Keep the Beat: A Band-Com for Romance Geeks

by Kata Čuić

  “James!” I squeal as primly as possible. My God, I opened my mouth, and my mother just came out. “And I didn’t do it to,” I glance at the woman glaring at us, “mess with you. I hadn’t eaten in two days because I was so busy studying to get a better grade than you on our Ethics exam. I was hungry.”

  He sighs and glances at my empty plate. “And you’re still hungry now. I am just killing it in the romance department.” He gives up the ruse of erudite manners and rests his elbow on the starched white tablecloth, propping his head on his fist. “This isn’t us, is it?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure what us is yet, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it, no.”

  “I had another idea I thought you’d absolutely love, but I also thought it was the least romantic date possible.”

  “So, you think I’m the least romantic person possible?” I ask, deadpan.

  He doesn’t even try to fight back. He drops his head to the table with a loud thump that rattles the fine china and silverware, all while the lady beside us glares at his laughter. “I just can’t win tonight.” He raises his head with a grin. “Fine. Let’s get out of here and go do something fun.”

  “Finally.” She sniffs.

  “Do you want a doggy bag for my leftovers?” he offers.

  She’s appalled, but her companion just laughs into his napkin.

  Jim throws a bunch of bills on the table then pulls out my chair and offers me his elbow like a perfect gentleman. He walks out of the restaurant with his head held high.

  “I wonder if she knew she was being so rude to the James Fossoway,” I tease. Somehow, I doubt she’s a football fan, but the man with her might have been.

  “I wonder if she knew she was being so rude to the Sophia Reston.” He raises an eyebrow. “The first female head drum major in Marching Miners’ one-hundred-eighteen-year history.”

  Honestly, I’m not sure it’s that big a deal. I’m not the first female collegiate head drum major in the country. And I still can’t shake the feeling that I don’t even deserve to be the first at State.

  Jim holds the door open for me to exit into the humid twilight. “So, what do you want to eat since you’re still hungry?”

  I take his arm again as we cross the parking lot because … I want to. Being close to him is quickly growing on me. “We don’t have to stop for anything. You actually ate a full meal.”

  “Nope. No way. I know you’re still hungry.” He opens the door to his truck for me. “If romance for us looks like me keeping you fed, then I’m on the job.”

  I laugh as he runs around the hood to climb into the driver’s seat. Honestly, the hard work he’s putting in to show me we could be something together is the most romantic part of all this. How many guys wouldn’t just give up after waiting so long and the clock winding down?

  “So?” He grins as he starts the engine. “Do you quiero Taco Bell?”

  “I do.”

  So, that’s what we do. We go through the Taco Bell drive-through, dressed in our fanciest clothes. By the time I’ve inhaled four hard tacos, I have a nice Fire Sauce stain on my cream-colored dress. So worth it. I lick my fingers as Jim shakes his head while he drives us to the next destination.

  “I don’t understand where you even put it all. You’re so … tiny.”

  “I’m short but fluffy,” I correct him.

  A wolfish grin spreads across his magnificent lips. “I like your fluffy parts. They’re my favorites.”

  I believe him. He’s done a great job of proving that to me over the past few days. I actually have a hickey on the underside of my boob.

  We pull up into a gravel parking lot with a rusty tin sign over a wire fence gate that reads Wreck Sh*t in hand-painted red letters.

  I burst out laughing. “What is Wreck Shit?”

  He shrugs. “Exactly what it says. You smash stuff to vent out all your rage.”

  “And you thought I’d love this?”

  He winks as he opens his truck door. “I know you will. Just imagine smashing glass to your heart’s content to get rid of the last of the bad feelings you still have toward me. It’s perfect.”

  “Oh.” I nod as I climb down from the truck. We meet in front of the hood. “So, this is entirely selfish. You want me to let go of all the crap in the past, so we can move forward with a clean slate?”

  “Yep.” He doesn’t bother denying it, and his expression is bright with hope. He loosens his tie and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The jacket was left in the truck. “You ready to do this?”

  I shake my head to try to distract myself from the sight of his forearms flexing as he folds the crisp white fabric of his shirt neatly on both arms. He looks like he just got home from a long day at work, and I can’t believe he’s come home to me.

  “No? I don’t think they’ll let you hit me with the baseball bat because of insurance, but I’m sure you can get in a few swings when no one is watching.”

  “You are absolutely devastating, James Fossoway.”

  And he is. So utterly sexy without even trying.

  He grins then leans down to brush his lips against mine. “You love me when I’m devastating.”

  I’m about to reply that I do indeed love him, but he grabs my hand and pulls me through the entrance.

  I thought this place was run-down and abandoned-looking, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Inside is overflowing with people eager to break shit. I guess it makes sense. Rage is as common a part of the human condition as love and romance. And they’re offering a safe, fun way to channel that anger. It’s actually a brilliant business model. The signs above the cash register have lists of options. Renting a rage room is a dollar per minute, and you can choose exactly what you want to smash. There are even à la carte destruction tool choices like baseball bats, crowbars, and golf clubs.

  “Well?” Jim rubs his hands together as we wait in line. “Pick your poison. What’ll it be?”

  I’m a little concerned that the guy who supposedly fueled my hate as a way to keep my attention seems like he has more rage than I do to vent. “Do you have anything you want to share?”

  “No.” He squints in confusion. “Why?”

  “Why are you so excited about this? I thought we were here for me to get rid of all my bad vibes.”

  His expression shifts into guilt that he can’t mask. “I have things I’m mad about. Not everything is about you.”

  Fair enough. “I’m thinking a golf club and a box of dishes.”

  “Really? I thought for sure you’d go for a baseball bat and a TV.”

  “Well, since I can’t use my bare hands to strangle you because of insurance …”

  He smirks as we step up to the counter.

  The lady working the register takes one look at us and nods. “You’ll want the couples package then. We don’t normally allow anyone wearing a skirt because of flying glass shards, but I’ll make an exception since you’re signing a waiver anyway. Bad date, huh?” She gives Jim a look that suggests she’s giving him points for bringing me here but subtracting them for letting it get to this point. “No matter how tempting it is, we absolutely forbid personal assault.”

  Jim shoots me a wink. “It’s like she knows us.”

  We tell her our choices then sign waivers before being handed goggles, hard hats, and our choice of destruction.

  “Remember, all the rooms are video-monitored. If things get ugly, security will step in.”

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t know about this place before,” I tell him as we wait in line for our assigned room. “I wouldn’t have competed with you for as long as I did.”

  “I’m glad you never found out about it. I really would have lost my mind if you’d stopped caring enough to engage with me in any way.”

  “Even negative attention is attention, huh?” My mom swears this parenting adage is why Sarah loves being the center of attention even if she sometimes does wildly embarrassing things to get it.

  “Yep.” He kiss
es my forehead. “As long as you didn’t get to the point of apathy, I knew I still had a shot.”

  “Why didn’t you just apologize for being a little shit sooner? Why carry on a fake war for three years?” More importantly, why didn’t I ever reach the point of apathy? I could have just as easily written him off as an asshole and moved on with my life.

  “If by the end of freshman year, I’d approached you, apologized, and asked for a second chance, would you have given it to me?”

  “No, probably not,” I admit. “I might have forgiven you, but I was dating someone else. A second chance would have been out of the question.”

  “Exactly.” He taps my nose. “It was always the wrong time.”

  “I was with three other people, and you were with three other people, but you insist that wasn’t a competition. And you also insist it wasn’t revenge sex. That doesn’t add up.” My fingers tighten on the golf club. Maybe Jim was onto something when he suggested I needed to let all the past baggage go with a bang.

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t using them like you’re implying. Every time you moved on with someone else, I tried to do the same.”

  I raise a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “That’s funny because the color guard captain openly admitted you were plotting against me while she blew you.”

  He winces. “Yeah … what can I say? No one else ever excited me as much as you do. They didn’t push back and challenge me like you. In some ways, you made me a better man because I was always trying to beat you.”

  That idea resonates with me. I nod. “I could say the same for you.”

  “See?” He grins as security clears our room and readies it for us. “We’re good for each other. Now, let’s leave the past behind in this room and challenge each other to do better going forward.”

  “Okay,” I agree. “Let’s do it.”

  And oh, do we.

  Plate after plate, bad memory after bad memory. Not all of them are for Jim. Some are for Sarah. I’m hitting back at invisible enemies no one can face. Things like genetic anomalies, congenital heart defects, sterility, reduced lifespan.

  “This is for John.” Jim smashes a computer monitor with a baseball bat until it’s nothing but a pile of shards.

  “You really do hate him, don’t you?”

  Jim pants from exertion. “He got to meet Sarah. You were obviously more serious with him than I realized.”

  I set another plate in the holder then let loose with my golf club. It makes a satisfying shattering noise under my power. “That’s for letting other women blow you when you wanted me to be choking down your hot dog.”

  He wraps his hand around my neck and hauls me in for a blistering kiss. “No one but you will ever come near my hot dog again. I swear it.”

  “This is for basically lying to me for the past three years.” I pulverize a glass that came in the box of kitchenware.

  He raises an eyebrow then places an old tablet on the striking surface. “This is for not fighting for me when I couldn’t look you in the eye after you found out who I was.”

  I place a hand on his heaving chest once he’s done reducing the device to a pile of broken glass. “You wanted me to fight for you?”

  “No one’s ever fought for me,” he admits. “They fight for Alex’s attention. They fight for Davey to get the services and therapies he needs. I might be a celebrity by association because my last name is Fossoway, but I’ve always been the invisible brother. Not special enough for anyone to dote on and not driven enough to get to the level Alex is on.”

  My golf club clatters to the ground when I release it to fist my hands around Jim’s unbuttoned shirt collar. “I’ll fight for you, James Fossoway. I’ll dote on you. Because you are absolutely special and every bit as driven as your brother. You’re nothing short of amazing.”

  He swipes some of my sweaty hair away from my face. “You still won’t say the words, but your actions are exactly what’s kept me hanging on for so long. I know you love me, Sophie. When you’re ready to let yourself have me, I’ll be here.”

  What I’m sure is going to be the most spectacular kiss of our short relationship is interrupted by security.

  “Time’s up. Leave your weapons behind.”

  We exit the room hand in hand to several familiar faces.

  Jim laughs. “Why am I not surprised the drumline has sectional time at this place?”

  The captain, Ty, grins. “It’s no secret we love to pound on shit.”

  “How long have you guys been doing this?” I ask. It really is a no-brainer for them.

  “They only opened a few months ago, so since then.”

  I cut Jim a scathing glance. There’s no way I could have been using this as a distraction from our competition for as long as it’s been going on. This place didn’t exist during that time.

  One of the sophomore snares wears a sleazy smile as he stares at my and Jim’s joined hands. “I’ll tell ya, I didn’t think you were gonna pull this off, Jimbo.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jim subtly shake his head.

  The sophomore either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “When you told us you were gonna throw the vote to get the girl, I thought you were full of shit. But here you are. No hard feelings about all those tequila shots. You did what you had to do.”

  “You threw the vote?” I grit out through clenched teeth as I squeeze Jim’s hand harder than the golf club. I’m only sorry I left the weapon behind in the room.

  “No, no. I didn’t bow out of the race,” he explains, his tone obviously panicked. “You knew I was campaigning with the sections.”

  Ty laughs. “You campaigned your ass off for her.” He slaps Jim on the shoulder as the drumline walks around us to get into the room.

  “This is not what you think,” Jim rushes.

  I rip my hand free of his grip. “Oh, it’s not? I’m not sure you could be caught any more red-handed than this! And, oh my God, Kim! Kim said something about it, but I didn’t believe her because I thought she was another woman you’d scorned. For me!”

  “I didn’t do this for you.” He approaches with his hands raised like he knows I’m seconds from losing my shit. “Yes, I knew I was running out of time, and I needed to do something drastic to get you to give me another chance, but the drum major competition was not a part of that.”

  “The hell it wasn’t!” I storm toward the entrance, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

  He dogs after me. “I don’t even understand why you’re so upset! The flute section thought it was romantic!”

  I whirl to face him as I pull my cell phone from my purse. “That’s not my idea of romance. Just like a fancy restaurant isn’t. That’s my idea of lying. And no relationship is going to move forward when it’s built on lies.”

  “I didn’t lie!” He reaches for me, but I step away. “You overheard me talking to the other drum majors! I said my goal was to make you fall in love with me! That was not a lie!”

  “All I wanted was a fair fight.” I open my app to summon a ride. “I wanted to be worthy of the honor. All this time, I’ve been doubting myself—and for good reason. You even told me before our first game that I should be proud! You told me at the ITK party to enjoy myself because I had earned it! I didn’t earn shit! And you knew! You knew what you had done, and I was clueless! Just like the last three years! What else do you know that I don’t? Do you really think a relationship is going to last when you have all the power, and I have none?”

  “You have so much power.”

  “Only as much as you’ll give me,” I scoff. “I’m not going to live that way. I owe it to Sarah not to live that way.”

  “This has nothing to do with Sarah, or Davey, or Alex, or the fucking drumline, or anyone else,” he argues.

  “No, you’re absolutely right about that, James.” I pour as much poison into his name as I used to. “It has to do with you and me. And we’re done. There will never be an us.”

  Chapter Thirty-S
even

  The public humiliation I’ve faced since band camp has nothing on the level of embarrassment I feel right now. I’m a fraud, and everyone knows it. I keep my head down as I walk into the band room, avoiding eye contact with the other drum majors and section leaders.

  If Jim begs me to talk to him one more time, I’m probably going to get kicked out of band for the level of violence I’m itching to unleash on his sorry ass.

  I take a seat to wait for Dr. Kimball to begin the meeting.

  Nate sits next to me. “Since you’re obviously not acting like everything’s copacetic, how do you want to play this? Are you feeling sick tonight, so we’re running practice for you? On the rag and just in a bad mood, and you’re trying not to take it out on anyone?”

  If that last suggestion was meant to make me laugh, it doesn’t. None of the other drum majors could ever use being on their periods as an excuse.

  I shouldn’t be surprised Nate knows what’s going on. He lives with Jim after all. “What did he tell you?”

  “That you called it quits.” Nate doesn’t mince words. “He said a bunch of other stuff, but it was kind of hard to make out because he was flat-out losing his shit and drinking like a little bitch instead of taking his ass to your apartment to work things out like a man.”

  That doesn’t make me feel any better even though I’m grateful Jim didn’t do what Nate thinks he should’ve.

  “Did any of you actually campaign for yourselves? Or was this a fixed election all along?”

  Nate sighs. Not a good sign. “Are you gonna quit talking to me if I tell you the truth? Because I hate to break it to you, but we have a show to choreograph, and you can’t quit talking to all of us.”

  “Just answer the question.” Jury’s still out on what I’ll do with this information.

  “We all agreed you should have it. We couldn’t force everyone in band to vote for you, but we sure as hell tried to convince them.”

  I nod. “They needed convincing. Great. That’s just great.”

  “Well…” He chuckles and makes a show of buffing his nails on his T-shirt. “They did have five fine specimens to choose from. I’m sure it was a difficult decision for them.”