Page 64 of Last Chorus

Turning back around, I set my fingers on the keys and find the pedals. I start with scales, my pressure tentative at first, then more confident as the incredible resonance of the piano surrounds me. My eyes close in pleasure. A few seconds later, the fine hairs on my neck lift in awareness.

“Quit teasing,” Wilder murmurs behind me.

Smiling, I launch into something he’ll recognize, a piece he played a lot in his early teens. When I reach the final note of “In Flight” by Michael Harrison, he sighs.

“Such a show-off.”

Craning my neck, I smile up at him. “Come on. I had fourth graders who could play that with their eyes closed.”

He moves around the bench to sit beside me. Our arms brush, triggering a cascade of goosebumps from my shoulder to my wrist. His right hand dances over the upper register, coaxing a tinkling melody.

“Piano never came as easily to me as guitar,” he says softly. “It took me months to learn that song.”

I frown. “No, I vividly remember you playing it thesame day you got the sheet music. It was winter—I was nine, maybe ten? We’d just eaten grilled cheeses for lunch. You snuck out of the kitchen and I followed you to the piano room. I was nine or ten? You glared at me and said you wanted to be alone, but then you let me stay.”

He shakes his head, a dimple deepening on his downturned face. “Actually, you stuck your chin out and said, ‘Duh, wearealone,’ then crawled under the piano. The last time I’d tried to pull you out of there, you’d screamed like I was sawing your leg off. I decided to spare my ears the pain.”

Unduly pleased he remembers, I laugh. “That does sound more accurate.”

He glances at me with teasing eyes. “You were a brat.”

“Nah, I was just obsessed with you.”

When his gaze narrows, I flush and look down, tapping a few keys before saying, “In any case, you told me your mom had given you the sheet music that morning.”

“I lied.”

My head whips up. “Shut up, you did not! Why?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “I was an adolescent boy trying to impress a girl. A few days before that was the first time I’d played the song without fucking it up.”

I study his profile, struggling not to laugh. “You knew I wouldn’t leave?”

“I was pretty sure, yeah.” He looks up, scanning my face. “You’re not mad? That I manipulated you?”

My chest tightens at the real worry in his eyes. “Wilder, I crawled under the piano knowing you wouldn’t pull me out. We were kids. I think that kind of manipulation was probably developmentally appropriate.”

When he just keeps staring at me, I gently close the lid over the keys and turn toward him. My knee comes to rest against his. His eyes flicker with more wariness, but he doesn’t pull back—he pushes closer instead, taking my hands and holding them over our thighs. The contact makes me forget what I was about to say, allowing him to speak first.

“I wasn’t my best self last night. Cooking all day, having guests… I was already feeling dysregulated before you even got here. I said things I didn’t mean. Idon’tresent you for the choice you made back then. It was absolutely the right decision. I was an addict who lied to you and betrayed your trust. And to be real with you, newly sober me didn’t deserve you, either. I was a wreck and just beginning to deal with my issues. Last night, my anger… it wasn’t about that. Not really.”

Having spent all night thinking about and preparingfor this conversation, I nod. “I know. It was super fucked up of me to push you like that. It definitely wasn’t the plan, just so you know.”

His brows lift. “You had a plan?”

Holding his gaze feels a bit like looking at the sun, but I manage it. “I figured that was obvious when I shoved my test results in your face.”

His lips quirk. “So you did come here to get laid.”

I want to tell him the whole truth about why I’m here, but the last words he spoke before falling asleep play in my head for the millionth time. I know in my gut that they were the source of his anger. His underlying fear.

We broke each other’s hearts, and there’s not a damn thing either of us can do to change that. Two months ago, he confessed he still had feelings for me, and last night he asked me not to take advantage of that. He’s willing to be my friend, even my lover, but nothing else. Not right now. Not until I’m ready to recommit to him, tokeep him. And while I want to be with him so fucking badly, I’m also sane enough to know I’m kind of insane at the moment. An erratic, sensitive mess—as my actions last night clearly demonstrated.

Until I can untangle the chaos inside me, the least I can do is respect his wishes.

As much as I don’t want to.

“I came here foremost because I trust you, Wilder. I feel safe with you, with the man you are today. And yes, I wanted to have sex with you. But my headspace wasn’t the greatest last night, either.” I look down at our entwined hands. “As completely out of character as it sounds, I’ve been pretty emotionally volatile lately.”

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