Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Cromwell kissed my lips, and the darkness that had been pressing down on me disappeared. His light chased it away. A tear fell from the corner of my eyes. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I’d better go and tell the doctor and your parents you’re awake.”
He kissed my hand again before walking out of the room. The minute he left, I felt a flash of coldness that I never felt when he was beside me. Cromwell Dean was my warmth. The blazing soul that kept mine tethered to this life.
My eyes drifted around the room. And my heart stuttered when my gaze fell on my guitar in the corner. The keyboard that stood against the wall. The violin that lay on the sofa. This time it wasn’t just a simple tear that tracked down my cheek; it was a torrent.
“He played for you every day.” My eyes moved to the doorway. My stomach fell when I saw Easton. His hair was a mess, and I could see the anxiety on his face. “Easton,” I mouthed, emotion stealing whatever voice I had managed to salvage since I’d awoken.
Easton walked into the room, his fingers brushing over the keyboard. His eyes were shining. “He hasn’t been to school. Just brought these the day after you were brought in. And he played for you all day every day. Papa had to force him to eat and sleep. Then when he had, he was back here, playing for you.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Bonn.” Easton ran his hand down his face. He looked tired. So tired. Guilt assaulted me. “He’s talented, sis. I’ll give him that.” He stared at the instruments, lost in thought. “There was this one piece he kept playing on the keyboard…” He huffed a laugh. “Kept making Mama cry.”
My fight song.
I knew it without any further explanation. I knew that even as I lay unconscious, my heart would have heard it too.
Easton came to stand beside me. His gaze dropped, but after a few seconds, his hand threaded into mine. It crushed me to see him so hurt. His bandages were still on his wrists, and I wanted nothing more than to leap from the bed and tell him I was cured. “Hey, sis,” he whispered, voice broken.
“Hey, you.”
My hand shook. So did his. Easton sat down on the bed. My face crumbled when I saw tears flooding his face. “Thought I’d lost you, Bonn,” he said hoarsely. I held on to him as tightly as I could.
“Not yet…” I said and offered what smile I could. Easton stared out the window. “I’m gonna make it,” I forced out. Easton nodded, and I ran my finger over his bandage. “I’ll live for us both…”
Easton ducked his head, his long, blond hair hiding his face. I held him tight as he just sat there with me. Footsteps hurried down the hallway; then my mama burst into the room, my papa following behind. They both hugged me as best they could. When they moved back, I saw Cromwell in the doorway, and despite the fact that my parents were speaking to me, he was all I could see.
He was my violet blue.
My favorite-ever note.
The doctor came and checked on me. My heart cracked just that little bit more when he told me I was here to stay. That there would be no going home. And that I was now on the top of the heart donor list. It inspired both terror and hope in me. Hope that I may actually get a heart. And terror as my life was now on a countdown, an hourglass quickly losing sand. But I didn’t ask how long I had. I didn’t want to know from the doctor. I didn’t want to hear things like that delivered from his clinical mouth.
I wanted to hear it from someone I loved.
For a day I fought with tiredness, the residual effects of the induced coma. I thought I was dreaming. My eyes were shut, and I could hear the most beautiful music playing. In fact, I could’ve been fooled into thinking I was in heaven. But then I opened my eyes and saw the source of the music. Cromwell sat at the keyboard, his hands hypnotizing as he played my song. I listened, my heart listened, as the notes I’d inspired floated into the air and blanketed me in a cocoon. I listened until he played the very last note.
And when he turned, I simply held out my hand. Cromwell smiled, and I melted into the bed. He had rolled his sweater up to his forearms, showing off his tattoos. Today, his knit sweater was white. He looked beautiful. Cromwell went to sit on the chair beside me. But I shook my head. He slipped his hand in mine and perched on the edge of the bed. But that wasn’t enough either. I shifted my body, gritting my teeth at the pain it caused.