Page 80 of A Wish for Us

Music so heavenly it almost didn’t feel real.

I knew I was crying. I could feel the tears drenching my face. But there were no wracking sobs. No shuddering breaths, just a serenity that comes with pure happiness. From being moved so profoundly that something shifted inside you. Something that made you understand what perfection truly looked like.

As Cromwell brought the music to a close, I moved off my bed. I didn’t even know why; I just let my heart take the lead. And of course, it led me to Cromwell. It seemed I had been led to Cromwell since this summer in Brighton.

Cromwell was still, his hands braced on the keys, on the final chords. And as I walked beside him, he looked up. His cheeks were wet, and I knew without asking that something had just broken within him.

And he’d let me see it.

Open.

Vulnerable.

Him.

I stared at Cromwell’s beautiful face, at a genius so tortured that he pushed everyone away, had tried to push me…but his music had spoken to my soul. My voice his siren call.

Cromwell’s eyes squeezed shut, and his head fell against me. I wrapped my arms around his head, keeping him close. I didn’t know what this piece of music was about. And I didn’t know what pain he harbored, but I knew I could be here for him right now.

I thought of my journey ahead, and how in a matter of days, weeks if I was lucky, my ability to move and breathe would be taken from me. And I knew. I knew, as sure as I knew Cromwell was the most perfect musician I’d ever heard, that I wanted him.

While I could.

For us both.

I steered Cromwell’s head back and cupped his cheeks. Cromwell looked up at me. I took a moment to savor him. To leave a photograph in my soul of the moment his walls fell down and he led me, hands grasped and fingers entwined, inside his heart. Where I would never leave.

Where I forever wanted to stay.

Leaning down, I pressed my lips to his. I tasted the salt from his tears and the cold left by the rain. Taking his hand, I guided him off the stool and toward the bed.

No words were needed. I wouldn’t tarnish the perfect melody that still lingered in the air. Right now there was just me and him and silence. Right now there was nothing but healing andthis.

My hands shook as I stepped toward Cromwell and lifted his sweater. I pulled the hem over his stomach, baring a beautiful canvas of ink. I brought it over his chest, thankful for Cromwell’s help as he lifted it the rest of the way and discarded it on the floor. His chest rose and fell as my hands flattened to his cold, tanned skin. The expression in his eyes made my legs weak.

Adoration.

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his skin, hearing the hitch of hisbreath. He let me lead. My British boy who had just shown me his impenetrable heart.

I moved my hands to the shirt of my pajamas. I started unbuttoning it, but my fingers were already too weak. Cromwell stepped closer to me and gently took hold of my hands. He brought them to his lips and kissed each finger. My bottom lip trembled at the sight. At the action. Then he placed my hands on his waist as he leaned in and took my mouth. He kissed me softly, so softly it felt like our lips barely touched. And I felt his hands undoing my buttons.

I held on to his waist, feeling his skin go from cold to warm under my touch. I traced the swirls of quarter notes dancing on a curved bar. The shield that took pride of place on his torso, “Dad” written on a red ribbon underneath.

My heart clenched at the sight; then as my shirt fell to my elbows, I breathed in and out, knowing what he’d be seeing. I had nothing underneath my shirt, nothing but my skin and my scar and my true self.

I held my breath as Cromwell saw the result of years of fighting. I worried it would disgust him. I worried it would be too ugly. I worried that—

A quiet sob slipped from my throat when he leaned forward and pressed his lips over the raised skin. He kissed the scar from the tip to the bottom. Every inch that told the world I had a broken heart. My entire body shook.

Cromwell took my face in his hands. My shirt fell to the floor, leaving us both exposed. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, those words, and his voice, like a symphony to my ears.

I smiled. It was the only response I could give. Words were absent, taken away by the gentle touch of his soft kiss. Cromwell kissed me as the rest of our clothes fell away. He kissed me as we crawled into the bed and he moved over me.

Cromwell kissed and kissed me, making me feel so cherished that I didn’t think I ever wanted this night to end. And as we made love, his eyes locked on mine and his kisses so sweet, he felt heaven-sent. Sent into my life exactly when I needed him. When the true fight would begin, when I would need an ally by my side.

I pushed the dark hair from his face, our breathing labored. My handstrailed down his cheek, only for him to catch my fingers and kiss them again. Like he was worshipping me. Like he was thanking me. For what, I didn’t know. But I wanted him to feel so cherished too.

We hadn’t been together long, but when your time is finite, love is felt stronger, faster, deeper. My eyes widened when that thought hit me. Because… “I’m falling in love with you,” I whispered, letting my soul take the lead and speak its truth unguarded. Cromwell stilled, and his blue eyes fixed on me. My hand lay on his cheek. I swallowed. “I’m falling in love with you, Cromwell Dean. So very deeply in love.”