The music hovered over Billy and me, but we never mentioned it. Still, it ate at me day after day. Just the one song punched through my carefully constructed ignorance.

"Stay with me," Billy's voice was still hoarse from sleep as he watched me getting dressed.

"I am staying with you," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Stay with me forever," he spoke with determination. "Your office would let you work remotely. Move in permanently."

"Billy, you just got out of a marriage; you don't know what you're saying."

"Lily, my marriage didn't work because I always compared her to you. Everything came down to did she remind me of you or not. I know she could feel it. I know you can feel it."

"Billy... What about your kids?"

"They love you."

"I'm not a wife, and I'm not a mother." I turned my back to him, hoping he wouldn't push further.

He was there, twirling me into his arms. "Tell me you aren't in love with me." There was a light in his eyes, the same one I'd seen all those years ago.

"Billy, I can't."

He gazed down at me. I expected to see the hurt fill his eyes, but nothing but awe filled his face. He swiftly turned on his heel and left in silence.

I took my time following him. "Billy." With all my force, I could only manage his name in a whisper as I entered the studio.

His face was dipped from view, the curtain of his hair covering his features. One hand had his fingers knotted within the hair at the base of his neck, while the other hand absently scratched at his stomach. For a brief second, the urge to reprimand his posture snuck into the blankness of my brain before I swept it away and focused on mustering more strength in my voice.

"Billy," my voice came louder.

The sound washed over him, and he sucked it in hungrily. His neck still bowed under the weight of his thoughts, but his shoulders rose with the sustenance of his name.

"I'm sorry." I glued my eyes to him, to every minor reaction.

"Are you, Lil?" He lifted his face to mine.

He suddenly looked old, much older than the thirty-five years he had lived. The toll of the moment, the pressure of the emotions, were draining him of life.

"Yes, of course. If I could change things..."

"What would you change? If you could, what would you change?" There was a warring mix of defeat and fight in him. His hands fell to the cluttered table before him, and his gaze followed. "I think I'd like to hear what you'd change. Would I be that fucking mechanic you've always fantasized about?" He absently picked up a kalimba, picking at a few tines with one of his thick thumbs.

"No, I'd change me."

He tossed the wooden instrument back down to the desk.

"I've never asked you to change." His tone was defensive. "I've never wanted you to be anything other than you." He didn't muster the strength to meet my gaze.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I haven't wanted to be something else."

"You know, through all the years, you were the one I felt was protecting me. No matter what people were saying, I always felt like you believed me, in me. You've always been so quick to come whenever I called." He lifted his face, so I could see him, see what he was saying. "There have been so many moments when something is about to get to me, about to tip me, but I've closed my eyes and pictured you smiling back at me. I always thought you were caring, soothing even. And in those moments when you would let us connect, let me in, I felt like I was invincible. I couldn't imagine a better feeling; it was like a fucking drug."

He lifted a hand to his face and let two fingers glide over his forehead before diving them into his hair again. "The thing about drugs is that they try to kill you, Lil. They fill you with false warmth and strength, but they drive a knife deep into your back. Fuck, in your case, right into my fucking chest. That smile, it wasn't loving; that smile was sinister."

"Billy, no." My voice hit my ears as though it came from someone else. My mind was tumbling. I reached out to catch myself, but I was standing still. There was nowhere to fall.

"I made a choice, Lil. Too many times I've acknowledged that. I made a choice well before we even met. I refuse to apologize for it anymore. Did you ever stop to think that if I hadn't made that choice, if I hadn't been driving my ass around playing shitty dive bars in c-towns, I'd never have met you? You've always wanted the mechanic from Duluth. How the fuck do you think you would've met a fucking mechanic from Duluth?"

His unyielding gaze struck me like a hurricane, causing every muscle in my body to become painfully rigid.

"I'm not sorry." His voice came low but not soft. Where the volume had decreased, the anger had intensified. "I'm done apologizing for my career and success, but mostly for loving you."

I was frozen, desperate to convince myself that this was not my Billy. This was a monster created by bright lights and bravado; that this wasn't our goodbye. But this was my Billy- raw, unfiltered, and honest.

"Speak, Lily. Say something. Say fucking anything." The words felt like a yell, even though they were as quiet as a whisper.

My mind whirled as I stammered nonsensical beginnings.

"Lily, say something for Christ's sake," his volume rose this time.

"I'm scared," I managed.

"You're scared. You're fucking scared." The last tread to sanity snapped in a series of bubbling laughs. "Fucking scared," he muttered to himself.

In one swift movement, he tossed the clutter-filled table before him into the air, spilling its contents around the room.

"You're fucking scared, Lil? What the fuck do you have to fear? Me? Tell me you're scared of me. Tell me why I'm a piece of shit this time."

It would've been so easy to say it; an outsider would expect it. His large stature was acting as a looming presence. His deep voice was vibrating into the chest of anyone near. To accent it all, he just tossed a table across the room as though it were a frisbee. But I wasn't scared of Billy. He never used his stature to domineer me, he never used his booming voice to control me, and the table was extended frustrations needing an outlet.

I felt the words vibrating from my throat, the syllables rounding my mouth, but I didn't think of them. They just arrived like a slap at how close they were to become a reality. "I don't want to be out of control."

Billy stared at me; his lips slightly parted.

"Billy," the cruelty of my words sunk in as I called to him.

"You don't want to be out of control?" There was a smile on his face, as though he had just heard a mildly funny joke.

"Billy, I'm not like you..."

"Fuck you, Lil. Just fuck you." He shook his head as he spoke and sunk to the beat-up old couch with its uneven sag.

I could do nothing but stare at him, forced to watch the pain I inflicted course through him. The familiar twitch of his hands tugging through his erratic hair did nothing to soothe him.

"Do you even care?" He snapped his face to mine, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "Do you give a single fuck about the pain you inflict on me?"

"Billy, of course I do. I don't mean to..." but he cut me off.

"Don't fucking say you don't mean to. There's no way you can go through life, tearing me limb from limb, without intention. Are you so blind that you can't see how close you're coming to killing me? Everything good in my life you've taken from me. My wife, my family, all of it is tainted. You've muted it. Whenever I write a new song or connect with a new audience, I can't fucking enjoy it, Lil. You stole it from me. Because every success I have takes me further and further away from you."

"Billy, I'm so proud of you. I never meant to..."

"Stop. You don't care, Lil. You don't fucking care. You're walking away from me, from my kids. You won't even listen to my work." He dropped his face again as his hands continued to brutalize his hair.

My feet unconsciously shuffled away from him, away from the pain.

"There's no such thing as a quiet life." His voice was smooth, exhausted of texture. "My life isn't loud because of my career. My life is loud because I choose to care and have passion and love."

He was right; he was always right. From the moment I'd fallen into the spotlight of Billy Collins, I'd been trying to dim it. It had nothing to do with his success. Life would've been just as loud if I'd stumbled across Billy, the mechanic. Love was loud and painful. Passion was searing and explosive. Emotions were uncontrollable. I wasn't strong enough for him. What would the rest do if one song had gutted me so completely?

"I'll leave, Billy." It was a commitment I could make, but he had to keep it. "Don't pull me back."

"Lil, you do what you damn well please; you always have. Don't act like you even have guilt about it. The choice has always been yours. It's a freedom I keep giving to you, and you keep taking from me." He popped up in a surge of newfound strength. "You're the one leaving this time, Lil. You walk out that door, and I get to decide if you come back." His gaze was empty, the anger had drained, and softness was thawing his eyes. "You can stay. I want you to stay. But if you leave..."

"I can't come back," I finished for him.

"No, I don't think you can," he admitted.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I can't do this to you anymore."

I walked away. His honesty and perspective ensured that I'd never been good enough for him. He deserved his loud life, and I earned my anemic quiet existence. I'd undone myself and was dangerously close to undoing Billy as well. I couldn't do that any longer; I had to leave. It was the last act of love I could give Billy Collins.