The shops and diners seemed to tilt slightly. I rubbed my hand down my face. I’d drunk too much.
“Where’s Cromwell?” I heard the girl’s voice ask from inside. I took off toward campus before anyone could see I’d smoke-bombed. My feet were heavy as I trudged my way back home. But when I approached my dorm, it was the last place I wanted to be.
I didn’t think. I didn’t even know where I was going until my feet stopped at the music rooms. I stared at the closed door and the card reader that let you in. I breathed hard, as if I’d just run a marathon. I tried to turn around, but my feet wouldn’t listen.
My head fell against the door, and I closed my eyes . . .
I lifted my hands off the piano and blinked. My head always went somewhere else when I played. It transformed. Turned to color and shapes. Until I finished, and the world came back into view.
The audience burst into applause. I stood up and looked out over the crowd. I saw my mum, clapping, on her feet with tears in her eyes. I gave her a small smile then left the stage.
As I loosened my bow tie, the concert’s director tapped me on the shoulder. “Amazing, Cromwell. It was amazing. I can’t believe you’re only twelve.”
“Thank you,” I said and walked toward the backstage area where we could get changed.
I stared at the floor as I walked. I was glad Mum could see me tonight, but the person I wanted to see me wasn’t here.
He was never here.
As I turned the corner, a flash of movement caught my eye. I lifted my head. The first thing I saw was khaki green. My eyes widened. “Dad?”
“Cromwell,” he said, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My heart beat faster as I ran to him, throwing my arms around his waist.
“You were unbelievable,” he said and hugged me back.
“You saw?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
When I looked up, I was inside the music building. My student ID was in my hand. I was in a music room, with a large rack of instruments at one end.
My hands itched to touch them. I wanted to blame it on the alcohol. I wanted to blame it on any damn thing else but the fact that I needed to be here. That I needed these instruments.
I wandered to the piano and ran my hands over the closed lid. My gut felt like it was tearing in two. I pulled my hand back, trying to turn away. But I couldn’t. I sat down on the stool and lifted the lid. Ivory and black keys stared up at me. And like always, I could read them. I didn’t see them as mute, I saw them filled with notes and music and color.
My hands trailed along the keys, and my lip hooked up at the corner. I ripped my hand away. “No,” I snapped to no one but myself. My voice was lost in the room.
I closed my eyes, trying to stop the ache in my chest that had been there for three years. I could control it. I was good at that now. Pushing it away. But since this morning, I’d had to fight it harder than usual. It had killed me all day.
It was getting hard to fend off.
Play, son, a voice whispered in my head. My hands fisted as I heard the echo of my father’s words in my mind. Play . . .
I gasped, releasing all the fight I had bottled up inside.
The room was silent. A blank canvas waiting for color. My hands rested on the keys. I held my breath then pressed down on a single key. The sound rang out like a siren. A burst of green so vivid it bordered on neon. Another came, bringing a faded red. Before I could stop, my hands were dancing over the keys as if I’d never stopped. As if I hadn’t moved on three years ago.
Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor spilled out from my hands, every bar burned into my brain. No sheet music was needed. I just followed the colors. Vibrant red. Pale blue. Ochre. Tan brown. Lemon yellow. One after the other. A tapestry in my mind.
When the piece came to a close, I turned on the stool. I didn’t think this time. I didn’t put myself through the torment. I just crossed the room and picked up whatever I came to first. At the first stroke of the string on the violin, I closed my eyes and just went with it.
This time it was my own music that poured from me.
One after the other, I moved through the instruments, the music like a drug being injected into my veins. I was a junkie who’d been clean for three years, finally getting his fix back. I was unable to stop. Overdosing on the color, the tastes, and the rush of adrenaline it sent sailing in my blood.
I didn’t know how long had passed. But when every instrument had been played, I made for the door. But my addiction wasn’t done with me yet. I wanted my feet to just cooperate tonight. I wanted to leave this behind and chalk it up to being too drunk.
But I no longer felt plastered. The alcohol wasn’t what was leading me right now. It was me. And I knew it.
Like it was a magnet, I made my way to the piano again. I reached into my pocket and pulled out his dog tags. I couldn’t bring myself to look at his name. Instead I put them on top of the piano and let them just be with me.
Let him be with me.
I breathed in and out five times before my hands landed on the keys. My heart was a bass drum as I let them take control. And when they did, it was a damn dagger to the chest.
I’d only ever played this song once. Exactly three years ago to the day. I’d never written down the score. It didn’t matter. It was committed to memory. Every note. Every color. Every heartbreaking feel.
This piece was all dark colors. Low notes and tones. And as the sounds surrounded me, my face contorted, remembering Mum walking into my bedroom at three in the morning . . .
“Baby . . .” she whispered, hands shaking, face pale and wracked with tears. “They’ve found him . . . he’s gone.”
I’d stared at her, not moving a muscle. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He’d been missing, but he was going to be okay. He had to be. After how things had been left. He had to be.
But watching my mum fall apart, I knew it was real. He was gone.
As the sun had started to rise, I’d gone into the room that had my piano—my twelfth birthday present. And I’d played. I’d played, and as I did, the reality started to sink in.
He was gone.
I curled over as I played, the pain in my stomach too hard to bear. The music was dark, slow, and like nothing I’d played before. He couldn’t be gone. Life wasn’t that unfair.
He’s gone . . . My mum’s words circled my head. As I hit a crescendo, a bellow ripped from my throat. Tears came thick and fast after that. But my hands never stopped moving. It was like they couldn’t.
I had to play.
It was like they knew this was it. That I’d never play piano keys again.
As the piece fell away, the last note coming to a close, I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands. It was all too much. My hands on this piano. Playing again after all this time. The colors, the taste of metal . . . the massive rip in my chest.
Teardrops fell onto the keys. Dad’s face came into my mind. The last look he ever gave me—pain and sadness. A face I never saw again.
He’d taken the music with him.
My hands slipped from the keys. I couldn’t breathe. The room was too silent and still, and—
The sound of the door opening made me look up. I felt the blood in my face drain as I saw who stood in the doorway. Bonnie Farraday was staring at me, her face pale and brown eyes sad. And it had ruined me. In that moment, I hadn’t wanted to be alone. But I had no one to lean on. No one to turn to. I’d pushed everyone away.
And then she’d appeared. Her eyes filled with tears. Bonnie had been there with me when I was breaking apart. I hadn’t known what to do. I needed to leave, needed to push her away too. I didn’t need anyone in my life. I was better off alone. But in that moment, I wanted her near. Then she touched my arm and I’d nearly given in.
When I looked into her eyes as tears fell from mine, I knew I had to get out of the room. I broke into a run, hearing Bonnie’s voice as she called my name. I ran until I reached the small cle
aring Easton had shown me earlier. I slumped down on the grass and let the warm breeze wrap around me. As I lit up a smoke, I caught sight of my hands.
They seemed different. Fingers freed, somehow, like I’d finally given in to what they wanted after all these years.
I’d played. I’d let the music back in.
As I took a drag of my cigarette, I tried to push the feeling of it from my head. But the echo of the notes still lingered in my ears. The shadows from the colors were still living in my mind, and the phantom feel of the keys beneath my fingers was still etched on my skin.
Muscle memory refusing to let go.
Frustrated, I lay back and looked up at the night sky. The stars were out in full effect. I closed my eyes, trying to push everything away and get back to the emptiness I’d embraced for so long. It didn’t work. Nothing would leave me.
Especially not the southern accent of Bonnie Farraday, and the look in her eyes. The way you can play . . .
Her voice was violet blue.
I closed my eyes.
It was my favorite color to hear.
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 I’d played the instruments I’d once loved so much, everything seemed lifeless in comparison.
I had to forget it ever happened. But 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, 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 made for the door. 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 bird 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.