Page 68 of Counterpoint and Harmony

I shake my head. “You don’t need to apologize to me for being upset. And while having a girl waiting for you in your house might seem crazy to some people, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You are?” The naked vulnerability and hope in the question has me reaching for her again.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be happy to see you?”

Even though she lets me hold her again, this time she doesn’t relax into my embrace. “You said you wanted time. I was waiting for you to call, but …” She sniffs again. “And last time you asked for time you wouldn’t take my calls or answer my texts. I was trying to give you what you wanted. But I’m tired of waiting. And since I didn’t know if you would answer, I figured showing up was the best way to make sure you had to talk to me.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, and I wrap my arms tighter around her, holding her against my chest. “I’m such a moron.”

She pushes against my chest so she can tip her face back and look at me. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head, marveling at my own stupidity. “I was waiting for you to call me. I’ve been a grumpy asshole for days because I hadn’t heard from you. And all this time, you were waiting for me. And it’s my fault. Because I told you I needed time.”

She stares up at me, a range of emotions crossing her face. “What are you saying?”

With a sigh, I move us to the couch, sitting first, and then guiding her down so that she’s sitting across my thighs, her back against the arm of the couch, my arms around her. “I’m saying that I don’t like not talking to you. Not seeing you. I don’t want time away from you. Ever.”

She exhales all at once, like she’s been holding her breath. “You don’t?” Her eyes search my face, all signs of cool detachment gone. “But …”

I shake my head, not letting her finish. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m so sorry. I should’ve called. When you didn’t text me after you got home from Boise, I thought you were mad at me. That you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I was just giving you what you said you needed.”

My arms tighten around her. “I know. I get that now. Like I said, I’m an idiot.” I look up at the ceiling. “I was in shock. And I didn’t handle it well.”

She lays her hand on my face, bringing my gaze to hers. “Here’s the thing. Photographers and the media like to document my life. Yeah, I try to stay out of their way and keep a low profile. Even more since we’ve started spending time together again. I didn’t want my crazy to bleed over into your normal.”

A choked laugh makes its way past the tightness in my throat. “I think that ship sailed months ago.”

One corner of her mouth lifts. “Yeah, well, you’ve only gotten a taste. Trust me.”

The story about the photographers following her into the dressing room when she was a teenager flits through my mind, and I swallow. “Yeah. I know.”

She takes a deep breath, and I brace myself for what I know must be coming next. She just said she doesn’t want her crazy bleeding over into my life. And it’s happened twice now. This is her ending things.

So it takes a second for her actual words to register. “But I’m not willing to give you up just because of some photographers. I called Lauren and got your roommates’ phone numbers so I could come and convince you that you should give us a chance. A real chance. I don’t want to be friends with benefits or whatever we’ve been doing anymore. I still love you. I’m stillin lovewith you. And I don’t see that changing, like, ever.”

I blink at her, at the hopeful expression on her face, my mind racing, that metronome whirring once again. And I latch onto the only thing that made sense to me. “That’swhy Jason told me to come home?”

The hope dims, and she slumps, moving like she’s trying to slide off my lap as she nods. “Yeah. He said you hadn’t been staying here, but that he was pretty sure he could get you to come back without too much trouble or making it look weird. Zeke assured me that if you wouldn’t come willingly, they’d kidnap you and bring you here anyway.”

I let out a soft chuckle, imagining Zeke saying that. My arms tighten around her, holding her in place.

“Damian, let me go.” Her voice is soft, and her face is turned away from me.

Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to the base of her neck. She shivers under my lips. “Charlie, I’ve been captivated by you since that night I interrupted you playing chords in the practice room. And I fell in love with you sometime between goofing off with the Suzuki books and introducing you to my family. I’ve never stopped. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

She turns, her eyes wide and about to overflow with tears. “What?”

I pull her back against me, situating her on my lap again, and let out a sigh, relief unfurling in my chest that she relaxes against me. “You are always full of surprises, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

I give her a crooked smile. “First, I think you’re just a slightly unconventional student, since you’re older than most freshmen. But then I find out you compose.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh. This is my story now. And then it turns out you’re actually a popstar in disguise, and I think our whole relationship must’ve been a joke to you. But then you don’t ever do anything to reinforce that idea, trying to protect me, trying to give me what you think I want. Time. Space. Conversation. Affection. And at every turn I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Damian—”

I give her a look, and she lapses into silence. “I got so wrapped up in my own head, my own worries, that I didn’t even realize that I was leaving you out to dry, feeling lost and alone.” I tilt her chin up and place a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

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