Love’s Crescendo

Chapter 27

I thought I understood sadness. I had certainly cornered the market on pain for a while. I understood loss intimately. I was not just a bystander to the emotion that was agony and grief. What I had not anticipated experiencing was the utter despair of watching the woman I loved go through it. It wrenched my soul from its foundation and caused it to rattle around inside of me a little more each day.

The first day, she curled up in Myles’s bed with Alanna and didn’t leave. Not even to pee. She insisted that I send Zara into the room and made her swear on the life of her pug that she wouldn’t ever wash the sheets so his scent would linger.

Day two, she got up to use the bathroom, and Eric managed to convince her to let me shower her. She was a ghost before me. She lifted her arm robotically. She turned when I asked her to. She passed me her shampoo, but she wasn’t really there. She was too engulfed by her pain to be anywhere but straddling the world of the living and the world of the dead.

Day three, I made the mistake of asking her if she wanted to plan the funeral, and back into his bed she went. This time, it was Ash who took a shift. He watched over her all day, forcing her to eat toast and drink water.

Day four, I found her sitting by the window, chain-smoking, using the lighter she had found on Myles’s dresser.

Day five, she cried until her skin was blotchy, and her eyes were so swollen she looked like she was having an allergic reaction.

Day six, she went through his phone and sent herself screenshots of his conversations and their photos to keep as a memory. But she didn’t cry. The tears had dried up momentarily.

Day seven, Alanna and Eric had to go home but promised to come back for the funeral.

Day eight, she had me take her and the band to a rage room where she screamed and shouted and absolutely destroyed the contents of the room with her pain, almost to the point of scaring me as her fury overtook her.

Day nine, she wore his sweatshirt and sat in the recording studio listening to us lay down tracks for our new album. Because as stuck as we felt, as much as we wanted to deny it, life did go on. I checked on her between each take, and she almost seemed like herself in rare moments.

Day ten, she had to go back to the hospital to sign paperwork to retrieve his death certificate, and she returned almost catatonic. This time, Mika offered to take a shift. He played the keyboard next to where she was lying curled up in bed for three hours while she sobbed.

Day eleven, Gordon told me I should bring in a doctor, and I almost did until I found her making coffee in the kitchen when I came to get some water for the gym. She had lost weight, and the circles under her eyes were prominent, but she smiled at me, and I held onto that smile all day.

Day twelve, she asked me where I thought she should bury Myles, and I told her about the plot I owned next to Rose and my baby. She stood up and walked away without saying anything. Then she came back, kissed me, and walked away again.

Day thirteen, I found her watching Good Will Hunting with Nile, who looked scared and mouthed “Help” to me as I walked by. I made them vodka tonics with licorice straws and stayed to watch the second half of the movie. She cried, but instead of staying on her side of the couch, alone in her pain, she crawled over and let me hold her.

Day fourteen, a package came from Afterlife Memoires, and I saw a shift. I finally saw a glimpse of Jessa instead of the shell of a girl who had been haunting the house for the last two weeks, though no fault of her own. I, more than anyone, understood what she was going through. Well, Ash and I did. I found Jessa sitting by the pool. The penthouse opened up into a pool, a lawn of green grass, and a garden that made you think you were outside of a house instead of multiple floors off the ground. A bowl of watermelon sat on the table in front of her as well as the black embossed box that had come in the mail earlier today.

I had found the company in a frantic Google search as I waited for Alex to get me into the hospital. Shockingly, in a serendipitous moment, they told me that they already had a representative in the hospital on the oncology floor, and when he finished up, he could come down to us. What this company did was beautiful, and I was oddly looking forward to seeing what they had sent. I watched silently as Jessa ran her hand over the box and then proceeded to open it.

She pushed aside the layers of tissue paper to reveal a few more smaller boxes packed inside. The first one contained the print of Myles’s fingerprint. She matched up her finger to it and lowered her head for a moment. I waited with bated breath, but she did not start crying, nor did she say anything. She put it to the side and then took out the model of their hands. They had 3D printed it out in a soft white material and then encased it in a shimmering paint so their held hands seemed ethereal and angelic. She ran her finger down the side of their held hands, but still, she did not cry. The next box held the shadow box. The interior was set in black velvet, and there was a light that could be turned on that illuminated it. The clipping of his hair was in a little corked bottle and was hanging from a piece of ribbon hung on a little gold hook. There was a photo of him next to the bottle. There were quotes, dried flowers, and a 3D metal image of the fingerprint with his name engraved on it.

“That is gorgeous,” I told her, coming over to examine it.

“It is,” she replied softly. She handed the box to me so I could look at it closer while she unpacked the last box. Inside was a black jewelry bag, which she turned upside down to allow the necklace inside to fall out into her hand. It had a thin gold chain with a delicate heart charm hanging from it. There were instructions on a slip of paper on where to find the button to play the “Heart Song”. The silence was deafening as I waited for her to press it. Then, suddenly, the sound of Myles’s heartbeat filled the air. A few seconds later, it was joined by the beautiful notes of a violin. Then I heard a guitar, and moments later, a piano joined in the background. The heartbeat was constant and played the role of the drum. His song was haunting. It sang of memories, of loss, of pain, of happiness, and of love. She turned the necklace over and showed me the back had been engraved with the words “Myles’s Heart Song.” It was accompanied by a note that read, “When tomorrow starts without me, listen to the song of my heart and know that love never dies.” We listened to the song three times before she turned it off and handed it to me.

“Can you put it on me?” she asked as she lifted her hair. I clasped it around her neck as I heard her say, “I’m ready.”

I ran my hand down her neck, relishing the feeling of her soft skin beneath my fingers. We had not done anything more than hugged or exchange a few chaste kisses since Myles’s death. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was completely overtaken by her grief or if she also felt guilty that while we had fucked in a closet, her brother had been dying in an alleyway. I hoped she didn’t feel guilty about that, but I wasn’t sure since we hadn’t been doing a lot of talking either, which I was the most concerned about.

Alanna had been checking in on both of us and when I verbalized my concern, she assured me that Jessa just needed time. Something I knew a lot about needing, so I just patiently waited.

“Ready for what, baby?” I kissed the side of her neck and felt her tremble beneath me.

“For the funeral.” Her voice was so low I almost made her repeat herself. I had been paying the funeral home to keep Myles’s body there until Jessa was ready to bury him, and apparently, now she was ready.

“I’ll make some calls.” I pulled out my phone as I sat in the chair next to her. She nodded and sighed as if a weight had been lifted off of her. I understood that. Grief was heavy. So much so that sometimes you felt like you couldn’t breathe. As each phase of healing came, the heaviness became a little bit lighter. It never left. At times, it even returned to its original intensity. But those little moments of healing, that reprieve from the crushing weight of grief, always made me feel like I could take a deeper breath.

I had learned that grief has no ending. At first, I thought healing was a destination I would get to. A moment when I would finally cross the finish line—when I would have paid my penance and could trade sadness for peace. When I could finally hang up my grief hat and feel happy. The painful truth I had discovered was there is no other side to push through to get to. It’s not a phase to complete. It doesn’t just get better. Rather, you endure it. You accept it. You absorb it into the marrow of your bones. The fact was, you never really move on. Instead, your brain rearranges itself to face life with this new reality. A reality that no longer includes someone you love.

“I can leave after the funeral if you want,” I heard Jessa say as I texted Gordon to ask him what day the whole team had off so we could all be there.

“Why would I want that?” I put my phone down and turned her around in the swivel chair so she was facing me.

“I’m not really that fun right now.” Her eyes met mine, and I saw that hers were full of sadness and confusion but still shone with resilience. I smiled. There was my girl. I liked seeing signs that she was still in there.

I leaned forward and softly kissed her lips. I began to pull back after a moment, but I felt her arm snake up behind my head and keep me there. I deepened the kiss, and I felt her sigh against my mouth. She was still getting used to sharing her burdens with someone. It felt like she was almost surprised that I was here, sincerely sharing in her sorrow. I kissed her once more and then pulled away slightly, keeping my hands on her face.

“I never want you to leave,” I told her gently, with a smile. Her posture relaxed. “You don’t always have to be fun. I want you any way you want to be. If you need time, I’ll hold space for it. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy with you. If you’re angry, tell me how I fucked up.”

She gave a short laugh at that.

“If you’re excited, take me with you. If you’re confused, let me help you figure it out. But one day, you’ll get it.” I paused and kissed the tip of her nose. “You are it for me, Jessa, and I want you here however you need to be.”

She put her hand in mine, her eyes glossy, but no tears slipped free.

“Even if I’m sad for a while?” she whispered.

“Then I’ll be sad with you,” I whispered back. Wordlessly, she got up from her chair and crawled into my lap. I cradled her against my chest as she molded against me.

“I never told you what true north means,” I murmured against her hair. She shifted slightly, and I knew she was listening.

“North is unwavering. No matter how many times you shake up a compass, it will always point north. It’s a constant. A guide. A direction that always returns, leading you home. That is what you are to me. You are home.” I heard her take a shuddering breath. “There is nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t follow.” I kissed up her jaw, nipping gently. “So stay here, sweetheart. I got you.” I rocked her gently. “You rest. I’m here.”

I felt her fully relax for the first time in two weeks, and I relished this shift between us. She was letting me protect her, and I was finally able to be the protector. Her trust in me was not something I took lightly. A breeze rustled across my skin, and the sun shone on my face as if promising better days to come. I looked up at it, letting the rays rest on my face. I heard Jessa let out a slight snore, indicating that she had fallen asleep, as a text popped up on my phone. “Tuesday,” Gordon replied. We were all free on Tuesday, so it looked like we would be burying Myles in five days.

When Jessa woke up, she blinked for a second, stretched her body out, and then turned in my lap to attack my mouth.

“What are you doing?” I asked against her lips, mid-kiss. I could hear Zara cooking in the kitchen, the sound of the lawnmower indicated that the gardener was nearby, and I knew my friends were around somewhere.

“You haven’t touched me since that night.” She was frantic in my lap, trying to drag my shirt off and undo my belt at the same time.

“I was giving you space,” I protested as I stood, holding her up as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I was a little confused by her statement. Over the last two weeks, she had not been ready for any sort of intimacy. I hadn’t been avoiding it; I had just been respecting her grieving process. Yet now she was lamenting our lack of touch.

“I don’t want any space.” She was sucking on my neck now, and I had to make a decision. Did I give her what she said she wanted in this moment, or did I insist that she recognize that this may not really be what she wants, and it was possibly due to her emotions being in upheaval for the last two weeks?

Feeling her body pressed up against mine and knowing that I had the ability to shut off her brain and release her from her prison of grief for a moment led me to my decision to let it continue. Mainly to give her a reprieve from her pain, but also, if I was being honest with myself, I missed her like this. I wanted her back.

I walked with her clutching onto me over to the side of the rooftop garden where we wouldn’t be visible from the kitchen windows. In a second, I had her up against the stone wall, panting and writhing against me—kissing her neck, palming her ass, rubbing up against the apex of her thighs. She was pulling on my T-shirt, so I reached behind me and yanked it off, holding her up with one hand. She slid down the wall, her hair getting all messy, and stood to pull off her sweatpants. She took a few steps back and walked into the freshly watered garden. I followed, crowding her against a bush. She unzipped her hoodie, and I finally saw that she was completely naked beneath it. I looked around, making sure the gardeners were still not near us, and then I palmed her breasts, rubbing her hard nipples beneath my calloused fingers. She leaned into my hands and moaned.

“Here?” I asked, running my fingers over her lips. She flicked out her tongue and sucked along the side of my thumb. My cock jumped in my boxers.

“Here,” she confirmed. I rummaged around in my pants pocket until I located my wallet, praying I would find a condom, which I did, and then shoved my pants down around my ankles. I stepped out and kicked them away. She sank down to her knees, and I watched as she took me out of my boxers. Her mouth was on me in a flash, and I had to steady myself as my leaking dick was enveloped in the warm, wet suction of her mouth. I rested my hands on either side of her hair and began to move her in the rhythm I needed. She gagged, and I let her move off me slightly.

“No,” she said, garbling around my length, dripping saliva. It dawned on me that she wanted me to take control. No, she needed me to. I tightened my grip on her head and moved her back onto my length. Her eyes watered, and I could see her gratitude swimming in them. Shut off your brain, I longed to tell her. But instead, I showed her.

I fucked her face in earnest until I was sure that she could not be thinking about anything but my pleasure and her need to breathe through her nose. She licked, sucked, bit, and gagged on me until her knees began to slip in the dirt and mulch. I pulled out, panting, willing myself to last because her exuberance had nearly sent me over the edge. I paused because I could hear voices nearby, but then they faded away, and the sound of the leaf blower started up. I smiled at her as I laid her back on the garden bed. Her hair was tangled amongst the bushes, bits of flowers littered her curls. The sun shone over her body, casting light across her puckered nipples, warming her skin. I ripped the condom open with my teeth and reached between us to make quick work of putting it on. Then I crawled between her legs, feeling my knees sink into the freshly watered mulch and soil. She was lying there, watching me, her lips swollen from our kisses, her pussy wet, her legs trembling. I entered her in one stroke, pushing her deeper into the dirt.

“Kian,” she started; tears began to form in her eyes.

“Don’t say anything,” I ordered. “I love you. Please let me do this for you.”

“I love you too,” she mouthed, the tears dripped from her eyes, but she tightened her legs around me, and I fucked her into the earth. I had imagined the first time we told each other “I love you” would have been romantic. Maybe while eating chocolate fondue or making love on silk sheets or while having a picnic under the stars. Yet, at this moment, I realized that coffee girl and music man would do it this way. Rutting in the dirt, overtaken by emotion, and living a real, painful life. The perfect moment was this one.

I could tell when Jessa finally let go of what she thought she was supposed to be doing. When she released the stress and pain of the last two weeks. When she allowed herself to have a moment of peace and give herself over to the pleasure, and to truly understand how much I adored her. A moment that she deserved. Her eyes had glazed over, and her cheeks were pink from lust and the sun. She felt pliant and soft in my arms. My hands were muddy, but I reached up anyway and caressed her cheek, leaving dirt across her face in my wake.

I looked down; the condom was slick with her, and mud covered the inside of her thighs. I watched as I fucked into her, hard and punishing. Pushing her against the delicate branches of the bush with every thrust of my body into hers. I could feel her begin to clench me harder, I felt her grow wetter, I saw her legs start to quiver, I heard her breath pick up, and I knew she was close.

I reached over with my dirty hand and closed it around her neck. I squeezed on either side, cutting off some of her oxygen, and I saw her relish in it as she gasped and panted out my name. I fucked her deeper without changing the tempo, and as soon as she began to come, I released my hand from her neck, flooding her with oxygen and heightening her experience. She was calling out now, loudly moaning and saying my name. If the people inside didn’t know what was going on before, they certainly knew now.

I clenched her breast as I groaned and slid in and out of her a few more times until I came, filling the condom, feeling the orgasm burst from me, flooding my body with dopamine and love. I rolled off of her with a groan and splayed out next to her, feeling the water and mud seep into my hair and smear all over my back. The mulch was painful under my shoulders. I looked over at her. She had dirt splattered across her chest and around her neck. Her face was smeared with it, and her entire ass and thighs were covered with mud and messy handprints from where I had gripped her. Her hair was a tangled wreck, and I leaned over to pluck a leaf from it.

“You’re filthy,” I told her, smirking.

“So clean it up.” She was propped up on one elbow now, and she widened her legs, showing me what she wanted. I didn’t have to be told twice. I ignored the grime the garden had left behind and dove between her legs to make her scream my name again as only a few minutes later, she came loudly on my tongue. So loudly I had to hold my hand over her mouth to quiet her. I looked up from my spot between her legs as she fell back, completely limp on the flower bed, and I felt my heart swell with adoration as I watched her start to laugh. I came up to cover her body with mine and spread a little more dirt across her cheeks.

“You are everything to me.” She leaned up to kiss me briefly.

“Trust me, I feel it more,” I insisted as we continued this dance of learning to say what we truly felt to one another.

“Kay.” She seemed satisfied with that, and she curled up into my body. I held her, covered in dirt and cum, and for a moment, all was the way it needed to be.