Until Then Read online

  In those few moments, I pull out my camera and snap a few pictures of the most intimate relationship I’ve ever witnessed — a girl and her piano.

  When she starts to play, I understand like I never have before.

  The fluttering notes begin soft and delicate, her fingers barely touching the keys. Her body sways with the music, washing over her as she pours her heart out through her fingertips. She closes her eyes, allowing the soul of her song to sing through the notes. She is tender when she needs to be, more forceful when called to be. Up and down, up and down her fingers fly over the keys, never seeming to actually touch them but somehow touching all of them. Faster and slower, the pace moves through her body. Louder and softer, the music swells with her soul, breathes the life she draws into it. Wrists cross over wrists, fingers cross over fingers, her body sinks down to be closer to its home.

  She’s entranced.

  Raptured.

  Breathtaking.

  I am in complete awe of her.

  Time stops for her.

  Time is melodious.

  Time is merciful.

  Until it isn’t.

  12.

  Summer

  2:05am

  I used to have nightmares that my life was a dream. That I would wake up one day and not know how to play a single chord, the notes would be gibberish, the keys a puzzle, the applause a phantom. I’d panic, not because I was afraid of not knowing how to play but because I was afraid that my life was a lie.

  I was afraid that I was a lie, and the truth was an enigma, forever evading me.

  The only thing that helped was sitting on the bench, letting the music flow through me, finding the other half of my soul on the keys.

  A piano is nothing without its player.

  I am nothing with my piano.

  It’s not a choice; it’s a necessity.

  Usually when I finish a song that I’ve played for a small group of people, one of two things happens afterward — they either overly exaggerate their appreciation of my talent, making a point to often remind me how good they think I am as a feeble attempt to emphasize their unfounded portentous taste in classical music, in turn teaching me not to trust their opinion seeing as it’s solely to fan their feathers; or they brush off the experience, careful not to fill my head with misguided notions by clapping far too long then glancing at their watches because they suddenly have to go to a “thing,” in turn indicating that their feelings are threatened and wounded by the experience, and I am no longer a person they can relate to, much less have a conversation with.

  This is exactly why I don’t have many friends. I don’t know how to have friends. They don’t know how to be friends with me.

  Crew is silent when I finish the Chopin prelude. No clapping. No words. I don’t know if he’s even breathing. But when I turn on the bench to look at him, he lowers his camera from his face and noticeably furrows his brow.

  Of course. I have to finish the show. I stand up by the bench, leaving my hand on the piano out of respect, then I take my curtsy bow, moving slowly and hearing the clicks from 10 feet away.

  His eyes smile behind the camera. Then he lowers it and shakes his head, laughing at his own joke. “That was awful,” he says, silently chuckling. “Just terrible. Who wrote that drivel?”

  His charm turns my insides into butterflies. “Some guy named Chopin. He’s pretty dead now,” I reply and chuckle.

  “Really? Well, thank God for that.” He stands up and places his camera carefully on his seat. “I wouldn’t want to sit through another one of those…what do you call them?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

  “Preludes?”

  “Yeah. Preludes. I mean there were no lyrics. Who would ever write a song without lyrics?” Taking more steps to me, he shoves his hands into his back pockets. I love that he’s still trying to make me feel like a nobody.

  “I have no idea, but I’m grateful for it. I’m not much of a singer.”

  “Says the girl who wants to tour Europe with the band.”

  My mouth drops open, mockingly affronted. “Hey! I’m only going to compose songs and play the music, not to sing.”

  Crew tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes at me, calling my bluff. “You’re telling me that you don’t sing any of the songs?”

  He’s got me. “Not with a microphone. Just to myself. They’re catchy.” I smile at him, wondering what I have to do to get him to take another step toward me. There’s only about three more steps until he’s close enough to feel my body heat.

  Nodding his head in victory, “I thought so.” He’s silent for a moment, letting the air between charge with trepidation.

  “So, you’re actually going to go?” he asks with a more serious tone.

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I reply honestly. “I think I might. I mean, you suggested that I play my heart’s song —”

  “And what did it tell you?” he interrupts, one of the few times that he does.

  I smile. “The piano sung it for me. It told me that I should take a leap of faith, for me.” I shake my head. “I love this music, Crew. It’s been my whole world for so long. I know it so well.” I shrug one shoulder. “But I want to work for something new, experience a world I’ve only dared to think about. Discover more of myself in ways I never would have explored. I think I’m ready to be someone other than the ‘child prodigy’.” I shrug, wondering what Crew thinks of me now. “I don’t suppose you can understand that.” Even though I’m reeling from that confession, it’s a small shadow compared to Crew’s proximity. He would be another world that I want to discover, someday. But right now, I want to focus on me.

  He smiles half a smile, and he takes another step. Good God, this is intense. I’ve never loved being so wound up more than I do right now. “Well, I can certainly appreciate that — exploring the world to find yourself. Hell, I’ve been doing that for a long while now.”

  “Is it all it’s chalked up to be?” I ask him, wondering what I’m missing while wearing these rose-colored glasses.

  Crews gives me a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. And he takes one more step, standing on the other side of the bench in front of me. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he holds his palms open between us, then he looks down to them and back to me, silently signaling what he wants. I place my hands in his, hoping he doesn’t feel them trembling uncontrollably. His hands are gentle yet firm as he rubs his thumbs over my fingers. They’re the hands of a photographer, strong enough to hold the heavy camera yet gentle enough not to break his subject.

  He’s going to break me.

  Crew smiles to himself, and I’m lost in his touch. He finally looks back up to me, being a little cryptic again, but I won’t push him this time. This time, I want to discover the secrets myself. “Summer, it’s even better than you can imagine.”

  Wow.

  The excitement I feel deafens everything. But it’s not for the idea of traveling with the band or discovering a new world. It’s because Crew has gotten so close that I can smell his scent. He’s gotten so close that he can see the chills crawl up my arms after taking my hands in his. He’s gotten so close that I can hear his quivering breath.

  “Do you still have a boyfriend, Summer?” he asks so quietly, I almost don’t hear him.

  “No. We broke up,” I reply, breathless because my lungs suddenly don’t work.

  He rubs his thumbs over my knuckles but stares into my eyes. “Good.” He smiles.

  I have to ask. “Why do you want to know?” It’s not my voice that’s asking, though. It’s a foreign voice that has courage and dares to ask the questions I would never ask.

  Crew looks down to our entwining fingers for a moment then back to me. “Because I didn’t want to have to hurt him.”

  “Why would you hurt him?” Oh my gosh. Just shut up already.

  He laughs under his breath. “Because he was a jerk to you.”

  “Why do you care if he was a jerk to me? I’m a nobody, remember?
” I mutter, trying to cut this fucking tension. My nerves are creating a frenzied tornado inside my body.

  Crew’s smoldering look makes me freeze, and getting lost in his brilliant green eyes is the only thing I can think about right now. I feel my heart race, I feel my body tremble, I feel my willpower evaporate, but I’m paralyzed by his gaze.

  “Because I’m trying really hard not to fall in love with you, Summer,” Crew takes a necessary breath. “And you having a jerk for a boyfriend makes it difficult for me to suppress it.” He raises one eyebrow, as if to remind me that I’m a catch.

  What the —? Did he just say —? Right now would be a good time for my brain to start working and say something logical, like, We don’t know one another, or, We only see each other one day a year, but my voice still has control of my courage. “Why are you trying to fight it?” I ask with a dry mouth. Damn voice.

  Crew exhales a loud sigh then releases one of my hands to brush his fingers down my cheek. His eyes follow his fingers, which feel sensually soft yet torturously tantalizing. Looking back to my eyes, he holds my stare, slides the piano bench aside with his foot and moves closer to me. It’s like he can’t get close enough. Our clothes are the only things keeping our skin from touching. I can feel his body draw in shallow breaths.

  Holy. Fuck.

  I know I should say something, but right now all I can think about is Crew and him touching my face and my hands and kicking away the barrier and being so close that he can kiss me. I think he wants to kiss me. I want him to kiss me.

  “I don’t know why I’m fighting it,” Crew groans. “I just know that I’m losing the war to the voice inside that tells me I should walk away.”

  Before I can respond, he lifts me under my arms and sits me down on top of the piano next to the music desk, my feet creating discordant sounds on the keys. He slides his hand underneath both my knees and lifts them up to close the fallboard over the keys. For some reason, Crew making the gesture to care for the piano just made him so much hotter. It’s the perfect height, as he stands between my knees, his face perfectly aligned with mine. My hands rest on the piano ledge, holding me up because my entire body has suddenly turned into wet noodles, damp and limp in all the right places.

  We lock eyes for two seconds, until he steals enough of my heartbeats for me to realize that I need to take a breath to stay alive. Then he diverts his eyes down to my mouth.

  Crew slowly snakes one hand to the back of my neck and places the other hand on my thigh, drawing me closer. Then he drops his forehead to my shoulder — in defeat or surrender, I’m not sure. His hair is a little longer since last year, and it tickles my ear. “God, Summer.” The torment in his voice makes me ache for him. This guy has been through so much in his life, it would be so easy to wrap myself around him and steal some of his pain.

  He leans on my shoulder for a few long moments. I don’t move a single muscle, but I feel him take a deep breath. “You are so incredible,” he finally says, his breath tickling my neck and sending delicious tingles everywhere. Holy hell.

  I tilt my chin slightly, allowing him more access to my neck, and I stop breathing altogether when his lips brush my skin.

  “And so beautiful,” he whispers, finding a sensual spot to lightly press his lips, leaving me breathless for the last thirty seconds.

  “And brilliantly talented,” he kisses under my jaw. When he pulls away slightly, I squeeze my eyes shut so that I don’t see the resolve in his eyes. I don’t want to see the look that tells me that the voice in his head is winning. That he’ll put a stop to this. Because the absolute last thing I want to do right now is stop. If I stop, I’m afraid I’ll never find my way back here again. In foreign territory. With a guy that actually likes me. Who I like in return.

  I’m not sure if I feel his breath or his lips on my cheek; the sensation is so light and heated. It scatters my wits, but I still can’t open my eyes. I’m afraid this will end. Because it always ends, right here, where it starts to get good and crosses over to being incredible.

  “You make me feel —” he whispers against my skin but stops his words.

  I open my eyes to the sound of his agony. “How do I make you feel, Crew?” I ask with a breathless voice.

  He stills when I ask him the question. And I know the end is coming, so I slide my hands around his shoulders to his back, pressing him harder against me. He abruptly pulls his head up and looks deep into my eyes. Did I just screw this up? Searching my eyes for his next words, he brings his hands to cup my face.

  “You make me feel…like I’m realizing my daydream,” he finally says, looking deep into my eyes. “Like I’m waking up to my own life. With you in it.”

  “Crew —”

  “I don’t think I can go another second without kissing you, Summer. Please. Let me kiss you.”

  Good. God. I flex my fingers into his shoulders and nod so giddy, it’s slightly embarrassing. He crushes his lips to mine, and I feel him take a deep inhale and breathe me in. His tongue. His tongue is eager and possessive and invades me in such a way that I have to pull him harder to me causing him to moan into my mouth. Oh, Lord. I want all of him as deep as I can get. We’re frantic, squeezing each other hard, tasting one another so fully, using our hands to explore each other’s bodies. I can’t stop running my hands all over his back, his arms, through his hair.

  Without breaking our kiss, I feel his hands leave my face and reach behind me. He’s lowering the piano lid. Then he climbs up and drops his knee between my legs, causing me to slide back onto the piano. With his body, Crew lowers me down onto my back. The piano feels cold and hard against my bones, but I’m too focused on what’s happening in front of me to care.

  The weight of his lower body on mine feels heavy, like he’s pinning me down with just his hips, making me greedy to feel more of him. I don’t think I could love it more.

  He slides my hands off his shoulders and links his fingers with mine, drawing my hands above my head. With every kiss, he squeezes my hands, and I feel the adrenaline rush flood through me faster and faster. God, he’s an amazing kisser. It feels like the deep bass of the piano and the rise and fall of the notes incarnate; my body sings to life with his kiss. And I correct myself — I love all of this more.

  He hooks one hand around my knee and wraps my leg around his waist, pressing into me so beautifully it makes me moan. Christ, I might combust right now.

  “Summer —” he groans into me, urging his body in between my legs, allowing me to feel his energy.

  I feel like I’m winning, getting under his skin, the power of my body garnering this reaction from him. He’s unleashed, free and wild and digging his hand so deeply into my waist I almost wince from the grip of his fingers.

  Almost.

  It feels too great.

  I’m at his mercy. He’s in control. He’s got me right where he wants me. Right where I want to be.

  Under him.

  Submitting to him.

  Ready for him.

  Eager for him.

  But then…he stops.

  He.

  Stops.

  He doesn’t move.

  Except….

  I feel something.

  Vibrations. Going berserk in his pocket.

  His phone.

  His damn phone.

  It’s almost 3 o’clock in the morning. Who the hell could be calling him?

  I suppose he has the same thought because he pauses then sits up between my legs and digs it out of his back pocket, letting out a sound of annoyance. Looking at the screen, he scrunches his face. He holds up a finger to me, indicating that he’ll be one minute.

  One minute.

  That’s all I would’ve needed to go from “good” to “incredible.”

  I want to seriously strangle whoever’s on the phone right now.

  Then I remember that I once got the late-night phone call. And my heartbeat quickens, but this time it’s borderline panicking for him.

  Who’s h
urt?

  “Kate, what is it?” he says curtly.

  Who. The. Hell. Is. Kate?

  I don’t consider myself a jealous person. I’m actually quite confident and comfortable in my own skin. So it doesn’t bother me that a girl is calling Crew in the middle of the night…if there’s an emergency. He’s a good person to turn to in a jam. But if Kate is fine, then I might have to hate her immediately — because she’s either looking for a booty call or she’s a clingy ex-girlfriend pining for her man.

  But since Crew took her call, I want to believe that the reason is probably legit.

  “Slow down, Kate,” he says, squeezing my thigh with his free hand. Then he grips me…hard. My adrenaline starts to kick in. This doesn’t sound good.

  He tries to get in words, but Kate is talking so frantically that I can hear her from where I am. My blood runs cold. I can’t decide if it’s because I know this is over or because I think something serious has happened.

  “Where is he, Kate? …. Kate, calm down. Where is he?” he asks more forcefully, enunciating his words like he’s talking to a child. “Ok, I’ll be right there.”

  He turns off his phone and rests his hands on his hips, raking my body with his eyes.

  “You won’t believe this,” he says, regret filling his voice.

  Oh, I believe it.

  “You don’t have to tell me, Crew. I know you have to go.” I use my hands to start lifting myself up when Crew holds out his hand to help me. It’s a chivalrous gesture, and I take it with a smile. Then he pulls me up to a sitting position and devours me with a kiss. Real chivalrous, I inwardly laugh.

  “I don’t want to go,” he says, against my mouth. Then he pulls away. “But I have to. My brother is in trouble.”

  Oh no.

  “Yeah,” he sees my concern. “And I need to get to him before the cops arrive. Because if the cops get to him, then my father gets to him. I can’t let that happen.”

  Jesus.

  Before I get a chance to ask any questions, Crew is sliding off the piano and helping me down. His armor is back up, and whatever barriers I just penetrated seem to have been re-established. I feel bad because I feel selfish and sorry for myself. I know his brother needs him, but I only see him one day a year. Whatever was about to happen will have to wait. Until next year.