Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I exhaled and tried to read his face. He seemed tired, withdrawn. But he was here. Easton leaned forward. “How are you?” His eyes scanned the machines that had been brought into my room.
“Holding on,” I said, and his face fell. Cromwell kissed my shoulder, his hand gripping mine tighter.
I cast my eyes out of the window. “What’s it like…out there?” I never knew a person could miss the sun so much. Miss the wind, and even the rain.
“Nice,” Easton said. I smiled to myself at my brother’s one-word answer. I would never have described it that way. I wanted to know what color the leaves on the trees were. If it was cooler than ten days ago. What the lake looked like in the evening now that the nights were growing darker.
“Nice,” I said, and Easton smirked.
“So?” Easton asked, a hint of my happy brother shining through his voice. “What have you been composing?” I didn’t think he actually cared, but I loved him for trying.
Cromwell reached into his pocket and pulled out his audio recorder. He always recorded what we played and then transferred it to my cell so I could listen to it. He played the parts we’d created and even the rough mixes of how all the instrument sections would flow together.
Easton’s mouth hung open. “Was that you playing all those instruments?” he asked Cromwell.
Cromwell’s face burst into flames. “Yes,” I answered for him.
Easton frowned. “Who wrote the music?”
“Both—”
“Cromwell,” I interrupted. Cromwell looked at me, eyes narrowed. I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s true…” This was his work. This was all him.
Easton sat back in his seat and shook his head. “So the EDM star is into classical music.”
Cromwell’s mouth twitched. “It’s all right.”
Easton laughed, taking Cromwell’s lips from hooked to a full smile. The sound and sight of the happiness lit up my world.
It wasn’t long before I fell asleep. When I woke, it was to Clara checking my heartbeat with her stethoscope. “Still beating?” I asked, our usual joke slipping from my lips.
Clara smiled. “Still holding on.”
Cromwell and Easton sat across the room. They were talking in low voices, heads close together. Cromwell turned, as if he’d sensed I was awake.
He came over and kissed me. Clara laughed and left the room. He sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, baby?”
Baby. He’d just started calling me that. I loved it about as much as I loved him.
“Okay.” I rubbed my hand across my chest.
Cromwell lifted the stethoscope from the side table. “Can I listen?”
I nodded. Cromwell put the cold stethoscope against my chest and closed his eyes. I watched as they flickered underneath his closed lids. I wondered what he was seeing. What colors and shapes. Then he reached into his pocket and put the small microphone attached to the recorder under the edge of the stethoscope. He stayed that way for a few minutes; then he opened his eyes, moving his head back. Without my having to ask, he played the recording. I breathed in through my nose, taking in a deep lungful of oxygen as the stuttered, labored sound of my failing heart echoed around the room.
It was practically singing that it was giving up.
“Do Easton’s,” I said. Cromwell looked confused, but he did as I asked. The beat was strong. I knew it would be.
“Now yours. I want to hear yours.”
Cromwell put the stethoscope over his heart, but this time he gave me the earbuds. The sound of his beating heart pounded into my ears. And I smiled.
This was the music of his heart.
“Beautiful,” I said.
I could have listened to it all day.
* * *
Three days later…
“Where are we going?” I asked as Cromwell helped me into my wheelchair. Clara had come into my room an hour ago and had taken me off my food bag from my PICC line. She had attached the small oxygen tank onto my pipe and helped me get dressed.
Cromwell pushed me to the door. My pulse seemed to build up speed as I passed my mama and papa. “Not too long, okay?” Mama told Cromwell.
“I know. I won’t push it.”
“What’s happening?”
Cromwell bent down in front of me and laid his palm softly on my cheek. “We’re getting you some fresh air.”
My lips parted as the door opened, revealing a sunny day. I was wrapped up in Cromwell’s thick black sweater, a coat, and blankets. But I didn’t care if I looked ridiculous. I was going outside. I didn’t care where.
I was going outside.
Cromwell pushed me out onto the path. He paused. I wondered if he knew I just wanted to feel the light breeze on my face. That I wanted to hear the birds singing in the trees.
His mouth came to my ear. “You ready?”
“Mmm.”
Cromwell led me to his truck and settled me into the passenger seat. As his face moved past mine, he paused and pressed a single gentle kiss to my lips.