Owen

It’s late by the time we get back to my place, but there’s an energy coursing through my veins, permeating every part of my body, and I know there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to fall asleep.

I pull Bree towards me when I lock the front door behind us, pressing my mouth hard against hers. Taking. Demanding. But also knowing that sex won’t satisfy the need that’s twisting in my gut.

Tonight, I need more.

“Write with me,” I murmur against her lips.

She tilts her head to the side and frowns, then lifts her hand to my chest. “Write?”

“Music. Come play with me. Let’s create something together.”

Her brows draw up slightly, a flash of something in her eyes that looks like hope. But just as quickly, it’s gone, and she shakes her head. “Can’t. My hand.”

“I think ye use yer injury as an excuse.”

“I can’t play. It’s not an excuse. It’s reality.”

“Ye have yer voice, and yer mind.” I tap my index finger against her forehead. “That’s all ye need.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I do. More than ye know.” I’d used my headaches as an excuse not only for being a jackass, but also to stop writing. It wasn’t until a couple days ago, until Bree, that I’d actually found my voice again. “Ye know what else I think?”

She sighs. “No. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“I think ye’re scared.”

“Of what?” She tries to push me away, but I take her hand and pull her down the hall towards the studio.

“That ye might be good.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I agree.” I motion towards the piano.

She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bench, her arms crossed.

Stubborn. I see a glimpse of the child she once was. Always pressing her luck. Taking chances.

I sit down across from her and pick up a guitar, adjusting it as I watch her.

She sighs. “What do you want to write about?”

I strum a few notes, watching her. “You.”

“Me?” One eyebrow arches.

“I want to hear the song inside ye. The one that’s begging to get out.”

She grumbles something under her breath.

“Close yer eyes, Bree.”

“I’m not-”

“Close yer eyes,” I say again.

She glares at me, before obeying. “Fine. They’re closed.”

“Good.” I chuckle. “Now, go to the spot inside ye, the place that’s raw, vulnerable. Feel it. See it. Hear it.” I play a few chords softly, waiting as I watch some of the tension ease from her features. “What do ye want to say, Bree?”

She lets out a low breath. “I don’t know…I can’t-”

“Don’t worry if the words don’t make sense. Just let them flow. Let the emotion carry ye.”

Her brows draw down, but her eyes remain closed. “Owen-”

“Let go.”

She sucks in a breath, and starts to sing. The first few words are soft, almost inaudible, but as she finds her voice, the words fill the small room, vibrating off the walls and hitting me square in the chest.

“…memories fade and branches break, but home still calls my name…”

I change the chords to accompany the melody she pulls from the deepest part of her, slowing the pace to match hers.

“…can’t go back to broken promises…can’t believe in new dreams…unless you’re there to catch me when I fall…”

A tear slips across her cheek, but she doesn’t brush it away.

I let my own words mix with hers. “Tell me it’s worth waiting for…”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but her voice doesn’t falter. “Not sure what I’m fighting for…”

“Hold ye up. Won’t let ye fall…”

“Branches break...”

“New trees grow…”

More tears stream down her cheeks and she chokes out the last few words. “I’m coming home…”

Raw.

Haunting.

The song, even after the last chord has been struck, and the last note sung, moves inside of me.

We sit in silence for a moment, before I put my guitar down and scoop her into my lap, then seal my mouth over hers.

“That was…”

No words.

A smile edges at the corners of her mouth.

God, the woman has undone me.

It’s terrifying to realize how much I actually care about her, how much she matters to me.

I’m not ready to give her up.

Not yet.

Maybe never.