Page 35 of Erik

“Didn’t want one. I became his father the moment he held my finger in his tiny fist. I would’ve done anything to protect him. Strike that. Iwilldo anything to ensure his happiness, that he knows he’s loved and wanted.” I pause before my voice breaks under the pressure inside my chest. Like any parent, I want my son to have what I lack.

Christine folds an arm around my shoulders. “Of course, you’ll do anything for him, as you should,” she whispers against my cheek.

I rub my nose along her neck. “He was the excuse I needed to flip the switch, you know? Having my son in my life spurred me to get rid of the drug addiction.” I bite my tongue not to confess the other vices that have lingered.

Not yet.

I run a finger inside the collar of my dress shirt, loosening its choke hold on my neck. “I’ve been clean three years, ten months, and seventeen days.”

She takes a step back, opens her mouth, snaps it shut, then blurts, “Who’s the mother? No, wait.” She buries her face in both hands, her voice, muffled, “Argh. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter.” She drops her arms, sinking her fists into her hips. “If I knew her name, I’d probably hunt her down, and end up in jail for assault, or worse.”

I chuckle, lacing my arms around her, bringing her body flush against mine. “You’re adorable.” I tuck her head under my chin.

We enjoy the view until the sun disappears in the horizon.

With a long sigh, she murmurs, "Thanks for sharing, allowing me to peek behind your mask. That's all I ask of you."

Is it all it takes? Can she forgive my sins now? My heart soars, then drops. She can’t forgive what she doesn’t know. Pity is a long way from love. I shake my head. Who's talking about love?

Like an illusionist, I pull on a mask of lightness before swirling her in my arms. "Enough talk of darkness. Mrs. Giry is preparing a banquet for us." I drop an innocent peck on the tip of her nose, but she seals her lips to mine. Our kiss turns scorching in a heartbeat. I pull her lower lip between my teeth, and she moans. I grunt, “I’d love to skip dinner, but we’ll need our strength.”

Arm in arm, we amble to the house. Once inside, I open the door to the music room, and she steps ahead of me. She sits beside me on the bench as I press the keys on the grand piano. After a couple of hits by Muse of Darkness, I play something that’s always on my mind.

She widens her eyes. “Oh, that’s my song.”

I grin. “I suppose.”

I sing her verses.

Like a fallen angel who’s mourned too long

For your own sins and for those you lost

#

She covers her mouth, gasping through the fingers. She whispers, “You remember the lyrics?”

“Can’t stop thinking about your song. Who’s the guy you wrote it for?”

“You.”

One single word, pregnant with possibilities, sends my stupid heart thumping against my ribs.

She adds, “It’s calledAll you ask of me.

I kiss her cheek before singing the next part.

You’ve forgotten to dare, to dream

Let me teach your heart to trust once more

I believe in you

If only you believed in me.

She furrows her brow and shadows darken her expression. “You followed me around the set, before you came to play my guitar that day.”

Her tone doesn’t accuse, but her slouched shoulders make my blood boil at my own stupidity. Words can’t turn back time, but I owe her a heartfelt apology. “I am sorry. Is there a way I can make up for that?”

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