Page 40 of Heart Strings
“I’m sorry for calling you a hypocrite.”
“You were right, though. Even if I didn’t want to hear it.” Lo steps forward, standing between my knees. “I never wanted to make you choose between me and your future. I’d break it off before I held you back.”
How could she think such a thing when she was the reason for my success? From encouraging me to perform original songs to recording video and helping me expand my online presence, Lo had helped my dreams come true. I just want to support her as she works toward her goals, too.
“You didn’t need to cut me out of your life completely.”
Her lovely hazel eyes drift across my face. We lost so much time together.
“Aidan, it was the only way I could let that wound heal. If we’d kept in touch, if I’d let myself listen to your music, it would rip the scab off every time and dump salt over it. I had to quit you cold turkey. It doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”
That’s a lot to take in, but my brain snags on one detail. “You’ve never listened to the album?”
“Only what I couldn’t avoid. I blocked you on Spotify,” she confesses, looking down at the counter instead of my face.
When people wrong Cielo, they are excised from her life like a malignancy. She protects her heart with clinical detachment and ruthless precision. When a tumor is removed, the surgeon cuts around the growth, all the way to the healthy tissue. Theysacrifice a chunk of good with the bad, as a preventative measure. My songs were cut out right alongside me.
Hurt shines in her eyes when they finally meet mine. “Whether it was about us or someone new, it would break my heart.”
I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers until we share our breath, steadying us both.
“The whole album is about you, Lo. Every song. Why do you think it’s calledHeaven-Bound?”
The title track isn’t about being bound for heaven as some destination. It’s about being bound to her.
Lo is the only woman who inspires me to find the ugly beautiful truth, songwriting pulled from the depths of heartache and the heights of adoration. It’s plain as day that I’m still in love with her. How she feels about me remains murky. Not so long ago, she asked that we treat each other as strangers, but we know each other better than anyone. We’ve exposed too much of our souls to the other to pretend this bond doesn’t exist.
“Our lives aren’t any less complicated now,” Lo says. “If anything, it’s worse. You’re on your way to becoming a household name and touring. I still have my residency to focus on.”
I lean back to see her whole face. “So that’s it?”
Lo sighs. “My parents loved each other, they really did. But my dad worked so hard to provide for us. Long hours and constant business trips. My mother would treasure the expensive gifts he brought home as an apology for being away, but I knew damn well that she didn’t care about material things: She just wanted her husband home. It was inevitable that they grew apart, but they were in denial and drew it out for years. She resented him for being gone; he couldn’t get over the physical andemotional distance. He’d come home and it felt like he was a distant relative just visiting, not my dad who technically still lived with us.”
“You don’t believe you can have it all,” I surmise. The idea breaks my heart.
“That’s nothing but a fairy tale. Sooner or later, reality will come crashing in. My mother didn’t want to wake up to an empty bed that was supposed to be full anymore. She was lonely, overextended because she was still doing it all on her own, even if my dad kept us in financial comfort. Caring for a sick kid, running the household. I can’t blame her: Why feel lonely when you’re in a relationship? Splitting up was the natural conclusion.”
No wonder Cielo felt so pessimistic. She’d seen her parents’ marriage dissolve, and in some way, she felt responsible because her dad only left so they could afford her treatment. And because he was scared.
“My dad sacrificed being close to his family in Oaxaca to come to the States so he could pursue a better life. Everything he did was to give me a brighter future, even when it meant not being there for me and my mom. Even when it led to them getting divorced. I have to focus on my residency, or it was all for nothing.”
From what I understand, it sounds like the classic “first-generation kid” pressure, to make their immigrant parents’ sacrifices worthwhile and uplift their community. My heart goes out to her for being put under that unique kind of stress.
“Lo, you put so much pressure on yourself and somehow you can’t see how remarkable you are. You’re brilliant and disciplined and you work your arse off—and you deserve something good just for yourself. Not for validation of your parents’struggles, or for the betterment of mankind. Just for you. Take a breather and enjoy an indulgence every now and then.”
Lo slides both hands up my thighs and my bloodstream ignites with desire. Although her fingers smooth gently over the towel that covers me, I can sense desperation in her touch. “When I do treat myself, it’s only temporary.”
Temporaryis an opening. Her thinking may not have changed, but mine has. And I’m determined to make her see that we’re worth trying for.
I frame her face with my hands. “Then let it be temporary. Let me remind you how to feel good.”
“How long? The wedding?”
That’s not nearly long enough.
“If that’s how long I get, I’ll take it.”
Chapter 16
