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)
Cromwell took a deep breath. My heart beat faster than I thought possible at the sight. The doorknob moved under my hand, and the door crept open, exposing where I stood.
Cromwell looked up at the noise, the creak of wood like a thunderclap in the silent aftermath of his sorrow. His beautiful face drained of blood when he met my eyes.
I stepped forward. “Cromwell, I—”
He stood from the piano stool; the abrupt movement sent it crashing to the floor. He swung around, hands clenched by his sides and dark blue eyes lost. Cromwell’s mouth opened like he would speak, but nothing came out. He glanced about the room, at the instruments he had played, as if they were betraying his secret.
“I heard you.” I stepped further into the room. My bottom lip shook with fear. Not fear of him, but fear of what this all meant. Of who Cromwell Dean truly was. Of what he possessed inside of him.
Of who he could be.
“Your talent…” I shook my head. “Cromwell…I never imagined…”
Cromwell turned away from me and edged around the room like he was trying to escape. I held out my hand, wanting to touch him, to offer him comfort as he breathed too quickly, as his lost eyes searched desperately for what to do next. Cromwell darted across the room toward where I stood, to the only exit. His eyes were wide and his face was pale. He stopped only a couple feet in front of me, shoulders sagging and body exhausted.
He appeared completely broken.
Cromwell’s piercings glinted in the one dim light he had been playing under. A reluctant spotlight. Not daring to shine too brightly on an artist who didn’t want his gift to be seen.
This close I could see his skin was mottled, the wet residue of his tears kissing his cheeks. He stepped closer again, edging his way to the exit. I’d never seen him this way. Gone was the arrogance. Gone was the attitude.
This was Cromwell Dean laid bare.
His breath blew across my face. Mint and tobacco and something sweet. “Bonnie,” he whispered. My name from his lips cut me. His raspy voice sounded like it was crying out for help.
“I heard you.” I met his watery stare. My heart thudded in my chest. The silence in the room was so profound I could hear the two very different beats of our hearts slamming between us.
Cromwell stumbled away until his back hit the wall. His blue stare focused on the piano across the room. I wasn’t sure from the look in his eyes if he saw it as an enemy or a savior.
Cromwell suddenly pushed off the wall and rushed to pick something off the top of the piano. He tried to get past me. As his arm brushed past mine, I acted on instinct and took hold of him. He stopped dead and bowed his head. His wide shoulders were slumped. I blinked away tears seeing him so undone. So tortured.
So exposed.
“Please…let me go,” he said.
My heart lurched at the desperation in his voice. I should have done what he asked, but I kept tight hold. I couldn’t let him leave so upset. In this moment, I found I didn’t want to let him go.
“The way you can play…” I shook my head, speechless.
Cromwell sighed, his breath shaking, then brought something over his heart. I stepped back so I could see what it was. A set of dog tags was clenched in his trembling hands. He held them so tightly that his knuckles were white.
Cromwell screwed his eyes shut, and my body tensed with sympathy as a tear fell from his eye. I wanted to smooth it from his face, but I held back. I wasn’t sure he would let me go that far. When he opened his eyes, the look on his face was nothing but tortured. “Bonnie…” he whispered, his accent thick as he met my eyes. I’d always thought his accent was patronizing. Right now, broken and hoarse, it was only endearing.
Then he pulled from me and fled to the door, footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. “Cromwell!” I called after him. He paused in the doorway, but he didn’t turn. I wanted him to stay. I didn’t know what I would say, but I didn’t want him to leave. It felt like I waited a lifetime, heart in my throat, for him to decide what to do, whether to turn and come to me. But then the door opened and closed, and he left me alone.
I tried to catch my breath. I tried to make my feet work to go after him. But I was grounded, unable to process the memory of Cromwell so destroyed at the piano. It was ten long breaths before I could move.
I walked to the piano and picked up the stool from where it had fallen. Sitting down, I ran my fingers along the keys. They still held a flicker of heat from where he played.