Pregnant by Morning(36)

“Yeah.”

The single syllable quaked through her damaged vocal cords and snapped something behind his rib cage.

“Like what?” he whispered, his voice nearly as raw as hers.

“It’s not the questions.” She shifted and wet pooled into the hollow of his shoulder right about where her eye had been. Tears. “It’s the lack of answers. Bad stuff happens. They were just vocal cords. Why don’t I know what to do next?”

“Because,” he countered fiercely. “You’re not out of the valley yet. Once you clear it, then you’ll see where to go.”

He had to believe that was true, had to believe it was possible. He wanted out of that valley—for himself, but also to show her the way.

“Music was a part of my soul.” More tears dripped onto his chest, but he didn’t wipe them away. Didn’t move at all for fear of stemming the tide of her grief. “And I thought it always would be or I wouldn’t have inked eighth notes on my body permanently. How do you find a new direction when something so ingrained is gone?”

Silently, he held her, suddenly furious that he didn’t have the answers. Her anguish vibrated through him and wedged into a place he’d thought was dead and buried.

“I could have the tattoo removed,” she continued brokenly. “Turned into something else. But what? Who am I going to be for the rest of my life?”

Yes. That was the million-dollar question. Evangeline voiced things he could hardly define, let alone articulate. They gelled because she struggled in exactly the same ways he did.

And perhaps they’d solve it together.

“Is there no way to keep a hand in music? Do you play an instrument?”

“Piano.” She sniffed. “I wrote all my songs.”

An odd sense of pride filled him with the admission. She’d produced something from nothing, using a creative energy he couldn’t fathom.

“That’s amazing. I thought other people wrote songs for recording artists.”

A tune filled his head instantly. Hers. She’d written the notes, sang them. He wished he could have heard her live. Wished he could ask her to sing for him, here in the dark.

His gut split in two over the loss of something he’d never dreamed he’d want.

“Other people do write songs, when the artist is just a voice. Like Sara Lear.” She growled. “I hate how catty that sounds. But geez, I could trip and fall into a piano and accidentally write a better song than the ones she sings.”

Was her ability to connect dots broken or was she too close to see the obvious? “Then do it. Write one for her.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “I can’t.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?” he countered softly.

“The words...they’ve all dried up.”

“They’ll come. You’re an artist who isn’t just a voice.” He stroked her hair. “You’ll figure it out. We’ll both figure it out, and in the meantime, we’ll hold each other in the dark and lay it all out there.”

“Matt?” More snuffling. “I’m glad I stayed. I don’t stay as a rule. No rules is nice for once.”

Finally, he breathed a little easier. The conversation could have veered into something ugly. But he’d navigated it pretty well—he hoped—despite a distinct lack of experience with damaged souls, his or anyone else’s. His relationship with Amber had been straightforward and undemanding. Safe.

He’d certainly never experienced quite so many highs and lows when she’d been alive.

“It can’t last. This thing between us,” he clarified. Evangeline was merely passing time with him until she figured out her next steps. She’d said as much. It shouldn’t hollow him out—wasn’t that what they were both doing here?

“I know that,” he added, “but I can’t stand to be in the valley alone. Please don’t think less of me for selfishly dragging it out.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish.”

She wouldn’t. Evangeline was the single most nonjudgmental person he’d come across. He could tell her anything. Had told her things he’d never said out loud. He didn’t worry about disappointing her with his failures. Ironically, because he’d set out to be someone else with her, his internal censor-switch had shut off. He had the freedom to pour out the angst and fear he’d carried for months.

He wished he had more to give her in return and was suddenly sorry they’d met while they were both still stuck in the valley.





Nine



“Let’s go out,” Evangeline announced late one afternoon as they watched a movie, snuggled together on the couch.