Page 64 of Born into Darkness

“Okay, but I want all those things you just said, too.”

“You’ll get them,” I promise her. I kiss her head again and pull the covers up higher so they’re covering her and she won’t get cold. “Get some sleep,svetik moy, and wake me if you need me.”

“I will. Night, Max.”

“Night, baby.”

With my arm still blissfully numb and Talia curled up against me with a soft mattress beneath us and no fear of Miguel bursting into the room, I fall into an easy sleep. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. Nightmares plague me, and I wake up in a cold sweat after only a few hours of sleep. I’d been wrong about Miguel. He may not have physically come into the room, but I can’t seem to keep him out of my head. I’ll never forget the way it had felt to have him pull each of my fingers out of joint, or the smile he’d worn while he’d done it.

Talia’s heavy breathing lets me know I haven’t woken her, and as much as I’d like to keep holding her, my body and mind are too antsy to sit still. Being careful to not wake her, I scoot out from under her, watching as she grimaces in her sleep and then wraps her arms around my pillow. The feel of it seems to comfort her because she stops moving and lets out a sigh before her breathing returns to the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.

Unable to look away, I watch her for a few minutes, hardly daring to believe that she’s here, that we’re both here, and that I don’t have to let her go. The blanket’s at her waist, but she’s still in her sweatshirt. I may not be getting an eyeful of skin, but she’s still sexy beyond belief and I have to force myself to get up or risk waking her up with my tongue. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I want to subject her to the same torture.

Usually I’d spend the night working on music, and the loss of it is like a physical ache that refuses to go away. I feel like I’ve lost a fundamental part of who I am, and if I dwell on it for too long, it’s going to drive me crazy.

I slip from the room without waking her and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The simple act of being able to get more water anytime I want feels downright decadent, and I stop to take a long drink before heading to the soundproofed room my dad had built for my mom before I was born. Her grand piano is in here, a Steinway and Sons Model D. It’s a beautiful beast of a piano that’s nearly nine feet long and has a clear tone that almost made me weep when I first heard her play it as a child. I have the Model M version in my bedroom at the house that I can’t wait to take Talia to. It’s still large at almost six feet, but my bedroom is big enough to fit it comfortably.

Shutting the door, I flip on the light and sit at the bench seat in front of it. The black-and-white keys spread out before me hold so many memories. There isn’t a time in my life when I can’t remember music being in my head. As a toddler, I sat at my mom’s feet while she played, not understanding what it was, but loving it all the same. As soon as I was able to, I was climbing into her lap and trying to play. I begged her to teach me as soon as I could form the words. She hesitated at first, worrying that it would frustrate me or feel stressful, but eventually she realized how much it meant to me, and I’ve been playing ever since.

Until now.

My left hand hovers over the keys, shaky from lack of sleep and fear that something so precious could be taken from me. Hesitantly and with way less force than I’d usually use, I play a chord, the notes both unfamiliar and as natural to me as breathing. My fingers feel stiff, and frustration eats at me to know I’m limited to just five fingers. The song that I’ve been composing for Talia is impossible for me to play, and the more I try, the more angry I become. Finally, I drop my hand and reach for the bottle of water instead.

“Mind if I come in?”

I turn at the sound of my mom’s voice. I hadn’t heard her open the door, but I’m not surprised to see that she’s in here. She’ll often come in here and play at night, but I’m guessing she was also worried about me and knew I’d find my way here eventually. She’s in her long, pink robe and slippers, and when she gets closer, I scoot over so she can join me.

“I thought I might find you in here,” she says, giving me a worried look.

“I don’t know why I bothered,” I say, telling her the truth because if anyone will understand what I’m feeling right now, it’s her. “I can’t play anything with one hand, and the fingers I can use feel clumsy and stiff.”

“You’ll get it back,” she says, and I hear the confidence in her voice. “I’ve never seen anyone as dedicated as you, Max.” She gives a soft laugh. “Well, your dad and brother are just as dedicated with their tech stuff, but you know what I mean. I have no doubt at all that you’ll be playing again soon. You just have to give it time.”

I nod but don’t say anything.

She nudges my shoulder and asks, “What was that tune you were playing when I walked in?”

I raise a brow at the generous use of the wordtuneand say, “Just something I’m working on.”

“It sounded pretty. Want me to help you play it? I can be your right hand?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather wait until I can play it myself.”

She gives me a knowing smile. “Talia will love it.”

“How do you know it’s for her?”

Her laugh is uninhibited since she doesn’t need to worry about it carrying outside these walls. “Because I know my son well enough to know when he’s given his heart away.”

“Were you always this sappy, or did Dad make you this way?”

She laughs even harder. “Your dad definitely made me sappy. He came into my life like a knight in shining armor and quite literally saved me, so, yeah, he made me the romantic I am.” She gives me another smile. “I’m so happy to see we were able to pass that on to you. Talia’s very sweet, Max, and your dad and I already love her. We’re so happy for you.”

“What about the fact that her family is across the country?”

My mom shrugs and runs her fingers over the keys before starting in on one of her favorite pieces. Like myself, she’s always been partial to Chopin, and the haunting notes of hisPrelude in E Minor, Opus 28, Number 4soon fill the room.

“And people wonder where I got my melancholy side from,” I say with a grin.

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