Party of Four

Sheet Music - Nica

Riley’s alarm woke us up in the morning. He had a catering delivery he was scheduled for, and then he was serving. Cole and I weren’t on until the dinner shift.

As Riley groaned and stretched and shuffled out of my room to his own to get dressed, I snuggled closer to Cole. His arms tightened around me, trying to make up for the lost warmth of Riley’s now-missing body. I slid one leg between his, the other resting on top of his hip.

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing my forehead.

“Morning,” I smiled lazily. It was rare that he and I had a morning in bed like this. I liked to sleep in, unless I was working the morning shift. He was almost always up well before me.

We shared a brief kiss before I tucked my head into the crook of his neck. His chin rested against my head. I wasn’t quite sure yet if I’d fall back to sleep, but I was comfortable, and had no intentions of moving any time soon.

My eyes were half-closed and I hummed softly as I absentmindedly traced the lines of Cole’s tattoo.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice soft. I knew he was more than willing to make me breakfast if I wanted.

I wanted to enjoy this moment instead though. Food could wait for a little while. “No, not yet.”

Riley came back in to the room, dressed for work, his hair fixed. “I’ll see y’all later,” he leaned down to kiss me.

“What about me?” Cole whined playfully, a teasing grin stretched across his lips.

“You can f**k your self,” he grinned back, causing both of us to laugh.

We resettled as Riley left, and Cole pressed another kiss to the top of my head.

“What is this?” I asked, dragging my finger along the lines printed across one of the skulls in the sleeve. “The song? Is it just random notes? Or is it an actual song?” I was pretty good at reading sheet music, and it wasn’t one I recognized.

“It’s…” I could hear his heart beat pick up, beating against my cheek pressed against his chest. “It’s a real song,” he answered. His voice was even quieter now than it was before.

“What song is it?”

He seemed frozen for a moment, not moving, not answering. His heart still hammered away. Then finally, “It’s one of the first songs I wrote…before I moved to Oklahoma.”

“Oh…” I breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was barely above a whisper. My lips pinched together.

“Could I…could I hear it?” I asked softly.

“I don’t play anymore, remember? I never replaced my guitar.”

“I know…I meant…” I pulled free of his embrace and crawled out of bed. He sat up, watching me retrieve the violin Riley had bought as my Secretary Santa gift a year and a half before. “If you don’t want me to, I understand,” I bit my lip as I placed the case on the edge of the bed.

The silence lingered between us for a while, and I started to wonder if I’d pushed too far. If this was too much for him. I could see the pain in his eyes from the trauma that was still there. He surprised me though. “Okay.” I barely heard the word as he nodded his head ever so slightly.

I opened the case and pulled the bow out, prepping it. Then I tuned the violin. “I’m still learning,” I warned, “so I might miss a note or two. Especially with the shadows and outlines.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured, watching me position the instrument on my shoulder.

“Does it start at your shoulder?” I asked, the bow hovering above the strings.

“Yeah,” he confirmed with another slight nod.

I had to make some slight adjustments, assuming the sheet music running through the tattoo had been written for guitar. I wanted the song to sound as close to its original form as I could manage.

The bow slid across the strings with ease, the melody filling the air around us. Even on the violin, it was easy to pick up on the rock origins of the song. My fingers moved along the fingerboard, pressing the strings here and there to elicit the right sounds as I dragged the bow across.

Cole seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. I wondered if he even realized it. He looked lost in the music, as if it had taken ahold of him.

I reached the last few notes. The ones wrapped around his wrist, almost hidden by a rose petal. I held the bow suspended, letting the tension in the air settle around the ghost of the melody. Cole’s breath hitched - a silent, sharp intake of air - and a single tear broke free, marking a trail over his cheekbone and into his beard.

Very slowly, I lowered the violin from my shoulder. I was careful not to bump a string, not wanting to ruin the quiet. I placed the instrument next to its case on the mattress. My focus was entirely on him.

I crawled towards him, not speaking, not questioning. When I reached him, I shifted to sit in his lap, my arms wrapped around his neck. My chest pressed against his, and I felt his heart beating against mine. He was shaking.

I didn’t tell him how I thought the song was beautiful, or ask how he felt. I didn’t say anything. I simply held him, squeezing him tightly.

It took a minute, maybe two, before the tremor left him. Cole let out a long, ragged exhale, then his arms came up to envelope me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck.

“I-“ he swallowed. “Thank you, Nica.” His voice was thick with emotion.

I smiled. “It’s a good song, Cole.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he just held me, anchoring himself to the present moment. The grief was still there, a heavy weight we both felt, but the intimacy of the shared music had made the morning even more rare and precious.