4. Carly
CARLY
Boone was actually home.
I stood in the doorway of his studio, watching him sit at the piano with his back to me.
His shoulders were relaxed, his fingers moving over the keys in a lazy pattern that wasn't quite a song yet.
Sunlight came through the window and lit up the dust floating in the air.
The house was quiet for once. No Tuck, no Savannah, no meetings or phone calls. Just the two of us.
I took a breath and stepped inside. "Hey," I said.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey."
"You want some lunch? I was going to make sandwiches."
"Yeah, sure." He turned back to the piano, playing the same progression again. "In a minute."
I stayed where I was, my hands in my pockets. "What are you working on?"
"Nothing, really." He hit a chord that didn't land right and frowned at the keys. "Just messing around."
I crossed the room and sat down on the bench beside him.
He didn't move over to make space, so I pressed against his side, my thigh warm against his.
He smelled like coffee and the soap he always used, familiar and solid, and for a second I let myself just sit there next to him.
God, when was the last time we did this?
"Play it again," I said.
He did. The progression was pretty, but it sagged in the middle like it needed something to hold it up.
I reached over and played a counter-melody with my right hand, filling in the gap.
Our hands moved across the keys together, his rhythm steadying under mine, and the sound opened up into something that actually worked.
Boone smiled. Not at me. At the piano. But it was something.
"That's good," he said. He played it through again, this time with the line I'd added. "Yeah, that's really good."
I leaned into him, my shoulder fitting against his the way it used to when we were first married and spent every night at this piano writing songs nobody had heard yet.
His arm came around my waist, his hand resting on my hip, and I felt myself relax for the first time in days.
Maybe weeks. This was what I'd been wanting.
Just him. Just us. No Savannah, no label deal, no family dinners where I disappeared into the wallpaper.
"I miss this," I said quietly.
He kissed the side of my head, distracted and warm. "Miss what?"
"This." I gestured at the piano, at us sitting together. "Writing with you. Spending time together."
"We spend time together," he said.
I wanted to tell him we didn't. I wanted to tell him that sitting in the same room while he scrolled through his phone wasn't the same thing as actually being with him. But I didn't. I just nodded and let my head rest against his shoulder.
His phone buzzed on top of the piano.
He didn't reach for it right away, which felt like progress. We kept playing, my hands following his across the keys, and I let myself believe that maybe he'd ignore it. That maybe, just this once, he'd let it go to voicemail and stay here with me.
It buzzed again.
Boone's hand left my hip. He picked up the phone and looked at the screen, and I felt the warmth between us cool like someone had opened a window. His whole posture changed. He sat up straighter, his fingers going still on the keys.
"Sorry," he said. He was already reading whatever was on the screen, his attention a thousand miles away from me. "Just give me a second."
I moved my hands off the piano and folded them in my lap. "Sure."
He tapped something, frowning. Then he tapped something else. I sat there beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body, and watched him disappear into his phone like I wasn't even there.
"Boone," I said.
"Mm?" He didn't look up.
"I asked if you wanted lunch."
"Yeah." His thumb kept moving across the screen. "Sandwiches. That sounds good."
I bit the inside of my cheek and stood up. He didn't notice. I turned to leave, but his hand caught mine and pulled me back. I looked down at him, surprised, and he smiled up at me.
"Come here," he said.
My pulse kicked up. He set his phone down on the piano bench and stood, his hands settling on my waist. He pulled me close, and I let him, my arms going around his neck like they'd done a thousand times before.
His mouth found mine, warm and familiar, and for a second everything else fell away.
This was what I'd wanted. This was what I'd been asking for without actually asking.
His hands slid up my back, pulling me tighter against him, and I kissed him harder.
My fingers tangled in his hair, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat that sent heat straight through me.
God, I'd missed this. I'd missed him touching me like he actually wanted to, like I was something more than a fixture in his house.
He walked me backward until my hips hit the edge of the piano, and I gasped against his mouth. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me just enough to sit me on the keys. The piano let out a discordant crash, and I laughed, breathless and flustered, and he grinned at me.
"Whoops," he said.
"Boone — "
He kissed me again, his body pressing between my knees, and I forgot what I was going to say.
My hands found the hem of his shirt and slid underneath, my palms flat against the warm skin of his back.
He shivered under my touch, and I felt something in my chest loosen, like I'd been holding my breath for weeks and could finally let it out.
His phone rang.
Boone pulled back, just an inch, his forehead resting against mine. "Ignore it," he said.
I nodded. I wanted to ignore it. I wanted him to ignore it. I wanted to stay right here, with his hands on my waist and his mouth so close to mine I could feel his breath.
The phone kept ringing.
Boone hesitated. I felt it in the way his grip on me loosened, in the way his attention shifted just slightly away from me and toward the sound. My stomach sank.
"Boone," I said.
"It might be important," he said. He was already reaching for the phone, his hands leaving my waist. "Just let me — "
He picked it up. I watched his face change when he saw the name on the screen. The hesitation disappeared. He answered.
"Savannah," he said. "Hey."
I slid off the piano and stepped back, my arms wrapping around myself. Boone turned away from me, the phone pressed to his ear, and started pacing across the studio. He was smiling. I could hear it in his voice.
"No, you're fine," he said. "I'm not busy. What's up?"
I stood there, my chest tight and my hands curled into fists, and listened to him talk to her like she was the most important person in the world. Like I hadn't just been sitting on the piano with his hands on me and his mouth on mine. Like the last five minutes hadn't even happened.
"Yeah," Boone said. He laughed at something she said, bright and easy. "No, I can do that. When were you thinking?"
I walked to the window and stared out at the yard. The grass needed mowing. I'd been meaning to hire someone, but I kept forgetting. Or maybe I just didn't care anymore. It was hard to tell.
"Today?" Boone said. He sounded surprised, but not in a bad way. "I mean, yeah, I can make that work. What time?"
I turned around. He was still pacing, still smiling, still completely absorbed in whatever she was saying. His free hand ran through his hair, the way it always did when he was excited about something.
"Okay," he said. "Yeah. I'll head over in like an hour. Does that work?" He paused, listening. "Perfect. I'll see you then."
He hung up and looked at me, still smiling.
"I have to go," he said.
I stared at him. "What?"
"That was Savannah." He was already moving, grabbing his keys off the desk, checking his pockets for his wallet. "She needs to go over the contract details before we send them to her dad. She said it won't take long, but she wants to make sure everything's right."
My throat went tight. "You're leaving."
"Just for a couple hours." He walked past me, heading for the door. "I'll be back for dinner."
"Boone." I said his name louder this time, sharp enough that he stopped and turned around.
"What?" he asked.
I wanted to tell him we were in the middle of something. I wanted to tell him he couldn't just kiss me and then walk out the door the second Savannah called. I wanted to tell him I was tired of being the thing he set down every time she picked up the phone.
But the words wouldn't come. Because saying it out loud would mean admitting how much it hurt, and I wasn't ready to do that. Not to him. Maybe not even to myself.
"Nothing," I said. "Never mind."
He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, already halfway out the door. "Love you," he said. "I'll be back soon."
And then he was gone.
I stood in the studio, listening to his footsteps on the stairs, the sound of the front door opening and closing, the engine of his truck starting in the driveway.
The piano was still behind me, the keys still holding the impression of where I'd been sitting.
The counter-melody I'd played was already fading from my mind, and I realized he probably wouldn't remember it either.
He'd been too distracted. Too focused on his phone, on Savannah, on everything except me.
I walked over to the piano and sat down. I played the progression he'd been working on, adding the line I'd written to fill the gap. It sounded good. It sounded right. It sounded like something people would want to hear.
Nobody would ever know I wrote it.
I closed the lid over the keys, harder than I needed to. The sound echoed through the empty studio, sharp and final, and I stood up.
My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the top of the piano, taking slow breaths, trying to calm the furious, helpless feeling rising in my chest. He'd left.
He'd kissed me and touched me and made me believe, just for a second, that I mattered to him.
And then Savannah called, and he'd walked out the door without a second thought.
I picked up my phone and scrolled to Dee's number.
My thumb hovered over the call button, but I didn't press it.
What was I going to say? That my husband left me sitting on a piano to go see another woman?
That I'd let him? That I didn't even try to stop him because I was too afraid of sounding desperate?
Ugh. I sounded pathetic even in my own head.
I opened the text thread instead and typed: Are you at the bar?
Dee's response came back almost immediately. Yeah. Slow day. You ok?
I stared at the message. Was I okay? No. I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay in a long time, and I was so tired of pretending I was.
Can I come by? I typed.
Always, she sent back. You know that.
I grabbed my keys off the hall table and my jacket from the hook by the door. The house felt too big and too empty, like it was swallowing me whole. I needed to get out. I needed to see Dee. I needed to talk to someone who actually looked at me when I was in the room.
I walked out to my car and got in, tossing my purse on the passenger seat.
The driveway was empty. Boone's truck was already gone, probably halfway to Savannah's place by now.
I wondered if she'd smiled when he said he was coming.
I wondered if she knew what she'd interrupted. I wondered if she cared.
I started the engine and backed out of the driveway, the house disappearing in the rearview mirror. The road stretched out in front of me, empty and quiet, and I followed it toward town. Toward Dee's bar. Toward the only place I could think of where someone might actually be glad to see me.
The ring on my finger felt heavy. I gripped the steering wheel tighter and kept driving.