Page 33 of Synced to Us

My fingers hover over the keys. I turn just enough to say, “Even though my back’s to you, I’ll feel you making faces. So keep that flawless mug of yours stone cold.”

A few seconds of silence pass. I’m not sure if I should turn all the way around and make sure she’s okay.

Then she murmurs, “Should be easy to do.”

Is that sadness in her tone? Might as well use it. I test a few notes and adjust the volume (I’m not about to wake the twins a second time).

Then, I descend into my music.

12

Dee

It’s too quiet.

And soft.

Hard, too.

Soft and hard and…hot.

Why is it so warm in here?

My eyes flutter open, my lashes scraping against a wide, flat surface. With a few tiny freckles on it.

I suck in a silent gasp. Using my hand tucked under my chin, I brush against the smooth, well-muscled surface, and then carefully push away.

Wyn’s body takes shape in the sterling pink dawn gliding through the window, laying on his back. When he slipped into bed last night, his weight must have created a dip in the mattress, and like the sleeping log I was, I rolled right into him.

And stayed there.

It takes a minute to acclimate myself, my mind still clouded with sleep. I haven’t slept that heavy in a long, long time. I stare at the ceiling for a while, scraping my hair out of my face and counting what I swear are glow-in-the-dark stars stickers around the ceiling fan. They must be so old, they didn’t light up in the dark last night.

Sitting up requires more effort than I assumed. We aren’t sleeping on a memory foam mattress, but one with many tiny, creaky springs. The slightest motion sends his body jiggling, too.

Wyn deserves more sleep, so I do my best to sneak out of bed without too many complaints from the mattress. We’d stayed up late, Wyn playing the electric piano long into the night. His notes still linger in my ear as I pull on an oversized sweatshirt and switch my sleep shorts for black leggings. He didn’t sing a note, but the way he claimed the music…

Wyn started off tentative, repeating a note one by one. He peered at me over his shoulder after every ding of a piano key. I got the message and started picking at the comforter instead, eliminating the tingle of my eyes on his back—if that was what he felt. After a few more seconds, his hands began to…glide.

The soft music was despondent at first, until I could pick out the cresting passion. A contained ferociousness overtook him. Wyn’s elbows jerked, his head dipped low, and his fingers stunned as his notes fell together and rose, combining into a romance I could actually picture in my mind’s eye. A man holding a woman, sobbing into his neck. His fingers tangling in her hair, his teeth bared, as he lowers his chin atop her head. That clutching desire was the story he told, the music taking hold in my brain and refusing to let go. I kept my gaze downcast, but my eyelashes dampened as I felt the pain and sorrow and beauty Wyn emoted through a piano.

I thought he was a comic. A vacant, handsome dude-bro who slept around and was content with whatever life threw at him.

This man? This person at the keyboard throwing himself into the music and turning sound into heartbreaking imagery? I don’t know him.

I want to.

I brush that thought off with a frown. We’re in forced proximity at his family home where a lot of demons remain crouched inside—I have no choice but to understand him better.

But I had no idea such gorgeousness lived inside his head. On the outside, sure, he’s sexy as hell. One doesn’t get a six pack and pecs cut from marble and become uglier for it. No, he’s handsome on the outside, I’m aware of that. Yet, it was mesmerizing to watch his fingers glide over the keys, strands of hair slipping into his eyes as he fell deeper and deeper into his music.

Funny, he’s getting nothing about you in return.

Okay. My conscience clearly needs a cup of coffee.

I tiptoe out of the room, although a lot of my efforts at silence are unnecessary. Wyn’s conked out, the only sign of life being the slight fluttering of his lips every time he exhales.

It’s kind of cute, actually. Especially with the way his feet hang over the footboard and his toes peek out from the comforter.

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