"Billy," my voice creaked with reluctance as I called his name from the doorway.

His face snapped up to me, but his eyes were foggy as his mind clung to the thoughts of the letter clutched in his hands.

"Lil, I..."

"Billy, I need to talk to you." My words dripped with a heavy sadness.

"I'm so sorry, Lil. These letters... I'm just so sorry," he pleaded as he popped up from the couch and paced toward me.

"The letters?" Disorientation rattled my brain as his hands hit my hip.

"I've heard it so many ways from Tim, from my mom, from Tess. But these letters, how disconnected you were. It was about me. I had no right to rip everyone from you."

"What? Billy, no... I can't..."

"Lil, I'm so sorry." The words came rough and washed over me like sandpaper as he lifted my face with a lone finger.

"No, I can't do this right now," I said as I pulled my chin away from him.

"Lil, we have to; we have to talk about this," Billy argued.

"No, we don't. Not right now. Not on Christmas Eve." Something in me snapped, and anger came pouring out. "This isn't about you, Billy, or us. Right now, I can't talk about those letters. I wasn't alone. I was never alone. I had my dad, and now I don't."

"What?" Billy's voice cracked with pain.

"I'm alone now. I've always had my dad; now I don't. So, I don't give a fuck how sorry you are for whatever you feel you've done. I just..." but I didn't finish. Instead, my phone blared. I glanced down to see the building number. "Your piano is here," I announced before I swiveled to return to my bedroom with a slam of the door behind me.

If nothing else, my anger at Billy distracted me from my mourning for my dad and propelled me to power through the rest of my packing. Within an hour, I had finished my closet and sat on the end of my bed, absently staring at the dark sky outside my window. My mind didn't settle on a single thought; it just roamed an empty plain.

"Lil," Billy murmured from the doorway.

"Is your piano set?"

"Yeah," he moved closer and crouched in front of me.

"I can't deal with us right now. I just... I'm...."

"It's okay, Lil. What do you need?" Billy set his hands gently on my knees. My eyes clung to them, flowing over the smooth skin that covered his thick knuckles.

"My dad," croaked from my throat.

"I know, sweetheart." He pulled himself to my side and then gathered me in his lap.

We sat there in silence as my eyes clung to his hand braided into one of mine. His long fingers flowed into the flesh of his hand before meeting a surprisingly delicate wrist. A vein pulsed just at the base of his pointer finger. His pale skin did nothing to obscure it. I let a finger glide softly over it and swear I could almost feel his pulse from the tender touch.

"Will you play something for me?" My voice creaked with emotion.

"Yeah, of course." Billy's voice came on the breath of an exhale I suspected he had been holding since he entered the room. As we stood, one of his steady hands slipped behind my neck and drew my forehead to his lips.

We slid onto the piano bench as Billy played a low growl of a song that sunk into my chest. He didn't lower his voice to his usual singing tone; instead, it stayed his higher-pitched voice that felt thin against the boom of the piano. It wasn't a song I recognized, and as I let my head fall to his shoulder, I noticed the slightest twitch of his pinky that coursed up his arm and cracked through his voice. It was a small moment that let me know; this was not a song. This was a stream of consciousness bursting from his fingers in one moment. It wasn't being captured for sale, but released for healing. This song was for my father and us.

As thoughts of mourning and regret mixed with the pain of the loss and scars that refused to scab, tears fell from my eyes, but Billy did waver. His eyes stayed trained on his fingers, gliding over the keys as his words ebbed and flowed from powerful to whispers with no warning.

When his thoughts purged, the room fell silent. Billy collapsed within himself for a single moment. His hands folded together and slipped between his knees to further shrink his stature. Then his eyes flickered to me. I was suddenly conscious of the river of tears that had rolled down my cheeks to his shoulder, and I instinctively lifted a hand to wipe them away.

His arm snaked around me and pulled me deep into his chest. His t-shirt absorbed any lingering tears as his lips hit my forehead for a kiss before he settled his chin on the crown of my head. My hands slipped to his waist as I clung to him for support.

I hung there, surrounded by Billy, as I pulled myself together before letting out a clearing breath. Billy could sense the change in my poster and pulled me from his side by placing a hand on either shoulder and lifting me to a sitting position.

When I met his eyes, he whispered, "I miss him too," before pulling me back to him for one more reassuring hug.

His words reconnected the bits of me that had been floating aimlessly for weeks. The small parts that shattered so agonizingly and so completely, I thought the impact was irrevocable. Now I felt them painfully snap back into place as I mourned with Billy. Just as my dad had glued me back together ten years ago, in four small words, Billy had glued me back together again. I was not alone.