Scars Like Ours | Red View Romance #2

🐈 Forty Three

Cliff's hands wouldn't stop shaking, and nerves were ricocheting around inside of him like the little BB gun bullets Dawson used to shoot as a kid. It was a wonder his voice didn't shake when he introduced the piece, when he spoke to Annie from the stage.

The distractions were so heavy that he hardly processed himself sitting down to on the bench and positioning his hands on the keys. 

His mind was too caught up on Annie to think of anything else, so the playing came like second-nature. Was she still sitting there? Had she stormed off? He couldn't bring himself to check. 

By the time he was halfway through the piece, the nerves had backed off, turned instead into the natural high that came from performing. A light and weightless feeling he hadn't had in years.

There was no piece he would have rather come back to the stage with, though he hadn't expected to ever need to pick a piece to come back with. It was the only way he could imagine would come close to showing Annie how much she meant to him. If it could make her happy, he'd conquer any fear, even the greatest one.

The applause barely registered once he finished the piece, standing on legs made of jello to take a bow. But his eyes went right to Annie, who was still there. Only now she was standing from her seat, taking her coat from the back of her chair and saying something to the rest of the table. 

His heart sank as he watched her tug her coat on and hurry to the exit. She slinked between the doors and incoming patrons without looking back, heading out into the cold, snowy night.

The waitress who introduced him came back on stage--he was supposed to stick around for a moment, let her thank him and ask the crowd for another round of applause before she welcomed the next performer. 

But he couldn't. He managed a polite smile to her before hurrying past her backstage and down the small stairs. He grabbed his coat from the crowded set of hooks on the wall and headed out into the busy restaurant, weaving past servers and between packed tables, his sights set on the front doors.

The voice of the waitress segueing into Douglas' entrance barely registered. Was Annie going home? He put his coat on as he rushed, nearly socking a waiter in the face in the process. He apologized mindlessly, but didn't stop.

He'd ruined her birthday dinner. What the hell was he thinking? A night so important and he'd gone and drudged up all the awful things he'd done to her. She'd hate him now even worse than before.

He didn't bother going to talk with Jack or Kenzie first. He beelined right for the exit and walked out into the bitter, dark night that was alive with chatter and laughter. Red View was blanketed with snow, and though Main Street was empty of cars, the sidewalks were covered in footprints from the constant stream of pedestrians. The first snowfall of the season brought the community out, and people strolled down the avenue arm-in-arm, clutching paper cups of hot cocoa or steaming coffee, bundled up in thick coats and tartan scarves.

The sigh that escaped him turned to smoke in the air. She was no doubt already in the thick of the foot traffic, covered up in her coat and hat to keep warm on her walk home.

Even if he could find her, it didn't feel right to follow her when she so desperately wanted to get away from him, and yet it felt just as wrong to let her go. Deciding he'd ask everyone else what he should do now, he turned to head back inside--and locked eyes with Annie, who was leaning up against the front of the restaurant.

Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, and her blue eyes were glossed over with tears. There was a moment of thick silence before she spoke. "Hi."

"Hi." He stepped over to her, feeling hope seep back into him. "I thought you left."

She shook her head, a joyless smile on her lips. "No. I just... needed some air."