Between Everything and Us

by Rebecca Paula

  That’s not true.

  “I bet you could use a coffee,” he says.

  He coaxes a small chuckle out of me. It’s so easy, so…uncomplicated. “Oh yeah?”

  “Finals are next week, not a hard guess.”

  He casually tosses his arm over my shoulder as we stroll across campus, catching up. His harmless flirtations sneak into our conversation, and I’m surprised that I flirt back.

  “No coffee for me,” I say. “Time to watch the rugrats.”

  We wait at the street crossing with the rest of the sleep-deprived campus.

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to another repeat of our first meeting.”

  “I can call you a dick right now if that’ll make you feel better.”

  Cole has such a sexy laugh, so low and smooth. “Come to my show Friday night.”

  “Finally touring with the circus?”

  He pulls me closer by my coat until our feet bump together. “Where have you been?” he whispers. His eyes search my face, and I wonder, for a moment, what it would be like if he kissed me. “I think I might have missed that smart mouth of yours.”

  Guilt sneaks up on me again. It must play out on my face because he lets go and steps back, giving me space to wallow in my confusion. Gray—this year has been full of so much of that muddled color.

  “Bring some friends if you want. I’ll get you in for free.”

  It’s his way of apologizing. His way of saying that he understands. It doesn’t make it easier, though. Until today, I thought Cole and I were friends. I thought I had wanted to stay friends. Now I’m not so sure, and I guess he isn’t either. Even broken hearts mend with enough time.

  “Text me the details later. I have to run.” I don’t know if I should hug him goodbye, so I awkwardly wave and dash across the street to catch my bus. He stands on the sidewalk when we drive past, his head down with his phone in his hand.

  Then my phone buzzes.

  Meet me midnight. And then, thirty seconds later: I was right. I did miss you.

  ***

  I’m battling a cold, but after some pregaming at Stephanie’s, I’m ready for Cole’s concert. The group of us are walking down North Mississippi Avenue as a soft snow starts to fall. I’m used to snow at home, but it’s usually raining here. I wasn’t convinced I missed snow until now.

  I take in a deep breath of fresh air, then start another coughing jag. Maybe I should cut back on the whole fresh air thing. It seems that finals really are going to kill me.

  “God, you sound like you’re dying,” Aubrey yells at me from behind. The other girls laugh, but when I peek over my shoulder, Aubrey’s lips are pressed in a straight line.

  “I’ll live. Just a cold.”

  I text Cole that we’re outside the club. It’s an unassuming building that appears a bit out of place, as though it belongs in the set of an Old West film. The bar next door is already busy, a line starting to spill out as we wait and shiver. A few minutes later, Cole pushes through the two wooden doors and smiles. At me.

  I don’t care much about the whispers behind me or the catcalls while I make introductions. That awkwardness falls away when Cole leans in and kisses my cheek.

  His lips are warm over my skin, a small comfort on this unusually cold night in Portland, but it’s his spicy cologne that sends me spinning. “I’m glad you came.”

  I tip back on my boots, thinking the same. “Me too,” I whisper.

  “Good.” He sweeps his thumbs over my eyelashes, brushing away the fat snowflakes. “Let’s get you inside before you turn into a snowman.”

  He leads us into the crowded club, then over to the bar for drinks. I have the world’s shittiest fake ID, so I’m happy when I’m not carded for my hard cider. Cole is polite to everyone, making small talk and trying his best to make everyone feel welcome. It does something funny to my stomach.

  Aubrey’s chatting up the bartender, a girl with spiked purple hair and gauges in her ears, when Cole’s hand lands on my waist. I flinch, but don’t step back. I look back and catch him winking at me before he whispers that he has to get backstage.

  “Will you stick around after the show? Maybe get something to eat together finally?”

  Together. It’s not a word I thought would ever make me excited where Cole was concerned. I think my fever’s getting to me. I clear my throat and swallow down another sip of cider before I agree, and he heads out.

  “I think you’re smitten, Miss Matt,” Aubrey says, rubbing my shoulders in excitement. She bounces up and down behind me. “It looks good on you.”

  “He’s a nice guy.” I take a sip of my beer. A nervous rush buzzes through me. “And I think I like him.”

  “He is a nice guy.” She doesn’t sound convinced of something. “And good guys want more than a one-night stand.”

  “And maybe it’s time I do, too.”

  I catch her making eyes at the bartender again, who winks back at her even though there’s a huge line at the bar before the show starts. I don’t know how Aubrey does it. She’s the queen of flirt.

  “I think that’d be good,” she says, suddenly turning her attention back to me.

  I nod, but I can’t ignore the knot twisting tighter in my chest. I cough into my arm, as the room begins to spin.

  The house lights dim, and the room erupts into cheers. The place is packed, even the balcony upstairs. Excitement ripples through me as the steady beat of the bass drum knocks into the air, amping up the club. Someone on the stage counts before a mandolin plays a plucky note. Then two guitars and a banjo strum a few chords in unison in the dark. The lights flash, the stage lit up as the audience cheers again.

  I’m lost to it all, focused on Cole playing electric guitar, his voice smooth and smoky behind the lead singer. He looks good up there, fitting in as naturally as a rock star as he did playing those quiet notes on the piano bench next to me. I thought he was hot before, but now I get why girls dig musicians. His black Henley is unbuttoned a bit, and it hugs his toned chest. He has leather bands on his wrists, and his hair is slightly curly, dark and rich under the red and white stage lights.

  I find myself biting my lips whenever he moves his mouth. I wonder again what it would be like to kiss him. I think I might even like it. I think I might even like him a bit, too.

  My phone vibrates, but I ignore it, too caught up in cheering as the song’s chorus picks up. The room comes alive, as if the bass drum has transformed into a heart, pumping life into the audience.

  Six songs into their set, Cole goes ahead and tries to make me swoon—singling me out with a steady index finger as his other hand strums the guitar. And it works. I haven’t been listening to the lyrics, but I feel as though I’ve missed something. The crowd goes crazy, and he winks at me, laughing with the rest of his bandmates, as though I’m some private joke.

  Aubrey and the girls are cheering and teasing me. I’m struggling to breathe when my phone vibrates again. I take it out as the song winds down, spreading my feet wide so I don’t fall over.

  Two texts. Two sloppy attempts of asking if I’m home from Beau.

  “And now we’re going to slow it down a bit,” Cole announces. “I understand someone here is a bit obsessed with Mumford and Sons, so we’re going to try out a new cover tonight. Hope you like it.”

  My hands freeze as I’m about to text back. Cole sits at the piano, and the lights switch to a deep purple. His hands float over the keys, softly building notes upon notes until the familiar sound of “After the Storm” fills up the club.

  Suddenly it’s me and Cole again in that practice room again, his hand over mine as I try to play the piano. As far as grand gestures go, having a song played for me at a concert takes the cake.

  His voice is gorgeous, and so is the arrangement. The piano is soft and slow at the opening verse, then slowly picks up speed, gathering more complications, more notes. He searches for me in the crowd, and even though I’m not sure if he finds me, I understand the invitation stuc
k in between the layers of the song. Everyone else seems set on making me stick to one path, but Cole and this song and these notes are begging me to stray.

  I get caught up in this and him, in the possibility that I could have what I want in life if I just shed these stupid lines I’ve laid out for myself.

  Another text, another distraction.

  When the song finally ends and I come out of my daze, I text back: Leave me alone, Beau.

  Meet me, he replies. I’m at The Know.

  I want to chuck something at Beau’s stupid face. I’m not some girl he can drunk text. And I sure as hell won’t be one of the girls he brings home for a quick fuck. I don’t care if he’s learned my name.

  I’m putting my phone away when he texts again.

  Can’t. You’re stuck in my head.

  I cough again, feeling an uncomfortable pull as I struggle for air. You should never be able to hear your chest rumble and pop.

  “I’ll be right back,” I shout to Aubrey. She nods, not peeling her attention away from the lead singer.

  I push through the crowd, fuming mad that I have to miss this because of him. I’m tired of being the girl who comes in and out of his life as though he doesn’t care. I’m not another girl he can pick up and throw away when he feels like it. I might be his roommate, but that’s not the whole truth anymore.

  “You can’t keep doing this, Beau,” I yell as soon as he picks up. The sidewalk is packed with lingering concertgoers and people trying to get into the packed bar next door. A few people spin around when I yell, then quickly return to their conversations when I glare.

  I’m not sure Beau even hears me. It’s loud on his end, punk music nearly breaking my phone’s speaker. Noah yells something in the background, but I can’t make it out.

  “Mati?” Beau slurs my name.

  “I’m on a date,” I bite out. “A good fucking date with a guy who likes me. And who can actually admit as much.” I drag in another breath, feeling the angry burn in my chest. Damn cold. I start coughing, growing lightheaded. I lean against the brick wall, the snow swirling around me. I should be shivering. It’s cold out, but I’m still on fire. “And you can’t keep doing this to me. We’ve got to stop doing this to each other.”

  I close my eyes to stop the world from rocking back and forth.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says again. “I can’t. Come out with me. Are you out?”

  “I’m on a date. Are you even listening?”

  I’m not just lightheaded. Things start whirling around me and I can’t suck in enough air between coughs.

  “It’s loud here. Hard to hear.”

  “You can’t have me,” I snap. “I’m not yours. And if you call me again—”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it when it’s two in the morning and I’m nothing more than another one of your nameless girls. Don’t.”

  It sounds as if he’s in a tunnel when he replies. Then I feel as though I’m falling. I suck in a small breath as my chest tightens and my face collides with the slushy sidewalk.

  Beau

  “I want you. I fucking want you, Mati. I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it.”

  There, that’s out. Tired of fucking hold it in. Tired of creeping around the apartment, tired of missing her, tired of not hearing her voice.

  It’s quiet on the other end of the line. Or maybe it’s the bar. The guys are being fucktards, laughing at me. But whatever.

  “Mati?”

  She sounds like shit. I think I hear something in the background, like shuffling. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I shoulder through the packed bar and block my other ear so I can hear her better. I expect her to be yelling at me by now, but it’s eerily quiet. I’ve fucked up. Again. “I can put that a nicer way,” I start, but she’s silent. “Mati?”

  “Hello?”

  It’s not a voice I recognize on the line.

  “Someone call 911,” another voice says in the background.

  I push my way out of the bar, ignoring the noise. “What do you mean call 911?” I ask. “Who is this? What happened?”

  “You know this girl? She passed out. Hit her head.”

  Shit.

  “Where are you? I’m coming.” I have to tell myself to focus, to sober up. One foot in front of the other. “She should have friends there with her. I’ll call one if they’re not there, but where are you?”

  My mind is racing, stumbling over everything. I wish to hell I wasn’t at the bar when this happened. I wish I wasn’t a fucking disaster. I wish I could be the guy who deserves to be with Mati.

  I shouldn’t have sounded like the world’s biggest prick when I tried confessing how I feel about her, but I screwed that up as usual.

  I dump myself into the backseat of the cab, my limbs awkward and numb from too much drinking. I try shake off the fog consuming my mind. “Where are you?”

  “At Bar Bar.”

  Luckily it’s close by. I rattle the address off to the cabbie, and we set off.

  “Is she awake?” I ask. It shouldn’t be a long ride, ten minutes or so. We get stuck at a light, and I strike my palm against my knee.

  “I think so.”

  “Let me to talk to her.”

  I hear coughing and a mumbled complaint. I fight back a smile, happy that she’s at least awake. “Mati?” If she says anything, it’s too quiet. “I’m calling Aubrey now. You’ll be okay.”

  I pause before I hang up. I’m not sure why. We always feel so unfinished.

  My conversation with Aubrey is short and one-sided, mostly her calling me out for being a dickhead as I insist she goes out to find Mati. Best friend logic is that I’m still at fault even though Aubrey’s the one inside arguing instead of being outside with Mati.

  When I get there, I hold the cab, discovering no one did call 911. Aubrey is with Mati on the sidewalk and tries to convince me that we should take her back to the apartment. I hate hospitals, but Mati’s burning up, and even drunk, I know she needs a doctor. No one passes out from a cold.

  “Take her home, Beau. She’ll be fine.”

  “No.” I bundle Mati up in my coat and pull her into the taxi with me. “Are you coming?” I yell out to Aubrey.

  “Well, my coat…and purse.” She glances behind her at the club. “I should go back.”

  Mati slumps against my chest, her face bleeding from her face-plant on the sidewalk, her hair wet and dirty. Her breath wheezes in and out of her open mouth. I fight back the urge to run my hands over her hair, checking if she’s okay.

  “It’s fine, Aubrey. I’ve got it.” I’m an ass again, but I thought Mati might be more important to her best friend than a fucking concert. “I’ll call you.” That’s all I say before I slam the door shut and prop Mati against my shoulder.

  I give the cabbie the hospital address and sit in the dark cab, drunk, wishing Mati would wake up and fight with me again. I want to hear her voice, see that smile.

  “I feel like shit,” she mumbles into my chest.

  “What happened?”

  “I hate you.” She coughs, her body shaking underneath my arms. “Go away.”

  I look down at her, then out into the Portland night, the snow falling, the hospital in the distance. “I hate me, too, but you’ll be okay at least.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Matisse

  “Should I call?” a girl’s voice says above me.

  A warm palm presses against my forehead. “No. I think it broke.”

  My tongue sticks in my mouth as I swat away the hand, annoyed. I was having a really good dream if only people would leave me alone.

  “Wake her up. We should use a thermometer.” Gruff words, rough voice. Familiar.

  “You wake her up. I’m not a nurse.”

  “Go away.” I cough and curl up into myself, my stomach muscles aching. I didn’t think you could pull a muscle from coughing, but apparently you can throw out your whole body if you have
pneumonia.

  “We need to check if you have a fever.”

  I open one eye. “I have a strict no-assholes-allowed policy, Beau. Get out.”

  Reagan stands at the foot of my bed. For a flash, her mouth curls up into a knowing smile. When I match it, her face falls and she’s back to icy Reagan, the ever-grumpy Smaug.

  “Where’s Ethan?” I ask.

  “Home for Christmas break, I think,” Beau says.

  “Then why are you here? I’m going to be fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “This is home,” Reagan says stiffly. She picks up a blanket I must have kicked off and throws it on top of me. I can’t help but feel as though she wants to smother me with it.

  “I appreciate you helping, but I’m okay. I am. Really.”

  “Fine.” She looks between me and Beau a few times. Her shoulders are tense, and she keeps fidgeting with the thick scarf around her neck. “Leave her alone, Beau.”

  Beau doesn’t move from his spot beside my bed. He glares down at me, his brows knitted together. I’m the one who should be mad after what happened.

  “We can fight when you can breathe.” He shoves the thermometer at my face. “Take your temperature.”

  I could be an immature brat, but I don’t have the energy. I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch, and stick it under my tongue. I cross my eyes and try to read the numbers, my hot breath fogging up the digital display.

  “Your eyes are going to stay that way, jelly bean.”

  I rip it out of my mouth, glowering at him.

  “Put it back in. Now.”

  I reset the thermometer. The sooner I have my temperature, the sooner he can get out of my room.

  It beeps, and I take it out, coughing as I read the display. 99.8.

  “Nothing major. No temperature,” I say triumphantly. I point for the door. “So get out.”

  I think I’ve won because he takes the thermometer and leaves. I search for my phone and find it on the floor. I have a lot of texts and missed calls.

  “I told you to get out,” I repeat when he returns.