The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

Mason are right? What if we can’t outrun the brotherhood? How is it fair to ask Julian to give up his life, a life he clearly treasures here in New Orleans, just to run with me toward unknown enemies? The answer is simple. It isn’t.

With resolve, I make a B-Line for the staircase. That is, until the MC welcomes Julian to the stage along with two of his protégés. Everything in me tells me to leave, to spare him and myself of another goodbye. But I can’t. Like there is an invisible chord tying us together, I am pulled to the stage.

I work my way through the cheering patrons until I find myself front and center. The chandeliers that hang above cast a warm glow over the stage. There’s a stool in the middle and a microphone adjusted for a guitar or . . . a violin. To the right is a piano, and to the left is a cello.

My heart aches as I remember the first time I saw Julian play. It was the same night we met. I’d just found out my sister was engaged, and Kat and Demetri hadn’t yet mastered their sexual volume. I found myself at Mimi’s. He took the stage. And the second he moved his bow against the strings, I knew. I knew he was special, intellectual, deep, the kind of man who isn’t afraid to feel. And he made others feel too. He made me feel something other than pain for the first time since I couldn’t remember when. I suppose it’s only fitting I attend one last performance.

Julian walks out on stage. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and black trousers. Underneath the lights, the tattoos on his skin seem to peek through. His icy eyes seem to glow.

He doesn’t see me, not yet at least. He takes a seat on the stool while a young girl sits at the cello and a young man at the piano.

“On the violin we have Julian Cole, musician, Co-Owner and Director of A and R for Cole Creative, and the man responsible for the fabulous renovation of the New Orleans landmark, Lucid Records. Accompanying him tonight are two diamonds Julian discovered while performing at Mimi’s here in the city. We have Lee Holiday on the piano and Ursula Prescott on the cello,” the MC announces.

Everyone cheers. I can’t bring myself to speak. Instead, I clap.

“Tonight, they will be performing an original song that is sure to tug at the hearts of us all. Here is Goodbye,” the MC reveals.

At that, the lights dim. The bodies of the people surrounding me start to sway. My lips part. And almost as if he can hear my unsteady heart beating, Julian’s eyes meet mine.

His pupils dilate. The vein in his neck throbs all the way to his temple. I can’t bring myself to smile. I can’t bring myself to move. I am entranced by him and he is . . .? Surprise washes over him and I am unable to tell if he wants me to stay or leave.

The piano opens the song. It is the most painful, slow melody I think I’ve ever heard. Julian nestles his violin between his shoulder and his neck. Suddenly, the tempo increases, and Julian brings his bow to his instrument. Without removing his eyes from me, he plays. The song feels like the dance of us, a constant battle of love and loss, of coming together and pulling apart. My skin ignites under his gaze. My heart pulls toward him as if it might jump out of my chest. Yet my legs want to crumble beneath me, to protect him from all the pain and uncertainty I bring with me. The cello joins in. Julian’s movements become sharper and the piano becomes deeper. The music builds and builds and then it—it just stops. Just like we stopped, right when things started getting real.

I suppose I’d somehow hoped I’d have the answers I needed, the resolve I needed by the time he finished. And while I can’t bring myself to accept that Julian is no longer a part of my life, if the song means what I think it means, the choice is no longer mine. I said goodbye to him and now he’s saying goodbye to me.

Julian finally pulls away. His eyes are red and watery as they drift from me to the floor. He composes himself and takes a bow, congratulating Ursula and Lee.

I find myself drifting, drifting further into the crowd as clapping and cheering fans rush the stage. Emotion pulses through me, begging to escape. I don’t let it. Instead, I put my heels to good use and run toward the exit.

* * *

“Emma, wait!” Julian calls after me.

I round the corner, moving from the secret stairwell to the store area. I pass the register and the rows of records and . . .

“Emma,” Julian breathes. I feel him closing in. His shadow meshes with mine. “Wait,” he says once more.

He moves his hand to my shoulder and pulls me back to him just as I reach the exit. Our bodies are inches apart. Sweat glistens across his chest as he towers over me. I feel his eyes on me, though I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I do, I’ll either cry or pounce on him. And given what he must think of me, I’m not sure which would be worse.

“What are you doing?” I whisper. I feel small in his presence. My chest rises and falls as I try to control my breathing.

Julian looks away from me, though our proximity remains the same.

“You once told me,” he breathes. “I take it you’ve never had your heart broken.” There’s a tiny crackle in his throat as he speaks. I close my eyes to hold in my tears. “Well, you were right,” he tells me. “I . . . I hadn’t had my heart broken, not in the way it breaks when you lose the person you love.”

My lip quivers and I’m forced to open my eyes.