Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Theo
I sat facing Max, nursing my latte. There was so much I could have told him, and I had no clue how to start that conversation.
My parents spoke the language of order fluently, in crisp tones, in measured silences, in a house so immaculate it had felt as if one breath out of place might crack the glass.
We’d lived in The Grange, a prestigious residential area south of Edinburgh city centre, characterised by large Victorian and Edwardian houses, wide streets, and gardens.
Emotion wasn’t forbidden, not exactly. It was simply viewed as inefficient.
If I cried, my mother would smooth my hair and say softly, Let’s not make a scene, darling.
If I laughed too loud, my father would murmur, Control yourself, Theo.
If I excelled—perfect marks, piano exams, prizes—I got a small nod of approval. A quiet Good. As expected.
Every other feeling went unacknowledged. Invisibility became a form of safety. I learned early that neatness drew less attention. Predictability was protection. If I followed every rule, no one could be disappointed in me, because disappointment required investment, and investment was messy.
Music was the one exception my parents tolerated. “Refined,” my mother called it, “so long as you don’t let it become a distraction.”
So I learned to practice quietly, to keep the volume low, the doors closed, the passion tidy. I learned to make my feelings sound beautiful instead of visible.
By thirteen, I could sight-read anything.
By seventeen, I could bury every emotion under perfect harmony.
By nineteen, I could perform heartbreak in a major key and smile through the applause.
And then I met Luka.
Luka wasn’t the beginning of my caution; he was the proof of it.
Luka hadn’t broken something whole. He’d found the fracture line that had always been there and pressed until it split.
My father had taught me silence was strength. My mother had taught me precision was love.
Luka had taught me how those things could be used to cage you, and how much worse it feels when you realise you built the lock yourself.
That was why I counted things now. The seconds before speaking. The number of beats between Cameron’s laughter and my own. The breath between don’t and want. It wasn’t control, not really.
It was containment.
“Talk to me.” Max spoke quietly. “Because I’m not budging until you do.”
I sighed. “Do you know what life has taught me so far? That affection comes with conditions, approval can be withdrawn without warning, and stability is performance-based. So when something good happens? My body expects the correction. It’s pre-emptive grief.
If it feels good, it won’t last. If it matters, it’ll hurt. If I’m happy, something’s about to go wrong.”
“And what has thinking that way got you?”
I swallowed hard. “A tight chest, difficulty breathing, insomnia, hypervigilance…”
“And sadness.”
I shook my head. “Not sadness, more like the fear of joy.”
“Tell me about last night.” Max leaned forward. “And no, I don’t mean the juicy bits. Tell me how you felt.”
I took a deep breath. “Sex with Cameron wasn’t casual. It wasn’t even physical release. It was intimacy, unguarded, unplanned. And…” I looked him in the eye. “I let go.”
His breathing hitched.
I couldn’t stop, not now I’d finally gotten the ball rolling.
“After years of equating letting go with danger—with Luka’s manipulation, with emotional collapse —my nervous system is now screaming What did you do?
You weren’t supposed to feel that much. You weren’t supposed to need someone.
” Another hard swallow. “So I’m not panicking because something went wrong.
I’m panicking because it went right.” I took a drink from my cup.
“For so long, sex meant perform, please, stay quiet, be controlled…”
“And now?”
Now it meant Cameron’s hands in my hair, Cameron whispering my name.
I wanted him, and he wanted me right back.
I inhaled. “For the first time, it means pleasure without shame, and that contradiction is rattling me.” I stared into my coffee. “Cameron has now seen me undone, vulnerable, losing control… He’s seen me wanting and I spent years ensuring no one ever saw that.”
“And now someone has.” Max leaned back. “And that someone is young, brilliant, emotionally open—”
Someone I believe deserves better than me.
Max let out a sigh. “Okay, now I get it. I think I see why you’re panicking.”
I blinked. “You do? Then share.”
He regarded me steadily. “You’re thinking What if he regrets it? What if I scared him?
What if last night was a mistake for him? Because you’ve now realised last night wasn’t just sex. You’re in love with him, and apparently your brain knew this before you did.” He smiled. “You’re panicking not because last night was bad, but because it mattered.”
It was more than that. I was already imagining losing Cameron. Before anything had the chance to go wrong, my mind was leaping ahead to Gary finding out, Cameron outgrowing me, Cameron wanting someone less damaged…
Being abandoned again.
My body was responding to imaginary heartbreak as if it was imminent.
Max reached for my hand. “You’re not spiralling because you regret last night. You’re spiralling because you care.”
I had to smile. “Fuck, you really do see me, don’t you?”
Caring felt like the most dangerous thing I could do. My body was screaming Protect yourself before it hurts.
Before he leaves and you lose him.
My heart was whispering the opposite, and in that contradiction lay angst.
“Yes, I do. And you see that you need to go and talk to Cameron, don’t you?” Max cocked his head to one side. “Think about how you were when he came into the rehearsal. He’s bound to be wondering what’s going on. I mean, he wandered in, all post-sex glow, and—”
“And I was anything but,” I finished for him.
He nodded. “So he’ll have questions.” He let go of my hand. “Give him answers. Be honest with him.” Then he smiled. “If you do that, you won’t screw up. Just trust him, Theo.”
I finished my coffee, then stood.
“See you at the next rehearsal.”
Max nodded. “Which will go a whole lot better than today’s did, I promise you.”
My stomach clenched.
“And before you get to replaying the last few hours over and over, take my advice. Our little gang won’t hold one bad rehearsal against you.
If anything, they’ll have your back when you walk into the next one with a smile.
” Max inclined his head toward the door.
“Now get your arse home. There’s a gorgeous man waiting for you. ”
A gorgeous man I needed to talk to.
Cameron
I’d intended staying longer at the rehearsal, but I’d had to get out of there, partly
because I had sketching to finish for class, partly because I needed to breathe—and also because watching Theo unravel with every note had left me shaken.
I’d never seen Theo off before, not like that, not visibly.
The moment he noticed me in the doorway, I saw it, the split second of relief, followed immediately by panic.
Something was wrong.
I sat on the sofa, my sketchbook open, my pencil held loosely. I kept glancing at the door every time I caught footsteps on the pavement outside.
I touched my bottom lip.
Every time I thought of last night, my chest tightened. All of it played in a loop: the kissing, the whispering, Theo’s mouth on my throat, the way he’d looked at me as if he’d wanted me for years—
His final sounds of pleasure and release that broke me, shattered me, and made my heart sing.
But today, he’d looked at me as though wanting me was a crime, and I didn’t understand.
The lock clicked, and I sat up straight.
Theo stepped in, his shoulders tense, his face pale.
He looks worse.
“Hey.” I kept my voice low. “Rough rehearsal?”
Theo removed his coat with clinical movements, as if each gesture had to be executed precisely or he’d fall apart.
I rose slowly from the couch. “You okay?”
He looked me in the eye. “I’m fine.” For a second, I saw panic flicker across his face before it vanished behind a wall so fast it made my stomach twist.
“You looked shaken today,” I said. “I wanted to check on you.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me.”
Fuck, he sounded so quiet.
I swallowed. “I care. I’m allowed to worry.”
“You shouldn’t worry about me,” he repeated, his voice too tight. “That’s not—it’s not your responsibility.”
I took one small step closer. “That’s not how caring works. Remember what they say? ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved’? Please,” I whispered. “Talk to me.”
Theo looked at the floor. “I wanted to kiss you again today.” His voice quavered. “Every time I looked at you, I wanted—” He broke off. “I don’t know how to handle this.”
“Handle me?”
Theo shook his head. “No. Me.”
My heartbeat stuttered. “So this is about last night.”
“Yes. And about this morning. And rehearsal. And you. All of it.” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t know how to want someone without losing myself.”
Aw fuck.
“And losing yourself is scary.”
“Yes.” Theo met my gaze. “Because the last time I did, it destroyed me.”
I stepped closer, not touching, but close enough that I felt the heat of him.
“Let me in,” I murmured. “A little.”
“If I do, I won’t be able to let you go.”
“Good.” I stepped right into his space now, our chests almost touching.
“You don’t have to push me away to protect yourself. Or protect me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t know how to believe that.” Theo’s voice broke.
“Then let me show you,” I whispered.
Theo lowered his gaze, and I wasn’t about to let him do that.
I cupped his chin and raised it, looking him in the eye. Fuck, everything was right there in those eyes, fear, want, guilt—and longing.
Theo inhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away.
I traced the line of his cheek with a fingertip. “Just let me be here. You don’t have to do anything.” I stood there, close enough that our breaths mingled, letting him feel the offer without pressure.
Theo exhaled a trembling breath and brought his forehead to rest against my shoulder.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him safe. “You’re okay,” I murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you.” The echo of the previous night was right there. Theo’s breath was warm against my collarbone, and I felt the subtle tremor in his back, the rigid posture slowly melting into something soft.
“What’s happening in your head right now?”
Theo didn’t lift his face, his words muffled.
“I’m waiting for the part where you realise you made a mistake.”
My heart cracked open. “Theo, that’s not going to happen.”
Theo’s fingers clutched my shirt. “People always leave when they see too much.”
“I’m not people.” He stilled, and I stroked a hand down his back. “You’re not scaring me away, not with this. Not with honesty.”
“I don’t know how to be loved without feeling like I’m about to lose everything.”
My breathing caught.
There it was, the truth, the secret wound hiding beneath the surface.
“Then you won’t lose everything,” I told him. “Just… let yourself have something.”
He inhaled sharply, as if the idea itself was painful.
I touched his cheek again, guiding his face up gently until our eyes met. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. You don’t have to be in control. You just have to be here.”
Theo’s eyes shimmered with something dangerously close to tears.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.
“You won’t,” I replied with absolute certainty.
Theo shook his head. “You can’t know that.”
“But I do know that I want you. All of you.” I smiled. “Even the parts you’re scared of.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Try stopping me,” I said with a chuckle. His shoulders sagged, fatigue rolling off him in waves. “You’re tired.”
“More like emotionally concussed,” he muttered.
“Come to bed. Not for sex, just to be next to me.” I waited for his reaction.
Theo studied me for a moment, then nodded. “I’d like that.”
I took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
Take your time.
I’d give Theo all the time in the world.
And it felt as if this was the beginning of everything.