by Tillie Cole
“You had me dropped as your partner.” I said, and she blinked in shock.
She looked toward the toilets. When there was no sign of Bryce, she said, “Lewis didn’t think we were working. I agreed. He allowed us to do the project on our own.” She took a deep breath. “It’s for the best.”
You heard it, I wanted to say to her. No one else has ever heard it, but you did. And you’ve walked away. You’ve let me push you away . . .
You’ve been given a gift, Cromwell. A beautiful gift. And when you let your walls down, it’s pure and beautiful . . .” Her face filled with sympathy. “But you fight so hard. Fight against letting anyone in.” She shook her head. “You run, Cromwell. You run from music. And you ran from me because I heard it.” She took a sip from the glass of water beside her.
Bryce pushed through the door of the men’s room, and she glanced at me from the side of her eye. “Please leave, Cromwell.” She clutched onto her cup. “I want to enjoy tonight.”
She turned her back to me, breathing labored. I stared at her, chest aching from what she’d said.
Bryce sat back down. His eyes narrowed as he looked at us. “Everything okay, Bonnie?”
“Yeah.” I heard the fake smile in her voice. “Cromwell was just leaving.”
Anger built inside me in an instant. I watched her with Bryce and let the fire consume me. I’d been a walking inferno for three years, and seeing her with him right now, Bonnie choosing Bryce over me, sparked the flame so hot I had no way to stop it. “Nah, don’t think I’ll leave,” I said and settled back in my seat. Bonnie looked at me, confusion engulfing her face.
Sam came and refilled my coffee. Bryce and Bonnie started talking again in low tones. Reaching over to their table, I swiped the sugar bowl. My action cut off their conversation. Bonnie was beyond pissed off; I could see that much. “Need sugar,” I said.
Bryce folded his arms across the table. I leaned closer and listened in. My hand absently played with the handle of the cup. “It’s based on the journey of an immigrant to America from Ireland,” Bryce was saying. “We start with an Irish violin solo, then move in a flute, then more strings.” I huffed a laugh. Bet it sounded great.
Bryce shot me a glare. Then he covered her hand with his, and he turned his attention back to her. Bonnie tried to move her hand away, but Bryce threaded his fingers through hers and kept hold of the touch. Bonnie stared at the entwined fingers and frowned.
The wanker didn’t see it. Two conflicting things happened within me. I felt a stupid amount of relief that she clearly didn’t like him that way. But my blood turned to lava at the fact that he was touching her.
I downed my coffee, hoping the spike of caffeine and sugar would help. I winced. I bloody hated sugar in my coffee. When I put the empty cup back on the table, nothing had changed.
“You’ll be happy you’re working on your own now, yeah?”
He had no idea what the hell he was doing. I knew that much. Because if he knew I was this close to smashing my fist into his mouth, he’d keep it shut.
“Yeah,” Bonnie said. She had the sense not to say anything else.
“Some people just aren’t meant for classical music, you know?” I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. But the arsehole didn’t stop. “Some people can throw together some beats on a laptop and call it music. They sail by, conning everyone into thinking they’re something special. All the while, the real artists among us get overlooked.”
I laughed. “Artist? You?” His lips tightened. I shook my head. “You still sulking at the fact I came to Jefferson and pissed on your bonfire?”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
I folded my arms and leaned back on my chair. “The Barn. The fact that I could out-mix you with no hearing and my eyes shut. You’re pissed off that I got a free ride on the course and you didn’t.” I got up and towered over where he sat. “You’re jealous that my piss hitting the toilet pan would sound better than anything you could compose.” I curled my lip. “You reek of mediocrity, bitterness, and jealousy.”
I sat back down and signaled for more coffee. It was silent behind me until I heard the scraping of a chair. I looked back to see Bryce on his feet. “Sorry, Bonn. Can we reschedule?”
“You’re leaving?” she whispered. I didn’t like the swirling I felt in my stomach as I heard the embarrassed shake in her voice. I didn’t like the pale gray I saw as her words hit my ears. My heart was still thudding. But as the red mist dropped from my eyes, and I turned and saw Bonnie’s pale face, something like regret built there instead.
“Yeah. I . . . I’ll call you, okay?”
I heard the door to the coffee shop close. Bonnie’s eyes were hurt. “Why?” she said under her breath. “Why did you have to come here tonight?” She scrabbled in her purse and threw a handful of notes and coins onto the table. “Just to get your revenge for the fact we’re no longer partners?” She laughed without humor. “Well done, Cromwell. You ruined it for me.”
She got up from the chair so quickly she seemed to lose her footing. Sam flew over and grabbed her arm to stop her from falling at the same time as I jumped from my seat. “You okay?” he asked.
She put her hand on her head. “I’m fine. Got up too quick.” Bonnie pulled back and rushed out of the door.
I glared at Sam, who was scowling at me. I threw a twenty on the table and got up. He grabbed my arm as I passed. “Leave her alone.”
I stopped short at his order. I looked down at his hand wrapped around my bicep. “You might want to remove that hand.”
Sam pulled it back, wide eyed, and I pushed past him and burst out of the door. I scanned Main Street, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. As I crossed the road, I saw her in the distance, leaning against the wall of an antiques shop, under a street lamp. She had a denim jacket on over her dress, and brown ankle boots on her feet.
Bonnie lifted her head as I walked toward her. She looked tired and worn out. “He’s gone.” Her attention drifted down the dark road. When she turned back to face me, there were tears in her eyes. “I just wanted this one night,” she whispered. “After everything . . . I just wanted this one night to go right.”
The sound of her broken voice did something inside my chest. Cracked it somehow. She wiped away a tear that fell down her cheek. “I’ve never let myself have anything like this. Have never been able to.” She choked on a hitched breath. She straightened her shoulders and looked me in the eye. “But I wanted to know how it felt. I wanted to not have to think about it all for one damn night . . .”
I stared at her, having nothing to say. What the hell was she talking about? What did she want to forget about?
I ran my hand through my hair. Her tears came harder, until she stood off the wall and turned on me. The tears were there, but now so was something I recognized all too well—anger. “Tonight you were cruel, Cromwell Dean. You were cold and cruel and unkind.”
She stepped closer. Her face was almost touching mine. “Just leave me alone.” She lowered her eyes. “Please.” She turned around and started to walk toward her car.
But hearing her hurt voice, seeing her walking away, snapped something inside me. My blood rushed so fast through my veins that my head became dizzy. I didn’t think it through; I just acted on instinct. I reached out and grabbed her arm. As she turned, I pushed her back until her back hit the wall.
“Cromwell, what—?” she went to say. But before she could, my lips smashed onto hers. The minute I tasted her on my tongue, my heart started slamming in my chest. A surprised sound fell from her mouth and I swallowed it down. My chest flattened against her, and I felt the warmth of her body as it meshed with mine.
Then she started kissing me back. Her lips opened, and I pushed my tongue into her mouth. Bonnie sagged against me as I took her mouth. As I drank her in. Her hands clutched my arms, her nails digging into my bare skin.
We were a blazing fire against the wall. I couldn’t stop. Bonnie’s mouth didn’t either, lips movi
ng faster and stronger the longer we kissed. Until I broke away, stunned. Bonnie’s eyes opened and met mine.
She stared at me for what felt like an age, then her eyes flooded with tears, completely breaking my heart. She didn’t say anything. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing erratic. Then she was off, rushing to her car. She started up the ignition in seconds and pulled out onto the street. I watched her taillights disappear from view.
I stood on the side of the road, breathing deeply, until a noise from behind me snapped me out of whatever the hell fog I’d just found myself in. The wind blew across my face, and it immediately woke me up.
I forced my feet to move, one in front of the other, until I was heading back home. But with every step I remembered it. Tasted her peach scent on my tongue. I looked down and saw the nail marks from where she’d gripped me so tight. My chest was still warm from where she had been pressed up against me.
“Shit,” I muttered as I licked my lips, my tongue ring hot from her tongue against mine. I didn’t notice anyone around me as I walked. I didn’t even realize I’d arrived home until I came to a stop at our dorm’s door.
As soon as I entered my room, I saw Easton on his painting stool, paint spilled all over his clothes, and a canvas covered in dark tones. I stared at the canvas. I was used to seeing his gaudy colors, not grays, browns, and dark reds.
Easton glanced over his shoulder. “Cromwell.”
I flicked my chin at him. But that was all he was getting. My head was full. Full of his twin sister and the taste she’d left in my mouth. I dropped down to my bed and stared at the ceiling. Closing my eyes, I saw her in my head. Her long brown hair. Her purple dress and brown boots. I palmed my eyes, trying to rid myself of the image.
You were cruel tonight, Cromwell Dean. You were cold and cruel and unkind . . .
The words sank down deep, stabbing in my chest. But the wounds were softened when I thought of her eyes after the kiss. Her swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
I opened my eyes. Easton was still sitting in the same spot, staring at the painting. “East?” My voice seemed to snap him out of whatever he was thinking. He’d been acting weird lately. Keeping more to himself instead of inserting himself into my life, invited or not.
Easton turned. “What?”
“I was calling your name.” Easton put down his brushes and paint palette. He ran a hand down his face. I looked at his painting. “Deep.”
He glared at the canvas then pulled a huge smile on his face. Shrugging, he got up from the stool and sat on the end of my bed.
“You get paint on my covers and you’re washing them.”
His eyebrows danced. “After Kacey was here, you’ll need to wash them anyway.”
Kacey . . . the memory left a sour taste in my mouth. I wanted to keep the memory of Bonnie there as long as I could. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to let it go.
“Didn’t shag her.”
“Not what Bonnie said.”
“She’s wrong.” I found myself drawn to the painting again. “Where’s all the neon?”
Easton exhaled a deep breath. “Not feeling it at the moment.” There was something different to his tone. I couldn’t place it. But it was forest green in color. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, changing the subject.
I shifted on the bed and pulled my laptop from my bedside table. I’d just uploaded more mixes. I checked the downloads—thousands. “Went for a coffee.”
“You see Bonnie? She’s always there weekends. The Barn’s not her scene.”
I shook my head, not meeting his eyes. “Nah. Didn’t see her.”
“She’ll have probably gone home. The open mic night’s tomorrow.” He made the comment so casually that I almost missed it.
“Open mic?”
Easton peeled off his shirt and got into his bed. He got his tablet and loaded up the next episode of whatever box set he was watching.
“She goes and watches it?” I asked, bringing up my music.
“She plays there.” Easton lifted his headphones. “I’m about to go dark.” I nodded as he put the headphones on and zoned out. I frowned, wondering what the hell Bonnie was doing at an open mic night. I thought her deal was classical composition? I started finishing off the mixes, but my head wasn’t in it. I couldn’t stop thinking of Bonnie. The kiss. Her eyes. The way I’d completely lost it when she’d told me to leave her alone with Bryce. And how she’d looked after the kiss. The way her brown eyes had locked on mine.
I closed my mixing program and brought up the coffee shop’s website. Open mic night. Started at eight tomorrow.
I shut my laptop, closing my eyes. All I saw was Bonnie’s pretty face, the sight making that tether inside me slacken.
“Cromwell?” Easton’s voice woke me from almost-sleep.
I cracked one eye open. “What?”
“Barn’s on tomorrow. You good for the decks?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, but instead I paused, then said, “Can’t. Busy.”
“Hot date, huh?”
I blew out a slow breath. “Just got somewhere to be.”
“Great. Stuck with Bryce again.” Easton returned to his tablet.
I lay awake until the sun rose.
I blamed it on the peach taste lingering on my lips.
Chapter Thirteen
Cromwell
The place was packed.
People spilled out onto the path to smoke or to move on to the bar across the street. I looked through the window, but I couldn’t see a thing. I ducked my head and walked through the door. There was no sign of Bonnie. The lights were low, except for the spotlight shining on the stage.
As I squeezed through the mass of people toward the side of the room, a table in the dark became free. I slid onto the seat before anyone else could take it. It was ten minutes before the barista came to me to take my order. When Sam saw me, his face frosted over.
He looked behind him and then faced me again, looking panicked. “I can’t believe you’d—”
I held my hand up. “I’m just here for coffee.”
Sam’s face told me he doubted that, but he asked, “The usual?” I nodded, and he disappeared. I wasn’t sure if he’d tell Bonnie I was here or not. So I just sat and listened to three singers. One of them was good. I stared at the tabletop the whole time, seeing colors as they played and sang. I rubbed my head. My temples throbbed, making me feel like I was in the middle of a migraine. My head ached and my neck was stiff. It was because I was fighting them—the colors, the emotions, the tastes. I was fighting them all, when all my body wanted to do was embrace them.
You can’t stop them, my dad’s voice echoed in my head. It’s part of who you are, son. Embrace them. He smiled. I wish I saw and felt them too. What a gift . . .
I squeezed my eyes shut, about to just leave, when the manager of the place came to the mic. “And now, a good friend of Jefferson Coffee—our hometown girl, Bonnie Farraday.”
I had a clear view of the stage from my seat. So I saw the minute Bonnie stepped onto the stage with the help of Sam. He passed up an acoustic guitar. It looked battered and worn. But she held it like it was an extension of her arm.
Bonnie didn’t look up at the crowd. Not once. She kept her eyes on the guitar, on her stool when she sat down. She was dressed in skinny blue jeans and a white jumper that hung off one shoulder, showing her pale skin. Her hair was off her face in an intricate plait. She had pearl earrings in her ears, and some kind of charm bracelet hung on her wrist.
“Hey y’all. This one’s called ‘Wings.’”
Bonnie shut her eyes as her hand found the neck of the guitar. I held my breath as she started playing. Olive greens danced in my mind, the slow strumming of the strings. And then she opened her mouth, and the most vibrant violet blue I’d ever seen flashed like a firework in my head, making my breath catch in my throat. And then the lyrics hit my ears, and my chest ripped apart as the words registered and sliced right to my heart.
Some a
re not meant for this life for too long.
A fleeting glimpse, a silent birdsong.
Souls too pure, they burn out too bright,
Bodies so fragile, losing the fight.
Hearts lose their beats, rhythms too slow,
Angels they come, it’s time to go.
Lift from this place, to the heavens and skies,
Smothered in peace, where nobody dies.
Hope left behind in the ones they have loved,
No longer caged, now wings of a dove.
Wings, white as snow, sprout from my heart.
Wings, spreading wide, now to depart.
Tears in my eyes, I give one last glance.
I lived, and I loved, and danced life’s sweet dance . . .
I was frozen to the seat. My body locked at pale pinks and lilac purples. The violet blue kept a shimmering circle with every new bar. The triangles of tempo, switching and molding into different sizes and angles.
A lump formed in my throat as her voice sailed over the coffee shop. My stomach and chest strained so tightly they ached.
My father’s face came into my head—his smiles, his applause . . . and the time I’d walked away . . .
A loud round of applause broke through my thoughts. The painting in my head faded, leaving only shadows of color as they gripped on to the darkness. I exhaled, feeling drained, like I’d been running for miles. I took a large gulp of my coffee.
The manager announced a small break. The minute the lights came on, Bonnie turned her head. It was like she had felt me sitting here. Watching.
Her face froze when her eyes met mine. She stumbled off the stage. Sam caught her, and she managed to keep hold of her guitar before it fell. Bonnie said something to Sam then rushed from the stage and out to the back.
I was on my feet in seconds, pushing through the crowd. Sam stood in my path. “No one’s allowed back there.”
I gritted my teeth, prepared to knock this guy out if he didn’t move out of my way. Then I looked out of the window and saw Bonnie crossing the street with her guitar in its case. I didn’t overthink it. I just slammed through the crowd, the lights dimming as the manager came onstage and announced the next performer.
