Page 41 of Falls From Grace
Tucker lived wild: the band room his playroom, the playroom their band room. He ran between all three adults for hugs and games and meals. He passed out for naps to the sounds of the piano playing; Brynn had never seen him so happy.
Suddenly, her days were filled to the brim. She and Noah ate breakfast together most mornings in their own suite - quick bowls of cereal or a plate of toast, washed down with coffee - anything just to get on with the real day. They’d meet Savannah and Tucker in the band room before it even hit eight o’clock. Usually Brynn and Noah got there first and Brynn would always feel a prickle up her spine as Savannah walked in and smiled at her, like every part of her night and early morning was just waiting for this moment. The moment where everything would begin, all over again.
Was it songwriting, or was it Savannah? Brynn couldn’t tell which came first, only that the two were wrapped up together for her, in a tangle of desire and creativity, like nothing she’d ever known before. She craved the moment a song began to come together, when a new line or a key change made the whole thing click. And she equally craved the joy blooming in Savannah’s eyes, the sound of their voices mingling, the heat of her body next to hers on the piano bench.
They spent hours and hours together every day. It was the four of them, but the addition of Noah and Tucker didn’t detract from the intimacy. In a way, it almost enhanced it. Sometimes they felt like a family. Other times, the way Savannah caught her eye and something private passed between them - despite the presence of others - felt so intense it was almost sacred.
Often the two of them would end up going for long walks during Tucker’s nap time, sometimes swapping song lyrics, other times just walking side by side through the hushed snowy woods, talking at length or in sweet silence. It felt on the tip of her tongue at all times: Am I crazy? Do you feel this?
Any barriers or safeguards Brynn had held onto to protect her heart were pulverized into dust as the two of them scribbled their innermost thoughts together on the page. She ached with her intense and growing feelings, and the ache turned into music.
Her conversation with Noah loomed large in her mind at all times. She remembered him asking if her feelings for Savannah were serious, and she knew that if he asked her now, her answer would be very different. But every time she thought about telling him the truth - that her heart was on the line now - she thought of the fall-out. She imagined exploding the sweet bubble they were all in - losing the trust of Noah or Savannah, or most likely both - and she shrank from the conversation, just a little longer.
Would it really change anything, anyway? Yeah, sometimes the way Savannah looked at her made her wonder, but she also knew there was a strong likelihood she was tumbling head over heels for an oblivious straight woman and amplifying every glance in her mind with desperate, wishful thinking.
Embarrassingly, Brynn had caved into an urge she’d been fighting for far too long and straight up googled the woman she was so wrapped up in. Amongst a thousand photos of Savannah looking gorgeous - all the way from an adorably fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old and growing increasingly sexy with every year - she saw at least half of them featured a staggeringly good-looking man - tall, handsome, strong - the heat between him and Savannah jumping right off the screen. There was not a thing in any bio that she could see that hinted anything other than clear heterosexuality.
The closest she came were a couple of articles where Savannah professed her strong support for the LGBTQI+ community, of her band who included an out gay man and an out trans woman. This, as per the articles, was adamantly not the norm in country music, Coral in particular being singled out as if she were some kind of novelty instead of just a talented musician and successful artist. But as for Savannah herself? Just husband husband husband was all Brynn could see. That and a clear reminder of Savannah’s staggering success that only reminded her of the immense gap between their worlds. She wished she hadn’t looked at all.
She reminded herself that what was important right now was the music. Not the feelings she had all but given up fighting. The music that just seemed to grow and grow, every time they were in the same space as each other. That was what she needed to focus on.
Brynn had never felt so at home. She found she loved playing piano again, letting the years of rigid formal training slip away like sand, instead feeling out pure sound. She quickly went from extremely uncomfortable singing in front of her friends to hearing her own voice just as another instrument in a room full of instruments. When she viewed it that way, discomfort no longer felt applicable. And there was something incredible about joining her voices with theirs. It felt as close to holy as Brynn had ever experienced.
As for everything else? The heartbreak she was clearly headed for? Brynn wondered if that was the price she’d just have to suffer; losing her heart to gain her voice.
They ate dinner together every night now, either after Savannah had settled Tucker for the evening, or sometimes all four together, if it was early and they were all starving. Brynn realized she lived for the evenings when Savannah lingered by the fireside, her sweet boy in bed, a glass of wine in her hand, and the three of them talked about anything and everything.
Thanksgiving passed by in a quick blaze of warmth, the three of them only barely remembering to press pause on their creative endeavours long enough to eat themselves into food comas. That night after dinner, as they took turns around the table saying what they were most grateful for, every single answer was the same: the music. The music, and each other.
Brynn was grateful for Noah’s presence for another reason; without him there, she knew she could all too easily cave in to her desire to reach out and touch Savannah as she laughed and glowed before her in the firelight. Thank god she didn’t drink any more; her willpower was shaky enough with her inhibitions intact.
“You know, Christmas is only three weeks away,” Savannah remarked as another evening passed, all three of them sprawled around on couches. The living room was increasingly cozy from the heat of the log fire; three minutes ago Savannah had arched her spine luxuriously as she’d peeled off her sweater and Brynn still couldn’t drag her eyes off all that silky skin.
“Whaaaaat?” drawled Noah, deep in his third whisky now he’d finally acquired a taste for it.
“I honestly forgot to even mention it. Time seems to have lost all meaning.” Savannah smiled. “But I won’t hold you captive. Surely the two of you have family that will be missing you this time of year.”
Brynn and Noah looked at each other. Brynn was not a fan of family Christmases, and Noah’s parents were relatively indifferent to the holiday. They both shrugged.
“Nah,” said Noah simply. “But wait, what are your plans?”
“I’m just staying here,” said Savannah. “Tucker and I usually have a quiet one.”
“You don’t go to family?” Brynn asked curiously. Savannah almost never spoke of them, she realized.
“No.”
It sounded like a closed subject.
“So… will you have us?” Noah looked at her.
“Please?” Brynn added, with a probably unnecessary flutter of her eyelashes.
Savannah straight up glowed.
And then, that Sunday at dinner, Chester had news.
“The label called,” he said, in the tones of an announcement. He had flown in that evening but so far hadn’t said a word about the state of affairs in Nashville. There were clinks as everyone put down their forks and turned to look at him. He looked them all in the eye, then addressed Savannah. “They love the demos.”
