Page 44 of Strings Attached
“What about what I want?” He claps a hand to his chest. There’s a desperate edge to his voice now. “I was up all night andI’ve thought through things. I’ll work it out with my parents. If they can’t accept us, that’s on them.”
I walk closer to him again. Golden leaves spiral down around us. The trees are almost bare now, stripped down to their essence like this moment is stripping us down to ours.
“Dean,” I breathe as I take his hand. “Take it from someone who followed her passion right to misery and obligation.” I run my thumb over his fingers, along his wrist, memorizing the warmth I’m choosing to let go. “I feel about you—” The words catch in my throat because they’re too big, too real to say out loud. “God, Dean, I care about you more than I’ve let myself care about anything that wasn’t my sister or my cello basically ever. But this burning we feel now…” I press my hand against his chest where I can feel his heartbeat, steady as a metronome. “If we let it consume everything around you, if it burns bridges you might never rebuild… then I could never live with that.”
The haunted expression that crosses his face nearly breaks my resolve. But I’ve seen that same look in old photos of Alex, in the moments when she thought I wasn’t watching—the weight of choosing between what you want and what you know is right.
I’d stayed up late with Alex and Ethan, nursing cups of Comforting Chamomile that grew cold as they answered my questions about Dean’s family and obligations. About just how much Dean stands to lose.
His parents aren’t just any council members—they’re part of the national magical governing body, an influence that shapes entire communities. This isn’t just about family dinners and holiday gatherings, though that alone would be enough to make me step back.
But no, this is about Dean’s entire future, about the delicate balance of power and trust he’s spent years building. The realization sits heavy in my chest. My presence in his life would not only strain family bonds, it could unravel the very fabricof his carefully constructed world. And just like Alex chose my future over her own dreams all those years ago, I have to choose Dean’s future over my selfish desire to be part of it.
Truth settles like an early winter frost. My career needs me and Dean’s family and this community need him. Jules staked his future on mine. Our fans are waiting, our manager’s calling, and there are contracts I’ve already signed. I can’t just vanish into a town most people don’t even know exists. Maybe Dean and I were foolish to pursue whatever this was between us. A fall fling? Is that even a thing? God, I didn’t even do a fling right. But even thinking that word makes me want to sob, because I know Dean is more than a passing infatuation.
Something in Dean’s eyes breaks my heart all over again. “Missy, listen to me, I?—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off before he can say whatever wonderful, terrible thing is trying to escape. “Just because a melody is beautiful, doesn’t mean you can capture it forever.”
He grits his teeth. “People do that all the time. Everyone records music. You’re preparing to record an album right now.”
I sigh but force myself to keep his gaze. “And do the recordings have the same magic as hearing someone play the same song live?”
He freezes, the way autumn leaves still when the wind suddenly dies. For a long moment, the only movement is the subtle shift of magic in the surrounding air. In his eyes, understanding dawns. He knows I’m not backing down. His shoulders settle into a resignation that breaks my heart more thoroughly than any anger could have.
Because this is Dean—my impossible warlock who bends rules to protect young musicians’ dreams but stands rigid in defense of his community. Who tastes like autumn winds and laughs like the ocean crashing against shore. Who makes magic sing in harmony with my music in ways I’ll never fullyunderstand. And he knows, just as I do, that some songs are ephemeral. That their beauty lies precisely in their temporary nature, knowing that they exist only in that perfect moment before the world changes key.
“I have one request.”
Dean nods without his shoulders loosening. His brow has bunched into a riot of wrinkles. I want to hug him so badly. Or tease him. Or tell him I love him too. Foolishly. Enough to keep me from selfishly pursuing my happiness but potentially ruining his.
“May I keep the knowledge of magic?” The words spill loose and wildly from me. “It lets me actually know about Alex’s world and I’ll keep the secret, I promise.”
Something shimmers in his eyes—maybe magic, maybe tears—before he answers gruffly. “Of course you can.”
“Thank you.” The whisper barely carries over the waves’ roar. Another silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we aren’t saying. “So, I guess this is it, then?”
He swallows hard and turns his face away where I can’t see it. When he lifts his face again, the expression is completely gone. “Unless you’d like to trip over me again? For old times’ sake?” He smiles, but it’s forced.
I release a shaky laugh that’s fifty percent nerves and fifty percent an attempt to not cry. “Would that result in me getting a lecture from a grumpy warlock in his office?”
His smile softens into something more genuine, though the sadness lingers in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’d have to settle for a slightly less grumpy warlock these days. Someone’s been a terrible influence on my carefully cultivated scowl.”
“It’s comforting to know I’ve done at least some good during my visit.”
“More than you know.”
His voice carries a depth that makes my chest ache—because I understand exactly what he means. I want to tell him he’s done the same for me. That he’s shown me how to find magic in ordinary moments, that he’s helped me rediscover what music felt like before it became weighted with expectations and obligations. How his carefully maintained control made every genuine smile, every unguarded moment, feel like discovering a rare pearl.
But speaking that aloud would only make this harder for both of us. I force myself to smile. “Try not to be too cranky with the tourists without me.”
“I make no promises.” He reaches out like he might brush his knuckles over my cheeks, then lets his hand fall. “Goodbye, Missy.”
I turn away before I can change my mind, before I let my traitorous heart choose my happiness over his well-being. The rising sun paints everything in shades of gold and it feels cruel. Wrong. Why isn’t rain falling now? Why isn’t the world crying the tears I’m fighting?
Behind me, I swear I hear him whisper something that sounds like ‘I love you,’ but it might just be the wind rattling the remaining leaves, carrying away the last notes of a song we never got to finish.
Missy
