I pulled into the Blue Blossom Bed-and-Breakfast parking lot and sat trying to talk myself out of what I was getting ready to do. Micah had been so angry the night before. We’d had plenty of fights over the years, but there’d been a look, a sound that was new.

Maybe he’d finally had enough and was getting ready to walk away. I’d been pushing him to do it for ages. Perhaps he was done waiting for me, or at least close to it. The thought made me sick. Enough that I nearly went to his house to recant everything I’d ever said about why we shouldn’t be together.

And I would’ve. If I didn’t love him.

If I only cared about myself.

Taking a steadying breath, I got out of the car, walked up the steps of the bed-and-breakfast, and swore to myself that at least I would help him escape me.

Once inside, I turned to the right, toward the restaurant and bar. While the tables were packed with diners, only one couple sat at the beautiful, ornate bar. Just as I headed in that direction, they got up and walked away.

Seth saw me coming, and for once his ever present smooth charm faltered. It gave me pause. He’d never had that reaction to me before.

I straightened my shoulders and chose the barstool I always did when I had a drink at the bed-and-breakfast. I was going to do this, no matter what, for Micah. Even if it ripped my heart into a million pieces.

“Hey, Seth. How’s it going?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. You?” His tone sounded wary.

Definitely unlike Seth. And I avoided the question. I didn’t think I had it in me to lie. “Needing a beer, actually.”

Seth just nodded and turned his back, not needing to ask what kind I wanted or if I wanted a frosted glass. After a moment, he turned around and handed me a bottle and a wedge of lime.

“Thanks.” I should’ve practiced what I wanted to say. This was all too sudden, too spur-of-the-moment, even if I should’ve done it years ago. “Um. Pretty good weather we’re having.”

Seth flinched, but the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest smile. “Yeah. It’s June in Lavender Shores. Good weather is kind of the gig.”

“True story.” I lifted the bottle to my lips like it was some sort of savior and took a longer swig than normal to keep from saying something even more asinine. I lowered the bottle, swallowed, then did no better. “Looks like you all are having a busy night.”

Seth laughed, though the sound held no humor. “Connor, what the fuck is going on? Small talk? Who are you pretending to be right now?”

Relief flooded me to have him call me on it. Might as well just jump right in. Especially considering I doubted the bar would stay empty for long. “I came to talk to you about Micah.”

“Oh.” Seth’s little smile faltered, and he looked even more uncomfortable. “Okay.”

I took another draft of my beer, steadying myself to lift the gun to my head and pull the trigger. Lift the gun to my heart, actually. “I know it’s not my business, but I think you should give Micah another chance.”

Seth’s mouth dropped open, like I had said the last thing he would ever imagine. Which didn’t make any sense.

I rushed ahead to fill the silence. “I think he actually had a chance with you. And you seemed happy. And I’ve never known you to date anyone as long as you did Micah. I just think that if you two talked, especially right now, maybe things might go differently. That you might actually have a chance—”

Seth yanked the beer out of my hand and leaned forward across the bar, slamming his forearms over it as he brought his face within two inches of mine. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

I flinched back, completely caught off guard. “I… um… know it’s not my business, but I just thought—”

He didn’t let up. “You know, for a man as big and strong and with all your tough-guy tattoos, a person would place bets on you sneezing and a house falling down. I never would’ve thought you were a coward.”

He might as well have slapped me. The anger in his voice nearly matched Micah’s. “What?”

Seth gave a quick glance around the rest of the bar, found it empty, then glared at me again. “I’m not an asshole, Connor. Your secret’s safe with me, but this is low. Completely fucked-up.”

“What?” It seemed to be the only thing I could say. His words replayed in my mind, trying to change into something I could understand. Seth opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment it clicked and absolute terror washed over me. “What secret?” Surely not. No way. No fucking way.

Confusion crossed his face again, mingling with his anger. “Micah didn’t tell you?”

I froze for a second, considering my options. Running being the most tempting. However, I had no doubt that if I stood to bolt, my legs would fall out from under me.

Seth didn’t give me more than a second to think, nor did he clarify. At least not exactly. As he spoke, his words grew quieter, nearly deadly. “Your secret is safe with me, Connor. I’m not a gossip, and I’m your friend. And Micah’s.” He leaned even closer, his breath brushing my face. “And as your friend, I’ve got to tell you, you’re being a jackass. What are you worried about? The town talking? Your precious founding family saying you’re an embarrassment and kicking you out? That people will look at you and think you’re sick or something? All that is stupid. Even if they do that, who the fuck cares? And if that’s even a part of your consideration, then you’re stupid and a coward.”

He did. He really did know. It was almost a relief—if relief could be terrifying. Then it hit me, not only did he know, but he was judging me. Just not in the way I would’ve expected. “That’s not the reason.”

Seth sneered, an ugly expression on his handsome face. “Oh, really? Don’t tell me you think Micah isn’t good enough for you. We both know that’s shit.”

My own anger flared, and I had to focus to keep my voice lowered. “Of course not. I’m the one not good enough for him. I’m the reason he’s here, why he gave up New York, the Symphony—”

“Shut the fuck up, Connor.” For the first time in our relationship, I had the impulse to punch him in the face. But Seth kept going before I could react. “Micah isn’t a kid. He can make his own damn choices. And don’t bother telling me that you don’t love him. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And now that I know, I can’t believe I was such a fucking idiot to not recognize it for what it was. It’s obvious. You’re so fucking head over heels for the guy.” He leaned back finally, still looking like he wanted to spit at me. “And then you come here. To me, a guy who’s been your friend for ages, and you what? Try to pimp me off so you don’t have to feel bad about how much you love him? So you can blame me for keeping him out of New York instead of yourself? Fuck off.” He let out a heated breath. “I gotta get out of here.” Seth started to walk away, then whirled around with a partially crazed laugh. “No, this is my bar. You get out of here.” He leaned close once more. “And Connor, I won’t judge you for loving Micah. He’s not actually your goddamn brother. But I will think you are the biggest fucking idiot I’ve ever seen in my life if you don’t pull your head out of your ass. Now get the fuck out of here.”

I walked to my car in a daze. And the secret I’d held on to for so long, that Micah and I had both held on to, was no longer a secret. Why had Micah not told me that Seth knew? Anger bit at me for a second, closely followed by shame. There wouldn’t be a secret if it wasn’t for me. Micah had tried to get it out in the open for ages.

I went home and to bed, but of course sleep was elusive. Just echoes of Micah’s and Seth’s tirades. Accusations of cowardice. Of refusing to accept the thing I wanted most. Of being selfish. I just wasn’t sure which was more selfish. To keep Micah for myself or make him fly.

Flying. Freedom. That’s what the Bryants had given me. Why I had wings over my chest. Freedom. I couldn’t take Micah’s. I couldn’t clip his wings.

When I finally succumbed, I had horrid dreams that had absolutely nothing to do with the Clarks and everything to do with Micah in New York—a tall beautiful dark-haired man, who looked suspiciously like Seth Marino, by his side.

I managed to stay strong the next day.

Not really true. I stayed strong for about three hours. Until my second client. Until I tattooed a treble clef on the ankle of a coed visiting Lavender Shores on holiday. She was a student at some artsy-fartsy school, training to be an orchestra conductor. She droned on over the half-hour session about musical concepts I couldn’t understand. I felt like Micah was all around me, though he never made me suffer such mundane details. I had to focus not to push the needles too hard, to keep my flow fluid despite the building anxiety. I’d been white-knuckling it, promising myself I would do nothing, just let things unfold, then that damn treble clef tattoo, all the talk of composers and symphonies. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I didn’t believe in God anymore, but if I did, this was something I would expect him to do. In my experiences, he liked to be cruel. So of course, this would be the tattoo he’d have me work on when Micah was finally slipping through my fingers.

That thought finally did it. And I knew it was selfish. But it was also completely genuine and unfiltered. Truth be told, at the heart of it, my biggest fear wasn’t Micah not being released to fly. Not becoming trapped in Lavender Shores because I hated the city, not that our family would struggle with our relationship not being what it was supposed to be.

My biggest fear was that Micah would actually, finally, slip through my fingers.

And whether it made me a coward or not in my own estimation, I couldn’t let that happen.

Micah’s house was dark, like the night around it, when I pulled up. But his car was in the drive. Maybe he’d gone to bed early, even though that would be atypical for him. It didn’t matter. If I didn’t do this now, that very instant, I’d return to being the coward Micah and Seth had labeled me. I knocked on his front door, then pounded. No answer. I started to dig in my pocket for his key when I heard it.

Music drifted through the ocean air, notes that were somehow cheerful and mournful at the same time, a sound only Micah could produce.

I knew who’d given him the mournful quality.

If Micah was right, if Seth was right, maybe I could take it away. I felt so much guilt for putting it there, but maybe I had the power to change that.

I left the porch and walked across the property, toward the cliffs in the distance. Of course he was in his hideaway. Our hideaway.

I wasn’t too late. Not if he was there. At least I hoped.

That hope had me speeding up, and I hurried to the small entrance, the rope ladder waiting for me. As I lowered myself into the cave, Micah’s song reverberated over the stone, surrounding me, becoming the entire universe. As soon as I touched the cavern floor, I slipped off my shoes and padded over to where our tiny storeroom turned into our little cathedral and sanctuary. Carefully I peered around, not wanting to be seen, at least, not yet.

Micah stood by the shallow pool in the center of the cavern, partially silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the arches. I came the rest of the way into the cavern, taking a few steps closer and then pausing to lean against the wall and just watch.

He was magnificent. His tall, lithe body moving with masculine grace as he drew his bow across his violin over and over again. His face, tilted against his instrument, was in partial profile, lit by the flickering candlelight. His eyes were closed.

Again the notion hit me as it had countless times before. Micah didn’t belong here. Not in this little town, not playing for nothing more than the sea.

The song ended, and with only a breath of a pause, a new one began. I didn’t know the name of either, but the first song had some happiness in it, some freedom. This one was just as beautiful but more of a dirge, more of sorrow and death.

I studied what I could see of his expression, trying to read what Micah was thinking.

That was stupid. I could only see what I saw. Could only find what I expected.

I closed my eyes and listened.

Though there were no words, and though it took a few moments for Micah’s voice to slip past my own thoughts and worries, I began to hear him, just him, in the music.

With the tremble of the notes, he sang out his sorrow, his loneliness. I nearly opened my eyes as I heard it. I’d never perceived Micah as lonely, ever. But I heard it. And having heard it, I couldn’t deny its presence. The evocative melody wafted over the room like waves, washing over me, sweeping every molecule of Connor away and leaving only Micah.

The song altered swiftly, swelling in volume and pitch, and I opened my eyes.

A tear rolled slowly down his cheek, the trail glistening in the moonlight, and fell on his violin.

How had I been so blind? Been such a coward? That truly was the only word for it. And so foolishly selfish? I loved no one as much as Micah. Yet how many times had I hurt him? Denied him?

I walked toward Micah, still silent, my heart beating a rhythm so much faster than his song. I’d come ready to proclaim my love, ready to tell him I would tell the world about us, ready to fall into his arms in joy. Instead, I was gutted at the realization of what I’d done.

Micah must have sensed me. I was mere inches away when his eyes opened and he flinched in surprise, the bow making a screech across the strings. As he turned toward me, he slowly lowered his hands, the violin in one, the bow in the other, both hanging at his sides.

I thought I was going to wrap my arms around him, pull him close, but as the candlelight illuminated his expression, I fell to my knees, my guilt cutting me down.

There was silence, nothing more than the lapping of the waves. A heartbeat passed. “Connor.” His whispered word was full of wonder and confusion.

I couldn’t make myself move, so I just looked up at his face, his beautiful, beautiful face, and felt tears burn. “I’m so sorry.”

He flinched again, just a touch. “What?”

I wanted to reach for him, take his hand, but I was frozen. “I’m so sorry, Micah. I’ve hurt you so many times. I thought I was doing right by you. I thought it would be selfish if I kept you here.” He started to speak, and I could see the old argument come to his lips, but I rushed on. “I know. It wasn’t my choice, wasn’t my call to make. I’m sorry.”

Micah studied me for a moment. I expected to see doubt there. Walls up where they had never been before, the evidence that I was too late. Finally too late. But I didn’t.

He blinked a couple of times and looked like he was about to smile. “Tell me.”

“I love you.” A million other confessions wanted to come out, wanted to spill from me. More apologies, promises. A list of all the ways he was the most wonderful thing in the entire world. “I love you, Micah.”

They were words I’d said countless times, words I’d meant every time they left my lips. But I’d never said them like this.

Micah smiled then, a beautiful trembling thing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I met his cornflower-blue eyes. “And you are not my brother. You are the man I love. My soulmate.” I’d never let myself think that word. And up until that moment, I hadn’t even believed in that concept. But as the words passed from my lips, they solidified from abstract to the truest thing I’d ever known. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. And I will be yours for the rest of my life. Even if I’m too late.”

“You know you’re not too late.” His smile grew, changing into something new, yet familiar. “Though I’m halfway tempted to beat you with my violin right now. But instead—” He transferred the bow to the hand that held the violin, then offered his free hand to me. “—how about you stand up and kiss me.”

I took his hand and stood, then stepped into him and looked down into his eyes once more. “I’ll tell the world. Everyone. Right now, if you want. Whatever happens, I can handle as long as I’m yours. I’ll even—”

“Oh my God, Connor, shut up.” There was a laugh in his voice. Then he gripped the back of my neck like he had so many times before, and kissed me. Kissed me in an amazing and completely new way.