The quad was almost empty when I finally slipped inside the door. I took my usual seat in Lewis’s class. From the minute I sat down, the butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I cast a glance back at where Cromwell usually sat. He wasn’t in class yet.
I played with the edge of my notepad as I waited. My heart bounced around in my chest, an uneven beat. I rubbed my hand over my sternum. I inhaled a long breath, focusing on my breathing the way I knew helped. On my fourth exhale, my eyes darted to the doorway. It was as though I sensed he was there.
Cromwell Dean walked into the room, wearing ripped jeans and a fitted white shirt, his tattoos framing his muscled arms and his piercings gleaming against his olive skin and messy dark hair.
He was clutching a notepad in his hand. A pen rested behind his ear. I tried to look away from him as he walked across the room toward the stairs that led him to his seat. But I couldn’t. Images of Saturday night were technicolor flashbacks in my mind. The music room. Him, sitting behind me, hard chest against my back. His lips on my shoulder, kissing my bare skin. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still feel the softness of his lips.
My lips parted as I remembered it. I knew my face was flushed. Cromwell Dean did that to me. It was as big of a blessing as it was a fear.
As if hearing the thoughts in my head, Cromwell looked up. His eyes fixed straight on me. Every part of me tensed, apprehensive about what he would do. So when his lip hooked up at the corner, a hint of a smile aimed right at me, my pulse kicked into an erratic kind of sprint.
Infected by his smirk, I gave him the ghost of a smile back, ignoring the way the girls in the room looked at him like he was their source of warmth on a cold day. Because his attention was aimed at me. The British boy with a permanent chip on his shoulder was looking at me.
I steeled my nerves when he began walking up the stairs. His long legs ate up the path to me in no time. I expected him to walk by me, leaving me breathless in his wake. I didn’t expect him to come and sit beside me, slumping down on the seat that Bryce normally sat in.
I stared at him. He lounged back in the seat like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Farraday,” he said, lazily, his accent wrapping like melting butter around my last name.
“Dean,” I whispered back. I could see other students looking our way. I shifted nervously in my seat under their attention. I turned to see him watching me. There was a light in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. An air of peace that showed in his relaxed shoulders.
The tapping of his hand on his desk pulled my attention. The skull and numerical tattoos danced with the movement. I couldn’t take my eyes off those fingers, because I knew what they were capable of. I had seen them play the piano. And play on my guitar.
I looked up at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Bryce was standing beside us. His face was pissed, his eyes boring into Cromwell in his seat. “I sit there,” Bryce said. I hadn’t spoken to him after Friday night. I was ashamed to say that my head had been too full with Cromwell.
“Yeah? Well I’m here now,” Cromwell said, dismissing him completely. I closed my eyes, hating the confrontation.
“Why’re you such a dick?” Bryce spat.
Cromwell kept his face forward, completely ignoring him.
Bryce let out a single humorless laugh then walked past us. “Bryce,” I said, but he either ignored me or didn’t hear me. I wasn’t sure which.
“Cromwell,” I said. His stubborn expression said it all. He wasn’t moving anywhere.
Lewis came into the room. Cromwell’s leg brushed up against mine. He didn’t move it. Lewis looked around the room, and his eyebrows lifted slightly when he saw Cromwell beside me. Cromwell shifted in his seat. But then Lewis addressed the students, and class began.
*****
Bryce was out of the classroom the minute Lewis dismissed us. I sighed as I watched him go. There was clearly no love lost between him and Cromwell.
I stood. “Bye, Cromwell.”
He got off his seat and followed me out into the quad. I thought his body would be tense and his face would be pinched. But he seemed relaxed. I’d never seen this from Cromwell before, and it confused me more than anything. He nudged his chin at me when I left to go to my next class. I shook my head as I watched him leave, wondering what all that was about. He hadn’t spoken to me apart from greeting me when he sat down. But he’d pressed his leg against mine, causing shivers to break out all over my skin. And he’d leaned in to me, his arm occasionally brushing mine. My emotions were going haywire. I had no idea what was going on with us. With him. The fact that he wasn’t glaring at me felt strange. The fact that he was almost being warm and kind . . . I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.
Yet I couldn’t deny being on the receiving end of his small smile made my heart sing.
After my morning classes, I went to the cafeteria. Easton was at our usual table. I grabbed a salad and made my way over. Easton, as always, was eating enough to feed a small army.
“You got enough there, East?” I joked.
He scrunched up his nose. “Nah. Was thinking of going back for more.” Easton looked over my shoulder. “What the hell?” he said, a smirk on his mouth. I followed his gaze, and my mouth parted at what I saw.
Cromwell stood in the doorway, scanning his eyes around the room. When they fell on us, he walked right in our direction. For once, my heartbeat found a rhythm—and it was exactly in sync with Cromwell’s footsteps.
He sat beside us. He pulled a few unfamiliar candy bars from his pockets, opened one, and started eating. Easton looked at me, then back at Cromwell. “You lost, Dean?”
Cromwell finished off one candy bar and opened the next. He looked at Easton then spared a flicker of a glance to me. “No.”
Easton carried on eating, looking at Cromwell like he was some science experiment. “You know you’re in the cafeteria, yeah?” Cromwell raised one eyebrow at Easton. Easton laughed and pointed at his candy bars. “And that they serve food here.”
Cromwell sat back. He glanced around the cafeteria. “I’m good with these.” He opened his last candy bar.
I pushed my salad around my plate. “So,” Easton said. “How’s your project coming along?”
Only silence met him. “It’s not,” I finally said. “We’re no longer partners.” I wasn’t an overly shy person. Wasn’t easily intimidated. But the images of Saturday night clogged my mind and made me lose the ability to speak around Cromwell.
Why was he here in the cafeteria? Why had he sat next to me in class, yet spoken zero words but my name?
Easton glared at Cromwell. “What did you do?” Cromwell stared back at my brother. Easton always joked with people. He was always happy. But he had a side to him that people didn’t know. Especially when it came to me.
Cromwell’s jaw was clenched. I covered Easton’s hand with my own. “Nothing happened, East. Lewis saw that our work wasn’t as good together as it was apart, so he allowed us to work alone. That’s all.”
Easton narrowed his eyes, first on me, then on Cromwell. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I replied.
A wide smile decorated his face. “Then that’s okay.” He flicked his chin at me. “Weren’t feeling the EDM, sis?”
I laughed. “Not so much.”
“She just doesn’t understand it.”
I turned to face Cromwell. He finally looked at me.
“I just don’t rate it as a music genre.”
“You should,” he argued, but his voice was calm. “You just need to be shown its merits.”
His voice might have been calm, but his blue eyes were dancing with light. “I’ve heard your music,” I challenged.
I saw his lips pull up at the corner. Warmth burst in my chest. “Not properly.” I frowned at his cryptic answer.
“I need cake.” Easton rose from his seat. He eyed us both weirdly, like he was on the outside of some joke only we were in on. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone, yeah, kid
s?”
“We’ll try,” I said.
The silence stretched on. Cromwell kept his gaze on the view outside the window. I glanced down at his empty candy wrappers. “Package from your mama came in, huh?”
Cromwell nodded then held out a square of chocolate from the bar he was currently demolishing. “I . . . I don’t eat fatty foods.” I felt my face flame. I knew the excuse sounded lame.
Cromwell ate the square. “You should learn to live a little, Farraday.”
I gave him a weak smile. “I’m trying.”
I couldn’t tell what he was reading in my face. I wanted to ask him. Wanted him to talk to me. At least mention Saturday night. But when Easton sat back down, chocolate cake on his plate, Cromwell got up. “I’m out.”
I followed him with my eyes out of the door, where he stopped near the window and pulled out a cigarette. Girl after girl looked at him as they came in for lunch. I could barely take my eyes off him myself.
Easton cleared his throat, causing me to put my focus back on my twin. He was still giving me a weird look. “There something I should know?” His voice was filled with concern.
“No.”
He clearly didn’t believe me. “Cromwell has fucked no less than ten girls since he got here, Bonn.”
An ache pulled in my chest at that information. “So?”
Easton shrugged. “Just thought you should know, is all. Cromwell’s a screw-them-and-leave-them kind of deal.”
I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “I really don’t care, East.” Easton ate his cake. “I thought you liked him, anyway?”
“I do,” East said with a mouthful of cake. He swallowed then met my eyes. “I just don’t want him anywhere near you.” His hand covered mine and his voice lowered. “You’ve been through enough, Bonn. A guy like that would chew you up and spit you out. And after everything you’ve been through . . .” He shook his head. “You deserve more.”
I nearly cried. Tears pricked my eyes, not just because of his words, or his protective nature. But because if he knew . . . if he knew what was happening to me . . .
“You’re my best friend, Bonn. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Easton’s smile faltered. “You’re the only one who has ever understood me.” He blew out a long breath. “Who gets me.”
I squeezed his hand and never wanted to let go. Grief and panic stole my breath, overwhelming me. “I love you, East,” I whispered.
He smiled. “Back at you, Bonn.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him. But when I looked into his blue eyes, at the pain I saw lurking underneath, I didn’t dare. Easton released my hand. He threw on his usual smile. “Gotta get to class.” He got to his feet. A few people came over to him, and he laughed and joked with them like always.
I’d never felt more worry for a person in my life than I did for him.
Not even myself.
I picked up my tray and cast one last glance out of the window.
Cromwell was gone. So I went to my class, wondering how everything had gotten so messed up.
*****
“ . . . and let the darkness fade . . .”
I finished my most recent song, put down my guitar, and scribbled the new lyric and chords down on the staff paper. I closed my eyes, replaying it in my head to make sure it was perfect, when there was a knock at my door. I looked up at my clock. It was nine p.m.
I looked down at myself. I was dressed in black leggings, a black top, and a white cardigan. My hair was thrown back in a messy bun. Basically, I wasn’t suited for company this late on a Friday night.
My legs ached as I walked to the door. My ankles were heavy from too much walking. I cast a quick glance around my room. The boxes were stashed in my closet. If it was Easton, I didn’t want him to see. Slapping my cheeks to bring more life to my skin, I eventually turned the knob. I opened the door just a fraction and looked out into the hallway.
Cromwell Dean was leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his black jean pockets. He was wearing a black knitted sweater, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Farraday,” he greeted casually.
“Cromwell?”
He pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of me. He smirked. “You decent?” He pointed at the partially open door.
I flushed then opened the door the rest of the way. I wrapped my cardigan tightly around me. “Yes.” I looked down both sides of the hallway. It was empty. “What are you doing here, Cromwell?”
He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a chain hanging from the waistband of his jeans. “I’ve come for you.”
“What?”
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
After hours of laziness, my tired heart kicked to life. “You’re what?”
“Get some shoes on, Farraday. You’re coming with me.”
My skin broke into betraying bumps as excitement soared through me. “And where are you taking me?”
If I wasn’t mistaken, Cromwell blushed.
“Farraday, just get your shoes on and your arse out of this door.”
“I’m not dressed right.” My hand ran over my bun. “My hair’s a mess. I’m not wearing makeup.”
“You look good,” he said, and I stopped breathing. He must have seen. But he didn’t move his eyes off mine. “We’re losing time, Farraday. Let’s get going.”
I should have stayed. It wasn’t wise to let him do this. But, despite what I knew was right, what was fair, I couldn’t help it.
I had to go.
I sat down and pulled on my boots. Cromwell leaned against the doorframe, his arm stretched above his head. The black sweater clung to his arm muscles, and the hem lifted, exposing a couple of inches of his tattooed stomach. My cheeks set on fire. I averted my eyes and concentrated on fastening the laces of my boots. But when I stood and saw the flicker of a smirk on his lips, I knew he’d seen me looking.
“Let’s go.” He walked out to the hallway. I let him lead the way outside and to a matte-black truck, a vintage Ford pickup.
“Is this yours?” I ran my hand over the paintwork. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
“You just get it?” He nodded. “It must have cost you a pretty penny,” I said as we pulled out of campus.
A dimple I hadn’t even known he had popped in his left cheek. I’d almost gotten a smile. Almost. “I do all right,” he said cryptically.
“With your music?”
“I don’t spin for free, Farraday.” I knew he was the most streamed EDM DJ in Europe—hell, maybe the US too for all I knew. I hadn’t really thought of him like that. I’d forgotten he was Cromwell Dean, up-and-coming EDM star. It seemed crazy to me.
Especially when I knew what he could create in classical.
Cromwell had sat with Easton and me every lunchtime this week. He’d sat beside me in all the classes we shared. He had hardly spoken, but he’d been there. I didn’t know what to make of it.
I certainly didn’t know what to make of right now.
“So, any clues to where we’re going?”
Cromwell shook his head. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” I couldn’t help it; I laughed.
“You’re not at the bar tonight, or at the Barn? Won’t all your adoring fans—and by fans, I mean girls—miss you?”
“I’m sure they’ll survive,” he said dryly. It only made me smile wider.
Cromwell pulled out onto the freeway. I frowned, wondering where we were going. “Can I put your radio on?” I asked.
Cromwell nodded his head. When I switched it on, I wasn’t surprised to hear fast tempos, pounding crescendos, and slamming beats. EDM. I sighed. “I guess this comes with the territory, huh? If I’m in your car?”
“What do you have against EDM?” he asked. He kept glancing between me and the road.
“Nothing, really. I just don’t know how you could pick this over all the other genres.”
“You like folk.”
“I like acoustic folk. I write the mu
sic and the lyrics.”
“I create the beats, the rhythms, and the tempos.” He turned up the current track. “This is one of my most recent.” He looked at me. “Close your eyes.” I raised my eyebrow. “Just shut them, Farraday.” I did as he asked. “Listen to the breakdown. Really listen. Hear the beat and how it carries the base of the song. Hear the layers. How the tempo changes with each sound, the keyboard, how they overlap until I have five or six layers that all work seamlessly.” I did. I let myself use all my senses to drink it in, shedding each layer one by one until I heard all of the composition. My shoulders moved to the beat, the tempo controlling my movements. And I felt myself smile. I built back the layers in my head, until they were a fusion of sounds and rhythms and beats.
“I hear it,” I said, so quietly I didn’t know if he could hear me over his music. When I opened my eyes, Cromwell turned down the volume. I sighed in defeat. “I heard it,” I said again.
Cromwell glanced at me from the side of his eye. “I think you’re a music snob, Farraday.”
“What?”
He nodded. “Classical, folk, country, any other genre, really. All but EDM. Computer-created sounds.” He shook his head. “You’re a snob.” I didn’t know why, but being called a snob in an English accent made it feel so much worse.
“I’m not at all. I . . . I . . .”
“I what?” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I really don’t like you at times,” I said, fully understanding that I sounded like a two-year-old.
“I know you don’t,” he said, but there was no belief in his tone. Because as much as I hadn’t liked Cromwell Dean, I was beginning to. That was a lie. I already liked him.
And that’s what terrified me.
Cromwell pulled into the road that led to the Jefferson Museum. I sat in confusion as he pulled us to a stop at the nearly deserted parking lot. “I think it’s closed,” I said as Cromwell got out of the truck. He opened my door and held out his hand. “Come on.”