A Slip of the Hand

Chapter 54

Oliver's home studio is dimly lit. A mix of candles and colored strip lights create a soft glow that casts shadows on his angular face. My heart pounds as I watch him fiddle with the tuning pegs on his guitar with long, nimble fingers. He's as beautiful as ever—maybe even more beautiful when he looks 'real' like this. I should be ecstatic. This should be the pinnacle of my existence. Instead, I wish I could melt through the floor.

I've become robotic, my actions and interactions determined according to some failsafe response pathway in my brain, as if written in computer code. And now I've let him bring me in here: his inner sanctum of creation.

"You wouldn't believe some of the breakfasts Mickie made us eat," he says animatedly. "Who actually needs a full English to start the day?! So much fucking food."

I twist my hands in my lap, my fingers laced together so tightly my knuckles turn white. How can I tell him that nothing can happen between us? That my feelings for him are just my admiration for his talent, his passion, the way his music moves me? How can I say that to him, of all people?!

Because he's not the one who lives in my heart. The answer is clear, even if that doesn't make it easy.

"You're nervous," he says, setting down the guitar and flashing me a pointed smile. "I thought we were past that."

His words only make the churning in my gut worse. I stare at my hands, pale and impossibly far away in the flickering light, like my vision is distorted. "Oliver..."

But the words refuse to come out.

He leans against the wall across from me, arms folded over his slender chest. The heavy silence stretches between us.

I force myself to meet his eyes, seeing the concern and care in them. I can't bear to see the hurt in those blue eyes that I know my confession will bring, but I take a deep, shaky breath. "You know how much I admire you. How much your music means to me."

He nods, a soft but wary smile curving his lips.

"But admiration isn't the same as... romantic feelings." My throat tightens, and I don't know how I can possibly continue this conversation.

Oliver's eyes widen, the first cracks in his calm facade. He pushes off of the wall and takes a step toward me. "What are you saying?" His voice is sharp.

Standing as he approaches, I hold up my hands in surrender. "I'm so sorry, Oliver. I've been trying to figure out my feelings, and I think... I think I don't have romantic feelings for you."

The words land like punches, rocking him back and leaving him pale and stunned. He stares at me with wounded eyes, the pain etched like lines into his face.

"Wow," he says simply, but I can't help but notice how his eyes continue to search my face for some kind of explanation or solace.

Tension radiates between us in the silence that follows. It's as if it creates its own gravity that pulls me down and makes my limbs feel heavy.

"Wow!" he says again, his voice higher this time. "You think, do you?!" I can see the hurt flicker across his features as he drags a hand through his hair, mussing the wild, dark strands. But he quickly composes himself, locking his emotions behind a carefully constructed mask. "I don't understand how I got this so wrong."

Sweat slips down the small of my back. I'm silent except for the relentless drum beat of my heart.

Oliver grips his elbows as he crosses his arms against his torso. "I know I haven't been around, but give me a chance. Give me a chance to be here with you."

I shake my head. "T-that wouldn't be right. I'm in absolute awe of you, but it's not that type of connection."

"This just... doesn't make sense." His words are barely audible, as if he didn't mean to utter them at all.