Page 105 of The Comedown

“Julian,” I groan, snapping him out of his daze, and he grips the handrail with his other hand, leaning forward even further.

That wood could snap in half from his weight alone. Doesn’t he realize that?

He probably does, he just doesn’t care.

“I don’t trust this.”

“Then trust me. I got you.”

Does he? While Julian has no qualms endangering his own life, I do trust he’d never intentionally risk mine.

At least before this moment.

Coming down to mirror my pose on the outside of his balcony, he reaches across to me, putting him much closer, and with sweaty palms, I extend one out to him. He somehow manages to grasp my entire wrist, tugging me as I stretch a leg out. Before my toes can even touch down on Julian’s balcony, the other leg is already off mine and for a brief moment it feels like I’m a ballerina flying through the air, waiting to be swept up by my partner. Julian’s grip on me tightens as he pulls me the rest of the way, and I make it across unharmed. He helps me over the top, then follows immediately after, landing beside me in nothing but a pair of jeans, his pale skin between tattoos shimmering in the moonlight.

I wrap my arms around myself, hugging tightly to keep from touching him, and joke, “Long time, no see.”

His lips brush my forehead at the same time one of his hands touches the small of my back, and he murmurs, “Too long, Poohbear. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been three hours.”

The charming smile on his face as he pulls back conjures up one on my own.

It feels so good being with him again. When Julian’s coherent, he’s infectious to be around, and when he’s not, he’s still compelling, but in the way a waterfall is—vicious, uninhibited…dangerous. One wrong move and over the precipice he goes.

But when he’s like this, it feels like I’m the one about to fall.

Fall with me.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, heading inside to the bar on the other side of the living room space.

“No, thanks.” My eyes trail over to the piano in the corner. “Where’d you learn to play?”

He doesn’t look up as he pours cognac into a glass. “My grandma taught me. She was an elementary school music teacher for forty-two years.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.” His head bobs in a nod. “How many instruments did she teach you to play?”

“As many as the school she worked at could afford to supply her with.”

This time I’m the one nodding, but then Julian ends with, “So, not many.” My movements halt.

“Oh,” comes out quietly. “Just the guitar and piano then?”

“I might know my way around a triangle, too,” he says, and I bite back my smile. I bet he could find his way around any instrument if he wanted to. Knowing how to read notes is the biggest obstacle. After that it’s all trial and error, kind of like life. Once you have the basics down, you’re on your own to figure out the rest.

Drink in hand, he moves to sit at the piano, but I don’t break from my spot in the middle of the living room as I pivot to watch him.

“Did she teach you how to sing, too?”

“When I moved in with her, I only knew how to rap, but she wanted me to sing in the church choir, so she taught me how to use my voice in all different ways.”

“Did it work? Did you sing in the choir?”

“Fuck no.” His back shakes with a laugh and I feel mine do the same even as I try to hold on to every little nugget he reveals about himself. How old was he when he went to live with her? And why did he have to?

Instead, I ask, “What does she think of your performances now?”

Julian’s body turns rigid. “She never got to see me on stage. Not a big one. She died right after I got signed.”