Blake Hartt, I choose you. I deserve you. I want you.” Livia proved it by kissing his cold lips until they were warm.

Is that shooting star just a happy accident or has the universe had it planned for a thousand years?”
He tilted his face to the sky, his eyes tracking an imaginary star as it screamed to earth. He looked back to her. “Either way, you can’t stop it. You can beg it to slow down or you can just enjoy the show.”

“Am I the star in this story or you?”

Blake wrinkled his nose and chuckled. “Was that a bad analogy? I meant we’re the star, Livia. Us. This.” He shrugged his shoulders like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Us being in the same atmosphere is either a great cosmic catastrophe or the most serendipitous rendezvous.

Don’t pray to me. Don’t pray to me!” Kyle said, alarmed. “We’re in this together. I’ve done things wrong too. We’re human, Cole. We’ll still make mistakes, but now we’ll always have each other to hold when it hurts.” Kyle’s eyes filled with tears.

We better get over to Beckett’s if you want to see how my day goes—before his crowd gets too raunchy.” Blake stood up and held out his hand.

“It’s eight thirty in the morning. How raunchy could they be?”

Livia wondered what, exactly, Beckett did for a living. Her question was soon answered. Everything bad.

I know it doesn’t make noise,” he explained. “Going through the motions is comforting to me. I wish I had a real piano.” The wistfulness in his tone was aching to hear.

“Did it used to have keys on it?” Livia asked.

“I did draw them once, but it was in pencil. No matter. My heart knows right where they are.” He watched her as he tickled the pretend keys again.

A very bouncy Kyle woke Livia at some ridiculous o’clock on Friday morning.
“Wakey-wakey, you sloppy, old whore. It’s time to do you up. You’re going out tonight, so you don’t get to dress in nursing home casual.” Kyle ripped off Livia’s covers.