Page 31 of Taming a Ruthless Heart

Her words pierce through me, anchoring me to this moment, this fleeting slice of peace in a world that seems determined to tear us apart.

“Love you more,” I reply, my voice breaking.

I press another kiss to her forehead, holding her close, trying to memorize the feel of her heartbeat against mine.She’s my reason for everything, my light in the darkness.

For now, the world is just me and my daughter, cocooned in this fragile peace, in a room that feels like a sanctuary.But I know it’s temporary.The shadows are stalking us and the secrets I carry will eventually bust their way in.

Feeling parched, I leave Rose’s room to go to the kitchen.The house is too quiet, and every shadow seems to stretch longer in the dim light.The vaulted ceilings and the heavy drapes swallow the night whole.I tiptoe down the corridor, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet.I inhale sharply as my chest tightens with an inexplicable restlessness.Sleep won’t come tonight; I know it already.Too many memories crowd my thoughts, too many secrets make each breath a struggle.

As I reach the stairwell, the cold marble sends shivers up my spine.The temperature drops here, where the windows stand tall and narrow, their glass panes throwing distorted moonlight onto the floor.When I realize the sundress I’m wearing doesn’t shield me from the chill night air, I pause and draw my arms around myself.It’s a short trip there and back to the kitchen, so I decide not to go back to my room for a sweater.

When I get to the ground floor, a flash of movement catches my eye through the window of the foyer.There, barely visible under the dappled light of the moon, I make out a shadow—a man moving purposefully along the outer wall.He’s armed, his rifle slung across his shoulder as he surveys the grounds.It’s a stark reminder that this sanctuary is also a fortress, each guard a silent sentinel against the danger that creeps ever closer.

My heart thuds, jolted back to reality.This peace is borrowed, as fragile as the glass that separates us from the chaos outside.I draw a deep breath and force my feet to keep moving, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding that clings to me like second skin.

I hear a soft musical note, immediately swallowed by the stillness of the house.I tilt my head, straining to catch the sound.Another note follows, this one longer, filling the silence with a melancholy tone that curls around me like smoke.I follow it, drawn as though by an invisible thread, through a corridor I haven’t taken before.The music grows clearer, each note spilling over me, wrapping around the edges of my thoughts, soothing and stirring them all at once.

The sound pulls me toward a set of tall double doors at the far end of the hall.I pause, hand hovering over the cold brass handle, hesitating for just a moment.The music dips into a low, haunting melody, and I know it’s him.I’d know Dave’s touch anywhere, even if it’s just on the keys of a piano.I push the door open, slipping inside as quietly as I can.

The room exudes elegance and a quiet intimacy, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through expansive glass doors.A grand piano, its glossy surface reflecting the silvery light, stands proudly by the windows.Plush sofas and armchairs, draped in shades of deep blue and cream, invite you to sink into their warmth.Decorative pillows and cozy throws add an inviting touch, as if anticipating a night of whispered secrets and lingering glances.

The coffee table holds an empty glass of whiskey and a small plate of delicate hors d’oeuvres, remnants of a late-night snack.Soft nautical accents—a starfish, woven orbs, and a seashell—whisper of distant shores.

Outside, the moon hangs full and bright, casting a silvery path across the water beyond.The scene is one of quiet anticipation, as if the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for the night to truly begin.

There’s Dave, hunched over the keys, lost in the flow of music.The piano itself is a grand thing, black and gleaming, a stark contrast to the dimness around it.Dave looks as though he’s part of it, like he belongs here, in this room filled with secrets and shadows.

He plays with an intensity that ripples through the room, his fingers dancing across the keys as if he’s drawing every note straight from his soul.The sight of him like this, vulnerable and absorbed, stops me in my tracks.He looks different here—stripped of the hard edges, the layers of ice and steel that usually shield him from the world.Here, he’s just a man with a past, with shadows he tries to forget.

I don’t announce myself.I don’t want to break the spell.Instead, I stand at the doorway, watching him.His head is bent, the shadow of his strong jaw catching the moonlight.His dark brown hair falls slightly over his forehead, and his face is set, focused, as if he’s pouring his very essence into the melody.He wears a simple black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there’s something almost boyish about him now.It stirs memories of our younger days, back when we thought the world was a far gentler place.

My pulse quickens, but I hold my breath, willing myself to stay still.He finishes the piece with a soft, lingering chord that fades into the silence, leaving the room almost echoing with its absence.Dave lifts his hands from the keys, letting them hover in the air for a moment, as though he’s reluctant to let go of whatever he’s feeling.

He turns, sensing me there, his green eyes meeting mine with a flash of surprise.For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.Then, he straightens, the momentary vulnerability slipping away as he gives me a nod.

“Couldn’t sleep?”His voice is low, rough around the edges, like he’s just waking up from a dream.

I shake my head, moving closer until I’m standing beside him.“I guess you couldn’t either.”

Dave chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates through the room.“Old habits die hard.Mom used to play whenever she was restless.I guess it rubbed off on me.”

I remember watching Martha at the piano when we were young, before all the chaos and betrayal.She played with effortless grace, the notes floating through the house.Dave would stand by her side, his eyes glued to her fingers as if they held some secret magic he could never quite grasp.

He never hid the fact that he adored her.Many times he told me Martha grounded him, making him believe in something beyond the dark world that surrounded their family.I wonder if playing now is his way of reaching for that same comfort, a quiet connection to the woman who gave him the few pieces of light he clings to.

Despite his playful words, there is an ache in them.Remembering the pain of losing my own mother, I avoid the topic.It hurts too much to reach for something you can’t ever truly touch again.

Trying to pull his mind away from that memory, and brushing my hand along the edge of the piano, I say, “You tried to teach me once.I was terrible, though.”

He laughs softly, a sound that’s more of a rumble, deep and warm.“You had a good ear, just… not much patience.”

I roll my eyes.“Patience is overrated.”But I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.His laugh feels like a balm, a crack in the armor that he wears so fiercely.

He gestures to the seat beside him on the piano bench, and I take it, settling close enough that our shoulders almost touch.I glance at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips, and I feel that familiar flutter in my chest, the one that never seems to fully disappear around him.

I rest my fingers on the keys, pressing down a single note, letting the sound hang between us.

He takes over, his hands covering mine for a brief moment, guiding them to the right place.There’s an intimacy to it, a familiarity that feels almost too raw, too close.He starts to play, slowly, gently, and I follow along, trying to match his tempo.The melody is haunting, the kind that sinks into your bones and stirs up things you thought you’d buried.

---