by L. J. Evans
“Try again, babe.”
“Stop it. I’m not your babe.” I took out my irritation on him.
He just laughed. “You let Military Man think you were.”
I knew that he wasn’t going to let me live that down. I smiled at him and shrugged sheepishly. It was true. I had. And Eli had hated it. That gave me a weird sense of pleasure. His reaction meant that he had been thinking about me the last four years, too, even though he hadn’t called. I guess, to be fair to him, I hadn’t called him either.
He’d said to call if I needed him. I had needed him, but he couldn’t have done anything when my dad came after me. It would have just caused him more—
“Shit.” I stopped in my tracks.
“What?”
“My dad.”
“What about the asshole?”
“That’s why they’re pissed at me. My dad. He must have done something to them after I left. When they got back to school.”
“What could he really do?” Brady asked.
I laughed bitterly. “You saw what he tried to do to me. What do you think he would do to the three cadets who had me in their sights and let me drive away?”
Brady, who rarely looked serious unless it was part of his act onstage, turned solemn. “What do you think he did?”
“I guess I’ll have to meet Eli tomorrow to find out.”
“Like you weren’t going to meet him anyway.” Brady grinned at me as he used his keycard to swipe us into the lobby. I didn’t answer as we made our way through the doors and into the elevators.
We shared a dorm apartment. Two single rooms with a shared kitchen and living space. It cost a fortune to have the singles, and I was paying for more than my half in order to keep Brady with me. He couldn’t have afforded the single, but it was one of the good things that I’d been able to do since inheriting the money that had been my grandparents’ and would have been my mom’s if she hadn’t died.
Back when I’d left Texas, Dad had had my money, and I’d never thought I’d be able to do this for someone else. I’d barely thought I’d be able to find a way to afford Juilliard on my own. Now, I was helping one of my best friends, and it felt right. Brady didn’t know that I was paying for it, though. He thought he’d earned a scholarship. I didn’t want him thinking he owed me anything.
Dad would never have done that. He’d used the money for himself and only himself, bribing people to do things for him. It made me wonder if that was what he’d done to Eli and Mac Truck—bribed people to go against them.
It made my heart hurt. That Dad could have done something so bad to turn easygoing Truck into an angry man. That Mac wouldn’t even look at me. Only Eli had. At least he hadn’t looked angry—maybe surprised, but not angry.
My stomach flipped over at the thought of seeing him again the next day. After so long. By ourselves. And that made sleep pretty much impossible.
♫ ♫ ♫
I fidgeted with my scarf and my notebook while I waited for Eli. I wasn’t drinking the mocha latte that I’d ordered. Mostly because I was afraid it would only add to the jitters in my hands and the butterflies in my stomach.
I’d woken up, in the dark of the night, from a few brief moments of sleep, to words pouring through me. I’d filled pages of my notebook. Brady would love it. We’d have a couple new songs to add to the album if we wanted. They were good. They were perfect for Brady.
My heart didn’t object as much as it once would have at the thought of Brady, instead of me, bringing my words alive. Back when I’d met a cadet that twisted my world around, it would have seemed impossible. I would never have considered it. Now, I knew my singing days were in the past, along with the naivety of my teen years.
The door of the coffee shop opened, and Eli entered, a blue beanie on his head, hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket lined with fleece. He was drop dead gorgeous, drawing eyes from around the room. He was a movie hero. Or anti-hero. Either way, his dark good looks were beautiful and striking. My heart broke for everything we could have been and weren’t. For the once upon a time that hadn’t happened for us.
He saw me the moment he walked in the door, his intense eyes not moving from mine. I used to stare like that—extra long—until the other person looked away. Nowadays, I found that I avoided eyes. I’d given up on finding what I was looking for.
Eli had known me from that time when I refused to look away. Now, I looked down and fidgeted with my pen while he approached. I fought with an unfamiliar desire to hug him. As if, by holding him, I could recover something of my old self that he remembered. But hugs and I went notoriously awry, and this wasn’t the moment to start.
He sat down without ordering a coffee, pulling the chair closer and easing into it. I looked up and then down and away. This seemed to catch his attention more than anything. He leaned forward, removing the beanie and shoving it into his pocket before placing his arms on the table, hands only inches away from where mine played with my pen.
He watched me flip the pen. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
That caused me to look up in surprise. “Why?”
“The boyfriend.” Eli’s voice was full of that gritty gruffness that had always gone down my spine like a feathery touch, causing goosebumps and tingling flesh. It did the same now.
I looked away again. “Brady doesn’t care that I’m here.”
It was a half-truth. He didn’t care in the way Eli meant. In fact, he’d actually pushed me out the door and told me not to come back until I’d been completely satisfied in every possible way. He also wasn’t my boyfriend.
“He’s an idiot then,” Eli said.
I bristled. “Maybe he trusts me more than you do.”
Eli chuckled, but it wasn’t with humor. It was filled with something else. A warning. A promise. “I trust you.” He said the words, but I didn’t understand what the undertone meant. Trusted me to what?
I swallowed and changed the subject. “Why don’t Mac and Truck?”
Eli sighed. For the first time, he looked away. “I need a coffee. Are you good?”
I nodded and let him avoid the conversation. I watched him in line, not speaking with anyone, the women giving him second glances over their phones or their coffees, the male barista flirting with him in a way that Eli didn’t even notice. He got his coffee and returned to the table, removing his jacket, showing off muscled arms in a thermal Henley that fit to every curve.
My body ached, my heart continued to ache, and now my head ached—from thinking and feeling too much.
I didn’t give him a chance to talk. I spoke first. “It was my dad, wasn’t it?”
He sipped his coffee and put it down, nodding.
“What’d he do?”
“Mac and I had already taken his class, so he couldn’t screw with our grades. He petitioned the school for demerits against us for providing alcohol to an underage person.”
“I’m so sorry. If I’d known—"
“If you’d known, you would have done what? Sent a note to the school board saying we hadn’t let you drink with us?”
He was right. I had drunk with them. I had been underage. I’d put them in a shit position and ran. Remorse filled me.
“I’m so sorry.” It was quiet. I wasn’t sure he heard it.
He lifted a hand to my chin and forced me to look up at him, his eyes searching mine, concern flooding his face.
“What happened to you?”
There was so much heartache in his voice that it made my own heart ache once more but in a brand-new way.
“Nothing happened to me. What happened when Truck was in his class?”
He didn’t remove his hand. Instead, a finger ran along my cheek, and I couldn’t help but lean into it—body still in his command. That caused his whole face to light up. The simple action of my leaning into his fingers. I lifted my hand up and pushed his away. He returned to his somberness.
“You
r dad failed him.”
“Wh-what?”
“Said he hadn’t turned in any of the papers. It got ugly, because we’d all been keeping track of everything together, just in case it went that way. Truck had pictures of turning things in as he’d done it. It went to a review committee.”
“And?”
“He didn’t fail, but they made him take the class again. He didn’t get to graduate with us. Had to wait a semester. It ended up impacting his admission to the Navy.”
“Crap.”
Eli ran a hand over the stubble on the top of his head. “Mac’s dad is in the Navy, and his grandfather is in Washington. The demerit didn’t stop him after he graduated. I was applying to the Coast Guard, and I had my dad’s reputation behind me. I had people at the DCO school that were pulling for me. Truck didn’t have anyone.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I told him, hand to my stomach, thinking about how much I’d screwed up Truck’s life by just showing up in Rockport. No. Not showing up, but by being a stubborn ass and not leaving.
“After he retook the class with a different professor and graduated, he applied to the Coast Guard. With some help from me and the people I know, they accepted him. But he’s almost a year behind me now in promotions. In his career.”
“I don’t blame him for hating me.”
I started shoving stuff into my bag. Pen, notebook, phone. I pushed my coat on. Eli was already standing, but I couldn’t stay. I needed to go. Needed to process what he’d told me. About how a stupid teenage girl had ruined someone’s career with carelessness.
“He doesn’t hate you,” Eli said. I just gave him a look. A look that he didn’t counter. A look that said he was lying.
“Thank you for meeting me.” I debated putting out my hand for him to shake, but then I thought twice about our skin touching. Instead, I moved toward the door. He followed. I kept going. I needed to get away. From him. From me. From thoughts that hurt.
Chapter Thirteen
Eli
BLUE AIN’T YOUR COLOR
“'Cause you look like, you haven't felt the fire,
Had a little fun, hadn't had a smile
in a little while, Baby.”
—Performed by Keith Urban
—Written by Lagerberg / Lindsey / Olsen
She ran, and I followed, my heart trying not to escape my chest at the thought of her disappearing again for another four years. At the thought of my life going back to the monotony of the daily grind. At the thought of not feeling ever again. Of not seeing colors again.
“Don’t.” I caught up to her outside, putting a hand on her jacket. She shook me off and kept going. I followed. “Stop. Please.”
The please sounded so ridiculously forlorn. I wanted to take it back. To hide how much I really did need to see her. How much I needed to follow a path that I’d let my old dreams divert me from the last time she’d gone away.
As soon as I’d gotten back to the apartment last night with a silent Truck and a moody Mac, I’d been full of self-realization. I knew, with a sudden certainty, exactly what I needed. I’d realized my Coast Guard dream—I still loved the thrill of the missions—but all of that paled in comparison to the adrenaline-pumping feeling of life that I’d felt when I’d kissed Ava on a sunset beach. When she’d looked at me and smiled with a face that lit up the sky more than the sky itself.
I wanted more. Just like her song. I wanted more life waiting for me after the mission. Something to look forward to coming home to—no, someone to come home to. Another purpose. Something personal. Something mine.
I wanted Ava in my life.
I wanted to know what had happened to her big dreams and her vivacity. To the things that had made her seem like the entire world was going to be laying at her feet. If I was feeling at a loss after my dreams had come true, I couldn’t imagine what she must feel if she thought her dreams would never come true.
She stopped and turned toward me and, once more, wouldn’t meet my eyes when that was all she’d ever done that summer in Rockport—stare at everyone until she’d memorized and captured our souls.
“I…” She fidgeted, looked up at me briefly, and then skittered her eyes away again. “I just need to process this.”
“I wanted to know back then, when he was making life hell for us…I was worried…what had he done to you?” I hoped that this wasn’t the reason she was a small reflection of the thundering life force she had been. I was hoping something worse hadn’t happened to a young girl on her own in Nashville and New York City.
“Nothing. Nothing like he did to you.”
“You said you’d call if you needed me.”
“You said you’d call if he made life hell for you.”
“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” I told her with a shrug.
“Neither could you,” she told me, for the first time meeting my eyes and keeping them. “Yet I still hoped you’d call.”
I had. I’d started to dial the number on my phone that was logged under “The One That Got Away” a hundred times at least. I hadn’t given her that name. Truck had. I’d just had her name under Ava. After I’d moped around for a few days with her stuck in my head and heart, Mac had taken the phone and named her Daredevil. Truck had shaken his head, taken the phone from him, and changed her name to what it was now. At that time, I’d known it for the truth it was.
She was the one that got away. I’d let her go. I’d given her up for my dream. For her dream.
But I had tried to call her. It was just that every time I’d started to dial her number, I’d always stopped. Every time I’d started a text, I’d erased it. Truth was, I didn’t know what to say to her. Come back to Texas? It wouldn’t have worked. Both our dreams had been too big. Too much a part of us. If either of us had given up those dreams at that time, it would have ended in bitterness and regret.
“I wanted to.” I shrugged without an excuse. There was none that could really be an adequate response.
She didn’t offer up whether or not she’d wanted to call me. I tried not to let it stab me in the gut. Instead, she looked at me with a frown between her brows.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I’m stationed here,” I replied. She smirked just a little. Not enough to make the corner of her lip indent further than the other, but almost a full smile.
“Not in New York, Coastie. Why did you ask to see me?”
I loved the Coastie that fell from her lips. That she knew that we were called that. Not many people did. Only those really tied to the USCG. I rubbed my hand over the stubble that was growing on my chin and needed to be shaved. What could I say that wouldn’t sound crazy? I think you are the only thing in my life that will ever make me really feel alive seemed over-the-top dramatic. Seemed crazy. Psychotic.
“You looked stunning last night,” was all I could answer. Her eyes skittered away again, hiding from me like she never had. “You sounded…”
“Stale.”
“Like life.”
Her cheeks flushed, and I itched to touch the color there.
“Why was the boyfriend singing your songs and not you?”
The crowd around us was increasing as people hustled toward the subway station with a train arriving soon. We were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, being brushed on all sides. I stepped toward the building beside us, taking her with me, my hand returning to her elbow and remaining there, feeling the thread of life that burned between us through the fabric of her coat.
“He does a better job,” she answered. I could tell she believed it. That she actually thought that the charismatic blonde had more talent than her.
“No one could sing your words better than you. How could you even think that?”
For the first time, I got a full smile. The one that pulled the corner of her lip and echoed in her eyes. She chuckled. “Believe me, three years at Juilliard will definitely give you an appropri
ate sense of your talent versus others. Brady has more talent in his arm than I do in my whole body.”
“I didn’t believe in brainwashing, even when they talked about interrogation techniques in training, but it sounds like Julliard has done a good job of it. Maybe they should sell their methods to the military.”
She was still smiling, and I felt like I’d just done a full marathon in four hours because of it.
“Where are you going now?” I asked, desperate to see her again.
“To class,” she said, a smile still there.
“Class…right. It’s Friday.”
“How can you not know what day of the week it is?” The humor in her eyes was still there, and I wanted to keep it there. Not the closed-down version of her that had been sitting in the coffee shop in a chair instead of on top of the table.
“I work all kinds of shifts. Sometimes it’s hard to keep the days straight,” I told her with an embarrassed shrug. “I’d like to see you again.”
Her smile wavered, slowly fading. “Four years…why after four years?”
Again, I didn’t have a reasonable answer.
“Why not?” was all I could come up with.
“Mr. Grumpy suddenly decides to be spontaneous?”
It was worth everything to see her smirk.
I waited while she thought. When she sighed, that citrus scent that was embedded in my olfactory memories washed over me, and I knew that she was going to agree.
“Brady and I will be at the Pink Poodle on Tuesday.”
I didn’t like the Brady and I combination, but I also couldn’t help a smirk. “The Pink Poodle?” It sounded like a strip club.
“It’s a hair salon that rents space out as an open mic spot.”
“Will Brady be happy to see me?”
She rolled her eyes. “He isn’t going to start a fight over me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped me. Because really? Me be worried about Singer Boy? She smirked again.