Chapter 43 Stevie #2
Glue our pieces back together.
Ten minutes later, my phone vibrates from the nightstand. I ignore it. It’s probably Misty, sending me the customary round of holiday-themed GIFs.
When it vibrates for a second time, I finally sigh and give in. Rolling over with a groan, I snatch it off the bedside table.
I click open the screen with a trembling hand, blinking through the wall of grief.
And my heart stops.
My Christian: Dear Stevie…
My Christian: I once wrote a story about a girl.
I stare.
Two text messages from Lex stare back at me.
My stomach pitches when his bubbles start to move, and it nearly implodes when a big chunk of text materializes on the screen.
My Christian: It was about me too, but every writer knows the best stories begin with a girl.
And she was mine. She was beautiful of course.
On the day we first met, when I rear-ended her at a stoplight with my ridiculous sports car, I couldn’t help but notice how pretty her eyes were as she glared daggers at me in the middle of the street.
Our story never had a real ending. It stalled out with an ominous “to be continued” stamped across the last page, all because of one choice—my choice. And that’s where everything unraveled.
My eyes fly over the message, and I can’t catch my breath.
Another one comes through.
My Christian: I like to tell myself the choice was for her.
For the greater good. But that’s not the whole truth.
I was a coward. I could have reached out, I could have called her back or sent her flowers, but I didn’t.
Instead, I funneled those feelings of self-loathing and regret into a screenplay, giving her the starring role.
I told myself it was for me. My own version of therapy, a way to counteract the guilt I carried for abandoning that girl without a goodbye.
But deep down, I wanted her to see it. I wondered if she’d despise me even more or if she’d dig through the layers and find the truth.
It’s all in there if she looked hard enough.
Everything I felt for her, for myself, is buried within those pages, brought to life for the world to see.
Tears streak across my vision.
I did find the truth.
I saw it, felt it, branded it on my heart.
But I thought I was too late.
The bubbles dance up and down, another message pinging to life.
My Christian: The story started with a boy and his dream.
His first big break. But with every break comes a collapse—a cost. Each high he reached was followed by a fall, and every success chipped away at the person he used to be.
Fame has a way of chewing you up, and before long, the dream started to feel more like a trap.
The boy who thought he could conquer the world found himself buried under the weight of it.
My Christian: And then came the girl. She didn’t sweep in like a savior and rescue him from his demons.
She walked in quietly, unannounced, like she’d always been there, slipping into his world with eyes that saw past the mask he wore.
She didn’t care about his money or the roles that made him famous.
She cared about the cracks, the gaps, the missing pieces he was too afraid to show.
She wanted to fill them. Where everyone else saw the flashy exterior, she saw the person underneath.
And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe he could be… more.
I sit up in bed, rereading his words, my pulse in a tailspin as hot tears lance my eyes.
My attention returns to the screen.
My Christian: The truth is I never thought I’d find anything worth living for—not after I walked away from the only girl who ever truly saw me.
I was convinced my story ended with that last scene, the credits rolling and the screen fading to black.
But then she came back. And now, more than anything, I’m desperate to rewrite the ending.
I cup a hand over my mouth, the texts blurring through a wet visor.
My Christian: You know I’ve always envied you, Nicks.
You never needed to hide your truth with the guise of acting or behind words and texts.
You’ve always been honest. So I had no reason to believe you weren’t telling the truth when you told me you wanted to stay.
That you loved me. I couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t make it make sense, because there was no reality in which I thought that the lonely artist would end up with the shining star.
But it’s time for me to be honest now—to give you my truth.
No more pretenses, no hidden messages. Just me. Asking for another chance.
My Christian: Because I love you too.
A sob escapes, the sound sneaking through the cracks in my fingers. Tears stream down my cheeks as I gape at the screen.
My thumbs hover over the keypad.
Words jumble, and thoughts scatter.
But before I can piece together a response or hit the Call button…I hear it.
Notes.
Chords.
Music.
All the air leaves me as I jump off the bed and face my partially open bedroom door. A song travels up the staircase, down the hall, and makes its way into my ears. The song is so familiar, I feel it filling every channel, every pocket, every inch of me.
The cell phone slips from my hand, landing on the mattress.
My teddy bear tumbles to the floor.
I run.
I race down the creaky hallway, past bedroom doors, down the carpeted stairs, to where he sits behind the old upright piano, his fingers pressed to the keys, his voice a forgotten treasure I feared I’d never hear again.
I haven’t heard him sing since opening night.
I’ve missed it. I’ve craved his rich baritone with vibrato so pure it brings more tears to my eyes.
Lex sits on the weathered bench, perched in the corner of our living room. His hands caress the keys, the planks of his back flexing and stretching as he pours everything he has into the song. Into our song.
“Come What May.”
I watch him play through glossy eyes, and I’m taken back to that stage. Him watching me as I was lowered on the swing. The look on his face, intense and vulnerable. Me feeling confused, torn between reality and fantasy as we danced and harmonized and kissed.
Sing out this song.
I’ll be there by your side.
I’m here.
I’ve always been here.
My voice splits into lovelorn pieces as I whisper the lyrics along with him, my quiet melodies fusing with his. And when the last chord rings out, Lex pauses, his fingers sliding off the keys in slow motion as silence fills the space.
Silence and truth.
He turns on the bench.
Faces me.
A smile curls his lips when he sees me standing there with my hands clasped over my heart, tear stains leaving glimmers on my cheeks.
“I thought you didn’t play,” I croak out in a trance, a daydream.
His smile twitches. “I said not well.”
Not another second passes before I’m launching myself at him.
I spill into his embrace the moment he stands, wrapping my arms around his middle and burying my face against his chest. My body shakes, emotion expelling in heartfelt waves.
He sighs into my hair, pressing his chin to the top of my head as his arms hold me back. They cradle me, squeezing tight.
When I pull back, my eyes lift, locking on his.
He strokes the hair away from my face, cups my cheek in his palm. “I’m so sorry.”
“How?” I can hardly speak. Can’t spit the words out.
He swallows, drops his forehead to mine.
“I figured you’d be here, so I called your sister.
Told her my plan. She helped your parents carry the piano down and said they’d figure out a way to get out of the house tonight so I could surprise you.
I needed this moment with you. To apologize and to…
fuck, I don’t know. Tell you what an idiot I’ve been, so wrapped up in my own bullshit, I was convinced I’d bring you down with me.
” He holds me tighter. “But I never feel down when you’re here.
When I’m holding you. When you’re smiling at me.
Whenever I’m with you, I just feel…free. ”
“Lex. Oh my God.” I yank his lips to mine, kissing him breathless. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d lost you, that you never wanted to see me again.”
He kisses me, longer, harder, passion and purpose fusing as one. “You want to know the highlight of my career, Nicks?”
I gaze up at him, a warm-honey feeling sliding through my veins.
I nod.
Lex dusts his thumb along my skin, gathering tears.
“It wasn’t my first million-dollar paycheck.
It wasn’t a hit television show or red carpet galas or worldwide fame.
” His breath hitches as he stares at me.
“It was four years ago. A dated old stage in a high school auditorium. You looking at me with diamonds in your eyes, wearing that silky blue dress, telling me you’d love me until your dying day.
” Both hands clamp my jaw as he breathes out, “That’s my truth. ”
A sound falls out of me.
An achy, wheezy sound—and I know exactly what it is:
Part madness, part healing.
Half heartache, half hope.
And somewhere in between it all…
I fell.
I fell in love with him.
I take his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine.
Reunion, relief. The kiss feels different from all the rest, free of anger, pain, and teenage angst. Our tongues slide together, gaining frenzy as my hands tug his hair and he curls an arm around my middle, one hand falling to the curve of my neck.
He tips back against the instrument, shrieky chords at war with our moans.
We’re a heartbeat away from christening another piano.
Lifting off it, he murmurs against my mouth, “Bedroom?”
“Mm-hmm.”