Page 106 of Sounds Like Love

“Sebastian,” he introduced himself. Gigi came up and handed him a towel to dry off before he tracked water through the whole building.

Mom’s eyes went wide. “Oh.” It was like she wasn’t sure if he was a ghost or an apparition. “Roman’s son,” she added, a little slower. “I … did I know you were here?”

“He’s the musician who flew here to work with me,” I supplied. “Who I’ve been with for the past two weeks.”

“Oh, right, right.” She nodded, trying to sound unbothered. She told Sebastian, “I take it you also didn’t make it inland before the storm. I’m glad you’re here, though. There’s no safer place.”

“Thank you,” he replied, patting himself dry. “I—I’m sorry. That song you were playing …”

“We heard you from the lobby,” I explained.

“It’s nothing.” She waved her hand dismissively. “A song an old friend and I used to toy with, but we never finished it. I guess it was just on the tip of my brain tonight—I couldn’t think of what else to play.”

That seemed impossible. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Why?”

“Because …”

If I told her that it was the song that brought Sasha and me together—the one that started it all—I wasn’t sure how much she’d believe. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how muchIbelieved, the longer my brain sat quiet now. I could almost convince myself that we had never had a connection at all, and that the inches between us didn’t feel like miles now that we were no longer in each other’s heads.

I glanced over at Sasha. His face tipped up to my mom on the stage. He must have felt me looking, because his eyes snapped over to mine. And I could still see a glimpse of it there. Those moments, that intimacy, where I felt seen and comforted and warm. I thought the emptiness between us might be unbridgeable. That we’d never trust the very thing that bonded us. But I was wrong.

There had to be a reason my mom knew this song.

There had to be a reason that it was us the song had found.

“Because we wrote a song very similar to it,” Sasha filled in for me, his voice frank, “and I think I’d like to know if we plagiarized it.”

“Plagiarized?” I echoed, incredulous. I tugged him toward me so I could hiss, “We didn’t plagiarize!”

To which he replied in an equally low, albeit sharper voice, “If your mom knows it, then you had to, too. Maybe I only heard it because it echoed inyourhead.”

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It was inyours, too.”

Mom played the chorus melody again, thoughtful. “I doubt it, unless Ami copyrighted it after she left, but she wouldn’t have finished it without me,” she added, a little softer.

“You wrote it together?” I asked.

But at the same time, Sasha asked something far more startling—“Did you say Ami?”

Mom gave him a peculiar look. “Ami McKellen, yes. Why?”

His voice cracked as he said, “That’s my mom.”

Mom’s eyelids fluttered at the news. Her mouth twisted a little, as if she was unsure whether to frown or smile. “Sasha,” she stated. “Your mom called you Sasha.”

He looked surprised. “She … yes. She did.”

“Sasha,” she repeated again, sliding off the bench. She said the name like it was a spell against time, or maybe against sadness. “Sasha.” A spell to bring someone home. “You’re Sasha. Hank—Hank!” she cried, rising to her feet.

Dad poked his head out from between the curtains again. “Huh?”

“Ami’s,” she said, looking back to him while pointing at Sasha, who was beginning to look more and more baffled. “He’s Ami’s!” Then she sat down on the stage and reached out to grab his face so she could study it. “Let me get a better look at you. Oh yes. You have her eyes.”

“I do?” Sasha asked, his voice quiet. He shifted uncomfortably, because there were a lot of people in this room. My parents weren’t the kind of people who cared about privacy when it was some sort of joy.

Dad hurried up beside Mom and squatted down behind her. He nodded. “Spitting image.”

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