Chapter 12 #3
The inside was dusty and dim, sheets covering the furniture like ghosts.
But he didn't stop there—he led me through to a back room that must have been his grandmother's music room.
Instruments hung on the walls, covered in cobwebs.
A piano sat in the corner, its keys yellowed with age.
And leaning against the wall was a guitar case, newer than everything else, clearly something he'd brought here himself.
"I keep a guitar here." He said, releasing my hand to crouch down and open the case.
"For when I need to remember why I started playing in the first place.
" He pulled out a beautiful acoustic guitar, its wood worn smooth from years of use, and settled onto a dusty stool, cradling it like an old friend.
"Will you play for me?" I asked, settling onto a sheet-covered loveseat across from him, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"That's the plan." He strummed a few chords, tuning by ear, his fingers finding their places with the ease of long practice.
"This is, um... this is something I wrote.
A long time ago. Never played it for anyone.
" He looked up at me, his amber eyes vulnerable.
"It's about her. My grandmother. About this place.
" He swallowed hard, his throat working.
"It's probably not very good." He added quickly, self-deprecation creeping back in.
"Remy." I said his name firmly, waiting until he met my eyes. "Play." I commanded softly.
He took a breath. Then he started to play. The song was nothing like the upbeat, crowd-pleasing music I'd heard him play at the Rusty Hook. It was quiet, melancholy, achingly beautiful. His voice, when he started to sing, was different too—rougher, rawer, stripped of all the showmanship.
He sang about a boy learning to fish in the morning mist. About a grandmother's hands on guitar strings. About a porch where the fireflies gathered at dusk. About losing the one person who ever saw him clearly, and spending years trying to find that feeling again.
By the time the last chord faded, I had tears streaming down my face.
He looked up at me, his expression terrified and hopeful all at once.
"That was..." I had to stop, had to swallow past the lump in my throat.
"Remy, that was beautiful." I stood and crossed to him, kneeling in front of him so I could look up into his face.
"That's the real you. That right there. That's who you should be all the time.
" I reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek—I hadn't even noticed he was crying too.
"You think so?" His voice was small, uncertain, nothing like his usual confident drawl, his amber eyes searching my face with a desperate hope that made my heart ache, the guitar still cradled in his lap like a shield.
"I know so." I stood and pulled him to his feet, wrapping my arms around him in a hug that he melted into, his face buried in my hair, his shoulders shaking with silent tears or silent laughter—I couldn't tell which.
"Thank you." He murmured against my hair, his arms tight around me. "For making me do this. For seeing me. For..." He pulled back, his hands coming up to frame my face. "For being you." He finished, his amber eyes bright with emotion.
This time when he kissed me, it was different from before. Confident. Certain. Like he finally knew who he was and what he wanted.
I kissed him back with equal certainty. We stayed at the cabin until the stars came out, sitting on the porch with his guitar between us, trading stories and secrets and pieces of ourselves.
He played me more songs—some old, some new, some half-finished things he'd been afraid to complete.
I told him about Marguerite, about growing up in the bayou, about the loneliness I'd felt before three Alphas stumbled into my life.
"I'm glad I stopped running." He said as we walked back to the motorcycle, the night thick and warm around us. "At least for tonight." He squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my skin.
"Just for tonight?" I raised an eyebrow, a teasing note in my voice, my fingers still intertwined with his as we walked through the darkness, the sound of frogs and crickets filling the warm night air around us.
"Okay, maybe longer than tonight." He grinned, and it was his real grin—the one that reached his eyes, the one that made his dimples appear naturally instead of strategically. "Maybe a lot longer." He admitted, ducking his head with uncharacteristic shyness.
The ride back to my cabin was slower than the ride out, like neither of us wanted the night to end. When he pulled up to my porch, he cut the engine and sat there for a moment, his back warm against my chest, my arms still wrapped around his waist.
"I had a really good time tonight." He said softly, turning his head slightly so I could hear him. "The best time I've had in... maybe ever." He reached down and covered my hands with his.
"Me too." I pressed a kiss to his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling him shiver at the contact. "Thank you for showing me the real you." I murmured against his back.
"Thank you for wanting to see him." He turned around to face me, still straddling the bike, his amber eyes soft in the moonlight.
"I know I'm not... I know I've got a lot of work to do.
A lot of walls to take down. But with you.
.." He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch impossibly gentle.
"With you, I want to try." He finished, his voice rough with sincerity.
"That's all I ask." I leaned in and kissed him softly, sweetly, a promise for more to come, my hands resting against his chest where I could feel his heart beating steady and strong beneath my palms. He walked me to my door, his hand warm in mine, and stood on the porch looking at me like I was something miraculous.
"Thursday." He said, echoing what I'd said to Harper. "The meeting. I'll see you then." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my jaw.
"Try not to start any fights before then." I teased, throwing his own worry back at him gently, reaching out to brush a curl from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his warm skin.
"No promises." His grin was crooked, almost shy. "Fontenot's got a very punchable face." He joked, but there was no real heat in it.
"Remy." I gave him a look, mock-stern but with warmth underneath, my hands on my hips as I stood on the porch step above him, the moonlight catching the mischief dancing in his amber eyes.
"I'm kidding. Mostly." He laughed, then sobered, his amber eyes searching my face. "Artemis... thank you. For tonight. For everything." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead, soft and reverent.
Then he was gone, the sound of his motorcycle fading into the night, leaving me standing on my porch with my heart full and my lips tingling.
Gumbo rumbled from the darkness.
"I know." I told him, pressing my hand to my chest where something warm was blooming. "Two down. One to go." I smiled into the night.
Silas was next.
I wondered what secrets he would show me.