Chapter 8
Lily
SERGEI RACHMANINOFF — RHAPSODY ON A THEME OF PAGANINI
Idon’t normally have issues sleeping. My brothers used to tease me, saying that I’d fall asleep anywhere. Middle of the mall in a puffy dress? I’d pass out on the benches. Fancy party for Stone Technologies? I’d make a bed with the chairs and conk out with the disco lights and thumping dance music.
But tonight? I can’t sleep a wink. Remember that overactive imagination? It’s going full force right now.
After Agatha came back from book club, she told me Ryder was there. Not that I’d been able to get him out of my mind anyway, but knowing he was around Agatha tonight set my mind off on another whirlwind.
I FaceTimed with my dad, which I do every evening at dinnertime. He mentioned talking to Bethany about the case, but he said the consultant doesn’t think letting me out is a good idea yet.
I have such mixed feelings about the whole situation that I don’t really know what to think anymore. Being alone up here has become my normal.
But do I want to be here forever?
Of course not. I want to live. I want to play the piano professionally. I want to explore the Brookhaven seasonal festivals and travel to the Maldives to visit Peter. I want to fall in love, for real this time, and…everything. I want it all.
I just don’t know that I want it right now.
But if I want to fall in love, I have to leave this tower.
A little voice in my head whispers, You don’t have to leave to fall in love. There’s always Ryder.
How pathetic is that? To fall for the first man I see outside of my immediate family? It’s just desperation. There’s no real connection there. It’s someone semi-familiar, and being around him awakened the feelings I’ve shut down for the last year and a half.
But that doesn’t mean he’s the one I should have these feelings for.
My rational brain knows this. Try telling that to my imagination, though.
Lying in bed, alone with my thoughts, I keep imagining his hands on my waist. His gray eyes drinking me in, his flirtatious muscles…
It’s too much.
“Gah!” I throw the blankets off of me and get out of bed to pace the floor. The clock shows me that it’s only eleven p.m.—way too late to be up, but not late enough to start the next day.
Tap, tap, tap.
What was that?
It sounds like it’s coming from the balcony doors. The curtains are closed, though, so I can’t see outside. Maybe it’s a bird—an owl? Woodpeckers wouldn’t be out at this time of night. Or maybe a rat.
Tap, tap, tap.
Three taps again. Maybe it’s a bat? Do bats make tapping sounds?
Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap.
Okay, now that sounds like a rhythm. Do birds or bats have musical sense? They must, right?
My breathing speeds up, and the tapping sounds again. Same rhythm. Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap.
“Okay, Lily,” I say out loud. “You can do this. You’ll pull open the curtain, and it’ll just be some little animal.
Maybe it’s a raccoon, looking for a snack.
It’ll be fine. And then you can go to sleep.
” With a determined nod, I stride over to the doors, and before I can stop myself, I pull the curtains open.
And see Ryder Hawthorne staring back at me.
I can’t help it—I scream, then cover my mouth with my hands to muffle the sound. I don’t want to wake Agatha, but THERE IS A MAN ON MY BALCONY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. Can you blame me for being startled?!
Ryder gives a sheepish grin and waves. I yank the door open, letting the cool winter air into my room, and whisper-yell, “What the heck are you doing?!”
“Can I come inside?”
“NO!” My voice gets a little louder than I expected, so I go back to whisper-yelling. “No! You can’t come inside my room in the middle of the night. This is highly inappropriate.” Can I give myself a pat on the back for not inviting him in and trying to live out my fantasies? Go, Lily!
Ryder has the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t… Sorry, this is a little… I just… I saw the video.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. I don’t have to ask which video; I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Oh,” is all I can say.
“And I just… I had to see you.” He swallows, and his eyes flick to mine, then back down. “Because of Peter. You know, he’s my best friend, and I figure I should check if you’re okay for his sake since he can’t be here, and—”
“Okay, fine,” I say, cutting him off. He’s effectively shut down my fantasies by bringing up Peter.
“You can come in.” I move out of the way, holding the door open and letting him into the tower.
The initial shock has worn off, and I realize he’s not here on any kind of seductive mission.
Don’t blame me for going there, though. I’m still sensitive after Tristan.
Is it bad that I’m a little disappointed? The implication that he’s just here as a big brother substitute is a bummer, and a little embarrassing, too.
Ryder murmurs a “Thank you” as he steps inside. I stand with my arms crossed over my chest, wondering what exactly he wants to do now that he’s here. I let out a sigh, realizing I’m in pajamas again. At least it’s nighttime, though, so it’s appropriate to be wearing them.
Now that Ryder’s inside, he looks awkwardly around the room, like he doesn’t know what to say either. So I break the silence. “Does Peter know you’re here?”
Ryder shakes his head. “I tried calling him on my way, but he didn’t pick up.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
He tilts his head at me. “He knows you’re up here, right?”
“More or less. That video call we had a few months ago? When he reintroduced you to the family? That’s when my dad and brothers told me I was moving to Brookhaven. Although I’m still not totally sure why they included Peter. He hasn’t been part of any of these conversations.”
“And why exactly did you move here?”
I roll my eyes. “Because Tristan is suing me for defamation of character.”
Ryder sets his jaw, fire in his eyes. “Telling the truth isn’t the same as defaming his character.”
I’m a little surprised by his reaction. Most people think Tristan is God’s gift to Hollywood, or at least he was.
“I know. And there might be some changes to the lawsuit. My cousin Bethany—she’s one of my lawyers—called yesterday and said Tristan has disappeared, so they might be done with the lawsuit and I can come out again.
We have a private consultant and they’re deciding when it’ll be the best time for me to finally end this”—I wave my hand around—“situation.”
Ryder nods, his expression softening a little. “Well, I hope you get to leave soon.”
I swallow my ambivalent feelings about being let out of here and don’t reply.
“And you’re okay up here?” he asks, filling my silence.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I blurt. “It’s…fine. Agatha is really good to me, and I get to FaceTime with my family a lot. I’m busy taking online classes.” I shrug. “The only thing I miss the most is a piano.”
“A piano,” he repeats, then gestures over to the closet. “Wasn’t there a piano in there?”
I roll my eyes and grin. “That has no right to be called a piano. It’s a keyboard.”
He studies me for a moment, then breaks into a grin. “So you kept playing?”
“Kept?” I repeat.
“Yeah. I remember one time Peter had to come home for your piano recital. You must have been…I don’t know, thirteen? I had just turned eighteen, Peter was twenty-one, and we were supposed to—” He cuts himself off with a cough. “Anyway, he had to leave early so he could get to your piano recital.”
“Sounds about right,” I reply. “Well, he hasn’t been to any of my recitals since Mom died. Not that I’ve had any in the last year and a half. Peter’s been completely out of the picture since then.”
Ryder doesn’t look surprised by this information. It was disappointing when Peter first disappeared, rushing off to one exotic location after another, ignoring our phone calls and pleas for him to come visit. But now that it’s been a few years, we’re all used to him being gone.
“So, no piano here?” Ryder asks.
“Agatha says the tower can’t take the weight.”
“Hence the paper piano,” he supplies.
I nod my head once, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“I guess I don’t blame you. If I were stuck alone for a year and a half, I’d do some crazy things, too.”
I feel the urge to defend myself. Whether it’s the use of the word “crazy,” or because I’ve been alone with my thoughts for so long and now I finally have the chance to speak to someone outside of my family, or I’m so embarrassed over this afternoon.
Whatever the reason, I can’t stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.
“It’s not just being alone,” I say. “The piano is like an extension of my body. It’s the way I get my feelings out without having to say anything. I’m not…there hasn’t been…” Tears fill my eyes, a wave of emotion coming over me that I’ve been holding inside for six months.
Ryder takes a step toward me, and I put my hands up defensively. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Ever so slowly, as if testing a boundary, he wraps his arms around me and gives me a hug.
A hug.
The only people who have hugged me in the last six months are Agatha, Luna, and Henry. All family members, or almost family. This is the first hug I’ve gotten from anyone else, let alone a handsome man who stirs up all those fluttery feelings I’ve kept dormant for a year and a half.
At first, I tense up, holding my arms stiff to my sides. But Ryder doesn’t let go. He just keeps holding me, slowly thawing my body, and I melt against him, resting my cheek against his chest.
This isn’t the quick hug of a family member saying hello or goodbye.
This is comfort. This is safety. This is compassion, and I didn’t realize how much I craved all those things until I had it wrapped around my shoulders and waist. I exhale, letting out all the weight from the last few months, and wrap my arms around his waist. A few tears slip out, too.
Not a lot, I’m not sobbing or anything, just those silent tears of emotional release.
We stay like that for a minute until he slowly pulls away from me. I step back and wipe my eyes, slightly embarrassed that I’ve left water spots on his black shirt, but grateful he gave me that space.
Ryder clears his throat. “I guess it was a little impulsive to rush over here after seeing the video. But I felt like I had to…you know, fill in for Peter.”
Ugh.
Hopefully the darkness of the night hides the flush of my cheeks, because that quick phrase left me utterly humiliated.
To think that Ryder would have any notion of me beyond his best friend’s little sister, the girl in pajamas and bunny slippers who practices cartwheels and cries from a simple hug… I’m so stupid.
I bet he doesn’t have an overactive imagination.
Especially not about me.
“But I also wanted to come see you because…well, I want you to know that I believe you.”
The words settle in my chest. I believe you.
He laughs at himself. “That’s probably dumb to say, but—”
“No,” I say quickly. “It isn’t.”
He nods. “Well, especially considering who it is.”
I raise a brow at that.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I have my own personal history with Tristan Jackson. Let’s just say, I’ve seen past the facade of the golden boy for a while now. And I wish your story didn’t ring true, but it does.”
I wait for him to explain more, but he doesn’t. And now I feel another layer of separation between us, some secret he doesn’t want to share about his history with Tristan.
“Anyway,” he finally says. “I’ll come back to visit again.”
“When?” I ask, then want to kick myself for sounding so desperate. But I’ve never been one to hide my emotions well.
I think I’ll need to work on that.
He chuckles. “Give me a couple days. I told Gwen I was coming here, and I don’t want her to think there’s anything…you know, between us.”
“You told Gwen?! I told you not to tell anyone!”
His eyes dart away, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I’m sorry. But you have to know it’s safe with her.” He pauses. “Trust me. She’s great at keeping secrets.”
I don’t know that, but I don’t really have a choice right now.
“Maybe Friday night?” Ryder offers.
Two nights from now. That’s not very long.
I nod, and he holds up an awkward hand in a farewell gesture, then opens the doors to the balcony.
I wrap my arms around my middle at the rush of cold air, watching him slide a hand into his pocket briefly, then swing a leg over the balcony and start climbing down.
I step out onto the balcony, wanting to watch him leave. I haven’t stepped out here once, afraid people will see me. But if Ryder’s climbing down and knows no one is watching, the coast must be clear. It’s a small act of defiance, standing here in the open and knowing I could be seen.
And I feel a little bit like Juliet watching Romeo from the balcony. Ryder, Ryder, wherefore art thou Ryder?
I’m pathetic.
He climbs down the tower, making it look like a piece of cake. Could I do that? Could I scale down the wall? A shudder runs through me at the thought of it. No way. I’m safe here. There’s no reason for me to risk my life that way.
Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of my father and brothers.
Ryder hops down onto solid ground and waves up at me. I wave back, watching him leave, and find myself wishing so many things were different.