“Get in the damn car, Gabe.”
So no tears — just a really pissed off freshman. Great. Wonderful. What a terrific freaking trade-off. Made my whole day, dammit!
Grumbling, I got into the car and buckled my seatbelt. We drove in silence, and then it started to rain.
Yes, it was slowly becoming the worst day ever.
Saylor didn’t say a word to me the entire ride. And it wasn’t a short ride to campus — with traffic it took at least twenty minutes. By the time we pulled onto campus I was ready to scratch my way out of the car so I could be free from the anxiety.
Saylor passed her dorm… She passed mine… and parked in front of the music building.
She turned off the car. “Come on.”
Sighing, I followed her into the building and up the stairs, down the hall, to our private room. I walked into the room and waited for her to sit on the bench, but instead of sitting, she went behind me, pushed me toward the piano, then pulled down on my arms, forcing me to sit in front of it.
“Today we’re going to trade,” she whispered in my ear.
“Oh yeah?” I stared at the keys. “How so?”
“You said you’d make up for the second tear today, but instead, I’m going to make up for yours.”
“But I haven’t cried.”
“Just because we aren’t crying on the outside doesn’t mean we aren’t completely wrecked on the inside.” Saylor’s hands rested on my shoulders. “I figure you have more than one tear I can make up for, and even though I’m not the cause of them, I know exactly what you need to feel better.”
“What?” My voice was a hollow whisper as I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Play.” She lifted my hands on the piano. “Let it go, Gabe.”
And just like that. I played.
For two hours straight.
While Saylor sat silently in the corner and waited.
And she was right, damn but she was right, because I did have tears. I had gashes and scars that were so horrendous I sometimes felt like the monster I’m sure Princess’s parents saw me as.
When I hit the last note, a weight lifted. “How’d you know?”
“Musicians.” Saylor got up off the floor and approached me, laying her hand on my shoulder. “We share the same soul.”
Slowly, I raised my head to look at her. “When I look… I see you. Beyond the music, beyond your smile, your touch, your laugh.” My voice caught. “I see you.”
“I see you too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Baring your soul to someone is like purposefully stabbing yourself in the heart and waiting for the person you love to stop the bleeding —Wes M.
Saylor
My hands shook as I held on to him. As if he was leaving me — because that’s exactly the look he had on his face. Like he wanted to run, like he was going to run.
I didn’t know how to help. All I knew is that deep in his soul, music was his therapy — his everything.
So I brought him home.
To his real home — at the piano.