"Lily's was in London the past few years for high school. She just finished doing an art retreat program in Europe before she goes off to college. She's coming back for a visit."

"That's sounds wonderful. I bet you miss her."

He murmured in agreement, but still looked concerned. He glanced at me briefly. "Don't tell anyone okay?"

"About?"

"Lily. I don't want anyone knowing she's coming back."

I frowned, confused. "Why not?"

He turned on his side, burrowing under the blankets. I thought he might go to sleep without answering me. A voice spoke from beneath the sheets.

"You won't tell anyone. Right?"

"Of course."

He tugged me down to lay next to him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His face was softer in its worry.

"The last time she was here... it wasn't good."

I thought back to the rumors. Fans had found out Noah had a little sister. A lot of people were curious about her, since no one knew much about Noah's past. It seemed like he'd sprung from the aether one day as the front man for Darkest Days.

"Can I ask what happened?" I asked tentatively. Noah clutched me tighter to his chest and buried his face in my neck. I'd never seen him so affectionate. So needy. "You don't have to," I hurried to say. "But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

"I should have protected her," he whispered.

Icy fear struck my chest. I didn't dare ask for details about what had happened to his sister. I could think of a dozen terrible scenarios.

"It was my fault," he said, the words muffled into my shoulder. "I trusted the wrong people. I promised I'd never made that mistake again."

I brought his face up to meet my eyes with my hands on his cheeks. His eyes were pained and still glassy. I had no doubt he wouldn't be this open if it weren't for the alcohol running through his system.

That was why Noah didn't open up to people. He was afraid of being hurt again. Maybe he was afraid of someone hurting Lily.

"She wants to stay," he blurted out. "Lily wants to come back."

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"I love the idea of her visiting me. I miss her. I want to spend more time with her. But I don't know if she should live here permanently."

"You're worried it will happen again?" Whatever it was. I didn't know if Noah was ready to tell me yet.

"I know something will happen again. That's the nature of people. We're selfish. We only care about ourselves. We don't care who we hurt. We betray those closest to us if it means we gain something."

My heart clenched in my chest. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," he said automatically. After a few seconds he shook his head. "No. I don't know. Maybe." He groaned and rolled over onto his back. He ran a hand over his face. "My head's all screwed up. I know that."

"You're not screwed up."

He snorted.

"You have issues," I explained. "Everyone does."

He turned his head to look at me. "Including you?"

I thought back to my unopened letter. "Including me," I said quietly. "But there's nothing wrong with that, as long we acknowledge our problems and work towards fixing them and don't just let them fester." I almost snorted at how hypocritical I was being. I wasn't working on my problem at all. I was ignoring them quite soundly. But... "People are flawed," I continued. "That's what makes us humans."

"I'm more than flawed."

"You're-" I thought for a moment. "You have trust issues. You have guilt issues. But you can work on that. You don't always need to push people away." I laid my head on his chest. "You can let me in. You can trust me."

His heartbeat slowed. His breathing evened out.

"I do trust you," he murmured, half asleep.

The words warmed me from the inside. Trust clearly didn't come easy to Noah.

I only hoped he still felt that way when he woke up.

Chapter Sixteen.

The next morning Noah was gone. At least, he wasn't in bed when I rolled over and unconsciously reached out for him. The sheets were cold. He hadn't been in bed for some time.

My heart immediately began thumping hard in my chest. I knew that Noah would never have said the things he told me last night if it hadn't been for the alcohol. I chastised myself for letting him get that drunk. I should have known better. Noah was always so closed off. I hoped he wasn't upset with me, or with himself, for the things he'd said.

Soft strains of piano music filtered through the closed bedroom door. I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. After a quick shower I wrapped Noah's dark blue bathrobe around myself. It was ridiculously oversized on me.

Opening the door a crack and peeking out, I saw Noah sitting at the piano. He wasn't playing the song we'd been working on. It was an interesting melody, warm and peaceful somehow. My worry eased a little. He wasn't scowling and tossing things to the floor in a rage. Maybe last night had been some sort of important breakthrough between the two of us.

"That's a nice song," I said softly, padding out in my bare feet. "Something new?"

"Something old."

"Something borrowed, something blue?" I quipped.

"Don't make wedding jokes."

I made a face. Maybe I'd been wrong and Noah was in one of his moods. I made my way over to the kitchen and looked through the cupboards for something to eat for breakfast. For all that Noah and I had been humping like rabbits, I hadn't yet stayed overnight.

"Noah." I called out.

"What?" came the sullen reply.

"You literally have a carton of expired eggs, a jar of pickles and a bottle of mustard in your fridge. That's it."

"There's also a six pack of beer."

"I took that as a given."

"What are you doing snooping around anyway?"

I closed the fridge door and left the kitchen with my stomach rumbling. "I was looking for something to make us for breakfast."

"Cooking breakfast for me? How domestic." He didn't look up from the piano. In fact, he hadn't met my gaze once.

I went back to the bedroom and shimmied into my skirt and top from the day before. I grabbed my purse and cell phone, which had been dropped unceremoniously to the floor. I paused before picking up Noah's phone from the night stand, too.

I went back to the living room and shoved the phone in his face, interrupting his playing. "Here."

He nodded his head with a jerk, indicating I should leave it on top of the piano. I set it down and took a seat beside him on the piano bench. He didn't move over to make room for me, so I had to perch on the edge.

Mr. Cranky Pants was out in full force this morning.

"I could order something for breakfast," I said, trying to cheer him up. "Or we could go out somewhere. Do you know of any good brunch place around here?"

"Not hungry."

I suppressed the urge to sigh deeply. It was like we'd lost all the progress we'd made and were back to square one. I shouldn't have pushed him to open up. Maybe it was too soon.

"I might have some instant pancake mix in the back cupboard," he said grudgingly.

"I can work with that."

I stayed sitting next to him as he continued playing, enjoying the refrain.

"You mind?" he grunted. "I'm working on something."

I slid from the bench. "Fine. I'll leave you to it."

I stalked back to the kitchen and set about making some goddamn pancakes. When they were done I put them on a plate and took them to the island counter with tall bar stools, the only dining room Noah's apartment had.

I turned to ask if he had any syrup hidden away somewhere. I stopped.

Noah's eyes were closed, his head bowed forward, messy hair falling over his cheekbones. His fingers fluttered over the keys in fluid motions. The song had changed while I'd been in the kitchen. The melody was slower, softer, more mournful. I was mesmerized, not only by the sorrowful strains, but by the way he played. His expression was relaxed and open. There was no tension between his brows, no scowl on his face. His lips were soft and slightly parted. He hummed to himself every few bars.

I found myself sitting on a bar stool, watching him. As the pancakes cooled, I took in every detail. Every slow, deep breath, every twitch of his eyelids, every movement of his lips.

Noah had said he wanted his audience to spontaneously orgasm when they heard our song. This one was different. There were no sensual undertones. The song was moving in its simplicity, yet impressive in its range. Unbidden tears stung the back of my eyes.

The song came to an end, his fingers resting lightly on the keys. I let out a breath. I hadn't dared breathe or move or speak for fear of breaking his concentration.

"That was beautiful," I said softly.

He jerked his head up, staring at me as if he'd forgotten I was there.

"I don't know why you need my help if that's the kind of thing you're capable of composing on your own," I continued.

"It's okay, I guess." He shifted, looking uncomfortable.

"It was moving," I told him. "Soulful." I was beginning to think he should throw out everything we'd been working on and go with this one. "You made me feel something with that song. Something powerful and something heartbreaking at the same time."

His mouth trembled, expression open, with a hint of vulnerability. Then his face shuttered close.

"You getting emotional on me?"

"Isn't that what you want? Isn't that the whole point? To evoke emotions in your audience?"

His eyes burrowed into mine, as if he were digging deep into my soul and uncovering every single one of my secrets. If he only knew how many times I'd listened to his lyrics and imagined getting to know the man who wrote them. How many times I imagined spilling my own soul to him. I'd always thought someone who wrote such tortured, passionate lyrics could be someone who understood me.

I'd thought Noah Hart was the one person in the world who could understand what I'd gone through.

The scorching hot look in his eyes was causing me to throw all my reservations out the door. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me.

"I've heard it all," he said abruptly.

"What?" I blinked.

"I changed your life. No one else understands your pain like me. That's what you think, right?"

"I-"

"I'm not your savior," he interrupted. "I'm not your god. I write songs. That's it. I don't understand your pain anymore than you understand m-" he cut himself off, looking away with clenched fists.

"How do you know?" I whispered.

He whipped his head up. "What?"

I swallowed hard and continued. "How do you know I can't understand your pain?"

He smirked, but his eyes were hollow. "You want to save me? You want to be the girl who saves me from myself?"

Yes. I did. I wanted to be that girl.

"You can't," he said flatly. "So don't even try."

"I wasn't planning on it," I bit out. "But you clearly need to talk to someone."

"There she goes again, thinking she knows everything."