Page 97 of Over the Edge

“What do you want to do now?”

“Honestly, if you’re up for it, I’d love to write something.”

“Good thing I’m behind. I have about eleven songs to finish.”

“So convenient,” I say.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been less than a week since the last time we sat at the piano together. I feel like I’ve aged years. Now I let the need to process my feelings through song bubble to the surface. I want to topple into this, the ability to pour everything bottled up in me into a stream of notes.

Evelyn pads to a side table and picks up her notebook. “We have a plan, but we can also throw away the plan. What we make tonight doesn’t have to make it on the album. It can just be whatever you need it to be. I don’t want to force you into any corners.”

“I have a feeling whatever we come up with will work perfectly.” It’s what we do. We work.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her about what happens after I leave on Monday. Right now, I just need to escape.

34

Garrett

The last note plays and Evelyn reaches over to her phone to stop the recording. “I’ll never get over this.”

I don’t think I will either. In some ways, thinking about the person I was performing and writing with Fool’s Gambit, I don’t think I've gotten over it. There's this part of me that’s been in a deep hibernation, finally yawning open. Like I was waiting for her to come along and wake me up.

I shift in my seat on the piano bench so I can properly look at her. “Me either.”

A blush blooms on the apples of her cheeks and she bites at her lower lip. “Anything else you need before tomorrow?”

I know the answer, but words fail to capture the depth of my need. I cup her cheek and kiss her. Her mouth parts for me. My hand slips to her lower back and she arches under my touch, drawing closer. I pull away for a moment and am met with wide green eyes.

“This.” My chest heaves. “This is what I need. Tell me to stop if you don’t need it too.” I need to know. I’m about to topple right into her if she doesn’t stop me now.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t stop.”

And that’s all I need to hear. Her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt and I pull at hers. Our clothes land in a heap.

I move so sitting with my back to the keys and she’s lowering to kneel between my thighs. Her fingers go to my hair, my neck, my arms. Her touch is fucking everywhere. Physical touch has never been something I crave, not like this. Not before her. It’s like she’s knitting me back together.

“Stand up,” she says, breaking away from me.

I rise from my place on the bench and she pulls at the button and zipper on my pants. She drags down the waistband a few inches before stopping.

“What is this?” she asks as her fingers ghost against the jut of my hip. She shifts back from the red heart inked into my skin.

“It’s part of a set, matching the rest of the band. We each have a card suit.”

“Why the heart?”

“Because I’m heartless,” I say. They thought it would be ironic. It was funny in the moment, but the truth was I had reached a point where I clung to that part of myself. If you're heartless, there’s less of you to break.

“You’re not heartless, you just hide it better than the rest of us. I wish I was like that,” she says with a soft, sad smile.

I pull her back, pressing her to me and planting a kiss under her ear. “Never hide part of what makes you special. You helped me be brave with that big heart of yours.”

“Garrett, tell me you need me,” she begs.

“I need you.” My lips feather against her skin. “I want to see you.”

“What do you want to see?”

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