Please Stay for Me (The Brotherhood Series)

by M. W. McKinley

  “Sorry, tough subject? Or are you really worried about the grass? Because I’ve got all the shots I want.”

  I touch her arm in reassurance. “I’m fine. I mean, it is a tough subject, but not a new one.” I remove my hand. “And one of my mates got some unexpected news just before I saw you. It’s still on my mind.”

  “I hope everything works out,” she says.

  “Me, too. Sorry if I seem preoccupied.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “And I’m serious about the grass, too," I say to lighten the mood.

  “Okay, okay. I guess I’ve been lucky to stay out of trouble this long. Let’s go,” she says while packing her camera away.

  After I help her up, she surprises me by turning my hand over. “This is from the violin?” she asks as she lightly brushes her finger over the calluses on my fingertips.

  Only focusing on her touch, I don’t answer right away until I feel her gaze on my face. “Yes.” I clear my throat. “It doesn’t hurt, though.”

  “That’s—”

  “OFF THE GRASS!” The loud deep voice makes us both jump.

  We run to the closest pathway, and once the porter moves on, Avery starts laughing while I recover from a heart attack. “I hate to say I told you so, but . . . ”

  She playfully raises her hands in surrender. “I promise to stay off the grass from this point on.”

  Without thinking, I reach up and move a few strands of hair from her face. As my fingertips brush her cheek, her lips part as she takes in a breath. She tries to hide a faint blush as she looks away and says, “I think I’ve already taken enough photos on campus anyway. I need to venture out.”

  “Where were you thinking?”

  She shrugs. "That's the thing, other than what Tripadvisor tells me, I'm not sure the best places to visit."

  "I could give you some suggestions. You’d have to text back, though."

  Avery’s expression turns serious. “As long as you know I’m not looking for anything beyond friends. Like I said at Eddie’s, I’m only here for two months. Maybe a summer fling with no strings is your thing, which is totally fine. It’s just not my thing.” To her credit, she doesn’t sound judgmental.

  “I’m not sure if I can just be your friend.” I can’t be the only one who feels this pull between us. It’s so strong I’m surprised there’s not something tangible keeping us connected.

  “I appreciate your honesty.” She looks uncomfortable. “I’ve actually got class soon.”

  "Wait, please stay," I say. “Let me finish.” I find the front pocket of my bag and unzip it. “Just because I’m not sure, doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.” My hand finds what it’s searching for and I hold out the ticket.

  She studies it. "University of London Symphony Orchestra?"

  "I don't know if classical music is your thing.”

  "It used to be. I haven't been in a while." Something sad crosses over her features.

  "Maybe I'll see you there," I say.

  "Yeah, maybe." She gives me a small smile, but I can tell I really botched everything up.

  I did tell her the truth, though. I don’t know if I can just be her friend. I’ve never had this reaction to a girl so soon after meeting her. But if it means spending more time with Avery, I’ll try.

  Chapter Seven

  Avery

  When I finally arrive at the Royal Academy of Music in London, I’m running late. In my defense, I did have to figure out how to get to London from Oxford without a car for the first time. I find my seat in Duke’s Hall just as the overhead lights flash indicating the concert will begin soon.

  The concert hall is a mix between the inside of a cathedral and an upscale banquet room. There are four huge crystal chandeliers with gold trim hanging from the ceiling. The walls on either side of me are lined with oversized artwork in traditional gold frames. Windows that begin above the framed artwork reach the ceiling and are decorated with stately red drapes. An impressive display of organ pipes is obviously the centerpiece since it makes up most of the wall above the stage.

  I try to focus on the differences between this place and the concert hall in New York City to keep any unwanted memories at bay, but I realize the biggest difference is how alone I am tonight. The people on either side of me are strangers this time.

  When I notice how violently I’m gripping the program, I slowly let go and attempt to smooth out the wrinkled paper. I knew coming here was a mistake. As I put on the one black cocktail dress I packed, I knew it was a mistake. As I boarded the train that would take me to London, I knew it was a mistake. Every step my feet took closer to this concert hall screamed mistake. Now I’m trapped in the very center of a long row of paying concertgoers. The lights dim, and my decision is officially made for me.

  When the musicians come on stage, I immediately spot Liam. He’s wearing a tuxedo with his blond hair styled out of his face. He sits down in the first chair on the front row with the other violinists. My seat is only three rows away from the stage so he can easily pick me out of the audience. His smile is just for me right before the conductor steals his attention.

  Just like the last time I was in a concert hall, the opening notes of the orchestra blend together and quickly fill the large space. I try to focus on Liam instead of memories of my parents. The picture of him now and when he plays at Eddie's couldn’t be more different, but his focus remains the same. There’s something extra about his performance when he plays the violin, though.

  My eyes leave the stage a moment to see if anyone else is as equally affected. The man seated to my right is recording it with his phone. I want to tell him to stop. No one can truly absorb this kind of passion with a layer of glass between them.

  I’m caught off guard as I suddenly realize all the times I’ve only viewed the world through a lens. The camera strapped around my neck always makes me feel safe. Do I prefer to be behind the lens so I don’t have to be in the moment? I only have to capture the moment.

  My focus shifts back to Liam as he stands up while the other violinists remain seated. The violin is nestled between his sharp jawline and shoulder. When the conductor signals him, he raises his bow and slowly slides it against the strings. His fingers move quickly one by one creating sounds so beautiful the man next to me finally puts his phone down.

  As I watch his fingers continue to move, I think about touching the calluses on his fingertips and how he brushed hair away from my face yesterday. I could feel those calluses as his fingers accidentally touched my cheek. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. All I know is a touch so brief never affected me that way with anyone else.

  Liam is captivating as he seems to get lost in the music. He sways back and forth slightly as the song’s tempo increases. Maybe lost is the wrong word. Because I hope, instead, he’s found, every performance, over and over again. I still don’t really know him, but I want that kind of happiness for him.

  It makes me think about the boy from New York City who also played the violin, and how I had that same longing for him. A longing for him to have nothing but a happy life. Even though I know they’re not the same person, one American and one British, my feelings towards them are so similar at the moment.

  As the song ends and the orchestra prepares for the next one, Liam is looking in my direction. I’m tempted to forget all my manners and run out of here as fast as possible. The alternative is caring, which is insane. This is all insane. I blame Trinity and her stupid summer romance predictions.

  When the performance is over, I make my way out of the auditorium and into the lobby.

  Liam’s unmistakable voice reaches me. "Avery!" He sounds out of breath as he catches up to me. "You came."

  My gaze travels from his tailored tuxedo up to his handsome face and intense blue eyes. I realize a little too late he’s waiting on a response. "Someone happened to give me a ticket. So, I thought, why not?"

  "Someone, huh?" His smile is teasing.


  "Just some guy."

  "What if this bloke offered to escort you back to the dorms?" His tone is hopeful but also skeptical, as if he knows there’s a good chance I’ll say no.

  "I would say yes." Even if no would be a better answer for my self-preservation.

  "Really?" His eyes brighten.

  I almost laugh at his surprised expression. "Should I say no?"

  He nearly cuts me off. "No, I mean yes. You should say yes!"

  It’s the first time I’ve seen him flustered, and I can’t help but laugh before saying, "Lead the way."

  When we find two seats near the back of the train, I take the window seat while Liam stores his plain black violin case underneath his seat. Then, I watch as he shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket and carelessly sets it on top of his bag. His matching vest comes off next and joins his jacket.

  I briefly look around the half-empty train to see if anyone else notices this impromptu striptease taking place, but no one is paying us any attention. I can see Katherine rolling her eyes at the phrase striptease since this is as innocent as it gets, but regardless, he certainly has all my attention.

  He unties his bow-tie next and slides it off his neck. The same fingers that just skillfully mastered the violin fish the top two buttons through his white dress shirt.

  Liam stops at the third button as he catches me staring. Busted. "Sorry. This is a post-concert ritual for me. ULSO likes us to stay dressed up if we plan to mingle in the lobby, which I usually do."

  I wave him off with much more nonchalance than I feel. "Don't mind me."

  His smile is wide. "That would be impossible." A thin white undershirt comes into view as he undoes the last button. He shoves all the clothes in his bag before storing it under his seat with his violin case.

  After he sits down close beside me, he asks, "What was your favourite piece tonight?"

  I already praised his performance on our walk to the train station. I don’t have to think about my answer. "Adagio for Strings."

  He’s quiet a moment. "That's what I was playing when we first met on campus."

  I nod. "It's one of the first classical songs I heard when I was younger."

  "It's beautiful but always makes me melancholy."

  "Same," I admit. Although, melancholy is a weak word. That song brings back memories that can never be recreated. The word devastating is much more appropriate.

  "Mum thinks it sounds hopeful, but she's an extreme optimist, unnaturally so." Liam's expression turns wistful while speaking of his mother.

  "You mentioned at Eddie's you were adopted?" I ask carefully.

  "I was eleven when I was first placed with my parents through foster care. Well, actually a few days before I turned eleven. I remember telling myself not to be disappointed when they forgot my birthday since I just got there."

  I can tell by his tone there would be a happy ending. "But they didn't forget?"

  He shakes his head. "That’s when I learned they never forget anything important. Mum made this special dinner with all my favourite foods she learned from my social worker. Then, I unwrapped a brand-new violin Hugh made, not to mention the bedroom I got all to myself."

  "Wow." I can’t help but think when his world was finally coming together mine was about to completely fall apart. “Who’s Hugh?”

  “He builds violins. He gave me my first one when I was nine and taught me everything I know. I’ll have to introduce you.”

  The idea he wants to introduce me to someone important in his life makes me feel both thrilled and anxious. “So, did your parents adopt you right away? Sorry, I’m not sure how that all works.”

  "They officially adopted me two years later. The process can take a while.”

  "You were in foster homes before that? If you don’t mind talking about it."

  "I don't like remembering some of it, but I've gotten used to talking about it. Therapy does that. Anyway, I lived in foster care pretty much from age three onward until I met Mum and Dad."

  The word therapy jumps out of his answer and lights up the sky like fireworks. Therapy. The amount of hours Meme has spent trying to convince me to go to grief counseling can be measured in eons. My response has always been the same. I don’t want her to pay someone to tell me how to feel, especially someone who doesn’t understand what I’ve been through.

  I make myself focus on Liam. "Tell me about this room you got all to yourself?"

  Liam lets out a breath and relaxes into his seat more. "At the time, I'm sure my face said it all. I’d been to their house before. It's part of the process, but always with the social worker. The first time I saw what would become my room, it was pretty bare. There was a twin bed with just the mattress and a matching chest of drawers. Mum began quickly explaining to the social worker how they would fix it up before I moved in, and she even asked me about my favourite colour. I only remember thinking, this is just for me?"

  "I bet that was a relief."

  He shakes his head. "Actually, it was bloody terrifying."

  My brows knit together. "Why?"

  "Because one wrong move on my part, and it could all be taken away. I was terrified to hope that it would be different this time."

  I lean my arm against his in silent support.

  He gives me a small smile before saying, "When I officially moved in, they kept their word and fixed up the room. My eyes went to the bed first, which had been covered in a quilt made up of every colour blue imaginable. Mum said I hadn't specified which shade of blue was my favourite, so she used them all when she made it. No one had ever hand-made me anything."

  My heart’s breaking for young Liam, but I’m so relieved his story does seem to have a happy ending. I can also feel myself beginning to care too much. I can care about him as a friend, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything. I won’t let it mean anything.

  "But we all have a past, right?" His eyes meet mine.

  He wants me to reciprocate. "I guess we do," I say instead.

  The disappointment I expect to see on his face from my non-answer never shows. Instead he says, "I almost forgot." He reaches down and pulls out his bag for a moment before returning with a book. "For you."

  I read the title out loud. " The Best of England. ”

  "You said you wanted to see the less known areas," he explains.

  "I already have one of these." Dad mailed it to me, and it still sits unopened on my desk back home.

  "I promise this one is better." He motions towards the yellow papers sticking out of the spine.

  When I randomly open a page, a sticky note has the word "lame" written in messy script. A statute of some sort is partially visible under the note. The fact he used sticky notes is not lost on me.

  I laugh as I flip through more pages with the same sticky note appearing page after page. "Why don't you really tell me how you feel about your country?"

  "I'm allowed to insult my own country." He takes the book back and flips towards the middle. "Look, here's a good one."

  "The Lake District? As in Pride and Prejudice? " Meme would be so excited .

  He playfully rolls his eyes. "Please tell me you're not another American in search of Mr. Darcy?"

  "I'm in search of no one, but my grandmother, Meme, is obsessed with Mr. Darcy. Pride and Prejudice is her favorite book."

  When he hands me the book back, I notice the sticky note by the Lake District reads, "Let me take you here, please." Even his sticky notes are polite.

  "Maybe," I reply.

  He nods once. "I'll take a maybe."

  Chapter Eight

  Avery

  "Maybe?!" I hold the phone away from my ear as Trinity continues to say it over and over in the same exacerbated tone.

  "Maybe?!" There it is again.

  "That's what I said," Katherine adds.

  We’re staying in an Oxford University dormitory typically assigned to first-year students called the Beehive. The rooms are an odd shape with angled walls. A window takes up one wall, and my he
adboard rests against another wall made of narrow wood paneling. The rest of the room is painted stark white. A large tack board encompasses the wall to the right of the window with built-in cabinets and shelves below. I personalized it with some of my favorite photographs and strung white Christmas lights like a canopy on the ceiling.

  Katherine’s room is next door, but she’s currently lying on my bed with a copy of Hello Magazine open.

  I put down the brush I’m using to clean my camera lens so I can switch the call to speakerphone. "There, you guys can get it all out in the open together."

  "Maybe!" They both say at exactly the same time, which makes all three of us start laughing.

  "Seriously, don't you guys care about my safety at all? I can't travel across England with some guy I just met. In fact, Trinity, I'm pretty sure that was the exact story-line of the last murder mystery podcast we listened to."

  "What?! No way. Amy met Dan at a gas station in South Dakota when they both reached for the same bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. Then she got in the truck with him, at which point, she was never seen again. You hate Cheetos."

  "Me, too. I'm against any food that turns your fingers orange," Katherine adds while scrunching up her nose.

  "Besides, I stalked Liam’s social media and didn't get any serial killer vibes," Trinity says. "He seems too busy. I mean between school, the band, and the violin, when would he have time to plan out something like that?"

  "I completely agree. Although, he seems pretty dedicated as a musician. That could bleed over to other areas of his life . . . like serial killing," Katherine says clearly proud of herself.

  "I'm officially ending this insane conversation.” My finger hovers over the end call button.

  "Wait! Let me just say, as your best friend, I think you should take a chance on Liam," Trinity says.

  "I hear you loud and clear."

  Her answering sigh tells me she doesn’t believe me one bit.

  After ending the call, Katherine says, "I'm with Trinity on this one."