Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(64)

My eyes sketched along the strong lines and deep contours of his body. Each time he slid his left hand up and down the neck of the guitar, the muscles of his back flexed in response - a visual metronome. The large black cross on his back stood in stark contrast to the sparseness of the room and caused me to catch my breath. My soul begged on bended knees for me to run to him; to give in to the physical craving that burned at full heat between us.

“Hey.” I rapped lightly on the door, to avoid scaring the hell out of him.

Bo turned around quickly and his eyes brightened, “Hey, did I wake you?”

“Hardly, you’re all the way down here. I woke up and you weren’t next to me so I came looking.”

Don’t tell him you had another nightmare.

“Well, here I am.” He put his guitar down and opened his arms.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked as I sat on his lap and wrapped my arm around his neck.

“I don’t typically sleep well, not in the last few years anyway.” His previously light tone was now raked with sadness.

“Oh . . .”

“I like having you here, November; it’s nice to have someone else in this big, old house. Rae’s here, but she stays with friends a lot to avoid driving back and forth to school every day.” A blanket of loneliness swathed his eyes.

“I like it here; the house has a real family feel to it.” I grimaced at my lifelong desire to live in a single-family house.

“Hey, about earlier, when I pushed you about your parents and how you grew up - I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place. I can’t imagine what my life would be like right now if I’d never had a place to call home.” He grabbed my hips and turned me so that I was straddling him.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve never really thought about it that way before - my parents still calling the shots.” I shrugged, “But, ever since I met you, I’ve considered another lifestyle entirely - you know, running away and all - so it’s nearly a moot point.”

I kissed him teasingly, but he grabbed my chin and pulled me in for the real deal; I could feel his grin on my lips.

“Rachel said you can still play the piano. Play something for me. I’ll sit in the recording room; I’ve always wanted to hear how things sounded in there.”

“What do you want me to play?” His reticence was poorly concealed.

“Whatever is on the stand,” I said, walking into the control room.

Bo’s brow crinkled a bit, then relaxed as he took a breath and headed to the piano. I looked around for the speaker switch in the control room and, when I flicked it on, I heard another deep breath come from Bo as he sat on the bench.

“Let’s see what you got, rock star.” I winked into the mic.

Bo didn’t look at me, and I noticed his mouth formed into a slight frown. He tilted his

head to one side, then the other, before stretching out his fingers and hitting the keys. He didn’t warm up, he just took off. I was wrapped in the blanket of the dark, bittersweet song that came from the piano. Bo’s shoulders moved in time with his hands; he was a sight to behold.

The droning repetitive tones from his left hand and the sparse, chilling high tones from

his right collided in my throat , forcing me to suppress a sob. I didn’t recognize the melody, but

my body felt it anyway; anticipating each note. The single lamp remained on in the recording

room, but I couldn’t see Bo’s face. His dark, arresting figure over the piano was unsettling. I

needed to see him.

My palms broke into a sweat as I stood and crossed slowly to the piano. I was

mesmerized at the intensity with which he played. I stood motionless behind him. This was different than his passion with the guitar, it was a different level of deep - it was haunting. Unable to resist, I carefully placed one hand on each of his shoulders. Bo slowly relaxed back into my body but continued to play.

His skin was pulsing, burning with whatever emotion was coursing through his veins. I chanced a glance at the sheet music; my mouth ran dry as all the moisture from my body huddled in my eyes. It was hand-written on staff paper and titled, ‘Goodbye’, with the initials ‘B.C’ barely visible underneath it. I muted the sharp gasp that escaped my mouth with my hand; he’d written the song for his parents.

When Bo finished the song he sat motionless facing the piano. Without turning around, he placed his left hand on mine. Expelling a labored sigh, he blindly reached his right hand behind him and pulled mine away from my mouth; bringing it back down to his shoulder. He kept his hands firmly atop mine, never turning around. I swallowed hard, begging ineffectually for moisture to return to my mouth. Soon, the last lingering chord of the piano drifted away and silenced the room. Seconds felt like minutes as we stayed frozen, unmoving, letting the funeral hymn hang in suffocating silence around us.

I leaned forward and kissed the top of his head and he kissed each one of my hands. When he turned around, I nearly buckled at the sight before me; his eyes were black holes of sorrow and grief, yet still held unmistakable beauty. The space between his eyebrows sank into a deep crevasse of hollow pain. A tear threw itself down my face at the sight of his brokenness and I wanted to look away, but couldn’t bring myself to emotionally abandon him.

He placed his forehead on my stomach for a second, taking a deep breath and pulling me to his lap. I kissed his temple, his nose, before he grabbed each side of my face and drew me into his mouth. This kiss was different. It was pleading; begging me to understand, begging me to pull him up from the hole that opened as soon as he started playing that song. His grip moved to my waist and a restrained moan sprang from his throat.