Call You Mine (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #4) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,102
me. And what am I supposed to say to you—but what if I don’t say anything and we fuck this up?”
“We won’t,” I tell him, going to the box I had delivered a few weeks back.
I open it and take out the small drums. Setting them up on his lap, I grab my cello and sit on the bed. It’s not the best posture, but they took away my chair when they reconditioned the room. I begin to play. It sounds strange; I haven’t done this in so many weeks. I played for him while he was in a coma. Once he woke up, I stopped doing it and focused on his recovery.
“It’s time,” I say.
Closing my eyes, I let my feelings flow through my music—the pain, the anger, and mostly the love. I don’t keep track of the time, but at some point, I hear him using his hands to follow me. We do it for a long time.
This isn’t a love song.
It’s a healing song.
I’m not sure what we’re unbreaking—or fixing—but I know that we’ll have to do this again and again until he remembers who he is.
He’s an artist. The music he composes comes from his soul. He’s not a guitar, nor his legs. He’s an entire orchestra who can figure out a way to share his gift in many ways.
The drums stop. I don’t. I continue playing, and that’s when I feel the bed move to the side. Soon, his legs are hugging mine, his arms wrap around my body. His lips rest on my neck. He hums the melody while nibbling my skin. His hands run up and down my chest, his mouth begins to kiss me.
“They say there’s a secret to having a great life,” he mumbles. “Greatness comes from knowing what’s worth holding on to. To let go of everything that’s not worth your time.”
He kisses my spine, dusting a trail of kisses along as he takes off my shirt.
“I don’t care if I never walk or play again, as long as you’re with me.”
Opening my eyes, I stop playing and turn to look at him. “I’m yours. No matter what happens to us, I won’t leave you—ever.”
I put the cello on the stand and join him in bed. Slowly, we undress each other as we kiss tenderly. This is different from the last time I was with him. There’s no urgency, but there’s no prelude to our song. We just find our rhythm once we’re naked. I sit on top of him, slowly sliding down his hardness. He fills me with his thickness.
This is us, fusing after a painful separation.
Making music again and dancing at the same rhythm. Maybe we didn’t lose anything. We just needed to find the right song to play while he’s healing.
“I love you,” I mumble while we make love.
“I love you more, G. I’d be lost without you anchoring me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Beacon
It’s been almost three weeks since I came back to Baker’s Creek. Grace and I are working on our issues through music. Well, that and making love. It seems like I have enough strength to do anything in bed—or in the pool. The only problem with the second one is that we got caught by Henry. It wasn’t pretty.
Lang had to leave town. His clients are needy. Mane, San, and Fish have been helping with my rehabilitation along with my brothers and Grace. Hayes claims I need supervision because if I was left alone, I’d be overworking myself. Apparently, there’s a thin line between working hard to achieve my goals and fucking up my body because I’m overdoing it.
Today, I decide to wake up early and try to at least do my chore—breakfast. Yesterday, I practiced preparing a meal with my occupational therapist. The entire session felt therapeutic. It reminded me of the happy times I spent with Mrs. Bradley learning how to cook. Taking care of others is a gift. It brings me peace, happiness, and comfort.
It’s still a task to move from my wheelchair, to the stair lift, to the wheelchair downstairs, but I can do it on my own. That’s one of this week’s goals. I can check it off the list. The new list Grace and I decided to create. We included sexual positions to it. I need more incentive than swimming to the other side of the fucking pool.
When I arrive at the kitchen, Pierce is setting the basket of fresh eggs on the table.