Something In Between: Sequel to On The Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 59

The music hovered over Billy and me, but we never mentioned it. Still, it ate at me day after day. Just the one song punched through my carefully constructed ignorance.

"Stay with me," Billy's voice was still hoarse from sleep as he watched me getting dressed.

"I am staying with you," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Stay with me forever," he spoke with determination. "Your office would let you work remotely. Move in permanently."

"Billy, you just got out of a marriage; you don't know what you're saying."

"Lily, my marriage didn't work because I always compared her to you. Everything came down to did she remind me of you or not. I know she could feel it. I know you can feel it."

"Billy... What about your kids?"

"They love you."

"I'm not a wife, and I'm not a mother." I turned my back to him, hoping he wouldn't push further.

He was there, twirling me into his arms. "Tell me you aren't in love with me." There was a light in his eyes, the same one I'd seen all those years ago.

"Billy, I can't."

He gazed down at me. I expected to see the hurt fill his eyes, but nothing but awe filled his face. He swiftly turned on his heel and left in silence.

I took my time following him. "Billy." With all my force, I could only manage his name in a whisper as I entered the studio.

His face was dipped from view, the curtain of his hair covering his features. One hand had his fingers knotted within the hair at the base of his neck, while the other hand absently scratched at his stomach. For a brief second, the urge to reprimand his posture snuck into the blankness of my brain before I swept it away and focused on mustering more strength in my voice.

"Billy," my voice came louder.

The sound washed over him, and he sucked it in hungrily. His neck still bowed under the weight of his thoughts, but his shoulders rose with the sustenance of his name.

"I'm sorry." I glued my eyes to him, to every minor reaction.

"Are you, Lil?" He lifted his face to mine.

He suddenly looked old, much older than the thirty-five years he had lived. The toll of the moment, the pressure of the emotions, were draining him of life.

"Yes, of course. If I could change things..."

"What would you change? If you could, what would you change?" There was a warring mix of defeat and fight in him. His hands fell to the cluttered table before him, and his gaze followed. "I think I'd like to hear what you'd change. Would I be that fucking mechanic you've always fantasized about?" He absently picked up a kalimba, picking at a few tines with one of his thick thumbs.

"No, I'd change me."

He tossed the wooden instrument back down to the desk.

"I've never asked you to change." His tone was defensive. "I've never wanted you to be anything other than you." He didn't muster the strength to meet my gaze.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I haven't wanted to be something else."

"You know, through all the years, you were the one I felt was protecting me. No matter what people were saying, I always felt like you believed me, in me. You've always been so quick to come whenever I called." He lifted his face, so I could see him, see what he was saying. "There have been so many moments when something is about to get to me, about to tip me, but I've closed my eyes and pictured you smiling back at me. I always thought you were caring, soothing even. And in those moments when you would let us connect, let me in, I felt like I was invincible. I couldn't imagine a better feeling; it was like a fucking drug."