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Chasing horizons, and faraway dreams.
But the city’s embrace was a cold, lonely street,
And I’m here with our memories, bittersweet.
I walk our old paths, where we once roamed free,
Your spirit, like mist, in the old oak tree.
In the quiet of night, when the world’s asleep,
In my dreams, it’s your smile I keep.
She frowned and strummed a different chord.
I got down beside her, admiring how the floral-print dress hiked up her thighs. “Can’t you sing something upbeat?”
Her cool blue eyes scanned my face. “Does my singin’ bother you that much?”
“It’s not that. Listening to you feels like walking through your soul barefoot. It’s personal.”
She looked away. “My music’s meant to be raw. Comfort ain’t the goal here.”
“But it leaves you vulnerable.”
Her mouth curved. “You think vulnerability is a weakness?”
“It can be.”
It also drew in men like me. I was used to keeping up appearances, retaliating for slights, and playing tough. A man’s armor was his rep. Show a hint of weakness? You’re dead.
Violet’s music cut through that bullshit. She reminded me that there was a man underneath the muscle. Somehow, she lured me in with the very thing I buried every day. I needed more. I leaned closer, aching to bridge the gap between us.
She picked at the strings. “Vulnerability makes us human. It’s the purest form of truth. Without it, what are we? Just shells wanderin’ through life, never truly livin’.”
“You’re singing your heart out to an empty room.”
“It’s not anymore, is it?” Her gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re named after Achilles.”
The shift caught me off guard. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Achilles was strong, almost invincible, but he had a flaw.”
“Right. His heel.”
She chuckled. “There’s more to him than that. Some say it was his pride, or maybe love, that caused his downfall. Point is, weakness is somethin’ you can’t outrun.”
That struck a chord deeper than her music. I was no longer untouchable. All they had to do was kidnap her or my son. I’d be a mess. I’d burn the world down to avenge a stubbed toe. An unsettling feeling rattled in my chest. Their safety was my weakness. That settled heavily on me.
“What’s that thing?” I asked, pointing at the instrument.
The music stopped, and she glanced up. “A mandolin.”
“You play that and the guitar?”
She nodded. “How long were you listening to me?”
“Just a minute or two.”
