Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

Keep breathing, man.

For the first time since I filled this room, I let someone in. My stomach threatens to heave as I wait for Layla’s reaction. I hold my breath as she takes tentative steps into the room.

“Oh my gosh, Blake,” she says breathlessly, her gaze swinging around the space.

The wonder in her voice calms my racing heart. She moves around the room with the grace of an angel, and like the sun shining in a dark space for the first time, her presence chases away the shadows.

“Can you play all these?”

“Yeah. Every one.”

Her mouth forms the word wow. She moves to the piano in the corner. “Even this?”

I shrug and lean against the doorframe. “Especially that.”

“Amazing.” Running her hand along the glossy black edge, she moves to the wall of guitars. “And these?”

My answering nod drops her jaw. “I can play every instrument in this room.”

She shakes her head in what looks like disbelief, and I take a step into the room. Looking at the drum kit, she studies it for a moment then looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I can play those.”

“Blake, that’s…” Her head pivots as she takes in the room while turning slowly in a circle. “Incredible.” The last word is spoken on a breathy sigh that makes me breathe a little easier.

I don’t know what I thought would happen. The shame I carry from my past about playing music is illogical. But it’s something that’s never needed to be shared with anyone else. There’s a deep-seated fear that if I let people in, I’d have to give it up again, just like when I was a kid.

“When? Er… how…” Her words trail off as she absently strums the strings of the Fender Stratocaster hanging on the wall.

“Started when I was two with my grandmother’s piano. I’d hear a song, climb up on the piano bench and pound it out.” It sounds simple, and it was. “Mom always said my brain worked backwards. I couldn’t take notes and piece them together to make a song. Instead, I’d hear the song as a whole and then break it down.”

“Why don’t you play in a band? ”

I move deeper into the room and sit on the couch, the only piece of furniture in here. Elbows on my knees, leaning forward, I summon the strength to tell her everything. Shit, I’ve come this far. I take a deep breath and turn to look at her. Her big, brown eyes search mine with a mixture of what looks like innocent admiration and curiosity. And damn if I wouldn’t tell her anything when she looks at me like that.

“I played piano until the day my dad had me kidnapped and taken to military school. My mom, she loved that I could play. Called it my gift.” I look at the carpet between my feet, unable to hold her gaze. “My dad forbade it. Called me a * and a fag for doing what I loved. He’d get all over my mom for encouraging it. After years of watching him beat her down verbally, I begged her to stop sticking up for me. I was eleven. I tried to stop playing, but fuck.” Nothing calmed me like playing, and the memories of struggling to stay away from the music break to the surface. “I snuck around for a long time, until my mom ratted my ass out.” I shrug. “He shipped me off to a place with no instruments and corporal punishment.”

She moves to the couch, but doesn’t sit. “What a dick.” Her tiny frame, looking cute as shit in her knee socks and short shorts, leans forward. She throws her hand out, motioning to the room. “He took your mother away from you and sent you to military school because you have a gift?” Her finger points at my face. “You better hope I never meet him, ’cause if I do, I’ll… I’ll…” She makes a fist and punches her palm.

I can’t keep my hands off her when she’s all flustered, angry, and defending me. I pull her into my lap. “That’s quite a threat, Mouse. I’ll make sure you two never meet in a dark alley.”

She smacks my chest. “I’m serious, Blake. I will kick his ass.”

A laugh bursts free from my lips, so powerful and cathartic that releasing it makes me feel lighter. “Nah, that’s not necessary.” My laugh fades to a chuckle. “Military school was good for me. Plenty of combat training. That’s where I learned to fight.”

Relaxing a bit into my arms, she grunts and crosses her arms over her chest. A few seconds of silence pass as we both look around the room. And fuck, it feels great having her in here.

“But why hide it? I mean, you’re free from his rules, on your own.”

“I guess it’s like you said. Old habits die hard. I’ve kept it to myself to, I don’t know, keep it safe?” It sounds stupid, but it’s the best way I can describe it.

“I get that.” A soft smile tips her lips. “Do you write?”

“No. Can’t. My head only works one way. Writing would be going the opposite.”

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