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)
“What…” I swallowed. My knee knocked against her thigh. “What did you think?”
“Cromwell,” she whispered, a slight tremor of vibrato in her voice. “I haven’t…I couldn’t ever write anything like that.” Her cheeks blushed. “Not without you.”
My heart slammed against my rib cage. “I just followed the colors.” I nudged my chin in her direction. “Colors you created.”
Bonnie searched my eyes like she could see through them. Like she was trying to see inside of me. “This is why he brought you here. He knew it still lived inside you. Lewis. It’s what he saw in you.” Her brown eyebrows knit together, a sympathetic expression on her pretty face. “Why, Cromwell? Why do you fight it?”
Her words were like a bucket of ice poured over my head. I moved back, my defense mechanism to flee, to verbally knock her down kicking in. But Bonnie’s hand moved off the guitar and lay on my cheek. I froze. Her touch kept me rooted to the spot.
I fought the need to run. The lump that choked my throat clawing up from my chest. But when I looked at her eyes, I didn’t move. Instead, my lips opened and I said, “Because I don’t want it anymore.”
Her hand was warm on my face. Her fingers soft. “Why?” Tears filled her eyes when I didn’t answer. I wondered if she’d seen something in my face. I wondered if she’d heard something in my voice.
But I couldn’t answer her.
Bonnie’s hand slipped from mine, and I felt like I’d been plunged back into the middle of an English winter. Everything was suddenly cold and dull, stripped of warmth. Bonnie smiled. She put her hand back on the guitar. Lines wrinkled on her forehead. “I can’t remember the new chords.”
I lifted off the stool and moved behind her. “Budge forward.” Bonnie looked over her shoulder at me. Her pupils dilated, but she did as I asked. I sat behind her. She wasn’t close enough, so I threaded my arms around her waist and moved her back. Bonnie let out a surprised sigh as her back moved flush against my chest.
My arms wrapped around her, shadowing hers. The tattoos on my bare arms stood out like lights in the dark against her white sleeves. My chin came just above her shoulder. I caught her sharp inhale.
It was a burst of russet in my mind.
“Hands ready,” I said. I glanced down at her bare shoulder beneath my mouth. Her skin bumped, her ears turned red, and I saw her lips part. I felt the corner of my mouth hook up into a smile.
“Play. When we get to the bridge, I’ll step in and help.” So she did. Bonnie’s words washed over me. But the lyrics were again like a dagger to the heart. The sadness in them as she sang. The violet-blue line of her voice that ran through me like a heart monitor swelled with her emotion. With the words that resonated with her the most.
As the bridge came up, I put my hands over hers. I felt her shudder against me. But I kept going, letting her strum as I placed her hands on the chords that were in sync with the rest of the song. We played it three more times before her hands fell from the strings.
“You got it?” I asked, my voice sounding husky even to my ears. It was being this close to her. Her small body fitting against mine like a piece of a jigsaw.
“Yeah, I think so.”
But neither of us moved. I didn’t know why. But I sat there on the stool with Bonnie Farraday leaning against me. Until… “Cromwell?” Bonnie’s voice cut through the silent comfort. “You can play anything, can’t you? Without lessons or practice. You can just see the music, and you have the skill to play whatever you want.” Her head turned, her lips almost brushing past mine. Her eyes studied me. “The colors show you the way.”
I thought back to the first time I picked up an instrument. It had felt as natural to me as breathing. The colors that danced before my eyes were like a path. I just had to follow them and I could play. I found myself nodding my head. Bonnie sighed. “Can you…could you play my song?”
“Yes.”
Without taking her eyes off me, Bonnie found my hands that were resting over the guitar and moved them into position. She settled back against my chest. “Please play for me.”
She seemed tired, her body leaning against me and her voice quiet. My fingers flexed. The guitar wasn’t an instrument I usually picked up. But that didn’t matter. She was right. I could just play it.
My hands simply understood its language.
Closing my eyes, I started playing the chords. No words accompanied the piece this time. Bonnie stayed silent as she listened. She didn’t move a muscle as the music she’d created poured from my fingers. On the instrument she clearly loved.