Chapter 22 - Keaton
Usually, I’m not one to be plagued with sleepless nights, but ever since Raina’s attack… every time I close my eyes all I see is her lifeless form on the ground and her attacker getting away.
It leaves me restless, and the only way I can sleep is if I exhaust myself. If it’s not my night with Raina, I usually do it one of two ways: hitting the gym or hitting the kit. Either way, I end up exhausting myself in a puddle of sweat until I’m ready to crash into bed.
Fisting my sticks, I leave my room, navigating the hallways that are slowly becoming familiar. There’s always an eeriness in a new house, like it holds its breath once the sun goes down. And this one is no different.
I know the others are either asleep or in their rooms, blue light bleeding out from under their doorways.
If you listen hard enough, you can always tell who’s fighting to stay awake and who surrendered hours ago.
Thankfully, tonight isn’t one filled with moans coming from the other side of Raina’s door.
Nothing is more frustrating than working the kick pedal with blue balls.
I take a moment to appreciate that the music room is soundproof. It’s a necessity for recording, but an added bonus for anyone who’d have to put up with listening to me rain down my nightmares on the instrument.
Closing the door behind me, it’s like a sensory deprivation chamber, a vault for noise, a padded cell for whatever needs to get hammered out at two in the morning.
I sit behind my kit, alone in the glow of the overhead lamp, and work through a groove I can’t get out of my head.
Something slow, heavy in the low toms, with just enough swing to keep it from sinking.
Each beat thuds out, a dull ache softened by the foam and the thick velvet curtains lining the walls.
I’m halfway through the pattern when I feel it. A presence watching me. I glance up and find Raina framed in the doorway, hair hanging loose and wild, sweatshirt sliding off one shoulder, and bare feet. She looks absolutely at home, and unbelievably delicious.
She hesitates before coming in. For a second, her silhouette wavers, one hand gripping the doorframe so tight her knuckles turn white. She shifts her weight, like she doesn’t want to bother me and she’s considering turning around and disappearing back into the night.
As much as I want to drag her in here to simply be with me, I wait, letting her make the decision. She needs to realize for herself she’ll never be an interruption.
She bites her lower lip and takes a step forward.
I keep playing, but softer now. The sticks barely whisper across the snare. Raina crosses the room until she’s wrapping her arms around my neck, giving me a hug.
“Hey, big guy.” I close my eyes as she presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “What are you doing up?”
I turn my face to her and raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Again?” she asks, her breath feathering down my neck.
Pausing my drumming, I turn to fully look at her. “What do you mean again?”
She moves to stand behind me, her hands moving to my shoulders and her thumbs working at the tight muscles.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you battling your demons in the middle of the night.
I thought I’d give you space to work them out and to come to me when you were ready, but you caught me tonight. ”
Ah, so that’s why she hesitated at the door. Makes more sense now. I lean my head back against her stomach, relaxing into her touch. Even with my eyes shut, I pick up the rhythm I was tapping out before. “It’s nothing, Peaches. No need to worry yourself.”
“I love you, Keaton. It’s not nothing to me.” Even with my eyes closed, I can picture the eye roll she has saying that.
Letting out a sigh, I steel myself to give her the answer she’s wanting. I hate having to give it to her. She shouldn’t have to think about that night.
“I worry if I fall asleep something will happen to take you away from me” It seems like a juvenile fear, one I don’t want her to have to think about.
Her fingers pause over my shoulders, their weight a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in these shadows.
Her warmth seeps through the fabric of my shirt, a gentle balm to the bruises on my heart.
“You think something will take me away from you?” she asks, her voice a breathless whisper that dances in the still air of the room.
I swallow hard, grappling with the gnawing fear that lurks right beneath the surface.
“After everything, it’s hard not to feel that way,” I admit, keeping my tone low, almost conspiratorial.
We haven’t really talked about what it was like for us to find her the way we did. To question whether she’d live.
The truth presses against my throat, hot and heavy. I’ve never been one to lay bare my fears, but with her, it feels different—like the act of sharing can lift some of the burden.
At least that’s how it felt when I shared what happened to my mom, and consequently why I don’t talk much. Which I’ve been trying to get better at alongside Raina.
She exhales softly. “I’m right here, Keaton,” she says softly, as if she’s casting a spell meant to ward off the darkness that creeps in at night. “You’ll always have me.”
Her reassurance is everything; it makes the noise in my head quiet.
The ghosts take a step back, allowing her warmth to seep deeper, like a light is finally reaching into places I didn’t know were still cold.
Maybe what I’ve needed all along was her voice in the dark reminding me that she made it through.
“Come here,” I say while reaching my arm behind me and wrapping it around her legs, guiding her into sitting on my lap. I tilt her chin back, but she’s all about trying to comfort me. Her hand warms my cheek, thumb moving in a soothing motion.
I’m not sure who leads the other into sharing a soft kiss, but our lips brush softly before pressing together. It’s tender, full of love. She’s everything I’ve ever needed or wanted.
I let out a deep breath and rest my forehead on hers. “You’ll always have me too. I love you, Peaches.”
“I know, big guy. Now show me what you’ve been working on when you can’t sleep.” She turns on my lap so she’s facing my kit, her bare legs resting on mine and her ass nestled right up against my cock, making me grow hard instantly.
“Let me show you,” I murmur in her ear. I slide my sticks in her hands and wrap my hands over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position. My palm covers most of her fist, the difference in size both ridiculous and grounding. She lets me do it, lets me arrange her grip and angle her wrist.
The best part is the giggle she gives me. My sticks have so much meaning between us, from the very moment I let her hold them the first time, to using them to make her orgasm, and even helping her snap one to release her trapped emotions.
Now I want to add another memory; teach her a little about my drumming. Give her another piece of my soul.
“Keep yourself relaxed,” I instruct. “It’s not about strength. It’s control.” I demonstrate, taking one of the sticks from her hold and rolling it with barely any pressure, letting it bounce off the snare head. She mimics me, the movement a little jerky at first, then smoother.
We go back and forth, trading the rhythm. It’s nothing fancy. A heartbeat, really: kick, snare, kick, snare. The simplest song in the world. She gets it right on the fourth try, and for a moment she just sits there, looking at her hands, almost amazed.
“You did that,” I say quietly.
She grins, the barest hint, but it’s real. “Feels good. I like it.” Her voice cracks on the second word, but she doesn’t flinch. It shows how much she’s grown in her confidence since she first started using her voice again. “That wasn’t what you were playing before, though.”
I smile into her hair and let out a small chuckle. “Oh, so she wants to get more advanced, huh?” This time I take her hands and work through the easiest part of the song, then continue to teach her as I was before.
I’m not sure how long we sit like that, the two of us hunched over the kit, trading patterns back and forth in the flicker of the lamp. The rest of the world could be on fire, and it wouldn’t matter. In here, with the woman I love sharing my kit, everything is suspended. Everything is okay.
When she seems to have the hang of it, we take a break, and I hand her my water. Her lips wrap around the rim, and my cock throbs painfully. There’s nothing hotter than having her drumming on my lap, and now I’m imagining it’s not the water bottle she’s drinking from…
From the smirk she gives me, she knows exactly where my mind goes.
She stands, stretches, then walks a slow circle, trailing her hand along the lacquered wood of the floor tom, the battered edge of the crash, then my shoulder. All the while moving in a way that seems to showcase her bare legs. It’s like a sensual show, and my drum kit is her prop.
Her fingers trail over me, tracing my muscles until she leans into me, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “It’s a shame you’re playing with your shirt on.”
My eyes close for a second, soaking up the desire in her voice. Then without thinking about it, I rip my shirt over my head and toss it free. Her fingers continue running over my skin, leaving a trail of fire behind.
She slides around in front of me, her knees slotting between mine, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it go slowly, staring at her in anticipation of what might happen next.
I don’t have to wait long to find out what it is. She straddles me, the heat of her core settling right over my aching cock, making me hate the material between us. “Play the song for me from the beginning.”
Somehow I ended up with the sticks when she stood, and I didn’t even recognize it. I rotate them between my fingers and stare into her eyes. They’re bright, filled with happiness and desire.