Page 32 of Harmonizing Hearts

“What on earth is wrong with me?” I mutter to myself, searching for answers. I had heard of morning sickness before, but this feels different somehow. Is it something I ate? Maybe the unfamiliar Japanese cuisine doesn’t agree with me. The thought nags at the back of my mind, prompting me to recall the assortment of exotic dishes I had tried the night before.

A memory flashes before me: the bustling streets, the vibrant colors, and the enticing aromas wafting from street food stalls. I had indulged in sushi, tempura, and other delicacies that are renowned in this city. Could it be that one of these delectable treats is causing this discomfort?

I splash some water on my face, hoping it will alleviate the queasiness. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need to soldier on. I can’t let a little morning sickness ruin my work trip. Tokyo is such a fascinating city, and I have so much to explore and discover. I can’t afford to be confined to my hotel room. As I step back into the bedroom, I cast a longing glance at the comfortable bed. It’s tempting to crawl back under the covers and surrender to the sickness, but I can’t give in. I have responsibilities, deadlines to meet, and a job to do.

Summoning all my strength, I straighten my posture and force a smile onto my face. Today will be a challenge, but I am determined to overcome it. I will push through the uneasiness, the uncertainty, and find a way to make the most of it. After wearing a comfy outfit, I grab my bag, feeling a sudden surge of determination.

The vibrant city of Tokyo pulses with energy as I embark on the final preparations for the last concert of DarkHeaven — the band Matthew, Angel’s husband, sings for. The venue is abuzz with activity, a symphony of technicians, musicians, and enthusiasts all working together to create a night to remember. The excitement is contagious, but amidst the chaos, a bittersweet longing tugs at my heart.

Nightfall paints the city in hues of deep indigo, and the stillness whispers to my soul, as memories of Jax flood my mind. I miss him deeply, his presence a balm for my weary heart. Tonight, in the midst of this symphony of music, I find myself yearning for him.

In my hotel room, I rummage through my suitcase until I find the familiar soft fabric of Jax’s shirt. It carries his scent, a mix of warm cologne and comfort. As I slip it over my shoulders, a sense of closeness washes over me, as if his arms were encircling me in an embrace.

I lie down on the bed, letting the softness engulf me, and I close my eyes, allowing my mind to drift into the realm of dreams. In the depths of sleep, vivid images of Jax materialize.

We’re walking hand in hand on a sun-kissed beach, the ocean’s gentle waves lapping at our feet. Laughter fills the air, and the warmth of his touch sends ripples of joy through my being. In this dreamscape, we are together, untethered by the constraints of distance and time. His voice caresses my ears, whispering sweet nothings and words of encouragement. We dance under a moonlit sky, our hearts beating in perfect harmony. The world fades away, and it’s just him and me, lost in an intimate symphony of love.

But dreams are fleeting, and as the first rays of dawn break through the window, reality crashes back in. I wake to an empty room, the warmth of the dream dissipating into the cool morning air. The ache of his absence returns, intensified by the brief taste of the love we share. I sit up, clutching the fabric of Jax’s shirt against my chest.

* * *

Two weeks later

The wind picksup as I walk in the cemetery.

"I haven't been back here since I brought Jax to meet my parents. It still hurts too much. Telling Jax about the accident ripped open wounds I thought had healed. Jax offered to have his friends dig for the truth, but I made him promise not to. I want my parents to rest in peace, and I can't survive feeling that pain all over again. It took me years of therapy to move on."

Peering around, I hoped to be alone at this hour, but it seems I'm not that lucky. A couple is walking down the road as a few people walk out the Cemetery. Luke is waiting for me in the car as always and for once I don't feel so safe up here. It's weird. I've never felt so nervous.

When I approach my family tombstone, I notice someone left flowers on it. I look around, but no one is here anymore.

“Please tell me you had a better day than mine,” I complain, sitting on the grass. “I finally finished my gigs out of state and I feel exhausted but so happy to be back home.” I sigh, peering at the ocean. “Honestly, I should be happy. This year has been amazing. I met Jax, and he's the best I could ever dream. It's insane, isn't it?” I laugh nervously, playing with the grass I'm sitting on. Bracing my legs, I rest my head on my knees. “I never realized loving someone could give your life such meaning. And now, even more. I wish you could have had the chance to meet him and celebrate…” Hearing steps, I freeze before turning to face the person behind me.

“Miss Wilkinson.” The man in black greets me.

“You know my name, but I don't know yours.” I get up, swiping my leggings. He avoids answering as he moves his weight from one leg to another. “May I ask why you're here?”

“I wanted to say goodbye before leaving the west coast.” I glance to my left and my right, but I can't see a new tomb.

“Then have a great journey, mister?”

“Blake, Blake Grayson.” He extends his hand in greeting.

“My pleasure.” I shake it. My hand burns under his touch and I pull it right away.

“Emma!” Jax’s voice booms, making me jump. “Stay the fuck away from her!” He is running toward us.

Blake pulls down his sunglasses. “Jackson Mitchell, what a pleasure to see you.”

“Stay away from her,” he barks, shielding me.

“You didn't tell her, did you?”

“Tell me what?” I ask, turning to face them. What the hell is going on?

“Blake, enough!” Jax snarls, trembling from how nervous is.

“Or what? Will you punch me? I dare you to.” he rags at him, glaring at me. “Your boyfriend opened an investigation on your parents.” The words hit me like a punch. It can't be true.

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