Party of Four

Giving His Voice Back - Riley

I heard the floorboards groan as Cole rushed to the nursery. He was a natural, moving with a quiet confidence that still made me pause. Watching him go from a man that treated his own shadow like a threat to the man who hummed lullabies while changing diapers has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

I waited until the sound of the shower in Nica’s room died down. I knew she’d be out soon, towel-drying her hair while she looked for the Def Leppard hoodie she stole from Cole. I was quiet, sneaking across the hall from my room to hers and slipping through the door. “Hey,” I whispered as I crossed her room to the bathroom. I tapped lightly on the door.

She opened it, a plush gray towel wrapped around her body and her wet hair hanging around her face in tendrils. She smiled, the post-shower glow making her honey-colored eyes look even warmer. “Hey, everything okay? I heard Poppy over the monitor.”

“Cole’s got her,” I said, taking her hand to lead her over to her bed. “But I need a minute of your time. Top secret.”

Nica’s eyebrows shot up, her smile turning playful as she sat beside me. “Another secret, Riley? Isn’t your binder already full?”

“This one isn’t for the binder,” I lowered my voice again, even though the door was shut. “Have you noticed Cole lately? In the mornings, or when he thinks we’re not looking?”

Nica’s expression softened instantly. “The humming,” she whispered. “And the journal. He’s been writing so much. Riley, I think he’s composing again.”

“He thinks he’s being subtle, but I saw him sketching out a staff and filling in the notes. It’s been eleven years, Nica. Eleven years since he let himself touch a melody.”

We both knew the history. We both knew about the night his ex smashed his guitar to splinters in a jealous rage. Amber had mocked him and his talent, falsely accused him of cheating, and beat him down literally and figuratively until he believed he was nothing more than the noise he made. He hadn’t touched a string since.

“I want to get him a guitar,” I said, the decision solidifying in my chest. “A Martin or a Taylor, something that feels as substantial as the songs he’s writing in that book.”

Nica reached out, her hand finding mine while her eyes shimmered. “Riley, that’s… it’s perfect. It’s the one piece of him that’s still missing.”

“I figured it could be his Christmas present from us. Or from Poppy. We can hide it at mom and dad’s. I want it to be the last thing he opens. I want him to have his voice back.”

Nica leaned in to kiss my cheek. “You’re a good man, Jeremy Riley. You really are.”

“I’m just the architect, Nica,” I murmured, pulling her closer. “Cole is the one providing the soul. I’m just making sure he has the right tools to do it.”

She kissed me again, then got up to get dressed. I snuck back across the hall before Cole had a chance to discover we were plotting. I could hear his laughter from the nursery and the soft thump-thump-thump as he rocked Poppy. I was an expert at plans, but the best parts of my life were the ones I couldn’t script.

Cole had spent a decade convinced that he was broken beyond repair. He’d lived in a state of self-imposed silence because someone who was supposed to love him had told him his music was a weapon used against her. It made my blood boil if I thought about it too long.

But then I’d hear him making those ridiculous ‘pop’ sounds with his mouth that made Poppy giggle, and the anger would dissolve into something fiercely protective.

I pulled out my phone and started searching guitars. The goal was something seventies inspired, if not actually from the seventies. I wanted something durable with a rich tone, something that could be passed down.

“Riley?”

I looked up to see Cole standing in the doorway, Poppy perched on his hip. She was wearing a fresh sleeper, her eyes wide and alert as she took in the world. Cole was looking at me with that knowing, slightly lopsided grin. “You’re doing that thing again,” he said, nodding toward my phone. “You’ve got that ‘I’m calculating the trajectory of the moon’ look.”

I let out a short laugh and tucked my phone away. “Just looking at the week’s schedule. Figuring out the overlap.”

“Right, schedules.” Cole clearly didn’t believe me, but was too content to press. He walked over and handed Poppy to me. “Here, I need to go downstairs and start dinner before Nica comes down and tries to help. You have the princess.”

I settled Poppy against my chest, her tiny weight grounding and warm.

As he walked away, I caught him absentmindedly drumming a rhythm against his thigh. A syncopated beat that definitely wasn’t accidental. He was still doing it. The music was leaking out of him whether he realized it or not.

Nica appeared in my doorway a moment later, a small smile on her lips.

“He’s making dinner,” I told her softly.

“Good, I’m starving,” she sighed, moving to sit beside me. She leaned her head on my shoulder, looking down at our daughter. “Riley?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s going to cry. You know that, right? When he sees the guitar, he’s going to absolutely lose it.”

I looked down at Poppy who was currently trying to eat her own fist. “I know. We’ll make sure to have plenty of tissues. And the camera ready.”