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“That,” he threw his hand out towards the stage and Mel gave a confused woof, “was my wish, that you were happy, free, that you had your dreams.”
“My dream is to stand beside you and know you want me there whatever happens, not just when you think things are going well. Not just when you’re up, but when you’re scared and tired and frustrated and angry with me. I can’t just be for the good times. I need to be with you through the awful as well, because what hurts you hurts me.”
“That’s—ah. Fuck. What if the cancer comes back? What if…”
“That’s life, Damon. It’s made of things you don’t expect, can’t protect yourself from.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be sure. About us. About me. About how I fit in your life, about what I mean to you. You sang that beautiful song and I think you were saying goodbye. I sang that dreadful thing because I need you to know I don’t want that. I need you to hear me, know me and choose me, all the unsuitable, unstable and unmusical parts of me.”
“Love.” It came out more a rush of breath than a word, but she heard him.
“Yes, that’s what I want, if you can handle it.”
He took another step towards her, half expecting to hear her heels beat a retreat. “That’s what your outfit is missing. My need for you. My hands all over you, my lips at your throat, my voice in your ear.”
She gave a stuttering breath.
“I thought I was saying goodbye.” He reached for her, fingertips connecting to her arm, skating down to take her hand, laying his fingers over hers. “I don’t know how to get you back, if you want me to try.”
He took another shuffled step and lifted her hand to his forearm. He turned her fingers to pincers under his and pinched his skin. “Goodbye was never real. This is real. This is where you are, deeper than clothing, under my skin, running in my blood.”
She tried to pull her hand away and he grabbed at it, slapping it across his chest and pressing it down, where she could feel the thud of his heart. “This is where you are.” Then he took their joined hands to his throat. “Yours is the voice I want to hear every morning, every night,” then over his eyes. “And the eyes I want to learn about the world from.”
There was nothing: no sound, no movement, until her lips pressed to his and her hand curved from his face to comb throu
gh his hair. It was the softest of touches, tentative, tensed to fly away. He let it happen and willed it not to end.
She broke away and whispered in his ear. “You see me.”
“I see you. I know you. I love you. I won’t let go of you ever again.”
She pressed into him, sighed against his lips, and he wrapped both arms around her. “Stay with me, Georgia?”
“Don’t ever shut me out again. Don’t make decisions for me.”
“Never. Only with you. I only have half my senses when you’re not with me.”
The door was locked. They had all the time in the world, and he ached for her, the touch of her, the sounds of her, like he’d lost another piece of himself, but he needed her to hear what that felt like so she’d believe in him again. There was an orchestra outside and its sound matched the thrill in his body, the soaring in his heart. He had a song in mind, one more for the night, for the risk, for his luck, for this second chance.
“Starting right now. Starting with this. We’re going to unlock that door. There’s an amazing band out there. I want to sing for you again and this time the song is going to be about how much I need you, how I’ll never push you away, how I’ll expect you to stand with me, even when I fall, and I will fall and I will need you to stand again. With this ruin of a voice, can I sing for you?”
She kissed him again, this time hard, a little aggressive, a lot possessive. He’d never expected to have that taste of her, that security of her again. It was better than colour, more valuable than motion, more precious than light and purer than sound. With Georgia in his life he was capable of anything, everything.
He took her arm. She unlocked the door, he told Mel to stay, and they went out into the bar, out into the world together. There was only one song he could sing and Ray Charles made it so famous the band would know it. One song for the woman who’d been on his mind since the day they’d met; one song for the woman through all his confusion he’d never stop loving.
Georgia.
