Chapter Nine Cromwell

Chapter Nine

Cromwell

I stared at her in her seat next to the prick that was Bryce. She smiled and laughed with him as Lewis prepped for the lecture. Look away, arsehole, I told myself. I did. Only for her laughter to make my eyes snap back in her direction.

Her laughter was pale pink.

As I watched her now, my stomach clenched. My phone flashed on as I pressed the unlock button. And like I had all weekend, I stared at the simple message that had come through.

Bonnie: Are you okay?

The simple question made something happen in my chest. It felt like it was cracking more and more with every time I read it. Are you okay?

I hadn’t seen Bonnie all weekend. She hadn’t come to see Easton, who was mostly sleeping off his hangover from Friday night. I’d watched the door from behind my laptop, just waiting for her to turn up. I waited for Easton to move, just in case he was going to meet her. But she never came, and East only left to get food.

I told myself it was a good thing. That I didn’t want to see her after making such a fool of myself. But then I’d lain awake all night staring at her simple text. Are you okay?

I didn’t reply.

I busied myself with work. Got my mixes uploaded. The tunes were already the top stream in EDM. It should have made me happy. But every time I listened to them, all I saw was dullness in my mind. Now that I’d played the instruments I’d once loved so much, everything seemed lifeless in comparison.

I had to forget it ever happened. But now when my eyes wandered to Bonnie again, to her pretty face and thick, dark hair, I felt like I was back in that room, with Bonnie’s hand on my arm.

She’d tried to speak to me when I came in today, but I’d walked past her without a word. I wasn’t sure I could look at her again without feeling like I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

But then I had to look at her…and I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

I leaned back in my seat and forced myself to listen as Lewis droned on about the effectiveness of change of tempo in composing. It bored me. I didn’t need to be taught this crap.

After nearly falling asleep, I checked the clock. There were only ten minutes left. I watched the clock as the minutes counted down. My phone buzzed on my desk. My stomach rolled when I read who the text was from.

Bonnie: Can we meet after class?

My heart kicked into a sprint. I looked at her a few rows down. But she didn’t look back. I knew I shouldn’t go. What the hell would I say? And if she even mentioned Friday night, I’d have to get the hell up and leave. There was nothing to be said. I was drunk. That was all it was. That’s the story I was sticking to.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t.

I lifted my phone to type that I couldn’t make it. But instead, I found myself saying Yeah.

“One-on-one sessions start this week,” Lewis said, pulling my attention back to him. He pointed at the wall. “Sign-up times are on the wall. Fill it out before you leave.” I tried to calm my pulse, but it wouldn’t slow down at the thought of having to face Bonnie.

The students rushed forward to fill out the times. I stayed in my seat, gathering my things slowly. Bonnie was down at the front with Bryce. “Come meet me for coffee one night, Bonn,” he said. For some reason a damn fire burst to life in my chest at him asking Bonnie out.

Bonnie tucked her hair behind her ear and moved to the sign-up sheet. She filled it out, then turned back to Bryce. “I…I’m not sure,” she stuttered.

He caught her hand in his, and I just about combusted. She looked down at his fingers on hers, and I froze, wondering what she would do. “Come on, Bonn. I’ve been asking you since last year.”

She smiled up at him, and the sappy look on Bryce’s face really pissed me off. “Farraday,” I said, without thought. Bonnie looked up at me in surprise. “I don’t have all day. If you want to meet now, let’s go.” I flashed a look to Bryce. “I don’t want to have to watch you turn him down.”

Bonnie flushed. Bryce looked like he wanted to murder me. I’d welcome him trying. Bonnie pulled her hand away from Bryce. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bryce.” I heard a small shake in her voice. The way she glanced up at me nervously, I knew she didn’t know what the hell to say about Friday night either.

Bryce nodded his head then headed for the door, but not without giving me a dirty look first. Arsehole. Bonnie got in front of me. “Cromwell, you don’t have to speak to him that way.”

My nostrils flared. I didn’t like how she was protecting him. Did she like him? Was that why? “You wanted to meet.” I pointed at the folder she was holding, clearly labeled with “Composition Project.” I ran my hand through my hair. “He was holding us up.”

Bonnie took in a deep breath, but then she really looked at me. Her brown eyes were wide, and I saw sympathy flare in them. Embarrassment took me in its hold. I thrust my hand in my pocket and pulled out my packet of cigarettes. “I’m going for a smoke. I’ll be outside.”

I slipped my headphones over my ears and burst out the door. I was halfway through my cigarette when—Stacey? Sonya?—some girl I’d shagged last week came up to me. “Hey, Cromwell. What are you up to?” Her voice was dripping with invitation.

I took another inhale and blew out the smoke. Bonnie chose that moment to come out of the door. “Hey, Suzy,” she said, then looked at me. “Are we going?” Bonnie’s eyes dropped in unease, and the sight made my stomach fall.

I shrugged at Suzy. “Got plans.”

I finished off my smoke then followed Bonnie to her car. I assumed we were going to the coffee shop. Bonnie seemed to live there. When the door shut, I tensed. I didn’t want her to mention the other night. I prayed that she wouldn’t.

Before she started the car. Bonnie stared out of the window. “Cromwell…”

I was about to snap at her. To tell her to get lost like I did to anyone who challenged me on what I was feeling. But when her brown eyes fixed on me and I saw the concern on her face, all the fight drained away. “Don’t…” I whispered, my voice sounding way too loud in the quiet car. “Please…just leave it alone.”

Bonnie’s eyes shimmered. She nodded. Her hands fell to the wheel, but before she pulled out of the parking spot, she said, “Just tell me you’re okay.” She didn’t look at me. She kept her attention straight ahead. “I just need to know you’re okay.”

My leg bounced as her words cut through me. Because she sounded like she meant it. The crack in her voice…the shade of lavender that surrounded her told me she meant every word. “Yeah,” I said, and her shoulders relaxed. The truth was, I was anything but okay. But that tether inside of me that kept everyone away pulled tight, straining on my throat to keep it the hell shut.

It was on the tightest leash whenever I was around Bonnie.

She smiled, and the leash momentarily slackened. But as she pulled out of the campus in silence, it gradually brought me back to heel.

When we arrived at Jefferson Coffee, we sat at what was looking more and more like Bonnie’s usual table. Sam, the guy from before, came with the drinks. “I assumed it was the same as before,” he said, pouring me a strong black coffee.

When he walked away, I looked at Bonnie across the table. She had been staring at me. Ducking her eyes, she got out her folder. She opened it and put a sheet of music before me. She seemed embarrassed. “I…I had some thoughts on the beginning of the composition. I’ve had this in my head for a while.” She nervously took a sip of her coffee. “I know we don’t have a theme or anything yet, but I thought I’d show you this.”

I glanced down at the music and read it. My eyes scanned the notes. I didn’t say anything.

“You hate it.”

I lifted my eyes to Bonnie. I didn’t hate it. It was just…nothing special. The colors didn’t flow. Like if you saw a generic painting hanging on a wall somewhere. It was good but nothing life-changing.

I decided not to speak at all. If I did, I’d only upset her. My jaw clenched in annoyance when I realized I didn’t want to see her upset. The girl was messing with my head.

I stretched my arms over my head. I saw her watching. When I met her eyes, she moved them down to the music. “Is it awful?”

“Not awful.”

“But not good either,” Bonnie said knowingly and sat back in her seat. She looked dejected. Her mouth opened, like she wanted to say something. I knew it would be about Friday night. The anger that usually controlled me began to rise in anticipation. She must have seen something in my face, as she said, “Cromwell, I think we should go to Lewis and ask for new partners. This”—she pointed between us—“isn’t working.” She kept her eyes down. “We’re not on the same page when it comes to music.” Her finger traced a vein of wood on the table. “Are…” She swallowed. “Are you still only wanting to contribute using electronic, or have you changed your mind?” I closed my eyes and took a deep inhale. I had asked her not to go there.

I couldn’t fucking go there.

And she was right. We weren’t well suited. Our tastes were different. I wouldn’t go down the classical route. Yet even knowing that, the thought of her partnering with someone else, someone like Bryce, had every cell inside me fighting back. “There’s no switching.”

The fight left Bonnie, and she leaned forward. “Then help me.” She ran her hand over her forehead. She looked tired. A deep breath followed. “Again, do you still only wanna do your side electronically?”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

I saw the disappointment settle in her eyes. “Cromwell…” She shook her head. “The way you can play…” She reached out over the table and ran her fingers over mine. Her fingers were so soft. Her voice was quiet. Soothing. Sad. “I don’t know why you won’t play. But what I heard the other night…” Tears welled in her eyes. She put her free hand over her heart. “It moved me. So much.” My heart beat out of control. I couldn’t calm it down with her touching me. With her telling me how my music made her feel. I saw her. I saw the hope in her pretty face. Hope that I’d talk to her. That I’d say yes to composing with orchestral instruments.

Then my father’s face flashed into my head, and I frosted over like a branch of a tree when a snowstorm hit. Anger infused my muscles and I ripped my hand back, rolling my tongue ring just to keep from exploding. “Not happening.”

“Cromwell, why—?”

“I said it’s not happening!”

Bonnie froze. I looked around the coffee shop and saw all eyes on me. I leaned in close. “I asked you to forget what you saw and not bring it up again.” I screwed up a napkin in my hand. “Why can’t you just do as I ask?” I had intended for my voice to be hard, to scare her away. Instead it was broken and raw.

“Because I’ve never heard anyone so talented in my entire life, Cromwell.”

Each one of her softly spoken words hit me like a missile, trying to tear down my protective wall. “Drop it,” I said. I felt my throat tighten, the leash pulling tightly.

The clearing of a throat broke the tension. I kept my eyes on Bonnie, seething, as Sam, the wanker with the coffeepot, asked her, “Everything okay, Bonn?”

“Yeah,” she said and smiled. My stomach squeezed again. It was the second time today I’d seen her smile. And neither time was at me.

That bothered me more than it should.

I could feel Sam eyeing me. “You going to the concert this weekend?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “You?”

“Gotta work. Oh, before I forget, Harvey wanted to speak to you.” Bonnie got up and followed Sam. I had no clue who Harvey was. I finished the last of my coffee and looked down at the sheet of manuscript paper that was still lying on the table, staring at me. My hand tapped on the table as I stared back at it. I glanced around the shop and saw Bonnie near an office, talking. I fought against the need to grab the pen, but in the end the need to amend the composition won out. I crossed out the notes she’d roughly penned and replaced them with ones that flowed better.

When I finished, I stared down at the sheet and quickly got to my feet. My heart slammed too quickly in my chest. I shouldn’t have touched it. But I had to write them down. The notes, the melodies. Everything.

I needed to leave. I meant to take the sheet with me and chuck it on the way out.

“Shit,” I said, hissing as I burst through the door and realized I’d left the music behind. I looked left and right, deciding where to go. But then a text came through my phone.

Suzy: You around now? My roommate’s out all day.

Through the window, I saw Bonnie walk back to the table and pick up the manuscript paper. My heart was in my mouth as her eyes scanned the pages. Her hand went to her chest, making mine tighten in response. Then she raised her eyes, scanning the coffee shop. I knew she was looking for me. My pulse raced and my feet itched to walk back in and work with her. To show her what her music had inspired in me. To show her where I’d take the piece. What instruments I’d use. How I’d conduct.

But the tether that held me back, the one that controlled me, that kept me from sharing anything, pulled tight, keeping me still. Keeping all my anger locked inside.

My phone buzzed again.

Suzy: ???

I looked up at Bonnie and saw her pretty face. Saw her eyes drinking in the notes I’d written. And I knew that it was her that was challenging the walls I’d kept around myself for the past three years.

And I had to let it go, or I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with what would spill out.

Me: Give me fifteen

I tucked my phone in my pocket, blocking everything out, and took off for campus before Bonnie found me again. I forced the numbness to take control and push Bonnie from my brain. But only a few yards down the road I saw a poster for the concert being held in the park this weekend. South Carolina Philharmonic. My jaw clenched as I fought the need to go and see it.

And Bonnie would be there. That was reason enough not to go. I had to keep her at a distance. To work with her only on the project. She’d seen too much of me already. Knew too many of my secrets.

I just had to get back to my mixes. And my high walls that kept everyone out.

That was all I had to do.

* * *

“You didn’t sign up.”

I sat in Lewis’s office. A grand piano sat in the corner. A vintage violin with aged cracked wood and a fragile bridge was displayed on his wall. A guitar sat in a stand and cello lay on its side against the far wall.

I pulled my eyes away when a sense of home flowed through me. I looked at all the pictures of him conducting and realized how young he’d been when he started out. I wondered if he’d always loved music. If it was in every breath he took too.

“Cromwell,” he said, pulling my attention.

“I don’t need one-on-one sessions.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. He leaned his arms on the table. “Cromwell, I know you’ve been focused on dance music for a while now. If that’s what you want to focus on, then fine. We’ll focus on that.”

“You know how to teach me things about EDM?”

Lewis narrowed his eyes on me. “No. But I know music. I can tell you what is working and what isn’t.” He paused, assessing me. “Or we can work on some of your old strengths.” He pointed across at the instruments. “Piano. Violin.” He huffed a laugh. “Anything really.”

“No thanks,” I muttered. I checked the time on the clock. It was nearly the weekend. As soon as this meeting was done, a bottle of Jack waited for me. This week had pulled me apart, and I was ready to let it go. Ready to embrace the numbness that came with being trashed.

“Do you still compose?”

I rested my hands behind my head. “Nope.”

Lewis’s head tipped to the side. “I don’t believe you.”

Every part of me tensed. “Believe what you want,” I snapped.

“What I mean is, I don’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from composing.” He tapped his head. “As much as we want it to, this never switches off.” He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “Even when I was at my most messed up, with the drink, the drugs, I still composed.” He smiled, but there was nothing happy or humorous about it. Instead it looked sad. It looked like I felt inside. “I came out of rehab with an entire symphony.” He lost his fake smile. “Even if something makes you hate music, whatever it is can often be the catalyst for your next great work.”

“Deep,” I muttered. Lewis slumped in dejection. I was being a dick again. But everything this week had just been too much. I was tired and wrung dry.

I just needed a damn break.

It was funny. I didn’t know if it was being with Lewis, but in that moment I thought of my father and how me being this way toward someone would have broken his heart. He didn’t raise me this way.

“Manners cost nothing, son. Always be gracious with those who want to help.”

But he wasn’t here anymore. And I’d coped with that fact in the only way I knew how. I checked the clock again. “Can I go now?”

Lewis looked at the clock and sighed. As I got up, he said, “I’m not trying to counsel you, Cromwell. I just want you to realize the gift you’ve been given.”

I mock-saluted him. I couldn’t take one more person telling me about my talent. It was hard enough to push it aside without Lewis and Bonnie fanning the flames that I tried to keep extinguished.

“Your father saw it,” he said as my hand hit the doorknob.

I turned my head to face him, and, having no more fight, I felt the floodgates fall. “You mention him again, and I’ll stop coming. I’m this close to dropping out of this shithole anyway.”

Lewis held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll stop mentioning him.” He got off his chair and came toward me. He was pretty tall. He stopped a few feet away. “But as for the dropping out. You won’t.”

I stood off the door, shoulders back. “Yeah? And what do you know about—”

“Enough to know that even though you’re carrying a chip the size of Alaska on your shoulder right now, you won’t leave.” He pointed to the room. “This is your arena. You’re just too pissed and hurt to accept it right now.” He shrugged. “You do see it, but you’re fighting it.” The knowing look in his eyes almost brought me to my knees. “You’re a good DJ, Mr. Dean. Lord knows it pays well these days, and I will no doubt see your name in lights in the future. But with the gift you have, you could be a legend on this stage.” He pointed at the shot of him in the Albert Hall. He sat down. “I suppose the decision will be up to you.”

I stared at the picture for a second, at Lewis in a tux commanding the orchestra playing the music he had created. I felt the lead ball in my stomach, the one that tried to plow through my wall. Whatever lived inside me, that made me this way with music, was clawing to get out. It was getting harder and harder to subdue.

“I hope it will be the latter path you find yourself on, Cromwell. God knows I know what it’s like to live a life with that kind of regret.” He flicked his hand and started up his laptop. “Let yourself out. I have compositions to look at.” He looked at me over his screen. “I’m waiting on your and Ms. Farraday’s outline. I won’t wait forever.”

Prick, I thought as I slammed his office door shut. I was about to turn left to the main exit, but my head turned to the right, toward the sound of a string orchestra. I wandered down the corridor. It was an alternate way out of the building. I let myself believe that as I stopped at the door of the orchestra’s practice room. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

As the cello took the lead, I let down my walls for a second and let the sound wash over me. A peace I hadn’t felt in years settled through me. I stayed listening as they played Pachelbel’s Canon in D. It wasn’t the hardest piece, and they weren’t the best. But that didn’t matter. It was the fact that it was being played that did.

And I was listening. I saw magenta and salmon-pink hexagons as the cello played. Then starbursts of peach and cream, flickered shards of mauve and rose as the violins took the melody. I tasted floral on my tongue and felt my chest pull tight, my stomach building with light as the strings danced and sang.

As the piece finished, I opened my eyes, breathless, and pushed myself off the doorframe. I looked to my left. Lewis was at his door, watching me. A surge of anger lit me up that he was there, seeing me, I rushed out of the building and walked to my dorm. The minute I entered my room, the smell of paint smacked me in the face.

“Shit.” I threw my bag on my bed.

Easton turned from the canvas he was painting on. “Top of the morning to ya.”

I shook my head. “Dick. I’m not Irish. I’m English.” I slumped on my bed, but the minute I did I was restless. Bastard Lewis messing with my head. Bonnie Farraday and her hand on her chest as she read my music was etched into my brain. But not as much as the imprint of her hand on my arm was from last Friday night.

They were pushing and pushing me to breaking point, and I couldn’t friggin’ stand it.

“There’s a difference?”

I rolled my eyes and jumped back off the bed. I looked at the painting he’d done. There was color everywhere. It was blinding. Like Jackson Pollock on crack. “Jesus, East. What the hell is that?”

He laughed and put down his paints. He was covered. He spread his arms wide. “It’s me! How I’m feeling on this fine sunny day.” He came closer. “It’s the weekend, Crom. The world is ours!”

“Tone it down.” I stared at my mixing table and realized that I had bugger all desire to create new mixes right now. “Let’s go get food. I need to get off this campus.”

“I like your style.”

We walked out of the dorm and headed to Main Street. Of course.

“Your mama’s been emailing again,” Easton said as we headed to Wood Knocks. I looked at him, my eyebrows pulled down. He held up his hands. “You left your laptop open. Kept coming on every time she messaged you.”

“Great,” I muttered.

“Got a new stepdaddy, huh?” I gave Easton the side-eye. “Saw it on the subject line.” He smirked. “It’s his birthday near Christmas. She wanted to know if you were going home to celebrate.” I stopped walking and stared at Easton. “Fine!” he said. “That’s all I read. Promise.” He winked at me and smiled.

The answer to that would be a huge no. I wouldn’t be going home for Christmas. Just thinking of her new husband in my dad’s home tore me apart. I was staying far away.

We walked past the park. There were lights and people all over. My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out what was going on.

“The orchestra concert, or whatever the hell it is, is on tonight,” Easton said. I caught the distant sound of instruments being warmed up. “Bonnie’s going, I think. Not quite your scene though, hey, bro? All that classical stuff.” He shook his head. “How anyone sits through that kind of thing is beyond me.”

Bonnie. I hadn’t seen or heard from her all week. She’d been gone from class for the past few days. It was…weird not to have seen her a few rows down. The room almost seemed empty with her gone. She hadn’t texted me either. Not to meet up.

No more asking if I was okay.

I…I didn’t like it.

“He a dick?” Easton asked as we walked into the bar.

I raised my eyebrow, confused. I’d been too busy concentrating on thoughts of Bonnie.

“The stepdad.”

We sat down. The barman nodded at us. “Two Coronas,” Easton said, then thought for a second. “And a couple of tequilas, Chris.”

Easton turned back to me, waiting for my answer. “Don’t know him well. Never made the effort. I’d moved out of home before she’d met him.” Easton nodded, but he looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. “And your mama. You not get along either?” He shook his head. “My mama wouldn’t stand for that. She’d be marching into our dorm room and demanding that I talk to her.” He laughed. “She can be quite the force to be reckoned with.”

“I used to get on with her.” I paused while the drinks arrived. I went for the tequila first. I knocked it back in one, forgetting the lime and salt. “Not anymore.” I hated talking about my family. Hell, I hated talking, full stop.

“And what about your da—”

“What’s wrong with Bonnie?” I cut Easton off before he could ask that question. My heart was still racing at even the thought of having to answer it.

He didn’t seem to notice. He took a sip of Corona, then said, “Flu. She went back to the folks’ for the week so my mama could look after her.” He laughed. “I’ll tell her you care.”

“Don’t bother,” I snapped. But inside something in me relaxed. She’d had the flu. Which meant she’d be coming back to school soon.

Easton’s face lit up. “I find it hilarious that my roommate and my sister hate each other.” Bonnie hated me? I didn’t realize I was frowning until he said, “Don’t tell me that hurt your feelings?” He slapped the table. “Shit! We’ve found your kryptonite. A chick that doesn’t like you is what pisses you the hell off.”

“Not at all.” I waited until he’d calmed down. Until I’d calmed down. Bonnie didn’t like me… “We have to work together for composition class. That’s as far as it goes.” I wanted to change the subject. Quickly.

“Okay, okay. I’m just messing with you.” He leaned forward, arms on the table. He was watching me. No, studying me. “I can see why y’all clash though.” He waved at the barman for more drinks.

“Are you going to explain, or just let that hang in the air?”

Easton smiled, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. “Bonnie’s always been a go-getter. Ever since we were kids, she would organize things. Events, stupid little games for the neighborhood kids.” He stared off into the distance for a second. “I was always the one in trouble. The one who got under my folks’ feet.”

“Nothing’s changed there then.”

“True.” Easton clinked my Corona with his. He sighed. “Then she fell in love with piano. And that was it.” He clicked his finger and thumb. “She was hooked. Never went anywhere without her little keyboard.” He huffed a laugh. “Gave me a headache for about two years before she got good enough that I could actually tolerate her playing. Then it was recital after recital.” His smile faded. He went quiet. Too quiet. The silence made me uneasy. “She’s good people. She’s my sister. But she’s more than that. She’s my best friend. Damn, she’s my moral compass. She keeps me in line.” He downed the rest of his Corona and shoved the empty bottle aside. “She’s the better of the two of us. Don’t think anyone doubts that. I’d be lost without her.”

It went quiet. Then Easton looked up at me and smirked. “You, however, are in a shitty mood twenty-four-seven. Never do anything on time. Hardly speak. Keep to yourself. And worse, you play EDM. My sister, who loves classical music and folk, has been paired with a dude who can’t play nothing but his laptop and drum machine.”

He pissed himself laughing. I stared at my Corona, thinking how totally wrong he was about me. And he was wrong about Bonnie. She’d seen me. The real me. The one I was deep down inside.

And she didn’t like me? I knew I’d been a dick at times. But she’d seen me. It wasn’t sitting well that she didn’t like me.

Because I was quickly realizing I kind of liked her.

The doors to the pub opened, ripping me from my thoughts, and a few girls walked through. Easton’s eyes set on them straight away. “Yes,” he said under his breath, light in his eyes. “Alex is here.” On cue, a girl with red hair came up to the table and stood before Easton.

“Easton Farraday. Fancy seeing you here.” She smiled, and I took that as my cue to leave.

I downed the rest of my Corona, shot back the new tequila, and put the new beer bottle in the pocket of my ripped jeans. I put the discarded top back on so it didn’t spill everywhere.

“You going?” Easton asked, one arm already around the redhead’s waist. He nudged his head in the direction of her two friends. One of them, a blond, was already watching me, sizing me up.

“I’m going outside.” I held up my cigarette packet.

Easton nodded then took the redhead to the bar. I didn’t look at her friends as I stepped out into the street. I sparked up my smoke then just started walking. I wasn’t going back in. I wasn’t feeling the need for partying tonight.

I was confused. I didn’t want to stay in, but I didn’t want to go out. I wanted to climb out of my skin, just be someone else for a while.

I was sick of being me.

The street was getting busy, people out for dinner and drinks. I kept my head down as I passed some of the students from college.

Older people were walking toward the park. When I found myself on the edge of the park, I looked inside through the railings. Hundreds of people sat on the lawn, most on picnic blankets. I looked at what they were all facing. What looked like a fifty-piece orchestra was in the center of a stage. A burst of applause rang across the park. I squinted, trying to see through the trees blocking my view.

I could make out the conductor making his way onto the stage. My heart took off into a sprint as he brought his baton high and signaled the orchestra to prepare. Bows rested on strings, reeds were brought to mouths, and the pianist laid her hands on the keys.

A second later, they began, in perfect unison. Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony started the show. I pressed closer to the railings. I knew I should leave. I needed to leave. But instead I saw myself walking to the entrance. A ticket booth was there, a “Sold Out” sign hitched on the main gate.

Go home, Cromwell . I forced myself to cut through the path that ran alongside the park and back to campus. But with every new movement, the colors grew brighter and brighter in my mind. I stopped dead and squeezed my eyes shut. Leaning against the fence, I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes. But the colors didn’t go.

Reds danced into triangles, shimmering and gliding into forest greens. Bright yellows flicked and shifted into peach; long-drawn-out sections of sunset oranges burst into the lightest of browns.

I dropped my hands, and my shoulders sagged in defeat. I turned and looked through the railings. The stage was in the distance now. I looked for security guards, but I didn’t find any. There was no one in sight. I hooked my feet into the fence and pulled myself over the top. I jumped to the floor, the branches from the bushes and trees scratching at my skin.

The dark that was building kept me hidden as I waded my way to the main area of the park. I slid through a gap in the trees and began walking toward where the music was playing. With every step the colors got brighter, until I did what I hadn’t done in three years, what I was too tired to fight anymore…

I let them free.

I tore off the leash that held them back and let them fly.

My hands itched at my sides as I took in the music, eyes closed and just drinking it in.

When the fourth movement came to a close, I opened my eyes and walked to the edge of the audience. I saw a tree to my left and moved to sit at it. I looked out at the stage as the next piece began…and not a few feet in front of me was a familiar brunette. My heart stuttered. After a week of not seeing her, the pale pink and lavender colors surrounding her seemed brighter. More vivid.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Bonnie had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and she sat on another, alone. It made me think of the blanket she’d put on me as I slept that night in Brighton.

She’d covered me with a blanket, even though I’d been a complete tosser to her. My heart squeezed again. I rocked on my feet to chase the feeling away.

I was over feeling so much.

Bonnie’s knees were bent, her arms resting on top. Even from where I was, I could see that her eyes were fixed on the musicians. She wasn’t missing a single beat.

I stayed watching her as they switched to one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. My hands clenched at my sides. Then when she moved her hand and wiped a stray tear off her cheek, they relaxed and I found myself moving to where she sat. I slumped to the grass beside her.

I could feel her eyes on me the minute she could bear to tear them away from the orchestra. I sat forward, arms hanging over my legs. She was watching me, a surprised expression on her face.

My teeth ground together as my pulse started to race. I pulled my Corona from my pocket and took a sip. I could still feel her looking, so I met her gaze. “Farraday.”

Bonnie blinked, and then her eyes snapped back to the orchestra. When the Bach finished, the interval began. The orchestra left the stage, and people moved toward the food and drink trucks. I lay back on the grass, resting on my elbow. I had no idea what I was doing here. Easton had just told me Bonnie didn’t even like me.

And I knew that was it. I shouldn’t care that she didn’t, should have encouraged it, in fact. But I couldn’t get it from my head. She’d seen me. She knew that I could play.

I didn’t have to pretend with her.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Bonnie’s voice shook. She was nervous. I could see it on her face. In her brown eyes. I couldn’t believe I was here either. When I didn’t answer her back, Bonnie busied herself by reaching into the basket she had beside her. She was wearing a pink jumper—or “sweater,” as she would probably call it—and jeans. Her brown blanket now covered her legs. She pulled out a packet of sweets, opened them, and started chewing on a long piece of red licorice.

I brought a cigarette to my lips and went to light up. Her hand came down on my arm. “Please don’t, Cromwell.” I looked down at my arm. She was holding it in the same place as she’d held it that night in the music room. When she’d heard me. When she’d seen me playing the instruments.

When she’d seen me break.

I looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide. I wondered if she was remembering the same thing. I kept her stare, trying to read whatever was in her eyes. But when I couldn’t, I lowered my smoke and put it back in my pocket. Then she eventually breathed out. “Thank you.” She rubbed her chest. I wondered if her heart was beating fast too.

I didn’t know what to say around her. The last time I’d seen her, I’d cracked and amended her composition. I’d been short with her. Tried to push her from my head. But no matter how hard I tried, she would never go.

Bonnie looked everywhere but at me. “You were ill,” I blurted out. It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

She must have thought that too, as she stared at me, then smirked. That smirk did funny things to my stomach. Made it pull tight. “I was ill.”

I sat up and looked out over the crowd, trying to push the feeling away.

“Did you miss me?”

I turned to Bonnie, first not knowing why the hell she asked that. And second not knowing what the hell to say.

She was smiling. When I blinked, confused, she burst out laughing. She put her hand on my forearm. “I’m only joking, Cromwell.” She waved her hand in a calming gesture. “You can breathe now.”

I finished off my Corona, but all I kept hearing was her laugh. The pink of her laugh. That and the fact it’d been aimed at me. I never thought she’d smile at me that way. Then again, I never thought I’d be here tonight. My body was taut as I waited for her to bring up the music room. To ask me questions. To push me about our composition project. But she didn’t.

“You want one?” Bonnie held out a piece of licorice. I shook my head. “What? You don’t like candy?”

“Not American candy, I don’t.”

“What?” she said on a single laugh. I turned my head back to the stage, to look at the setup. I always did. Bonnie pulled on my arm, forcing me to look at her. “No, I have to hear this. You don’t like American candy?”

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“It’s shite,” I said honestly.

For a minute, Bonnie’s expression didn’t change from shocked. Until she dropped her mouth and burst out laughing. She pulled back the sweets box she was holding and held it to her chest.

That feeling was back in my stomach. Like a stab, which started moving to my chest until it had taken over my whole body. She wiped her eyes. When she could talk again, she asked, “Okay then, what British candy is good?”

“Just about any of it.” I shook my head at the memory of the first time I’d tried American chocolate. It was bloody awful. I hadn’t touched it since. I was waiting on a shipment of the good stuff from my mum.

Bonnie nodded. “I have to say, I tried it when I was over there this past summer. And I agree, it’s amazing.”

The orchestra started retaking their seats. People began rushing back to their spots on the grass. Bonnie watched the musicians with rapt attention before shifting her gaze to me. “So you really do like classical music?” I froze. “I know we’re not allowed to talk about it. About you. That night.” Sympathy spread on her face. “And I have to respect that.” She shrugged. “But you’re here. At a classical concert.”

I was picking the label off the Corona, but I met her eyes. I didn’t speak, because the answer to her question was obvious. I was here. That said everything.

She must have got that I didn’t want to answer, as she pointed at the orchestra. “They’re incredible. I’ve seen them so many times.”

They were okay. Good at best.

“Well?” she said.

“What?”

Bonnie took in a deep breath. “You like classical music, don’t you? By now…after everything, you can admit that to me.” I heard the plea in her voice. A plea for me to just give her this.

Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” poured from the orchestra, the colors rushing through my head like the paint Easton had sloshed onto his canvas. I tried to push them from my head. But sitting here with Bonnie, I found they weren’t going anywhere. She made them fly freer somehow.

“Cromwell—”

“Yes,” I said, exasperated. I sat up straighter. “I like it.” A long breath rushed out of me as I admitted it. “I like it.” The second admission was more to myself than to her.

I looked up at the crowd watching the orchestra, at the musicians on the stage, and felt completely at home. It had been a long time since I’d felt this. And as I stared up at the conductor, I saw myself in his place. Remembered how it felt to be in a tux, hearing the orchestra play your work back to you.

It was like nothing else.

“I haven’t been able to get your music from my head,” Bonnie said, pulling me from the orchestra and my thoughts. I met her eyes and felt my heart sink at the fact she was talking about this. “The few bars you left on the table last week at Jefferson Coffee.” My stomach tightened.

“Cromwell,” she whispered. I was surprised I even heard her voice over the music. But I did. Of course I did.

It was violet blue.

My hands balled into fists. I should have just got up and walked away. Christ knows I’d done it enough before. But I didn’t. I sat there and met her eyes. Bonnie swallowed. “I know you don’t want me mentioning this.” She shook her head. “But it was…” She paused, struggling for words, just as the string section took the lead. I didn’t give a shit about the violins, the cellos, and the double basses right now; I wanted to know what was going to come from her mouth. “I liked it, Cromwell.” She smiled. “More than liked it.” She shook her head. “How did you… Did you just think of that right then on the spot?”

I swallowed and put my hand in my pocket for my cigarette. I pulled it out and lit up. I saw a flash of disappointment from Bonnie, but I was on my feet before she could say anything else to me.

I went to the tree and leaned against the trunk. I only half watched the orchestra. Bonnie held the rest of my attention. Her focus was back on the musicians, but her slim body was slumped. She was dejected. And it had been my reluctance to talk that had made her this way. She chewed on her licorice, but I could see she was no longer lost to the music.

I’d robbed her of that joy.

I thought of how she’d looked when I arrived. She’d been enthralled by the orchestra. I wondered if I’d ever been like that. Just so caught up in it all. Not caring about anything else. Not letting anything else even enter my head while the music played. And I knew I had. Once upon a time. Before it all went wrong and this classical shit became the one thing I wanted to despise.

But as I stood there, letting the nicotine I needed so badly fill my lungs, I knew deep down I never could. For three years I’d been fighting a losing battle.

“It’s what you were born to do, Cromwell. It’s who you were born to be. You have more talent in your little finger than anyone I’ve ever known. Including myself.”

My throat clogged as I heard my dad’s voice in my head. When I looked down at my cigarette, my hand was shaking. I took one last drag, forcing myself to keep my shit together. But the usual stirring of red-hot anger and gutting devastation, so deep I couldn’t breathe, swirled in my stomach, like it did whenever I thought of him. Whenever I heard this music. Whenever I was around Bonnie.

I didn’t know what made her so different.

I threw my cigarette down. I felt like hitting something as the pianist took the solo. But my feet were soldered to the ground. The sounds of the ivories made me listen. Made me watch. But all I saw was me on that stage. Me, performing the one piece I’d never be able to finish. That one piece that had haunted me for too long.

The one I could never see in my head. The colors muted and lost to the dark. The one that made me walk away from my biggest love.

“Cromwell?” Bonnie’s voice cut over the roaring white noise that had filled my head, the piano that was bombarding my brain like the bombs that had rained down on my dad for most of his army life. I shut my eyes, palming my sockets again. A hand wrapped around my wrist. “Cromwell?” Bonnie pulled my arms down. Her big brown eyes were fixed on mine. “Are you okay?”

I needed to get away. I need to leave, to get gone, when—

The pianist took the floor again. Only this time it was… “Piano Concerto No. 6,” Bonnie said. “Mozart.”

I swallowed. “It’s my favorite, son. That’s my favorite thing you play that isn’t yours.”

I looked from left to right, lost. Bonnie’s hand tightened on my wrist. As I looked down at her fingers on my tattooed skin, I realized she hadn’t let go. “Come and sit down.” Her touch always seemed to cut through my darkness. And this time I let it happen. I didn’t fight it. Didn’t run away. I stayed. And I didn’t let myself worry about it.

Bonnie led me back to where we’d been sitting. A bottle of water appeared in my hand. I drank it, not even thinking about anything else. When Bonnie took the empty bottle from my hand, she put a long piece of red licorice there instead. She smiled as I met her eyes. I lay back on the grass, resting on my elbow. The orchestra had moved on to Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major, the night coming to a close.

We sat in silence. But when I took a bite of the licorice, I chewed on the tasteless sweet and muttered, “It still tastes like shite.”

Bonnie laughed.

And I could finally breathe.