AN: This chapter serves no purpose other than to fulfill my own romantic desires. LOL! I could skip it and the plot would still be in tact, but both of my wonderful beta readers loved it and told me to definitely include it in the story. So again, if you are open to mushy romance, then this is the place for you! And you thought I'd never be nice to Jason!

I would like to encourage all of you to visit my live journal for this chapter. I have provided links were you can hear all of the music in the chapter, including the original piece Jason plays at the end. You can find me at alphielj dot livejournal dot com.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers – hellish red devil and htbthomas. You guy always make sure I don't ever over look anything.

Age 19 part two: From Solo to Duet

"When am I going to hear you play?"

I'd heard that question about a hundred times over the last week or so. I'd heard it so many times I was even hearing it my sleep! I had dreams of her asking over and over again, only to wake up in a sweat once that dream turned into a nightmare. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it off much longer, but the build up was killing me.

"Why don't you want to play for me?" she asked whenever she didn't like my answer to the previous question, which was usually all the time.

"It isn't that I don't want to play for you," I offered her the last time she asked me about it. "It's that there's been this anticipation for it and I'm not sure you're going to think it was worth the wait."

She smirked. "Jason, that's silly. You told me yourself that you had a scholarship. They don't give scholarships to people who are lousy."

She had a point, but what she didn't understand was how much her opinion meant to me. Even after the short few weeks we'd been together, she had become my voice of reason. She was so good at everything she did and even without much knowledge of psychology I could tell that she would be a real success at her career. She just had that way about her. She was so easy to talk to. So easy that I often had to check myself that I wasn't saying too much too soon. She was just too good to be true and I didn't want her thinking she'd made a mistake by dating me.

If I played for her and she didn't think highly of it, then what? I wanted to make music a career, not just a hobby. Would she think, as so many of my friends had in the past, that I was kidding myself about this? If she told me that she felt I needed to have something to "fall back on," it just might break my heart. Those were words dreaded by all artistic people. They meant that you had talent, but not enough to really go the distance and make a living with it.

But I couldn't keep her waiting too long. She threatened to sit outside of my next lesson and listen to me with or without my consent if I didn't play for her soon. So I gave in and made arrangements to have access to Professor Bolyard's office Saturday evening.

"Why don't you have your own piano?" she asked as I opened the door to his room.

"I do at home. The school provides us with dozens of pianos in rehearsal rooms for free, so it's not that big of a deal. My apartment here is small and I don't think the neighbors, or Lance for that matter, would appreciate it if I pounded on it all day long. I like to play loudly."

"True," she agreed. "And you live on the fourth floor. Not an easy task to get a piano up four flights of stairs."

I wondered for a moment how she would respond if I told her I could lift a piano with one hand and not even break a sweat. "Besides," I said, ignoring the thought, "even if I had a piano at my apartment, I would still play for you on this piano."

"Why?"

"Because it's the best," I stated simply, placing my stack of music on the instrument.

She ran her fingers over the keyboard, "You mean, it's the best design because it's a grand piano?"

I chuckled and leaned up against the bend in the piano's side. "Maybe. It is the longest concert grand I've ever seen, and longer pianos generally sound better. The strings of a longer piano aren't stretched as much and so their pitch is tuned closer to that of equal temperament. That's why you don't see a concert pianist playing on an upright. Not that there is anything really wrong with an upright. That's what I have at home. They just don't hold their tone as well or match the pitch as perfectly."

"So, what you're saying is that in the case of the piano, size does matter." Her eyes twinkled in delight.

"Very funny, but… true. And this piano in particular has the best sound of any piano I have ever had the pleasure of playing."

Kate plunked out a few notes, listening for the difference I was sure her untrained, human ears wouldn't pick up on.

"Do you know how to play anything?" I asked.

"Um…" she blushed. "Chopsticks." And she started in on the familiar repeat banging that everyone recognizes. "Isn't this everyone's first song on a piano?"

"Mine was Heart and Soul."

"But that's a duet."

"Traditionally. But it doesn't have to be."

She smirked. "Show me."

"Oh now come on, we didn't come out here for my silly rendition of Heart and Soul."

She giggled. "I want to hear it! And you promised me you would play anything I asked you to that you knew."

I had promised her that. I just hadn't expected she would request to hear such an over played and unimpressive song. Reluctantly, I slid behind the piano and began playing the best version I could improvise. The song was so easy to tweak. I think every piano student in the whole school had their own version. Mine was a little jazzier than most.

Kate laughed and applauded, obviously enjoying herself. However, as is the nature of the song, it got repetitious and dull after a few rounds.

"Okay," I said bringing the song to an abrupt halt. "Now can I play something real for you?"

"I guess so. If you insist. But Jason, that's pretty impressive to someone like me who can barely get though Chopsticks." She picked up one of my music books.

"What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. What can you play?"

"Whatever you like. Who's your favorite composer?"

"I like Mozart."

"Mozart it is," I said, sitting up straight. "I had to play a sonata of his for my audition into the school. You'll probably recognize it."

I went to work playing the piece. It was fun and lighthearted, like so much of Mozart's music. It never ceased to amaze me that he had died when he was only thirty-five years old and had composed more than six hundred pieces in that time, some of them the most famous pieces of music in history.

When the piece came to an end, I looked up expectantly to see Kate smiling brightly. "That was wonderful! What's it called?"

"Um… Piano Sonata Number Sixteen in C."

She rolled her eyes. "Why can't they give things better names than that? Like the Moonlight Sonata – that's a pretty name."

"Yes, but a much darker piece of music."

"I suppose you know that one, too?"

Grinning, I said, "I do." And I showed her. "I played it in my junior recital," I said a few bars into the piece. "It's a bit slower than most of the pieces I like, though. I like to play fast. The middle section is my favorite."

I ended the piece just as soft and as slowly as I had started it and once again looked up at her for her smile of approval. When I was met with a thoughtful expression I started to worry. "What's that look for?"

"I'm just… moved. It's amazing how different the two pieces made me feel."

"Not really," I said, turning to her. "Mozart and Beethoven are very different composers so their music should make you feel different. Mozart is more known for writing very balanced and delicate music. He has his darker pieces, but most of his piano solo work is lighter. Beethoven's music, on the other hand, reflects more conflict, more unsettlement. Not to mention that it's also a little more sexy."

Her eye brows shot up. "Sexy?"

"Yup. I'm hoping to play his Piano Concerto Number 5 for my final this year. That will prove to you that he's sexy!"

"Why don't you show me now?" she said, leaning into the curve of the piano like a little flirt.

"Because it's a concerto, Kate. I'd need an orchestra behind me."

Her mouth formed a little round "o".

"So, what else?" I asked.

She thought for a moment. "Did you ever see that movie about the pianist who went crazy playing the Rach Three?"

I was impressed. "You know the Rach Three?"

"I saw the movie."

"Well the Rach Three is…" There were no words to describe that piece of music. Impossible didn't do it justice. Nor did brilliance. "Pretty much anything by Rachmaninov is amazing, but that piece is in a category of its own. I don't have the music and even if I did, I don't think I could even come close to doing it justice."

She hummed and I worried that I was losing her interest. "But I can play a Rachmaninov Prelude," I offered.

Without waiting for her approval, I pounded out the opening octaves of the Prelude in C sharp. Being one of my most personal pieces, I pretty much lost track of the fact that Kate was even in the room while I was playing. I got into the middle section and just let my fingers fly over the keyboard. I reminded myself of how much I'd been hurt by a certain flying boy scout and how I'd never live up to his standards. I took my anger out on the notes, as usual, but my touch on the keys softened as I reached the ending.

With the last two chords, I looked up at Kate to find her staring at me wide eyed. Her heart was racing, as was her breath. I instinctively reached to touch her hand. "Kate? Are you okay?"

"Jason." She shook her head. "You are amazing," she said softly. "The emotion that you express when you played that was so powerful. Whatever… happened to you… to make you feel that… I don't ever want you to feel that way again."

I looked into her expressive eyes and felt the compassion and sincerity behind those words. Something in the way her eyes held onto mine told me that as long as I had her in my life, I wouldn't feel that way ever again. But keeping her in my life meant lying to her about who I was. I didn't know how much longer I could maintain that lie and still see that compassion in her eyes.

It was a double-edged sword. Our relationship was so new and I wasn't ready to let go of it yet. I didn't think I'd ever be able to let go of her. That meant she could never know the truth about me. It wasn't that I thought she would tell the world who I was and put me or my family in any sort of danger as I'd always assumed would happen if anyone knew who I was. This time, I didn't dare tell her out of fear that she would hate me once she knew. After all, she hated him… and I was too much like him to ignore.

But on the other hand, not telling her meant that I had to participate in the very thing that angered me most about my past. People had lied to me – people that I trusted and loved. If Kate trusted me… if she even felt a portion for me of what I was feeling for her – she would be more than angry that I wasn't telling her the truth. It was hypocritical of me to accuse him of lying to me and my mother about so many things and then to turn right around and do the same thing with Kate, and I knew it.

The long moment of stillness passed and Kate drew her eyes away from mine as she started shuffling through my music. "Do you memorize everything you play?"

"It's easier if you do. Sight-reading is okay, but if you really want to perform a piece, you should memorize it so it becomes a part of you."

"What are you working on now?"

"A contemporary piece. It's kind of jazzy. Do you want to hear it?"

She nodded and I grabbed my copy of the Sonatina Op. 100 by Nikolai Kasputin. "I don't know the whole thing," I explained, thankful for the fact that Kate didn't know music any better than she did, for my fingers messed up quite a few times. I stopped about halfway through. "It turns a bit minor right here, and I haven't practiced it that far. It repeats though, so I'm almost through it."

She squinted at me. "How long have you had that music?"

"About two weeks. Why?"

"Two weeks?" She smiled brightly. "You can play something like that in only two weeks? Jason, you're fantastic!"

"Not fantastic. I'm sight-reading it… badly."

"I think you're brilliant," she said honestly. "If I had talent like that…"

"You are very talented," I corrected.

"Not like that. I can't draw or sing or any of that performance stuff."

"No, but you listen. When I talk to you…" My eyes shied away from hers, fearing I might be revealing too much but unable to not tell her how amazed I was by her. "It's like you hear the things I'm not saying. Like you always know what I'm thinking."

"That's funny you say that, because I feel the same way about you. Like you can see right through me."

It was an interesting choice of words, but I didn't expand on the comment.

She came around the side of the piano and sat down next to me on the bench. "Do you write music?"

"A little," I admitted. "Not much. I fiddle around with things I hear in my head. Nothing's ever presented itself as a full, complete song though."

"Play something you wrote."

I wet my lips, thinking about the song that had been stuck in my head over the last few weeks since I'd met her. It was so basic, just the skeleton of a full piece, but I was unable to stop my fingers from playing. It only had two sections so far, and proved to be rather short when I played it out straight without my usual tinkering. But the emotion I felt as I played it for her was unmistakable. Having her next to me as I played the piece she had inspired sent a shock of electricity through me that I'd never felt before.

"That's beautiful," she sighed. "What do you call that?"

"I haven't named it yet," I said, unable to look at her for fear she would see how affected I was by the very nearness of her.

"Have you been working on it long?" she asked.

"Nope." I ran my fingers over the keys out of nervousness. "It's just something I've had in my head… for the last few weeks." Slowly, I turned my head and looked up into her face, knowing it would only take a moment for her to understand what I was really trying to say.

She blinked, and then blushed in realization. "I see." She scooted closer to me so that our sides were touching. "It's kind of short. Is there any more to it?"

"Not yet. I have some ideas though," I answered, daring to touch her hand and gently stroke her skin with my thumb. "I'm kind of waiting to see if I should add to it… or if I even have the right ending."

"Ending?" she sounded surprised. "Couldn't it be one of those pieces with a really happy ending?"

"Well, that's up to you," I stated boldly.

Her eyes spoke volumes as she looked up at me. Her face was full of hope and light and all the joy the future could bring. But would I ruin that for her? Would being with someone like me – someone with so much pain in my history, so much dishonesty, so many inhuman qualities – spoil that for her? I wanted her to be happy in life. She'd already changed me in ways I didn't even realize, and I would forever be grateful for that. But was I willing to risk everything and possibly change her in the process?

"Jason," she said, leaning close to me.

How could I resist her when she said my name that way? How could I fight the feelings that had been building up in me for weeks now? How could I ever say no to this amazing woman who was like a gift from God above?

I couldn't.

I kissed her, delighting in the feel of her mouth against mine. My fingers found their way to her neck, and I held her in place as I deepened the kiss. Her arms wrapped around me, hugging me to her as best as she could in our seated position. I slowly dragged my mouth over hers repeatedly, holding on to the moment for as long as I could, knowing that from this point on I wouldn't be the same person. I would never again just be Jason. I would be Jason, the man who was in love with Kate. I only hoped that she wouldn't get hurt along the way.

She sighed, breaking away from the kiss, and buried her face against my shoulder. "You were right," she mumbled.

"About what?" I asked, kissing the top of her head.

"I swooned."

I couldn't help but laugh at her.

"It's not funny," she scolded.

"I'm sorry," I said, still laughing a little. "If it's any consolation," I tilted her face up so that I could look her in the eyes, "you had me feeling like that from the first moment I saw you."

Our gazes locked and the air was charged with the emotion passing between us. Our mouths met again, but this time there was something else there, something more, something needful. A need that would only grow and build as time passed. A need that I knew only she could satisfy. A need that left me trembling both from the desire to have her and from the fear of hurting her.