Oh. My. God.

Cressida looked at Graham, unsure what to do. Should she go to him? What was the protocol in situations like this? This was the equivalent of an actor forgetting his lines in the middle of a performance; it mattered little that the audience in this case was only a handful of people.

"Go back to the beginning of the third, I'll cue the accompaniment," Katherine said, her voice urgent.

Graham nodded curtly at her, and began again, at the beginning of the third movement. This time he played through, flawlessly to Cressida's untrained ear. The applause when he finished was deafening, though he did nothing to acknowledge it, but merely sat, staring at the keyboard like when he'd been frozen before.

Now Cressida did go to him, putting her arms around his neck from behind and kissing his cheek.

Phillip's voice rang out, mocking and derisive, his English accent cutting like secateurs. "I told you. Nothing like coming up soft at the wrong moment, is there, Graham, old boy? Even if you get it up eventually, you always remember when you couldn't get it done, don't you?"

Graham rose, forcing Cressida to release him. He was over to Phillip in two long strides, pulling him around to face him, and this time there was no Cressida close enough to stop him. He landed the punch to Phillip's jaw so fast most people didn't even see him do it.

Phillip staggered back.

The sound of Graham's fist connecting rang through the room like an echo, and then he was pulling back, shaking his hand as though trying to shake water from his fingertips.

"Oh dear god, Graham, your hand!" Katherine's voice, horrified.

"You just cost yourself the deClerq, you imbecile," Phillip sneered. "Well worth a punch from you not to have to hear you play with the rest of us!"

Graham turned and exited the room without another word to anyone. 

Katherine made as if to follow him, but Cressida was there first, running out the door, calling his name, and Katherine stopped.

The elevator was already gone when Cressida got to the foyer, and she had to wait for it to come back up before she could go after him, punching the button with L on it over and over.

"Which way did he go?" she asked the doorman. He pointed north on Fifth Avenue, and Cressida went out into the cold November night after him. Even this late at night there were people walking, and he was lost in the crowd.

She walked as fast as she could, calling his name from time to time. She thought she saw him on the park side of the street, entering the park, so she crossed and followed, calling him again.

She hurried down the path and almost ran into him.

"Are you out of your mind to be walking in the park alone at this time of night?" he growled, grasping her arm painfully with his left hand.

"Graham, thank god I found you!"

"Where's your coat? You'll freeze out here."

Cress put her arms around his middle, hugging his taut body to hers. "You're not wearing a coat, either," she pointed out, speaking into his chest, her voice muffled.

He said nothing, merely turned them so they could head out of the park and back onto Fifth again.

He hailed a cab and gave their Myrtle Avenue address to the driver.

"Graham? I don't have any money, everything's in my purse in your room, back at the apartment," Cressida told him. "How are we going to pay for the cab?"

"I have my wallet," he said shortly.

Cressida nodded and leaned into him, feeling exhausted for some reason. He was still tense and hard, and leaning on him was like leaning on a tree. Cressida shivered.

He put his arm around her, and she worried about his hand, though she didn't want to ask.

When they got to the apartment, Graham paused on the stoop.

"I didn't think about keys," he said.

"It's okay, Mikey's home, she can let us in."

"How do we get into your place?"

"She has a spare key she keeps for me."

Mikey buzzed them in, and they headed upstairs, passing the doorway to Graham's apartment, which still had plastic sheeting over it.

As soon as they were in Cressida's apartment, she got some ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, handing it to Graham wordlessly.

He held it to his hand, wincing slightly when it made contact.

"Is it—broken?" Cressida asked hesitantly.

Graham wiggled his fingers. "No. I'll be fine."

Cressida sank down on the sofa, trembling.

Graham sat next to her and she laid her head on his shoulder, giving in to tears of relief at last.

"I'm sorry," he said, kissing the crown of her head.

"What for?"

"For everything, for screwing up the piece, for hitting that asshole, for hitting you, for running away and making you chase me—I'm not a very good date, am I?"

Cressida laughed, a sound like music to Graham's ears.

"You don't need to apologize to me about any of that stuff." She sighed. "I'm the one who should apologize for pushing you to play that piece."

"No. Cress? No. It was ultimately my decision, there was no pushing."

"Let me find some aspirin or something for your hand. Even if nothing's broken, I bet it hurts like a motherfucker." She rose and went to the cupboard, looking until she found what she needed. She shook out a couple of pills into her hand and brought them to Graham with some water.

"How's your face? Your eye?"

"I'm fine, Graham, now take your medicine."

He took them obediently, asking after, "You got anything stronger to drink around here?"

She showed him the bottle of whiskey she'd bought specifically for him, and poured them both a drink.

"God, I don't know what happened to me tonight," he said, finally broaching the topic that was uppermost on both their minds.

"Has it ever happened before?"

He shook his head. "I've forgotten, but never that. I could see the music in my head, I knew what my fingers were supposed to do, but it was like there was a short-circuit between my brain and my hands—the most horrible feeling."

"Are you going to be okay to play it in the competition?" Cressida asked, gesturing to his hand. "You don't think it will still be hurt?"

Graham shook his head. "I've hurt it worse before, I'll be fine by  tomorrow."

The bigger issue, which neither of them mentioned, was whether or not he could overcome what had happened this night.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," was the closest Cressida could come to mentioning it, her meaning ambiguous as to whether she meant his hand or his mental stumble.

"Must've felt good to hit Phillip, though, huh?"

"Glorious."

"God, Graham, you and your temper—"

He pulled her to him, turning her so she straddled him. He kissed her, hungrily, his lips searching, crushing her body to his. His damaged hand grasped her hair and pulled, exposing her neck so he could suck on it, raising a pink mark almost immediately.

Cressida buried her hands in his hair, moaning from the pleasurable pain.

He rose and carried them to the bed, laying her down and looking at her, his gaze scorching. He pulled his shirt off, ruffling up his hair as he yanked it over his head. He stood before her, breathing hard.

Cressida sat up and undid his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear. She took him in her mouth, as much as she could, and used her hands around the base of him to make up the difference. She got comfortable, but he pulled her off before she could really get going.

"No, not tonight, I want to fuck. I want to fuck you, Cress." He roughly undid the buttons on the front of her dress and peeled it off her, pulling it down in one decisive motion. She obligingly lifted her hips. She lay back in her underwear, and he got in the bed with her, pulling her body on top of his, the softness of her onto the lean hardness of him, reveling in the feel of her.

He pulled her underwear off her and thrust up as he held her shoulders, grunting with the effort of it. Then he was stroking up into her, hard, still holding her down. After a few moments, Cressida stopped him.

"Wait, wait, condom—" She leaned and pulled open the drawer, grabbing a foil wrapped packet.

He withdrew from her long enough for her to roll it onto him where he was already slick and slippery from having been inside her, then rolled them so she lay under him, legs spread and lifted at the knees.

He pushed into her again, gathering a leg with each arm, making her arch her back off the bed, pressing on the headboard with her hands as her breasts moved with her torso. This sight was almost enough to make him come, so he closed his eyes, concentrating on how it felt, how it felt so fucking good.

"Cress, Cress," he called.

Cressida felt completely filled by Graham, the best feeling in the world.

"I'm going to come soon, make yourself come, baby," he groaned.

She removed one hand from the headboard and touched herself, rubbing firmly, eyes closed, and this sight did make Graham come, pushing him over the edge so there was no stopping his orgasm.

He thrust into her over and over, as always worried that he was hurting her, though she swore this was never so. He could feel himself out of control, just pressing into her again and again, calling her name as he did so. And when he finally came, it went on and on, making Cressida cry out with the strength of it, of him, on her, inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, trying to bear some of his weight on his arms, but she pulled him down, whispering, "No, I love this part, I love feeling your weight on me after, please."

So he obliged her, kissing her beautiful mouth with gratitude.

"You are the best thing in my miserable life, Cressida Parker, and I love you so much I could just cry sometimes." Underneath him, Cressida stretched and purred.

"Love you back, so much," she murmured with a smile.

They held each other and slept.