“Damn it, Taylor. Quit shooting me with that thing,” he shouts, throwing the bullet back at me.
With little regard for his tone or words, I do the same thing again. He stands with his shoulders slouched and his neck bent. The treehouse isn’t made for a six-foot fourteen-year-old boy. He comes over to me and snatches the gun from my hands and walks away to go sit against the other wall.
“She hates me,” I repeat.
“She doesn’t hate you. You’re a teenager—well, almost—and she doesn’t know how to deal with you,” he retorts, throwing a green ball against the wall I am leaning on. It bounces smoothly back into his hand. I wonder how much longer this treehouse will remain standing. It wasn’t built to be completely weather proof, and the floor and walls are starting to rot, but somehow still holding together.
“The only reason she hasn’t put me on the street is because Dad’s will made her my custodian and left a stipulation that if she kicks me out she loses the house. And she does hate me,” I insist.
“Saying that she hates you is a little overboard, don’t you think? She’s your stepmother and she hasn’t exactly done you any harm.”
I raise an eyebrow and throw my last Nerf bullet in his direction to get his attention.
He looks at me angrily.
I scowl back. “This morning she told me that her life would be easier if I would have died along with dad.”
“Wait, she said that?” Cole asks, turning his undivided attention to me.
I sigh and reach for the basket of knick-knacks. There aren’t many things inside the treehouse anymore. We discarded most of the toys and breakables when we realized that it may fall soon. The Nerf gun and bullets didn’t get thrown away for sentimental reasons.
“She can’t even stand to look at me because Dad left the house to me. She says I’m ungrateful, but what have I got to be grateful for? She hardly cooks and her cooking sucks anyway. I clean my own room. We live off Dad’s pension. Why did Dad have to die and leave me here? Sometimes I wish I could just have gone into foster care.”
He frowns. “Don’t say that. If you had gone into foster care we wouldn’t be friends anymore. We’d never see each other.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” I begin, twirling my hair with a small smile.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks with a groan.
“None of this would matter if we were famous.”
“We’re not.”
“We could be. I know you are unbelievable at playing the guitar and I can sing and we can be a team. We’ll have to find a catchy name for us and everything,” I say excitedly.
“You sing and I play the guitar?” he repeats half-heartedly.
“Okay, I know you aren’t into the idea of being a musician because you’re convinced it will ruin your reputation, but I swear I won’t say a word to anybody. We could practice in secret in the basement.”
He looks at me doubtfully.
“I’m going to make something of myself, but I want you to be with me when I go big. I don’t want to leave you behind,” I negotiate.
“You want us to become rich and famous together?”
“That’s exactly what I want. We’ll be a team forever and ever.”
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. Cole leans forward and places both of his elbows on his knees and looks at me intently. “If I do this, will I get to see you every day?”
I nod rapidly. “Totally. We’ll have to practice every day for hours and hours though.”
“And if I don’t become part of your team, how often will I see you?”
I shrug. “Maybe once a week, but sometimes we may go a week or even two without seeing each other. It depends on what I end up doing.”
“So you’re determined to become rich and famous?”
“That’s the goal. I won’t stop until I become famous,” I say decisively.
“Then I’ll do it. We’ll become rich and famous together.”
We bump knuckles in agreement and I smile at Cole. I won’t be alone on my journey. I’ll have my best friend at my side.
Taylor
Present Day
“Mmm … I’m starving,” Cole murmurs.
“Starving for what?” I can’t help wriggling against him a little, and what I feel growing against my lower back makes me smile. “Food or something else?”
“Is both a good answer?”
“Both is acceptable,” I whisper and his arms tighten around me. He squeezes a little too hard, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t tell him to let go for anything in the world. I wish we could hide out in this room forever. The world outside be damned.
“There’s lasagna in the fridge. I could warm it up for you,” I offer, even though it’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near a stove.
His brow furrows. “You hate lasagna.”
“That’s true, but I won’t be eating it. You will.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Breakfast.”
“I know. Half a grapefruit.” He grins at my surprised face. “The gossip mill works better than you think.”
“Hmmm … yes, that. Mrs. Crankshaw brought blueberry muffins earlier. Want that?”
“Nah, I need real food. The last time I ate was last night.”
My eyes widen. “How come?”
“Guess?” he says dryly and looks at his watch. “It’s only eleven. Want to go out for something to eat?”
“Are there any places still open at this time of the night?” I ask with a smile.
“Uh, yeah. Black Rock didn’t turn into a ghost town after you left.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Very cute.” He jerks away with a chuckle. For a moment we are old friends again. Then my smile dies when I imagine seeing people—or, rather, letting them see me. Do I feel like dealing with that?
“What’s the matter? You went away just then.”
He always could read my subtle shifts in mood. “It’s nothing. Where do you wanna go?”
“I thought maybe we could check out Artie’s.”
“What?” I sit up, eyes wide and grinning. “You seriously want to go down Memory Lane tonight, huh?”
His eyes drop down to my breasts. “Why the hell not? We’re already more than halfway down the road. Might as well keep going, right?”
“Oi you. Can you concentrate? Eyes up here, please.”
He brings his eyes up to my face, and his smile lights up the room, a smile I could never say no to. Gosh, to have his confidence. He knows he’ll get his way, just like always. “The view is very distracting, but yeah, I want to go down memory lane with you.”
“Okay. You’re asking for it.”
“What’s that mean?”
I don’t answer—my cryptic smile is all he gets before I get out of bed and buck naked walk to open my old wardrobe. I turn back and find him watching me. He doesn’t smile. He’s about to get an idea of what fame is like. I hope he can handle it.
The second we walk into the bar, all heads turn in our direction—or, rather, mine.
“Oh, my God! It’s her!” I hear excited whispers and a few high-pitched squeals as we look around for a place to sit.
The bar is packed, as it always was in the days when Cole and I performed here. It’s unthinkable, all these years later, that two kids in their mid-teens performed together at a bar full of drinkers who got steadily louder with each drink and smoked like it was their jobs. We thought we were so grown up back then. So sophisticated because we played gigs in a bar.
“Is it always like this?” Cole asks as we sit at a corner table. Even away from most of the crowd, the weight of the stares following my every movement is heavy. There are phones popping out everywhere, taking pictures and snagging video. What does Taylor order when she’s out and about? What’s her drink of choice? Who’s the guy she’s with—a new boy toy? Oh, I can hear the speculation circling around in my head already, and we haven’t even seen a waitress yet.
/>
“This is tame,” I say with a shrug.
“You mean it gets crazier than this?” he asks with a laugh.
I raise an eyebrow. “Too much for you?”
“Not at all. I love watching my ex stir up a mob scene.”
My smile wobbles just a little bit. There he said it. That’s all we are. I wish I had the nerve to challenge him on it, but I’m too cowardly. “Famous last words,” I joke instead. Don’t ruin this. This is how I want it. We’re having fun. I have another life outside this town, away from him.
The waitress looks like she just got out of high school—and like she might’ve fought her coworkers for the chance to serve our table. “Hi, my name is Emma and I’ll be serving you tonight. You’re Taylor Rose, aren’t you?” she gushes. “I mean, I figure it’s you since it looks like you and since everybody knows you’re from around here and my friends heard you were in town, but we never thought you would come in here, like, ever.”
I don’t think she took a breath once during that whole speech. I give her my standard smile. She’s just a star-struck small town kid. Once I was her. “Yup, that’s me. Home for family stuff and starving half to death.”
She giggles breathlessly. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
We could be here all night. I pick up one of the menus she put on the table. “Can I have a Perrier with a twist of lemon, no ice.”
She nods vigorously, before turning to Cole for the first time since she approached the table. I watch him curiously. He’s not used to playing second fiddle when it comes to women. He’s used to girls falling over him, offering to have his babies, or detail his car or whatever he wants just because he walks into a room.
“Oh, hi!” She flips her hair. I was wrong. The Cole Finlay effect is just as strong as ever. Apparently, no hormone producing female can resist him. “So, what can I get you?”
“You have any lager on tap?”
Emma thrusts her breasts forward in an unconsciously flirtatious way. “Sure. Seasonal okay?”
“Yeah. And a bacon burger, medium.”
She turns to me. “Have you decided what you’d like?”
I was going to order the grilled chicken without Arties famous sauce smothered all over it, but Cole speaks.
“She’ll have the same as me and bring her a lager too.”
I should be angry at his high-handed behavior, but what the hell? When in Rome, order as the Romans do. Besides, I’m sick of organic this and vegan that. I’m craving some grease, and one of Artie’s thick homemade juicy burgers will do the trick nicely. I can restart my diet when I get back to LA. I hand the menu back to Emma with a shrug.
“And an order of fries, too, please!” I call out as she leaves. A glance around reveals that I’m still the center of attention and my every word is up for dissection. Tomorrow some blog will be discussing how Taylor ordered fries after eleven at night.
“That kid was in danger of passing out,” Cole notes when Emma is out of earshot.
“Yeah, the younger ones can get really intense.”
He nods slowly. “And you like it?”
I shrug. “I was like that too. Remember?”
“Yeah. I remember.” There is a weird tense moment, then Cole deliberately changes tack. “Remember all the times we spent here?” he asks, looking around.
“How could I forget?” I point to the stage, still sitting in one corner of the room. It’s empty at the moment. A little sad. Or maybe it’s me that’s sad. No, I’m not sad I’m just feeling nostalgic for something lost. I’m experiencing a kind of bittersweet moment. We might’ve been performing for peanuts, but we were happy. No doubt about that.
Our beers arrive, and I notice there’s a new server to deliver them, just as giggly as the first one. Maybe they’re taking turns. She wants a selfie with me, I oblige, and she goes away beaming.
“It’s amazing how this place hasn’t changed,” I muse, looking around. “Same kitsch on the walls, same tables and chairs, same menus.”
“Same staff,” he points out as a burly man ambles over to us carrying two plates piled high with food. His smile is a mile wide.
Taylor
“You two!” Artie puts our food on the table before throwing his arms around Cole and just about lifting him out of his chair. I can’t help but laugh at the surprise and embarrassment practically pouring off my former partner. Artie gives me the same treatment, a little gentler though. “My servers told me you were out here, and there was a cute guy with bedroom eyes sitting with you!”
I laugh at the expression on Cole’s face when he hears this. “And you guessed it was him?”
“I didn’t dare hope,” Artie laughs. “But here you are! It’s just like the old days! What are you doing together? Performing again?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I laugh, waving my hands. “Not at all. Just here for something to eat and a little reminiscing. That’s it.”
He shakes his slightly sweaty head. He’s a big guy and sweated so much he had to carry a towel with him in summer. “Come on. You can’t tease me like this. You’ve gotta do just one song. Please?”
I glance at Cole with a would-you-please-get-us-out-of-this look.
He clears his throat and opens his palms. “Not this time, Artie. I don’t even have a guitar with me, and I can’t tell you the last time I played. It’s been years. Hell knows if I can still play.”
“Nonsense. Music is like riding a bike. You never forget. I have a guitar in back, freshly tuned. You can still pick out a song. Something simple. Please?” He’s doing everything but dropping to his knees and wringing his hands.
We look at each other.
Then I shrug and give in gracefully. “Can we eat our food while it’s still hot though?” I ask Artie with a wink.
“Yes! Yes, go ahead! Just give me the signal, and I’ll tell everybody you’re gonna go up there.” He practically clicks his heels together as he hurries away.
“Are you serious?” Cole hisses.
“Oh, come on. Who wanted to keep going down Memory Lane?” I tease.
“You were the one who didn’t want to draw attention to yourself tonight,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”
His eyes crinkle up. “You do know I’m gonna make a complete fool out of myself up there?”
“I’m not expecting you to play a twenty-five-minute guitar solo.” I take a big bite out of my burger and pretend I’m not laughing at him. We take our time eating—or, in his case, stalling for time. It’s not like we were performing complicated songs back in the day. Finally, Cole wipes his hands and mouth on a napkin.
Artie is standing behind the bar watching us the same as everybody else. I catch his eyes and he makes a beeline for the stage. Oh, jeez. I hope this wasn’t a terrible idea. All I need is for somebody to record me looking like an idiot.
“Everybody, everybody!” Artie stands behind the microphone, arms in the air. “I have a surprise for you tonight!”
Just like that, the room explodes. Either they were all hoping I would sing or he’s been blabbing to everybody that we agreed to perform. Regardless, the crowd goes wild. I can hardly hear my heart beating in my ears as Cole leads the way to the corner where Artie’s waiting with a guitar. I do my little bow and wave to the people crowding the stage.
“Okay, okay. Thank you.” I sit on one of the two stools Artie pulled out for us and take a sip of water. Cole, meanwhile, strums a few chords and does a few runs, loosening his fingers. For a man who hasn’t played guitar in forever, he sounds pretty good. I wonder if he was telling the truth when he said he hasn’t been playing.
When I look over at him, and he smiles at me the way he always used to smile, the years fall away. We might as well be teenagers again. Our whole lives ahead of us. Nothing but hope. And as long as we had each other back then, we had it all.
Then something happens. That old magic. I know he feels it, too.
He strums through the opening chords of Fleetw
ood Mac’s Landslide and the cheering from the audience tells me it’s a good choice. One of our favorites, back in the day. The older folks always loved it, and that was who we normally played for. As an adult, the lyrics have a new meaning for me.
I open my mouth to sing. “Took my love, took it down …”
Cole smiles at me again, and we watch each other as he plays and I sing, and it’s just the two of us. Nobody else. The audience blurs, fades. We might as well be the only two people in the world, spinning a web around ourselves. When we reach the chorus, and he takes up the harmony, my heart swells until I’m afraid it might choke me. I keep singing through it all, and by the time the last notes ring out from the guitar, there are tears in my eyes.
“One more. One more,” the crowd chants.
“Another?” I mouth, and he nods with a sly grin.
It looks like we’re putting on a concert.
Taylor
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” We’re both breathless, sweaty from the hot lights, and positively glowing with joy.
Cole takes my hand, and we bow together one last time with the sound of riotous, ecstatic cheers almost deafening me. I lost count of the number of songs we did. Fifteen? Twenty, maybe?
It seemed like every time we finished one song, another old favorite came to mind. It flowed naturally. We didn’t even have to talk about it. All we had to do was exchange a look, raise an eyebrow.
He’d strike a chord, and I’d smile, and the lyrics would come back even though I haven’t sung these kinds of songs for years, ever since we last performed as a duo, as a matter of fact. It’s amazing how I don’t remember a word of the French I studied for four years, but I have this endless song list in my head.
I’m on Cloud Nine. I can hardly feel the floor under my feet. I can’t stop smiling. I even stop to take selfies with the audience without thinking twice. Normally, I only have so much patience for all the requests for a photo. I guess, I am cynical now. I know most of those photos have a monetary value. They will use them on social media to validate themselves, sell their products, or whatever.
The Promise Page 4
