Chapter 11 Ryder
Ryder
RALPH VAUGHAN WILLIAMS — FANTASIA ON A THEME BY THOMAS TALLIS
I’m so late.
I told Lily I’d be there tonight, but Gwen wanted to stay up late talking about the new story she’s writing.
Gwen knew I was visiting Lily the first time, but now I don’t want to get her caught up in my lies.
So I keep my planned visit a secret, even from Gwen.
That means I couldn’t explain why she needed to stop talking to me about how the male character of her new novel needs a backstory to explain his commitment issues, and I had to sit and work it out with her until she was satisfied enough to go to sleep.
Which wasn’t until after midnight.
I listen in my room for sounds of her getting ready for bed, then going into her room, and then I still wait a good half hour to make sure she’s finally asleep before sneaking out of the apartment.
I feel a little shady for lying to her, but it’s really just an omission of the truth.
Besides, I’m not hurting anyone or doing anything wrong.
I’m just visiting an old friend. And I’m doing a favor for Peter, checking on his little sister.
Yeah, that’s it.
I stay in the shadows as I walk to Agatha’s tower, a little worried about Henry’s claim of booby traps, but I’ve been doing stunts long enough to know my way around dangerous situations. Now that I’m on my guard, I’ll just stay extra cautious.
I give Galileo an extra squeeze at the base of the tower, then begin the climb for the third time. It gets easier every time I do it, but I take an extra pause before putting my hand in a groove or placing my foot on a stone. Step by step, I make my way up to Lily’s balcony.
The door leading to her room is closed, and now I wonder if I should have come after all. She’s probably asleep in bed, and I’m making things more awkward by showing up.
Except the light is on in her room. And through the small sliver of clear glass next to her curtain, I can see Lily lying on the floor of her bedroom.
Okay. So she’s…awake? Maybe?
Now I’m concerned. What if she fainted? What if she hit her head and is lying there unconscious? She’d be thankful I came!
With that final impetus, I push the door open and hear an overwhelming orchestra through her speaker. “Lily?” I ask, my voice raised so she can hear me over the music.
She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at me from her spot on the floor. “Ryder?” She hits a button on the phone next to her, and the music stops. She scrambles to her feet, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Friday night,” I say slowly.
“I know,” she says. “But it’s so late. I thought you weren’t coming.”
I shake my head, relieved she remembered. “I just had to wait for Gwen to go to sleep.”
She looks down at her clothes with a sigh. “Of course you had to come after I put my pajamas back on.” She pauses, then a small grin tilts up the side of her mouth. “You weren’t scared off by Henry’s threat of booby traps?”
“Are they real?” My voice comes out a little more panicked than I expected.
She raises her brows, a challenge in her expression. “You tell me.”
Relief floods through me. “So it was a joke after all.”
“I wouldn’t call it a joke. More like an attempt at a scare tactic.”
“Does he think I came up here?”
She shakes her head. “No. But he’s suspicious.”
The silence that hangs around us is heavy. Her brother thinks I might be visiting her, and if he finds out the truth…then what?
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, giving her the chance to say yes but hoping beyond hope that the answer is no.
She swallows, and when she speaks, her voice is soft. “Do you want to?”
I shake my head, my eyes on hers.
“Then stay,” she says.
We stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other, then I finally exhale and look around the room. “So. What exactly were you doing when I came in here? I was worried you had an accident.”
“An accident?”
“Yeah, lying on the floor like that.”
She stifles a giggle. “Oh, no. That’s just my favorite way to listen to my favorite piece of music.”
I grin. “Really?”
“Really. Have you ever heard of Ralph Vaughan Williams?”
“Uh, no. I’m not really into classical songs.”
“They’re not songs. They’re called pieces.” She beams and bounces on the tips of her toes. “Oh, this is going to be awesome. I can’t wait for your reaction when you listen to this for the first time!” She grabs her phone from the floor.
“Did you miss the part where I said I’m not into classical music?”
She waves a dismissive hand at me. “That’s just what people think when they haven’t let it fill their soul.” Her big, blue eyes look up at me from her phone. “Trust me. Your life is about to change.”
I don’t doubt it.
“Now.” Her expression turns serious, almost stern. “You have to do exactly what I say. Got it?”
I chuckle. “Got it.”
She holds her hand out to me. “Come lie down.” Then her eyes widen, and she pulls her hand back. “Oh, goodness. That sounded so…I didn’t mean it that way. Just…you can…”
I reach out and grab her hand, amused by her adorable naivety. “Lead the way.”
Just like when we brushed fingers passing the picture, and when I held her in my arms in a “friendly” hug (if I say it enough, that’ll make it true, right?), warmth spreads from my hand through my entire body, settling in my chest. What does that mean?
She pulls me toward her rug in the center of the room and lets go of my hand, lowering herself to the ground to sit cross-legged, and I follow along. “Okay. You have to lie down on the ground and close your eyes.”
“Why, exactly? Can’t I listen like this?”
“Sure, if you want to be distracted by the way the room looks or how hungry you are. When you’re lying down, with all your muscles relaxed and your eyes closed, the music speaks to you.”
“This sounds a little woo-woo to me.”
“Whatever. Just try it.”
I raise a brow at her, but she’s undeterred. She lies on the ground, her arms and legs slightly extended like a starfish, and I get a moment to admire her before I realize she’s staring up at me.
“Lie down,” she commands, and I obey.
I slide my leather jacket off and toss it onto her couch. Then I lie on my back, my hands folded over my stomach, and close my eyes. “Okay. I’m ready.”
She must press the play button on her phone because the music begins. High notes, almost heavenly, feel like they’re surrounding us. The music is slow and serene, solemn and reverential.
But I feel awkward. What am I doing, lying on the floor of Lily’s room and listening to classical music? I peek one eye open, turning my head to look at her.
“Close your eyes,” she says, her eyes never opening.
“How did you…”
“Just close them.” She turns her head to me, opens her eyes, and gives me a grin. “Come on. Play along. For me.”
“All right.” Just for Lily.
I close my eyes and turn my head back to its initial position. The music continues around me, slow and steady, and I try to relax with it.
“Stop moving,” Lily says.
“Huh?”
“Your leg. Stop moving your leg.”
“I didn’t even know I was moving it.”
“Yeah, well, stop. Just…be still.”
I let out a little laugh and force my body to relax. “Excuse me. I didn’t know I’d be coming over for a music lesson.”
“Here we are. Deal with it.”
I shake my head with a big grin. Feisty. But it’s all in good fun, and I know she’s having a good time, even if I’m annoying her.
All right. Stop moving. I tense my muscles, then let them relax and try to listen to the music. It swells and deepens, and for a moment I feel it in my chest. Weird.
As the music fades into something slower and more melancholy, a few solo instruments taking the lead, I feel the urge to move again. I unfold my hands from my chest and stretch them down by my sides, hoping to ease the wiggles. But my fingers brush hers, and we both jolt our hands apart.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and she makes a hum that means it’s okay.
It’s hard staying still. It’s always been hard for me.
That’s what got me into trouble as a kid, but what served me well in my career as a stuntman.
The restlessness is what sent me to hang out with Peter.
Now I’m here in Brookhaven, still looking for something to do, some way to use my energy.
But Lily wants me to just lie on the floor next to her.
I wonder what Lily thinks about while she’s listening to this music. Is she thinking about her past? Her future? Her regrets?
“It builds again,” Lily says next to me, drawing me from my thoughts. “It’s a journey. Stop thinking so much.”
I open my eyes and turn to face her. “How did you know I was thinking?”
She opens her eyes this time and turns her head to me. Her eyes study mine for a minute before she speaks. “I don’t know. I could just tell.”
I feel the air crackling around us, both from our eyes on each other and the music around us. Lily quickly tips her face back to the ceiling and closes her eyes. “This is where it gets really good. Just listen.”
I should close my eyes, but I have a brief moment to watch her without her knowing.
She seems to have a sixth sense about what I’m doing, so I make it quick, looking at her lashes fanned out on her cheeks, the gentle curve of her nose, her full lips, and her light breathing.
Her hair is tied back in a braid that’s tossed over her shoulder.
She looks in many ways like the little girl Peter and I would tease, but she’s grown so much.
Not only has she grown and matured in her physical appearance, but I can sense the scars and pain hidden under the surface.
Yes, she teases me and we banter playfully, but she’s guarding something valuable.
I close my eyes and exhale, hearing the notes rising and building around me.
Lily says this is the best part, so I’m going to try to be a good student.
I breathe in and out, letting the music be my sole focus, and find it’s not as difficult as I thought, especially at this point where the entire room feels like it’s full of music.
My chest tightens again, my breathing getting faster. I feel my adrenaline picking up, my heart rate increasing. All because of some music.
I’m nervous that Lily will notice the change in me, that she’ll think less of me as a man for being so affected by a piece of music. As the song fades from its intensity, still going but softer now, I turn my head to check if she’s looking at me and judging me.
She’s not. Her eyes are still closed, but tears run down the sides of her temples.
Is she sad? She doesn’t look like she’s crying out of despair, but something tugs at my heart, and I feel the urge to touch her. Comfort her. So I move my hand just two inches to the right, where I know her fingers are, and cover her hand with mine.
At first, she’s still. But then she turns her hand over, her smooth palm against my rough one, and laces her fingers through mine. Warmth spreads up my arm and into my chest. Holding hands, we finish listening to the rest of the song.
I mean, piece.