Space (Laws of Physics #2)(48)

Replaying moments between us, wanting more, taking less

But when she asked for forgiveness so sweetly,

She has to know, she must know,

I became hers completely.





* * *



This is new, for me and for you.

Nothing you say, nothing you do

Can make me hold a grudge.





* * *



You tell me to go,

But you have to know, you must know,

If this is a mistake, I’m making it

And if this is my chance, I’m taking it.

I can't regret

Never giving up on you





* * *



Nothing you can do

Nothing you can do

Will make me hold a grudge

I’ll never give up on you.





11





Heat and Heat Transfer Methods





*Abram*





It wasn’t how I wanted her to hear the song, in a room full of people, anger between us.

When I wrote “Hold A Grudge,” when we were in Chicago, that night she told me to hold a grudge and I stayed up all night writing poetry about her, I’d imagined myself playing it just for Lisa. I had this fantasy scenario where she’d be the first one to hear it set to music.

But now, staring into Mona’s captivated and captivating eyes, sharing the finishing note, the last reverberations of Ruthie and Nicole’s guitars softly fading, I decided this scenario wasn’t so bad either.

We weren’t alone. She hadn’t been the first to hear the words she’d inspired. But at least, for Mona’s first time hearing our song—and I could no longer deny that it was our song—I’d been able to sing it directly to her. The words were the same as the version on the radio, but I’d arranged the music in a new way.

She’d inspired that too.

I was still angry. And yet, earlier in the evening, when she’d walked into the dining room and our eyes met, the moment confirmed a nagging suspicion: it wasn’t revenge I wanted from Mona DaVinci, it was honesty.

Maybe she wasn’t the woman I’d fallen for so foolishly and completely. Maybe she was. I had no idea. She gave me nothing. Her wall built of lies remained a barrier between us, yes. But it was Mona’s continued restraint and detachment that formed the true impassible chasm.

The applause caught me off guard, stirring me from my reflections. Taking one more look at Mona, as she was now—her lovely eyes misty, unguarded, vulnerable, lips parted, expression open and guileless—and knowing I’d held her attention rapt, I’d had the entirety of her whole being and focus for the span of our song, it felt like enough.

The group assembled, pressed forward, and their rousing appreciation for the new version demanded my attention. Nearly everyone was on their feet, making noise, and I accepted their praise with gratitude. I was grateful the song, and subsequent singles, had done well. I was grateful for the chance to tour with musicians I respected. But that’s not why I wrote music.

As soon as the snow cleared enough for me to leave, I decided I would leave. Whatever I’d hoped to find here, whatever I’d hoped to take from Mona DaVinci, or receive from her, it was never going to happen more or truer than this moment. I felt certain that now, right now, was the most honest she’d been in a while, maybe ever. Perhaps she wasn’t capable of more, and—if so—that was heartbreaking.

But it’s enough.

Decision made, I gathered a true deep breath, my first one in days, and I turned toward Kaitlyn. She’d stood as soon as the clapping started and gave me a smile that was more smirk than grin as she approached.

“You changed the key. D minor.”

“I did.” I nodded, my gaze flickering to Mona. She was also standing, her hand fiddling with the waistband of her pants. She pulled out an envelope, her eyes were on it, and she unfolded it with what looked like great care.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Kaitlyn said, and I shifted my attention back to my friend, she was stroking her chin, looking in Mona’s direction. “I have theories.”

More people moved around us, telling me how much they enjoyed the new variation, asking Ruthie if she could convince me to play another song, delaying me from responding to Kaitlyn. I turned more fully away from Mona and answered Jenny Vee’s questions about our tour dates, Charlie’s concerns about the new arrangement, and Bruce’s insistent suggestion that he make me a mixed drink, to which I answered no thank you.

Deflecting requests to play additional songs from the album, I mumbled to Kaitlyn when I got a chance, “You always have theories.”

“But these theories are provable, and being snowed in is as close to actions occurring in a vacuum as possible outside of a laboratory setting, which is exciting,” she whispered on a rush. “I miss doing ‘the science.’ Ah! Mona! Hello.”

My muscles tensed with the knowledge that she was close, but I kept my back firmly to her.

I’d assumed she’d already left. Asking me to play the song hadn’t been her idea, she’d been pressured, that was perfectly clear. But we’d had a moment. A meaningful moment. Our beginning and our end had been hers to define, this had been mine. Poetic justice, a way to force closure, whatever it was, that’s what I wanted. Now we were done, now I needed it to be over.