Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
A soft, hissing sound to his left caught his attention, jerking him from his petrified fear. Backstage, in the eaves, someone was gesturing for his attention, probably the stage director hissing at him to get…things…moving…
Oh.
Every thought in Amani’s mind ground to a halt. The entire world stopped, the murmurs of the theater receding into a sort of ringing, dreamlike silence. Amani stared, his lips parting, his next exhaling sigh caressing his mouth with the memory of deep, searching kisses as he whispered a single name.
“…Vic.”
Vic stood backstage, just out of sight of the audience, watching Amani warmly; fresh snow dotted his hair, pale against dark tangles. As their eyes locked, Vic smiled a bit sheepishly, tucking his hands into his slacks.
You can do this, he mouthed, the words as clear as if he’d rumbled them in Amani’s ear. I’m here. I won’t let you fall.
Amani smiled, euphoria a rush, a wind, lifting him and making him light. He nodded once, tightened his fingers on the bow.
Thank you, he mouthed back.
And once again found his voice.
He struck the bow across the strings with confidence, and suddenly the theatre was no longer there. He knew only the rainfall patter of urgent piano notes at his back, chasing him on, racing with him, challenging him to play his fingers in deftness and in wildness to know every place that made the cello keen and sigh for him with just the right notes, creating a storm of music that thundered to the rafters and whispered to the eaves. He’d chosen Brahms, again. Brahms because he’d found himself in wringing a stirring call from every sound; because he would always remember the way Vic watched him with such rapture as he opened a vein within his heart and used the crimson strings to pluck note after note until he was the song, the cello, the great swelling throb of building climax, the clamor that seemed to cry out for something more.
He was Amani, and he knew now what his something more was, and always would be.
He played until his fingers burned, until his joints ached as he demanded more dexterity, pushing himself to the limits of tempo and complexity and fingering notes, until they rang with triumph. And he felt as though the foundations shook as deeply as his soul, as with a last gasping breath he ripped out a peak of quiver-hot, keenly penetrating sound, a cry of lament, a cry of wonder…
And then let it fall, echoes drifting down to blanket the theatre in silence like snow as, panting, Amani let his bow drop.
Slowly the theatre resolved around him: the cold air, the heat of sweat on his skin, the ache and burn in his muscles and joints.
And the applause, rolling over him in a roaring wave as the audience stood, clapping until the sound fluttered up to the rafters like birds.
Amani set cello and bow aside and stood, letting his gaze sweep the audience, and smiled, grinned, laughed, raising his arms, then sweeping about—before joining hands with the pianist and bowing against. He’d…he’d done it, he hadn’t ruined it, he was still himself, he could still do the thing that brought him the most joy.
He still had one love, even if his fingertips trembled with the need to grasp another.
As a few people in the audience called his name, he raised one hand, then gathered his skirts and tumbled off stage, nearly flying into the wings.
And flinging himself right into Vic’s arms.
“Vic,” he gasped, knotting up handfuls of his waistcoat, rising up on his toes to lean in hard.
Vic rocked back with a startled sound—but his arms came around Amani without hesitation, pulling him in close as he rumbled in amusement. “Not trying to kill me. That’s a good start.”
Amani dropped back down, looking up at him. “I thought you said you weren’t coming.”
Vic tilted his head left, then right, brows rising innocently. “The thing is, you ordered me to come and never took it back, so technically…”
Despite himself, Amani laughed and swatted Vin’s chest. “You jerk.”
“I am.” Vic caught that swatting hand, pale eyes sobering as he kissed Amani’s fingertips, beloved lips touching his skin once more, flooding him with warmth. “I’m a jerk, but I couldn’t stay away. I needed to see you one more time, though I never meant to let you see me. But then you froze, and I just…” He shook his head, rubbing his stubble-scratchy cheek to Amani’s palm. “I wanted you to know there was someone on your side.”
“Is that what you are?” Amani asked carefully. “On my side?”
“I always have been. I’m sorry I didn’t show it.” Vic leaned into him, bending to meet him, and the scent of his body was all fresh snow and lovely heartbreak, as he touched his brow to Amani’s and enveloped him in his strength. “I know…I know life is different for both of us. I know we’re different, and everything I am is contrary to everything you believe in. We’re from different sides…but I want to be on yours. Nothing else matters.” That deep voice cracked, hitched, so heavy with emotion. “Nothing else matters but you.”