Through the Fire. Donna Hill
his weight against it.
“Tired of what?” she asked, stepping up behind him and placing a hand on his stiff shoulder.
“Tired of hurting inside,” he answered wearily. “Tired of feelin’ I got a raw deal from life.” He moved out of her reach. The door had been pushed open too far.
Rae watched him, trying to see what he was trying so desperately to hide. Was he like the others who came at her with soft, sweet words, promises, and damaged souls, expecting her to heal them? She wondered if Quinn was worth the trouble. Something unnamed told her that he was.
“I’ve been there,” she confessed. “Still there at times. But we find a way to move on.”
“By what, forgetting?” He turned toward her, his eyes suddenly dark and dangerous.
“I don’t have all the answers. I may never have them. All I can believe in is that healing takes time. It’ll happen for you.” She needed to believe that as much as he did.
His jaw clenched. “What makes you think you know so much about me?” he demanded, suddenly irrationally angry, defensive.
“Your eyes,” she said simply, unafraid of his unwarranted attack. “It’s all there. The windows to the soul.” She smiled softly and crossed the room, sat down on a pillow and continued. “If you ever decided to play again, it would be there as well. And that’s not always a bad thing. Listen to the blues. It’s the heart of ache and loss that gives it the richness and depth, which makes it touch something inside us.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into his stormy eyes.
Quietly he appraised her, and realized why he was so angry with her. He was afraid of her, afraid of her ability to see beyond his shell, to peel it away and expose him. And his greatest fear was that they would both discover that there was nothing inside.
“Do you ever think you’ll play again?”
“I don’t know,” he answered in a monotone.
“What are you afraid of?”
The question shook him. How could she know? He swallowed, fighting down the seed of truth that struggled to burst forth. He failed. “Myself,” he answered. “And you.” He came toward her.
This time it was Rae who moved away to safety—out of reach, wary almost, rising to circle him as her emotions raced. Finally she stood still, gripping the edge of the piano for support. Her gaze connected with his. “So am I,” she whispered.
Quinn stepped up to her, absorbing all the available air in the room. She suddenly felt light-headed. He reached out to her, gently stroked her cheek. “What are we going to do about it?”
She looked up at him. “Maybe stop being afraid.” Her body trembled beneath his touch.
“How?” he asked, his soul desperately needing to hear the answer.
“Through the fire—to the safety on the other side.”
His very own thoughts again, he realized. “I don’t know if I can.”
Rae took his hand in hers, and smiled tenderly. “Neither do I, Quinten Parker. Neither do I.”
And in that instant they found themselves in an unfamiliar place, a place long forgotten—filled with promises and truths unspoken—the future.
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