Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Amelia

It's been a long-ass day.

Two, to be precise.

But when I step out of Elysium and the door slides shut behind me, I don't feel the usual relief of leaving work. The building's low hum fades into the background, replaced by the bustling sounds of the city, but none of it manages to quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.

August's call two days ago still plays on a loop, each replay tightening the knot in my stomach.

What could have happened that it got that bad?

And what will happen to me when I go back home?

I've texted him at least four times over the last couple of days and even followed up with another email, but we're back to him not answering me, and my worry for him is a persistent ache that refuses to subside.

Normally, I'd head straight home to try and distract myself with the AR project, like I did yesterday, but today, the thought of being alone with my thoughts is unbearable. I just know I'm teetering on an episode. And I don't know if I could stop myself pulling my hair by just listening to a piano piece.

I need to feel the cold keys beneath my fingertips.

Without really deciding to, I find my feet carrying me in the direction of Mr. Donovan's house.

As I walk, I pull out my phone and send him a text.

Good evening, Mr. Donovan. I hope you're doing fine. I wanted to ask if the offer to come and play still stands. I would love a little time on your beautiful piano. I could be there in a few minutes. But I understand, of course, if it's not the right time. Thank you so much. Amelia

I hit send, trying not to overthink it while my heart pounds with a mix of nerves and urgency.

It's fine. I'll just go play on Ivor if he's not home.

My pace slows as I think about the day. Lunch with Oliver, Misha, and Grey was meant to be a break from the stress, and yesterday it worked. But even though they tried their best, showering me with the usual charm and concern, today it didn't.

Oliver had caught on to my distraction. He'd asked if I was okay, his look full of genuine worry, but I brushed it off with a smile, not wanting to burden him with my stuff. I really hope he doesn't think it was because of him. But what should I have told him? I need to go back home, and just the thought of getting closer than four thousand miles to my parents makes me want to scream.

On top of that, the weight of my boss's words from earlier haunts me. I submitted a PTO request for my vacation days, and Dr. Cockwomble somehow saw the request and paid me a visit regarding it.

"I don't think going on vacation is a good career move right now, given your current work ethic is not as it used to be."

His voice was dripping with the power he holds over me.

It's infuriating. After two years without a break, the idea that my time off could be used against me in my next employee appraisal just so he can show me who's boss is almost too much.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the frustration that rises with every step. The itch to pull at my hair gets even stronger, urging my fingers to twist and tug. But I resist, clenching my hands into fists at my sides instead.

I need something to channel this energy into.

By the time I reach Mr. Donovan's home, my phone buzzes with a reply.

The door is open for you, dear.

Relief washes over me as I walk up the few steps to the doorway. I think about knocking, but he already knows I'm coming and said it was open, so I reach out and smile when I find the door unlocked.

Silence envelops me when I step inside. I slide off my shoes by the door, feel the cool floor beneath my feet, and call out hesitantly, "Hello?" My voice echoes slightly, the emptiness of the house amplifying the sound.

The only response is the patter of paws on the hardwood floor as Peanut comes sprinting down from the upper floor. He barrels into me with all the enthusiasm of a long-lost friend, and I can't help but kneel to greet him.

"Hey there, Peanut," I coo as I bury my fingers in his thick, fluffy fur. He wags his tail vigorously, leaning his warm body against mine.

I hug him close, pressing my face into his neck, which unexpectedly comforts me. Planting a gentle kiss on Peanut's forehead, I whisper, "I need to play a little, buddy. I'll come back and pet you some more afterward, okay?"

He seems to understand, settling down with a quiet huff as I stand and make my way to the living room.

There it is—the beautiful grand piano, sitting in the dimly lit room, its black surface gleaming under the gentle light. I sit down on the plush bench, my hands hovering over the keys for a moment as I take several deep breaths.

I wish Grey were here.

Each inhale grounds me further, pulling me away from the day's chaos and centering me in the here and now. With a final exhale, I close my eyes and let my fingers find the first notes.

In moments, the world narrows down to the sounds filling the room—the rich tones of the piano mingling with the rhythm of my heartbeat and the cadence of my breathing. The melody is familiar, a piece I've turned to time and time again when the world has become too much. Each note vibrates through me, anchoring me back to myself.

It's therapeutic, this blending of sound and sensation, and I feel the edges of my anxiety smooth as I lose myself in the music. For these precious minutes, nothing else matters—there's only my heartbeat, my breath, and the music.

As the last delicate notes fade into the air, silence envelops the room once more. I linger at the piano for a brief moment longer, fingers resting lightly on the cool keys.

From behind me, a voice breaks the stillness, warm and approving. "I told you she's amazing," Mr. Donovan says.

I turn with a start and find him standing in the doorway, his eyes bright with appreciation. Beside him, Morgan gives me a conspiratorial grin.

"She is indeed," she agrees, stepping closer.

They move to flank me at the piano, and Peanut trots over beside them with a joyful wag of his tail. He plants himself next to me, leaning heavily against my side, and I reach out to stroke his head.

"What piece was that, dear? It's beautiful, but I don't know it," Mr. Donovan inquires, curiosity coloring his voice.

Morgan chuckles quietly. "Oliver told me you're a little nerd, but I didn't think it was that bad," she teases.

"Morgan," Mr. Donovan admonishes with a mild, reproachful look.

Smiling, I feel the need to defend her. "She's right. I am a nerd. It was "Bella's Lullaby" from the Twilight movies…" I pause, adding a bit sheepishly, "It's just something that's always calmed me."

"A movie about a piano player?" Mr. Donovan asks, his brow furrowing in thought.

Morgan laughs, winking at me. "Sure, a sparkling, century-old piano player," she quips, and I can't help but join in her laughter.

"Thank you for letting me come over," I say after a moment, feeling a wave of genuine gratitude. "And sorry for not bringing cake."

"That's perfectly fine, dear," Mr. Donovan assures me warmly. "Morgan brought cake. I'm sorry we don't have any left for you."

"Oh, I didn't want to impose. I just needed this," I confess, hesitating slightly. "But I can go now."

"No, don't. I was about to leave anyway," Morgan replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Have fun, you two, and you have my number, Grandpa. Think about it. I'm here if you have more questions."

"I will. Thank you for coming over, dear," Mr. Donovan says, hugging Morgan before she turns to hug me too.

I'm so surprised I almost forget to hug her back.

"I can't wait to hear how you liked the coffee date. Ollie loved it," she whispers in my ear, making me blush. "Thank you for finally noticing him."

Finally noticing him?

I look at her with wide eyes when she stands, but she just grins and waves, giving Peanut a pet on the head as she leaves.

Mr. Donovan chuckles while he sits down next to me on the piano stool, which is so big that there is still a lot of space between us.

Funny, it felt so small next to Grey.

"She has that way of hers, right? Making you like her from the first second with her unhurried, honest, and caring nature," he says, stroking his mustache.

"She really does." I nod in agreement.

I haven't exchanged many words with Morgan, but I already know that she's a person who shows up when you need her.

"Morgan came over to talk me into getting a live-in nurse. Everyone seems to want that for me."

"Oh."

How much am I allowed to know about this?

Has Grey told him I know?

A moment of silence stretches between us, filled only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. I glance around the living room, taking in the bookshelves lined with old, well-loved volumes and framed family photos. It's a space that feels lived in, warm, and welcoming—much like the man beside me.

"Don't oh me, dear. I know Grey talked with you about it. He told me that you urged him to tell me his feelings on the matter," Mr. Donovan says with a knowing smirk. "Which was, by the way, good advice, but at the same time unfair. How can I keep saying no when it's that important to him? "

"He's just worried about you, you know," I say gently, my eyes settling on a picture of a young Grey, smiling awkwardly with braces and a mop of long, dark-blond hair.

God, that's precious.

Mr. Donovan follows my gaze, and a fond smile tugs at his lips. "I know, and he means well. But I've always been more comfortable with my own company. I'm not sure how I'd handle having someone around all the time."

I nod, understanding the sentiment more than he might realize. "It can be hard to adjust to, letting someone into your personal space like that."

We fall into another comfortable silence. I let my fingers trace the edge of the piano keys lightly, not pressing down, just feeling the smoothness beneath my fingertips. It's calming and grounding.

"Is that the only reason for you saying no? If you don't mind me asking," I venture cautiously.

"I don't mind you asking. I would love to talk about it with someone who isn't yet too close to have a biased opinion."

I give him a smile that I hope is encouraging. He nods distractedly as he gathers his thoughts, his expression clouding briefly. "It really comes down to the fact that I don't want a stranger in my home."

"She wouldn't be a stranger for long. This is only our second time meeting, and I already don't feel like you're a stranger. You're good at making friends."

Mr. Donovan reaches out to take my hand with one of his and pats it with the other. "Such a nice thing to say, dear."

"It's just the truth."

"Morgan makes it sound like it's exactly what I need. And honestly, I need help. I noticed it myself. But the nurses Grey showed me… I don't like any of them. And I do n't know if it's just because of their profiles or if I'm being unfair."

"He showed you online profiles?"

Grey, you nugget.

I hardly know Mr. Donovan and can already tell that letting him get to know people over an impersonal online profile is not the way to go here.

"He did," he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. "Morgan told me I should let one come to eat cake. She says that there are a lot like her, who are friendly and open, that it comes with the job."

"Why don't you ask her if she wants the job?" I suggest, tilting my head as I look at him.

Am I overstepping?

He sighs, his brow furrowing in thought. "I thought about it, but I don't want her to feel the need to stick around just because we're kind of family."

"Did you ask her?"

He shakes his head, a small, rueful smile playing on his lips. "I didn't."

"From what I've seen, and it's admittedly not much, Morgan needs and enjoys having family around her right now. If you would like to try the nurse thing with her, I guess this would be good for her too. She doesn't have a plan or direction right now, and she would like to stay close to Oliver. So, all I see is that it would be good for both of you. For all of you. It would keep her in Seattle for Oliver, and Grey would feel better knowing she was here. And you would feel good knowing you had not a stranger but a friend around."

Mr. Donovan looks at me, his eyes filled with something I can't quite name. "You're wise beyond your years, Miss Amelia. "

I shake my head, feeling myself blush. "Oh, I'm surely not."

"Would you play another piece for me?"

I nod, my fingers already itching to touch the keys again. "Of course. What would you like to hear?"

"You know it, dear."

I grin, recognizing the unspoken request, and I begin to play "Comptine d'un autre été " by Yann Tiersen again. The familiar melody flows from my fingers, filling the room. As I play, I steal a glance at Mr. Donovan. His eyes are closed, a contented smile on his face, completely absorbed in the music.

When I finish, he opens his eyes and claps enthusiastically, his joy evident. "That was wonderful, Amelia. Thank you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"More than enjoyed it, dear. It brought back many fond memories."

"I'm happy to hear that." I really am. Giving him something back feels right after his generosity of letting me play here.

"You know, Grey never wants to play it for me because he thinks he's not good enough to play it. But that boy could play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," and I would be brimming with pride. Everything he is, everything he worked to be, I couldn't be prouder of the man he turned out to be."

A small smile tugs at my lips as I say, "You should be. Grey is amazing." Mr. Donovan's eyes sparkle with pride as he returns my smile knowingly. "And he should be so happy to have you. It must be a nice feeling having someone be that proud of you."

"Every parent is proud of their child."

A sarcastic scoff escapes me unwillingly while stroking Peanut's head, my fingers moving rhythmically through the silky fur.

Mr. Donovan furrows his brows, genuine concern etching lines on his face. "Your parents are proud of you, Amelia. I'm sure of it."

"They're not," I whisper, my gaze dropping for a moment. "But that's okay."

His expression turns soft, and he shakes his head. "That's not okay, Amelia. Because you are so much to be proud of. You're such a talented, charismatic, smart, and well-behaved young lady." I blush at his words, feeling the warmth spread across my cheeks. "Blushing is a sign of a good heart," he adds kindly. "And you give the best advice. Grey and I can testify to that. You are someone to be proud of, and I for sure am proud of you. "

Never in my life have I heard someone tell me that they're proud of me.

Well, besides Jamie, but he doesn't count.

I bite my cheek hard to try not to cry, but a stray tear escapes before I can rub it away.

Fuck.

Stanleys don't cry.

"You look like you could use a hug," Mr. Donovan says as he stands and reaches out a hand to me. "Can I give you a hug, please, Amelia?"

I nod before standing, and he pulls me into a fierce, warm hug. His embrace envelops me, letting me breathe in his comforting old wood scent. He strokes my upper back in gentle, soothing motions, not letting go until I am ready to.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. Today was just a lot and…" I trail off, feeling the words stick in my throat.

"Never apologize for needing someone," he interrupts, his voice full of understanding. "We all do. I needed your advice, too, today. We helped each other. Thank you for taking me up on my offer. I wasn't sure if you would. I thought about you and if I should reach out again. And I was so happy when you messaged me."

My phone vibrates, pulling me from the moment. I look down to see a message from Grey.

Where are you?

Mr. Donovan chuckles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Seems like I'm not the only one who thinks about you." He gives me a knowing wink.

"I should probably text him back and get home," I say, a small smile returning to my face.

"Of course. Thank you for coming over, and please come back soon. I need to keep you updated about Morgan."

"And I owe you a cake," I add, grateful for his kindness. "Thank you for letting me come here, Mr. Donovan."

"Call me Grandpa, please," he insists.

"Thank you, Grandpa," I reply, feeling a comforting sense of belonging as I gather my things.

I pet Peanut one last time before putting on my shoes and leaving. As I step out, I text Grey back.

On my way home. Why?

His answer only comes twenty minutes later when I'm in front of my door.

Just wanted to make sure you're okay.

I frown at the phone, puzzled by his message, just as the elevator pings and Willow steps out.

"Hey, Amelia. "

"Hey. Wait, perfect timing. Could you do me a favor, please?"

"Sure, what's up?" Willow asks, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

"I'll probably be away for a few days in a couple of weeks. Would you mind feeding my fish?"

Her face lights up with excitement. "Oh my God, yes, please!"

I smile and open my door, reaching in to grab the spare key.

"I don't know when I can go, so I'll give you the key now. But I'm going to text you when I know more. That okay? Sorry, I don't have all the details yet, but I promise there will be a family pack of Twizzlers in it for you. Deal?"

She takes the key, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Deal. Ha! I would have done it without the Twizzlers."

"Ha! I would have given you two packs."

"Dang it."

We both laugh, and I say goodbye, feeling a bit lighter after the encounter.

At least I have that problem off my hands.

As I step into my flat, I place my bag down and let out a deep sigh before I send another text to Grey.

I'm fine. Just had a good talk with your grandpa. I think everything will be okay.

Thank you, Princess.

I set my phone down, hoping I'm right.

Maybe everything will be okay.