When I enter, I find it empty.
He wasn’t outside having a smoke, as I would have seen him when I passed through the living room. I wonder if he’s in his studio.
I put my purse on the dressing table, kick off my heels, and set about finding Jake.
As I walk down the hall, I hear the piano playing in the library.
The door is ajar.
I push it open and find the room in darkness, lit only by the bright moon coming in through the windows.
Jake’s seated at my piano, playing a song I don’t recognise, wearing only a pair of black pyjama bottoms.
He cuts a solitary figure.
I listen to the song he’s singing so very softly, but I can’t make out the actual words. He sounds beautiful.
“He plays piano in the dark,” I say, leaning against the door frame.
He instantly stops playing and glances over his shoulder.
“Hey.” He smiles. But even from here, I can see something is off in his smile.
He turns from me, back to the piano, and starts to play the chorus from Brenda Russell’s classic “Piano in the Dark.”
This is my mum’s favourite song.
I have so many memories of it from my childhood. I remember listening to Mama sing along to it on her stereo while she was in the kitchen fixing dinner. I wonder if Jake remembers.
I love how music can elicit memories.
And I love how even now it still binds Jake and me together. It’s our connection. It’s how we talk.
Jake continues to play as I walk across the hardwood floor to him.
I trail my fingers over the back of his neck, running them into his hair, and kiss his temple before leaning over the piano, resting on my elbows.
No matter where we are, or what he’s singing, Jake’s voice does incredible things to me. It’s like pure, hot sex listening to him. His voice touches parts of me I didn’t even know existed. Parts of me that belong only to him. That will only ever belong to him.
Watching the way he moves his fingers over the keys makes me want his hands on me so very badly.
I press my thighs together.
“Jake…” I trace my fingertip over the smooth surface of the piano. “Will you ever one day write a song about us? About me?”
He stops playing and stares at me. “Every song I’ve ever written was about you in some way.”
“Really?” My eyes widen.
His gaze is steady on me. “How do you think I wrote about love, Tru? You were the only person I ever loved. Every message of love in those songs came from you…because of you. Every line of loss came from losing you. Listen to them and you’ll hear it. I’m surprised you didn’t before now.”
He glances back down to the keys and starts tinkering with them. I’m getting the distinct impression he’s disappointed that I didn’t know.
I shift, uneasy. “I guess when I was listening to your music, I thought you didn’t care about me.” Turning away, I rest my back against the piano and stare across the darkened room.
“I hate that you thought that.” His voice is soft behind me. “It couldn’t have been further from the truth.”
Turning back to him, wanting to stop this conversation before it starts, I say, “I liked the sound of the song you were playing before. Is it new?”
He nods.
“Will you play it for me now?”
He stares at me for a long moment and shakes his head. “It’s not finished. I’ll play it for you when it is.”
“Okay.” I reach over and touch his face with the tip of my index finger. I draw a path across his cheekbone, up over his nose, then trace the line of his brow.
Jake closes his eyes, breathing shallow. Then he reaches up, taking hold of my wrist. He draws me to him, putting me between him and the piano.
He rests his forehead against my stomach. I run my fingers into his hair, holding him to me. His deep breaths are hot on my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt. In and out he breathes.
Something’s bothering him. I knew it before in his smile, but I know it more so now.
I can see it in the tense line of his shoulders. Feel it with every deep breath he takes.
“How was your night?” Jake asks, muffled, into my top.
“Good, we had fun. How was yours?”
He lifts his shoulders. “Standard.”
“Baby, what’s bothering you?” I press my fingers into his tense shoulders.
Lifting his head, staring up at me in the darkness, he grips my waist.
Without a word, he stands and picks me up, sitting me on the piano. The keys tinkle as I rest my feet on them.
Leaning into me, he buries his face in my neck. “I don’t want to talk.” He surprises me by taking a shaky breath. “I just need to be inside you, Tru. Deep inside you.”
His words shiver through me. I know that whatever is bothering him right now, he needs to forget, in me.
His hands push my skirt high up my legs. He groans at the sight of my hold-ups and runs a finger around the edge of one, then roughly pushes my thighs apart and grabs my ass, pulling me to him. He kisses me.
My breathing stutters at the intensity of him, the feel of his erection pressing against me, his tongue hard in my mouth. It’s a heady combination.
Reaching for my shirt, he rips it open. The buttons scatter, pinging across the piano, hitting the floor.
Jake pushes the shirt down my arms. Taking over, I free it, tossing it aside.
His hand moves over my breast, tracing the edge of the cup of my bra. He runs his finger in and over the tip of my nipple. The gentle contact makes me gasp.