Master Debater

32. Willa

I shook out my hands as I paced the hallway in the basement of the Massachusetts Avenue building, back and forth, back and forth. I blew raspberries with my lips for good measure, and since my nerves were causing every single cell in my body to riot, I trilled my tongue and did some elevator slides.

Okay, the voice and throat were officially all warmed up and ready to go, so why was the rest of my body holding a protest? That brought about the image of my internal organs forming a picket line with raised posterboard signs. My lungs would be holding up ones that read, “My body, my choice, and I’m choosing to cut off your oxygen supply until this is over.”

My hands were saying something along the lines of, “We will not be silent, but we’re also going to tremble while the noise is getting made.” And my stomach had made a stand against borders by storming the gates and crossing into my throat’s territory.

Then there was my heart, lifting the biggest sign of all, as it had the most valid reason to protest what I was about to do. “Make war, not love. Love is bullshit.”

Recording the demo put its already shaky health at stake for sure, as it would expose the mushy weak organ far more than it wanted to be after everything it’d been through this past week.

I placed my hand over it, trying to push strength into the both of us. You let in a man, knowing full well he could do serious damage, but you also made a stand. I wasn’t sure it’d feel that way when I sang the lyrics that’d been inspired by Nate. In fact, I was sure it’d be like yanking the stitches out of a poorly sewn doll that was about to fall apart as it was. But the both of us would survive, because Donna Summer told us we could, and I had no reason not to believe her.

Rashida, who funny enough, reminded me of Donna Summer in a lot of ways, with her fabulous dark curls and powerhouse voice, stuck her head out of the recording booth. “You ready?”

My stomach did its roving thing again, bottoming out and hitting the floor this time. “The emotions behind the music are there, anyway.”

“Aww, hon,” she said, and I held up a hand, because if I let myself go there and request the comfort I needed, I’d fall apart. I wanted to hug her, and it’d be nice, but the person I most wanted to embrace and hold me wasn’t here and that circled me right back to falling apart. So I bobbed and weaved, dodging that hit for now. Later, I’d be too tired, and it’d hit me, but I had a demo to record first.

“I… Let’s… do this.” I flashed a thumbs up to make up for my faltering voice, although the fact it was already failing me seemed like a bad omen.

I forced one foot in front of the other, my gaze seeking out a trash can in the recording studio in case my urge to retch turned out to be a legit threat. Rashida introduced me, and I nodded and repeated names that immediately flitted in one ear and out the other.

My rapid pulse filled my head, and through the rush of it, I thanked everyone for coming to help me make my dreams come true.

“Your pianist is running a little late,” Rashida said, and panic must’ve bled into my features, since she reached out and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll be here any minute. Why don’t you go on in, play with the microphones a bit, and get set up?”

On autopilot, I did as she suggested. Over this past week, we’d had enough late-night sessions that the entire story about Nate had spilled out. I wasn’t sure how much she’d conveyed to Angela, but I hadn’t heard from her. Or Nate. We hadn’t even had a run-in at the duplex, something I was as sad about as I was glad.

Not like it would stop hurting either way. Even the word pianist gutted me. If only I could tell my past self not to feature the instrument so heavily. Although, it also made it what it needed to be. Ugh.

Once again, I focused on the fact I’d stood up for myself, letting that knowledge fill up the open wound in the center of my chest. It was sort of like stuffing it full of cotton. Sure, it’d suck up most of the blood, but it didn’t do jack shit to mend the main problem.

That’d come in time. Please, please let it come in time.

I stepped up to the microphone, belting out the first notes of the song. Like when I’d auditioned for Berklee in the first place, my muscle memory took over, and thank goodness for that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the recording studio, but the lights had shifted from lighting up the room to nearly blinding me. I squinted and held up a hand to shield my vision. “Is he here yet?”

“Yes,” Rashida replied. “I’m sending him in now.”

My anxiety over my pianist not showing eased, so it could skitter away to another place and worry over my part of the music yet again. The door opened, and I opened my mouth to greet Ian, who’d been practicing with me all week.

Only Nate stepped into the room instead.

Which was crazy, and not possible, so I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Blinked again. “Where’s my pianist?”

Nate just stared for a second or two, and did he not realize I’d be in here? Oh no. That was embarrassing and awkward, and holy shit, it hurt so damn bad to see him. While he looked as hot as ever, his eyes were bloodshot and his posture less upright than usual. He must not be sleeping with all the stress of the case, and I couldn’t turn off how much I cared about him and his well-being, even if it ached like a bitch.

“Someone paid him a shit-ton of money not to show,” Nate said, and I lowered my eyebrows, struggling to make sense of what he’d said. Did this mean Rashida had called Nate in as a replacement? Why wouldn’t she warn me? Nothing made sense anymore, probably because I was sleeping as little as Nate was.

“Who’d do that? I’m so sorry that you got roped into this.” I charged toward the door in the name of taking control of the task, even though the truth was I couldn’t share this same tiny space with Nate anymore. Breathing the same oxygen instead of sharing it, inhaling his skin instead of tasting it, standing feet away from his body instead of burrowing myself into it—it was just too hard.

I’d used up all my strength walking away from him the first time, and I didn’t have anything left. If he so much as reached for me, I’d fold in on myself like a house of cards that was only pretending to be a house. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” I called in Nate’s general direction, not daring more than that brief almost-glance.

Strong fingers wrapped around my forearm, and time screeched to a halt, the skipped seconds all piling up in the space between us, where they hung for an endless eternity.

“Willa,” Nate said, sending the clock ticking again. Everything inside me soared and crashed at the same time, so mixed up in his presence I’d never function right again. “I paid him a shit-ton of money to leave, even though I’m pretty sure I could just growled, and he would’ve run a hole right through the brick wall. That kid doesn’t get to accompany you when you make your first demo—nobody else does. That’s my job.”

He tugged on my arm, spinning me to face him. “Anyway, I really want it to belong to me. Just like I’m hoping…”

The break in his voice got me. I couldn’t not look then, sure I was imagining the croak of emotion. Whoosh went what was left of my oxygen, as those familiar brown eyes locked me in place.

“Damn, I missed you. I knew it, and I felt it, the overwhelming proof of it impossible to deny. But now I’m looking at you, and fuck. Did you get even prettier?” Slowly, he reached up, his warm palm, and enveloped the side of my face as salt water trickled from the corners of my eyes. Which was weird, given I was sure I’d decided not to cry over this man anymore.

It took all my willpower to tear my gaze from him and glance toward the booth, but his firm hand turned my face back to his.

“Don’t worry, we’re alone,” Nate said. “I didn’t have to pay them. Rashida’s scary enough to demand an extra fifteen minutes in the booth without anyone questioning it.”

My lower lip quivered, and I rolled it in, pressing it tight to my upper to trap the sob that left my throat too tight. “What is this, Nate? Are you really so determined to win that you’d come wreck my demo?”

“Is that what you honestly think of me?” He huffed a sound that was too humorless to be a laugh, and yet it wasn’t quite a sigh. He raked his fingers through his dark hair, mussing the waves and giving him the wild look of the feral man who’d driven me to heights filled with more pleasure than I’d ever experienced before. Only this version was slightly tortured and tiptoeing toward domestication, as if he were ready to hand the leash over, and did I dare presume he might hand it to me? “Of course you think that because I make everything about me.”

“Not everything,” I said, the answer instinctive and true. “Not… You’re very giving in some areas. The bedroom, for instance.”

“God, I’m an idiot.”

Not the reply I expected, so I just held my breath, waiting to see how it’d play out.

“I used to think that remaining firm when people made their dramatic exits made me the strong, logical one. I’ve also never been good at apologizing. I think it’s a combination of pride, and that in court, slipping and implying guilt would be the absolute worst thing I could ever do. What I realized, though, is that the person who puts themselves out there and takes that big leap by letting their emotions free, they’re the ones who are brave. They’re the ones who win the things in life that are most important.”

Nate dragged his thumb across my cheekbone, the move I’d once become accustomed to sending an extraordinary shockwave through my system. “Things like cuddling, and someone to share the ups and downs of life with. They’re the ones that reap the biggest reward, one that’s so unattainable, I decided it didn’t exist for me, so that I wouldn’t have to pursue it. I love you, Willa. I’m miserable without you. I called up my uncles and accepted their help so that I could be here for you, because I knew that if I didn’t come here and show you that I want to be there when all your dreams come true, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

My head swam, and I gripped onto his biceps so that if dizziness got the best of me, I wouldn’t fall to the floor. Plus, you know, biceps. “You love me?”

“I do. So fucking much, I’m pretty sure my heart’s about to explode.” He took one of my hands and moved it to the spot over his heart so I could feel it thumping away, as rapidly as my own beat in my chest. “I was too hardheaded that night to hear you when you told me that you cared about me, but I hope that you haven’t ridded yourself of the notion yet, and that you’ll give me another chance.”

“You called your uncles?”

“I don’t even care if they’re lying about why they want to help. Rylee’s happy, and I have more time on my hands to apologize to my girlfriend. That’s right, I said girlfriend. See, we never officially broke up, so you and I are still together.”

His usual certainty was there in the words, but his eyes betrayed a hint of worry and doubt, that maybe I’d contradict him. Was he actually going to let me if I did? As hard as it was to believe, he would, I could tell.

But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. “But you’re going to give Gil and Bobby a real chance, even if you keep your guard up, right?”

This time, the laugh was deep and joy-filled, and just as intoxicating and addictive as he was. “For you, Willa Trainor, I’ll give them a real chance. But only if you give me a real one. Will you forgive me for being an ass?”

My heart was an uncaged bird, miraculously healed by the words he’d spoken and free to fly. “Well, you’ve left me with no choice. I have a demo to record, and you’re the only pianist around.”

He dipped his head and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The only penis in the room too. Feels like it needs to be said. Just this one time.”

“I guess, but as you know, I’ve got a giant box of them in my bedr?—”

Nate crashed his mouth to mine, and I glided my arms up to his shoulders and then linked them behind his neck. His hands went to my butt, and I bounced myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist as he boosted me higher, catching me just like I knew he would.

A laugh spilled out as I peppered kisses across his face. There was movement in the booth again, the people obviously ready to get on with recording the demo. Now that I had my personal piano player back, so was I.

But there was one more thing that needed to be said, and I wanted it on the record. “I love you too, Nathan Fox. And you should know that this song we’re about to play? It’s dedicated to you.”