Ten Days of Perfect (30 page)

“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 hea
r 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.

B
o 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 ov
er the piano was unsettling. I
needed to see him.

My palms broke into a sweat as I stood and cros
sed 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 h
e 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
and
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 fro
m his throat.

I pulled my face away and stared at him. Tears flowed freely, now, down his cheeks; my thumbs couldn’t wipe them all away before they splashed on my thighs. With one bottomless, primal sounding wail, his forehead pressed into my shoulder as he gave in to the music, his body quaking beneath my arms. Grief encased me; I buried my head in his neck and met him sob for sob, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

After what felt like several minutes, our mouths found and comforted each other between silent cries of love and loss.

“Ember,” he forced apologetically between kisses and tears.

“Don’t. I love you. This is what it means.”

I didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t respond as we continued making love with our clothes on and our souls bared.

Sunlight speared through a tiny part in Bo’s heavy curtains as I awoke in his arms. By the time we made our way back to his bed
from the studio
, we both buckled under emotional enervation and fell asleep immediately.

I peered up at a still-sleeping Bo.
How do guys look so young when they’re sleeping?
Tilting my head, I kissed under his chin before nuzzling back into his neck.
Forever.
The thought rang loudly in my ears; my heart raced at the want of forever, and the realization that tomorrow morning would be the last time I woke in B
o’s bed for who knows how long.

“Mmmm, I could get used to waking up like this.” Bo just barely opened his mouth and eyes, as he tightened his arms around me.

His swollen, red eyes were the only reminder of being in the studio last night; I realized mine must look the same. Without question, he had played his song for me. I saw and tasted the suffering, but he never stopped. He didn’t question when I absentmindedly asked him to play the music on the piano; he trusted me with his soul completely. He told me he loved me by baring the very essence of his soul,
without hesitation.

“Good morning.” I shifted upward and stretched my arms overhead. I combed my fingers through his hair.

He planted a kiss on each hipbone before sitting next to me, knees bent. He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me back in to him; there was no awkwardness in our silence
-
it was perfect comfort.

I reached for my cell phone to check any missed messages, and noticed an email I’d missed from last night. It was from William Holder, DROP’s grant writer, telling me he was looking forward to meet me and wondered if he and I could schedule a time to go over our contacts.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” I turned to Bo, who sat staring at me with something playful in his eyes.

“Not really, we’ll go out for drinks tonight since tomorrow will be a long day but that’s about it, why?”

“I got an email yesterday from your grant writer asking to get together sometime so we could go over our contacts, and all that other boring grant writer nonsense. I figured since I was here, I could see if we could get the meeting out of the way before the
big
meeting tomorrow.” I thumbed through the rest of my emails and texts.

Bo was silent for an inordinate amount of time. When I turned to see if he’d fallen back asleep, his face was twisted in deliberation.

“Something wrong?” I elbowed him.

“Huh? Oh, no, sorry, just spaced there for a minute. Does Bill know you’re in town already?”

“No, I haven’t emailed him back yet. Do I call him Bill
,
or is that just because you two are friends?”

“Bill’s fine. Just email him and let him know you’re in town, and that we’ll be at McCarthy’s tonight if he wants to stop in to introduce himself-we don’t need to worry about other business stuff today,” he dismissed, though I could tell he was pulling fro
m reserves of lightheartedness.

Bo jumped out of bed and pulled on his blue plaid pajama pants that hung dangerously low off his hips.

“You’re right. Today can be spent in frivolity. I’ll email him,” I giggled as I sat on my knees, heading toward him.

Bo stiffened. “I gotta head downstairs to the office for a quick sec; towels are all set in the bathroom if you want to shower.” He placed a tight kiss on the top of my head before heading downstairs.

What the hell was that all about? Was he expecting me to talk about what happened last night? Shit, did I offend him by not mentioning it?

When I stepped out of the shower, I could hear Bo shuffling through his dresser.

“Hey, better?” I said into my towel as I dried my hair upside down.

“What do you mean?” He walked over and impishly messed the towel through my hair.

“You got all weird earlier, just checking.” I shrugged, righting myself and wrapping the towel around my head.

“No, sorry, it’s fine. I’m just tired.” He slipped
on
his dark jeans
,
and pulled
a snug emerald green shirt
across his chest
.

Shit, if that’s not his color, I don’t know what is.

He caught my lingering stare and straightened his shoulders proudly.

“Color of your eyes; looks good on me, I’d s
ay.” He smirked sophomorically.

“I’ll say. What are we doing today? I need to dres
s accordingly, lest we run into
the likes of Ms. Ainsley Worthington again,” I quipped as I reached for my suitcase.

“
You
don’t need to be worried about Ainsley, November.” He was annoyed.

“Oh, I know,” I added teasingly, “but I just want to make sure
she
knows.” I winked.

“What am I going to do with you?” he laughed, as he lifted me in the air.

“As I said, anything you want.” I pressed into his mouth desperately.

* * *

Our morning was spent ambling through town; it quickly became clear I was with New England royalty. Every shop owner engaged Bo in honest conversation, congratulating him on everything with DROP, and wishing him well with a pat on the back as he left. As we drove back to his house in the afternoon, my phone beeped with a text.

Adrian:
You’re in town?

Me:
What town? Don’t you live in Boston?

Adrian:
Concord, smartass . . . meeting tomorrow, remember?

Me:
How’d you know I was here, Stalker?

Adrian:
You caught me. I saw you and Cavanaugh walking through town today.

“I didn’t realize Adrian would be at the meeting tomorrow.” I looked from my phone to Bo.

Bo shrugged. “Legal team. Does it matter? I can ask him not to come.” Half his mouth turned up.

“I’m sure you could.” I looked back to my phone.

Me:
yea, I’m staying with Bo . . . you really are a hopeless stalker Adrian

Adrian:
Want to get together before tomorrow? I’m staying at The Centennial

Me:
Nice try

Adrian:
What? :)

I leaned forward and thumped my head on the dashboard.

“What?” Bo chuckled.

“Fucking Adrian . . . he wants to get together before tomorrow. I told him the other day we could have some time to talk before the meeting Monday. Should I invite him to the apparent party we’re hosting at McCarthy’s tonight?” I asked, reminding him Bill Holder was planning on showing up.

“I suppose. Maybe I could tell Ainsley and we could make a real night of it.”

I flashed him the middle finger before returning to my text.