Page 121 of A Tragic Melody

“How high?”

“As high as you can.” She laughs.

“You got it.”

She pulls my head back down, pressing her lips against mine, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel doomed. I feel hope.

EPILOGUE

If Wyatt was picky when it came to playing on stage, he is ten times worse in the studio. He barks orders, and I counter them until we are at each other's throats and the producer has to put us in time out.

This time, Wyatt storms off. Other times it’s been me, but this time I let him. Mostly because I know he is right. We need a soft riff for this ballad of his, but I just love getting under his skin. Probably always will.

It’s a good high for me to use, and I think he secretly likes it, too. Plus I’ve learned that sometimes pushing him, leads him to even better ideas. I’m not sure he has ever had this amount of talent to work with before.

He is a genius when it comes to writing, and paired with my talent, I truly think this might be our best album yet. He gets me, both musically and otherwise.

We are trying very hard to take things slow, but it’s incredibly hard after everything we went through. He has seen me at my worst, and I’ve seen him nearly kill a man. That really hinders healthy growth that most relationships have.

We didn’t get much of a honeymoon phase. There was and is, and probably will be, a lot of baggage in our relationship, but I don’t know if I could handle life without Wyatt anymore.

He agrees to do therapy, both solo and with me. It’s really helpful as we navigate everything we’ve been through and how to cope with the trauma of it all. We attend AA meetings together, and apart.

I’ll admit I’m jealous at how easy he makes being sober seem. It’s a lot harder for me. I’m used to drowning everything in drugs and liquor. He does his best to help me, distracting me with orgasms or music, or anything else, but it took us both a moment to realize we couldn’t always be each other’s savior.

I think that’s the hardest part for him, learning he can’t always fix my pain. He promised to always be there though, and honestly, that’s all I really want. Someone who will stay with me through it all.

After a few minutes, I step out of the studio. My excuse is to use the bathroom, but I think it’s no secret what my real reason is.

Wyatt is a very giving partner. He has given me far more orgasms than he’s gotten, but I think he prefers it that way. It’s a first for me, and learning to enjoy it took a second, but now I can’t get enough of him.

And every time we get in one of our little battles in the studio, it turns into really good sex for us. He likes to make up for his attitude with his tongue, and I like to forgive him with my pussy.

Wyatt craves vulnerability and secrets, and the guy can have all of mine if he keeps making me feel as good as he does. It’s very healing for me. For once, it doesn’t feel like a transaction. It's not me giving my body to survive, but giving my heart and getting his back.

When he turns the corner and sees me leaning against the wall by the supply closet that’s become our makeshift sex room, his lips curve down. He glares at me, and it makes my pussy drip.

“You’re being a jerk,” I say, not fighting back the smile that spreads across my face.

“You know I’m right, though.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t being a jerk about it.”

He sighs. “If I’m being a jerk, then what are you being?”

“Um, wonderful. Duh.”

He laughs. “You are wonderful.” He walks up to me. “And I am a jerk.”

“I think I can find it in me to forgive you.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.”

“No?”

“Did I say I was sorry?” He lifts a brow.

“No, but…” His hand reaches, turning the knob on the supply closet.