Page 115 of The Time It Takes
Then don’t.
My eyes slam shut the moment Oliver wanders into my brain—my heart—my soul. I told him I’m done running. Wouldn’t going back to New York just make me a big fat liar? I asked him to trust me and without hesitation, he did.
“Don’t break our hearts again,” Taylor whispers.
The moment I look at him, it feels like he can sense what I’m feeling because he wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me to his chest.
“I won’t. I promise,” I mumble into his sweaty skin.
Satisfied with this, he smacks his lips to the top of my head. He grabs my hand and twirls me around in the sand faster than I can blink. I trip a little and shove his shoulder playfully. He laughs and I feel the empty spot in my heart slowly start to fill again.
I turn to face Dean and when I do, he’s lifting Finn onto his shoulders. I glance between the three of them.
Dean must see something on my face when he approaches because he asks, “What are you thinking?” His eyes are curious and I notice it’s the same expression that was on his son’s face an hour ago.
“I’m thinking there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Present
Afterthebeach,Istayed at the house for as long as I could. It’s golden hour now and after a hot shower and lounging on the porch thinking of the story Oliver told me about the butterfly on his chest, I make my way back to the hotel—back to him.
He’s been patient long enough and it’s time for the truth. I’m a different person now and I could speak of it without my voice shaking. That night did not define me in the way I had repeatedly told myself. I’m worth so much more than what happened to me.
I make my way through the threshold of the lobby as it buzzes with conversation. I sent a text to Julian earlier to let him know what I was doing so he doesn’t worry. After entering the code in the elevator to take me to Oliver’s penthouse, I start fidgeting. I can’t sit still. I’m restless in my undoing. Every step I take leads to my eternal hell. My ruin. Everything I have detested since that night. Everything that made me feel so unworthy that I fled. I swallow all of that down and accept it as a part of who I am—something that made me stronger.
When the doors ping open to reveal his penthouse I wonder if I should have told him I was on my way. I hesitate to leave the elevator, but when the door begins to close, I stick my hand out to stop it. I slowly wander my way through his home, gawking at the space laid out before me. The floors are so shiny that I know they’d burn my eyes if the sun hit them directly. The lights are dimmed, creating a calm ambience and it soothes my nerves.
As I continue to walk around, I realize I have no idea where I’m going. It almost feels like trespassing since he’s clearly not here. I wander over to a safe space, which would be the living room area. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch all the way around the room, providing a stellar view of the city.
In the corner sits a burgundy piano. It makes my heart stop in my chest because there’s no reason for him to have one here—unless he’s using it as decor, which is just wrong. Pianos are meant to be played. Still, I smile to myself because it feels like it was waiting for me.
I look around at the empty penthouse and sigh before sliding onto the bench. I lift the key lid and gently hover over the keyboard with my fingertips. I fool around for a moment, testing different keys and seeing if it’s in tune. To my surprise, it sounds perfect.
I begin to play a soft mesmerizing tune that sings directly to my brittle bones. I try to keep my eyes open as I play, letting them fall across the city below and when they find the beach, they stick. It’s a calling. I’d spent the whole day inside my head and Taylor had been right; it’s time for me to come home.
A figure appears over my shoulder, and I jump, slamming down the keys too harshly. I turn around to find Oliver staring down at the keyboard as the ring of the piano settles in the air. I bring my hand up to my chest to calm my pounding heart. “You scared me.”
Instead of responding, he takes a seat on the bench next to me. He smooths his hands over the keys in front of him as if he’s done this a thousand times before. He presses a key that makes a sweet mellow sound.
“Do you remember what you got me for my eighteenth birthday?”
Eyeing him curiously, I nod. “A cassette tape.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing a deep dimple. “Yes, but what was on it?”
“I played for you.” I swallow. “It was all of your favorite songs.”
He presses another key that’s sharp like a knife, but smooth like butter. “It was also the night I found out you felt the same way I did. It was the first time we kissed. I’d been waiting to do that our whole lives.” His fingers tap two keys that sink into my skin. “After that, I wanted to learn how to play. I wanted to impress you. You left before I had the chance to learn one song.” I swallow the guilt that his admittance does to me. He presses a few more keys that sound like a melody I could listen to all day. “Is it too late to try and impress you now?”
I shake my head, staring down at his hands. “No,” I whisper.
It’s all he seemed to need to hear because his fingers pick up their rhythm. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It’s soft and steady and then it’s suddenly reckless. It goes silent for a moment, but not before it picks back up into a gentle song. The pitches are perfectly incorporated together. It’s magic and hell all in one. It feels like love on any day of the week. It feels like rain and rising tides. It’s melancholy and memories. The song he’s playing feels a lot like coming home.
When he finishes, my cheeks are damp. Somehow the song felt like everything I feel inside of myself.
It’s too silent now and I need him to keep playing—to keep playing until I figure it out. Every key he pressed and the meaning.
