Riven (Riven 1)

The giddiness was seeping in, and I felt weightless, fizzy with glee.

“It’s so absurd,” I said. “But, Caleb. I have so much money. Like. So much. And we both already have followings. All I mean is that we can make this go however we want. If you don’t want to tour because it feels too hard, then don’t. Build a recording studio at the farm, and make your records and have concerts at the farm that you live-cast, or something. If you want to play a show and then immediately fly home, you can. If you want to play just at clubs in the city and never release another album, fine!”

I considered that one for a moment.

“Well, yes, fine. But I’d be sad not to have a new Caleb Blake Whitman album, if I’m being honest. But, no, sorry, fine! Do whatever you want.”

Caleb laughed and bumped our foreheads together.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, “but I get the point: I’ve got a hot sugar daddy to build me a swank recording studio and fly me all over creation.”

I elbowed him.

“Damn right. Hey—how the hell did you get a piano in here?”

I slid off his lap and walked over to it.

“Oh. Huey helped me. I bought it off this guy he knows in Brooklyn. He sells instruments to studios and stuff. I called your building and got Antony’s number, then I told him I wanted to surprise you with it. I figured it could go either way. Maybe he’d say okay, since he knew me, maybe he’d tell me to fuck off. I kind of hoped he’d tell me to fuck off because it seems slightly unsafe….Anyway, he said okay, and then he came on shift two hours early so he could help me. I think it’s because he really likes you.”

“Huh?”

“When I said I wanted to surprise you with the piano, he thought it was great. Told me how he once surprised his wife with tickets to…something, and how happy she was. I didn’t even know he was married.”

“Widowed,” I said.

“Oh. Shit. I told him that I understood if he couldn’t let me up, and I could just wait for you in the lobby or something, but he said I could use the service elevator. When I showed up, though, I had Huey with me, and Antony took one look at him and told me that only I could go up to your apartment.”

Caleb chuckled.

“Poor Huey. People always think he’s such a beast. He wants to meet you, by the way.”

“Oh, great intro. I remember him from the bar the night we met. He does look rather beastly.”

“He’s a teddy bear. Well. No. He’s a dangerous motherfucker if you’re messing with him or anyone he cares about. But with his friends, he’s all in.”

I sat down at the piano bench and ran my fingers over the keys.

“Is it—I don’t know much about pianos. Is it any good?”

I pressed into the keys, the give beneath my fingers so familiar that I closed my eyes in pleasure. I played a few notes, just testing the tuning, and pedals. It would need to be tuned, but it sounded good.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s great.”

Caleb sat down beside me, muscular thigh pressing against mine.

“Will you play me something?”

I took a deep breath and felt my spine straighten and my shoulders drop. I began to play and the warm sound of the piano echoed through my spacious apartment, filling the stark white walls with sound. I felt like I was blowing up balloons and letting them loose, color and buoyancy replacing minimalism and space.

“Sounds familiar,” Caleb murmured from beside me.

“I played it on the keyboard at your house. When Rhys was over?”

He nodded.

“?’S beautiful.”

It was a piece I’d always loved. I’d played it at a recital, but somehow even that hadn’t tainted it for me. But now, I knew, I needed something different. I pressed myself closer to Caleb and began to play. I felt the moment when he realized what I was playing because he tensed, then he slid an arm around my waist.

“That’s our song.”

I nodded and kissed him, and he rested his head against my shoulder and pulled me tight against him. It made it harder to play, but I couldn’t have cared less.

After I played through it twice, I switched to something else. Something I’d been hearing in my head for months but had never felt right on the guitar. It was light and dark, major and minor, rock and blues. Caleb and me.

“What’s that?” Caleb murmured into my neck. He ran his lips over my throat and brushed my hair away so he could kiss the skin there.

“I’m writing it for you,” I said. His arms were wrapped around me, his large form taking up nearly the whole piano bench, but still I played. Safe in his embrace, his mouth at my neck, and the promise of tomorrow as complicated and full of hope as a soaring solo, I played. I played for both of us.