by Tillie Cole
The one she’d been wrapped in last night.
I picked it up, a light fragrance drifted into my nose. Sweet. Addictive. I glanced around me. The girl was gone.
She’d left her blanket. No. She’d covered me with it. “Your music has no soul.” A hard clenching feeling pulled in my stomach at the memory of her words. So I chased it away like I did anything that made me feel. Caging it deep inside.
Then I took my arse home.
Chapter Two
Cromwell
Jefferson Young University, South Carolina
Three months later . . .
I knocked on the door.
Nothing.
I dropped my bag to the floor. When no one answered, I turned the knob and let myself in. One half of the room was covered in posters: bands, art, a Mickey Mouse painting, a bright green shamrock painting—the themes were all over the place. It was the most random thing I’d ever seen. The bed was already messed up, black duvet cover bunched at the foot of the bed. Crisp packets and chocolate wrappers littered the small desk. Used paints and brushes were strewn all over the windowsill.
I was a slob, but not this much of one.
To my left was what was obviously my bed. I threw my overstuffed bag on the floor beside it then collapsed on the bed. It was tiny, my feet almost hanging off the end. I took my headphones from around my neck and put them over my ears. Jet lag was kicking in and I had a crick in my neck from where I had slept in a funny position on the flight.
Just as I was about to turn my music on, someone flew through the door. My eyes slammed onto a tall guy with blond, shaggy hair. He was wearing long shorts and a sleeveless top. “You’re here!” he said, putting his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
I raised a single eyebrow in question. He held up his hand for me to wait, then came closer and held out his hand. I shook it, reluctantly. “You’re Cromwell Dean,” he said.
I sat up on the bed, kicking my legs off the side. The guy pulled a chair from under his desk and brought it next to my bed. He spun it and sat down, resting his arms on the back. “I’m Easton Farraday. Your roommate.”
I nodded, then pointed to his side of the room. “Your decoration is . . . eclectic.”
Easton winked and smiled wide. I wasn’t used to smiling people. Never knew why people had reason to smile so much. “That’s as good a word as any for me, I suppose.” He got off the chair. “Let’s go.”
Running my hand through my hair, I stood. “And where the hell are we going?”
Easton laughed. “Hell, boy. Gonna take me a while to get used to that accent.” He nudged me in the arm. “Girls ’round here gonna be flipping out over it.” His eyebrows danced. “That and the fact that you’re a famous DJ and all. You get pussy by the truckload, huh?”
“I do all right.”
Easton put his hands on my shoulders. “You lucky bastard. Teach me your ways!” He walked to the door. “Let’s go. You’re gonna get the Easton Farraday tour of Jefferson Young.”
I looked out of the window at the quad. The sun was boiling hot. I was from England; no one was used to getting that much heat exposure. Although technically, I was from South Carolina. My mum was from here, but I’d never known the place. We moved to the UK when I was only seven weeks old. I might have been American born, but I was British through and through.
“Why not?” I said, and Easton led me out of the door.
I followed him down the corridor. We passed a few people, and every one of them said hello to Easton. Hand slaps, hugs, and winks were handed out to both boys and girls from my new roommate. I saw the guys eyeing me weird. Some obviously trying to suss me out, others clearly recognizing me.
Easton tipped his chin at a guy and a girl approaching. The guy looked at me. “Shit. Cromwell Dean. Easton said you were coming but I thought he was just full of it.” He shook his head. “Why the hell are you here at JYU? It’s all anyone can talk about.”
I opened my mouth, but Easton answered for me. “For Lewis, right? Everyone who ever picked up a damn instrument is here for him.”
The guy nodded, like I’d answered his question, not Easton. “I’m Matt. Easton’s friend.” Matt laughed. “You’ll soon see that you’re rooming with the most popular guy on campus. We’re small-time at this college, but this guy’s mouth is big. Took all of three weeks for everyone to know him freshman year. Only a few more before the faculty, seniors, and everyone in between knew his name.”
“Sara,” the redhead next to Matt said. “You’ll no doubt be drafted into our group.”
“You gotta spin on Friday,” Matt said.
Easton groaned and punched Matt in the arm. “I had a plan, Matt. You gotta work up to asking that shit.”
My gaze darted between Matt and Easton. Sara rolled her eyes at them, then Easton turned to me. “We got an old abandoned barn-slash-warehouse thing a few miles off campus. Old alumnus owns the land and the barn. He lets us use it for parties. Ain’t many places around here to party—we had to get creative. It’s all rigged up. One of the seniors from last year went all out with lights, a dancefloor, and a podium. Wanted to piss away Daddy’s money for cheating on his mom. Place is a college dream.”
“Cops?” I asked.
Easton shrugged. “It’s a college in a small-ass town. Most of us are from the local areas. Jefferson never had a big pull for anything but being cheap for locals’ tuition, until Lewis came this year. Most of the cops went to high school with someone here. Old friends. They don’t bother us.”
“We kind of have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ situation with them. The Barn is far enough away from civilization that ain’t no one complaining about the noise,” Matt said.
My head was throbbing. I needed a cigarette and about fourteen hours of sleep. “Sure,” I said when I saw three sets of eyes all watching me, waiting for my answer.
“Holy shit!” Matt threw his arm around Sara’s shoulders. “I can’t believe it. Cromwell Dean is spinning at the Barn!” He turned to Easton. “It’s gonna be epic.”
Easton saluted, then put his hand on my shoulder. “Gonna give Crom a tour. Catch you later.” I followed Easton down the stairs that led to the quad. He took a deep breath when the humid air slammed into us like a freight train. Easton spread his arms. “This, Cromwell, is the quad.” People lounged on the grass, music playing from phone speakers. Students were reading, chilling out in couples. Again, everyone said hi to Easton. They just outright stared at me. Guess that’s what happens when you transfer in sophomore year to a rinky-dink university from another country.
“The quad. For chilling, skipping class, or whatever,” Easton said. I followed Easton to the cafeteria, then the library—which he told me wasn’t for books, but for shagging behind the stacks. We got to a truck. “Get in,” he said. Too tired to argue, I got in, and he pulled out onto the road, heading away from the college.
“So?” he asked as I lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag. I closed my eyes as I exhaled. Nine hours on a flight without nicotine was a bitch.
“Share the joy, Crom,” Easton said. I passed him a cigarette. I wound the window down and looked out at the sports fields and small stadium for the American football team.
“So?” Easton repeated. “I get Lewis is a big draw for you, but even so, your life is made, isn’t it?” I rolled my head against the headrest to look at him. He had a tattoo on his arm. Looked like a star-sign symbol or something. Never understood why people only ever got one. The minute I got my first, I booked in for the rest. A ton later and I still wasn’t finished. I was addicted.
His speaker was playing a playlist from his phone. As if on cue, one of my mixes came through. He laughed. “In case you were wondering, that was just God backing me up on my question.”
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, just taking in the smoke. “Did a year of uni in London. It was okay, but I didn’t want to be in England anymore. Lewis invited me here to study under him. So I came.”
&n
bsp; There was a brief silence. “But I still don’t understand. Why finish at all? You have a career that’s taking off. Why bother with college?”
A knife in my stomach twisted, my throat clogging up. I wasn’t going there. So I just kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut.
Easton sighed. “Fine. Be a mystery. Just add that to the list of things the chicks will get wet over.” He shoved my arm. “Open your eyes. How can I show you the sights of Jefferson Town if they’re shut?”
“It can be an audio tour. The way you never shut your mouth, you could make some serious coin doing it.”
He burst out laughing. “True.” He pointed at the small town we were entering. “Welcome to Jefferson. Founded in 1812. Population two thousand.” He turned down what had to be the main road. “You have all the usual places.” He said that in a horrendous English accent, which I assumed was for my pleasure. “Dairy Queen, McDonalds, all that stuff. A few redneck bars. Some small diners. A coffee lounge—has some pretty good open mic nights if you’re looking to chill. Some good local talent.” There was a cinema that had four screens, some touristy stuff, and finally, we passed the Barn. It was exactly that, but Easton promised me inside resembled something you’d find in Ibiza. Having played in Ibiza the most out of anywhere I’d spun, I doubted that. But it was a place to play, and in this town, it was something.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
“Art,” he replied. I thought of the posters and paintings on the wall of our room. “I like mixed media too. Anything with color and expression.” He cocked his head my way. “I’ll be running the lights on Friday. You on the decks, me on the lights. It’s gonna be sick.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Think of all the chicks we’ll get.”
Right then, all I could think of was sleep.
Chapter Three
Cromwell
Easton was practically bouncing on the driver’s seat of his truck as we approached the Barn. It was only ten at night. I wasn’t used to hitting the decks until twelve at the earliest.
Easton was right. The place was bouncing, people spilling all over the grass outside the wooden building. Dance music pounded through the cracks in the wooden panels. I winced on hearing one awful mix slide into another tune.
Easton must have seen my expression. He pulled the truck to a stop and put his hand on my arm. “You’re our savior, Crom. You see what we’ve had to put up with? Bryce is protective over his decks. You’ve been warned.”
I lit up a cigarette and got out of the truck. All eyes had been on it from the minute Easton pulled up. It got even worse when I got out. I ignored the stares and hushed whispers and moved to the bed of the truck.
I pulled out my laptop, throwing it over my shoulder. My sleeveless t-shirt was sticking to my chest. The weather made me feel like I was living in a permanent sauna. The denim of my jeans clung to my legs. I followed Easton toward the barn. All the girls were checking me out. With two full sleeves and tattoos creeping up my neck, there were only ever two reactions to me. Girls either flooding their knickers as soon as they clapped eyes on my ink, or complete revulsion. From the looks coming my way, it was mostly the former.
A brunette stepped in front of me, stopping me dead. Easton laughed beside me. She pushed on his arm, then said, “I’m Kacey. You’re Cromwell Dean.”
“Good observation,” I said.
She smiled. I ran my tongue over my lips and saw her eyes snap to my tongue ring. “I’m . . . um . . .” She blushed. “I’m looking forward to hearing your set.” She took a sip of her beer and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve got some of your mixes on my jogging playlists, but I’ve heard it’s like nothing else to hear you live.”
I looked at Easton. “If you want me to save everyone from the ear-bleeding mixes that this Bryce is playing, we’d better go.”
“Catch you later, Kacey,” Easton said. I nodded at Kacey then moved around her toward the door. Easton nudged me. “She’s a good one.” He smiled wider. “Hot too, huh?”
I ducked my head, hiding my face when I noticed all the people staring. I hated attention. I knew it sounded stupid, the DJ hating attention. But I just wanted people to want my music, not me. I didn’t want their interest in me as a person. I just wanted to play.
Had to play for my sanity.
The rest was hard to deal with.
There wasn’t much to me anyway. I really wasn’t worth knowing.
Easton laughed at me shunning the attention and threw his arm around my neck. As loud as he was, he would never understand. The arsehole had no concept of personal space. But I couldn’t help but like him. I didn’t have friends. And I had a feeling he wouldn’t go away even if I asked him to.
“Shit, Crom. You feeling like an animal in a zoo or what? We don’t get many celebrities here in Jefferson.”
“I’m not a celebrity,” I replied as he led me toward the podium.
“In the electronic dance music world you are. And here at JYU you are.” He leaned over to another girl who was hanging by the stage. I swear, the guy was a chick magnet. He turned back to me. “What’s your poison?”
“Jack. Full bottle.”
“Nice,” Easton said, smiling in approval.
The girl went running off. I opened my bag and grabbed my headphones. Loosening my neck, I pulled out my laptop. Easton watched me like I was some living breathing science experiment. I raised my eyebrow. “It’s like watching a master at work or something,” he said.
Easton tapped the current DJ on the shoulder. Bryce. Bryce looked at me from the side of his eye then stormed off the podium. Easton laughed as the moody wanker pushed by me. I climbed the steps to the podium and set up my laptop. I plugged it in to the system, then let myself look up.
The place was jam-packed. Hundreds of eyes locked on me. I took a deep breath as the rising heat from the dancing bodies stuck to my skin, as the vibrant colors that surrounded them assaulted my eyes.
A bottle of Jack appeared beside me. I took a long swig then slammed the bottle back to my right. Easton, to my left, flicked his chin at me. He was downing a bottle of tequila like it was water. I peered over my laptop at the bodies lined up and waiting.
I lived for this moment. The pause. The held breath before the chaos.
I tapped the keys. Lined up the tune. Then, with a flick of my hand, sent the crowd into euphoria. Easton bathed the barn in green laser lights. Strobes followed, making the dancing crowd look as though they were moving in slow motion. Drinking. Smoking. Some high off their tits.
Easton threw his head back in laughter. “This is insane! Cromwell Dean is in the Barn!”
The beat became the rhythm of my heart as it pounded against the barn’s walls. Easton wasn’t lying. Inside, this place was good. I took sip after sip of my Jack. Easton sucked on the tequila like it would run out if he didn’t get it all down quick.
I shrugged. It was his life, and his killer hangover that’d smack him square in the eyes tomorrow. I glanced at my Jack. Who was I kidding? I was planning on joining him.
Easton nudged my arm. He flicked his chin at the front of the podium. Kacey, the brunette bird from outside, was looking up at me. She smiled, and I nodded my head at her. As I scanned the crowd, I saw people laughing in groups, couples kissing, dancing. I never had any of that in my life. I had my music. That was it. My stomach caved in sudden sadness, catching me off guard. I immediately threw the feeling away.
I wouldn’t let it in.
Focusing back on my music, I threw in some beats to the mix, adding depth. Bass drums bouncing so hard they shook the building. Easton leaned over me to the mic. I never spoke. My music did the talking for me. Never even had anyone singing over my tunes. Just beats and the rhythm. “Is that what you call losing it?” Easton shouted, and the crowd screamed.
He jumped onto the table holding my decks. I shook my head, smirking at the walking ego that was Easton Farraday. “I said . . .” He paused, then screamed, “Is that what you call fuckin
g losing it?”
I slammed them with a bass beat so hard and fast it controlled them, brought them to their knees. Bodies bumped and smashed into each other as they moved. As they jumped and drank and some practically shagged on the floor. And I was lost to it. Like always, up on this podium, I was gone. Taken from the darkness inside my head and thrust into this. This numb nirvana.
I closed my eyes to pull myself from Easton’s lights. My bones vibrated with the bass I was pushing. The sound sailed through my ears and injected itself straight into my veins. Bursts of reds and yellows danced behind my closed eyelids. I snapped my eyes open, only to see Easton stumbling around the podium. His arm was around a girl’s neck as she practically ate his mouth. He backed her away until they were on the dancefloor and heading outside.
Hours passed in the blink of an eye. I played until I was done with my mixes. Bryce, the prick from before, was taking over before I’d even got off the podium. I took my Jack and snuck outside; the crowd were too off their faces to even notice the DJs had switched.
I’d completely ruined them.
I hit the outside air and found a quiet spot beside one of the barn’s walls. I slumped to the ground and closed my eyes. The sound of laughing made me open them again.
This place was nothing like uni back in London. Jefferson Young was tiny, and everyone knew each other. My uni in London was massive. It was easy to get lost in the crowd. I’d lived alone. No dorms. Just a studio flat near the campus. No friends.
It was a different world out here. And I knew that having barely seen any of it.
For the past few days I’d barely left my room, sleeping off my jetlag and mixing my tracks for tonight. Easton tried to get me to hang with him and his mates, but I didn’t. I wasn’t exactly a social person. I was better on my own.
I closed my eyes again, just as I felt a warm body sit beside me. It was Kacey, a Corona in her hand. “You wiped?”
“Knackered,” I said and heard her small laugh. Probably at my accent. Easton had been doing the same thing all week.
