to a dog. “Stay.” Then he leaves the room.
While I wait, the music slowly seeps out of my heart, trepidation taking its place and spiking at the sound of two sets of footsteps returning.
The earth jolts beneath my feet when both Ian and Killian enter the room. A sharp energy of arrogance and control fills the space, sucking out all air and making my lungs struggle to function. Being alone with Ian was bad enough, but having two of them here is like being cornered by a hungry pack of wolves.
When Killian showed up at work two weeks ago, I was so deep in shock that I barely noticed the man he has become. But as he stands there beside his dad, it’s striking how much he has grown. He’s even wider than Ian, biceps straining against his white dress shirt, and they’re the same height now, both towering over me, at least six feet three. The looks in their blue eyes are the same as well, arrogant and cool, threatening to chill the very beat of my heart into frozen stiffness. He still looks like a younger copy of his dad, but there’s a striking difference. Where Ian’s gaze is calm and direct, like a tiger patiently waiting to strike, Killian has this wild, burning energy to him. A raging fire that will consume everything.
Chills cascade down my arms, and my whole nervous system braces for flight. But even so, there’s something about these two men that roots me to the spot, beckoning me to give in and fall victim to their devastating command.
“Make room for Killian,” Ian commands, nudging my waist with the back of his hand.
Startled, I all but jump to the side, every small movement and touch feeling like a threat. But it’s nothing compared to the pounding panic that descends when Killian approaches and sits on the padded surface next to me. The bench is wider than a usual one, made to fit two people, but his thigh brushing against mine is enough to aggravate the choking sensation crushing my lungs.
“Hello, princess,” he says, casting me an evil smile.
Memories of the first time he called me princess come crashing. The realization that he had just filmed me. The mockery in what was supposed to be an endearment. The horror when he crushed my world. A hint of his eucalyptus scent drifts past my nose, and it takes me right back there.
I shake my head as the room draws in. Killian keeps smiling, enjoying the effect he has on me. It’s too much. I can’t do it. The panic keeps building until I can’t take it anymore.
“No,” I gasp, darting up and backing away. Straight into a hard chest.
Strong hands close around my arms, and Ian steers me back to the bench and lowers me onto it. “He’s not going to touch you,” he says with a reproachful tone, like I’m a silly little child. But there’s a promise in there, too, that I cling to.
“Not yet,” Killian says, mischief dancing in his cold eyes.
“Enough,” his father scolds. “This will not work if you keep scaring her.”
I close my eyes and draw a settling breath. As much as Ian is callous, I don’t think he’s out to harm me.
“Now play,” Ian orders.
Killian lifts his hands to the keys, and his expression has completely changed when he casts me a quick look. This time, it’s full of purpose and intensity. I feel something brewing, and I lift my hands to the keys too, my fingers itching with the need to play.
A small lift of his chin is his only cue as he starts playing. I’m surprised at how instinctively I follow after years of only playing alone—never having played with him at all. I hit the first note the exact moment he starts, and he casts me a glance that seems to mimic my surprise. He tried to set me up for failure, but he’s not getting it.
My first two lines are just little drips and drops of single notes. They are nothing on their own, but with Killian’s part, they require absolute precision. And I deliver. Even when he hesitates a fraction too long, then pushes the rhythm, I hit them spot-on, syncing perfectly with him. He casts me another glance, this time teeming with anticipation, just before I join him in my own cascade of rapid sixteenth notes, our momentum building into something breathless and unstoppable.
Again, our timing fits perfectly. Somehow, I anticipate all his subtle expressive touches, following him effortlessly through every shift in tempo and dynamic. It’s a rush like no other, the way we merge. Our hands move in synced rhythm, our breaths mingling and matching until it feels like we’re one seamless entity.
