A Wish for Us

by Tillie Cole

  Cromwell exhaled, and the music began to play.

  I was frozen. Trapped on the outside of his world, looking in but not able to penetrate the bubble. My chest rose and fell quickly, but I didn’t make a sound. I wouldn’t pollute the melody, wouldn’t tarnish the beauty that spilled from his soul with the sound of my stuttered breathing.

  I wanted to watch him. I wanted to drink in the vision that was Cromwell Dean at a piano. But my eyelids closed, giving me no other choice but to awaken my sense of hearing. And I smiled. I heard everything he was feeling. Sorrow in the slow notes. Flickers of joy in the quickness of the high notes, and the utter devastation in the low.

  I remembered the first time I saw Cromwell. This summer, in the club, allowing his beats to wash over me this way. There was no comparison. I felt nothing but disappointment on that sticky, humid dancefloor. Now . . . I was awash with a rainbow of feelings. My erratically beating heart unable to keep any kind of rhythm, struggling to allow all that Cromwell was giving me into its weak walls.

  And then something happened. The notes and the creation Cromwell was giving to me turned into something else. The piece changed, an abrupt change. My eyes rolled open, and I stared at his hands. They were moving so quickly, his body swaying and swept up in the music, that it was like he was on another plane. I kept still, watching as sweat broke out on his forehead. His eyes were pinched, but there was a brief flicker of a smile on his lips.

  My heart jumped in my chest at the sight.

  But then the smile fell and his lips pursed. I didn’t know what to do, what to think. I was aware I was watching something happen before my very eyes. The music filling the room was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  I had never felt anything like it before.

  A lump clogged my throat when I saw a tear start to fall down Cromwell’s cheek. My lip quivered in sympathy. The music was beautiful, like the feeling of the sun on your face breaking through the harsh wind of winter and welcoming the spring.

  Cromwell swayed more deeply, his body leaning back and forward as he became one with the piano. There was no beginning or end to him and the music.

  I was sure I caught a glimpse of his soul.

  My hand slipped from his shoulder when a tear splashed onto the keys. The loss of my hand caused Cromwell’s eyes to snap open. It was instantaneous. His eyes opened and his hands froze, stopping dead on the keys. Cromwell launched back off the stool. I jumped to my feet before the stool crashed to the floor. I pressed myself against the piano for balance as Cromwell’s eyes locked on mine. They were wide. The pupils were so blown that it engulfed any dark blue.

  His neck was corded with veins, and his muscles were so tight they made him seem huge. I was breathing hard, light-headed from the sudden shock.

  His gaze darted to the piano, then to his hands. His fingers rolled into fists and he shook with a sudden anger. Tears stained his cheeks, the evidence that whatever he was playing had caused his heart to break.

  It had ruined him.

  Cromwell rushed to the table and gathered his things. I watched him silently, having no clue what to say.

  It was the second piece of music. The one he had switched to. Lost himself to. It had caused this change inside him. One that he was clearly fighting. My palm was still warm from his shoulder. Where I had been connected to him as he played his masterpiece. In my peripheral vision I saw that he had stilled, and I looked back at him. Cromwell was staring at my hand . . . the hand that had supported him as he played.

  I knew the look in his eye by now. He was going to run. As Cromwell started toward the door, I intercepted his path, placing myself before him. Cromwell stopped dead, his laptop clutched to his chest like a shield. “Don’t,” I begged, my voice broken with panic.

  I didn’t want this to end. I didn’t want him to leave again. Not like this. I searched his confused face. His jaw was tight and his eyes were wide. His body was shaking.

  I swallowed, feeling the temperature rise between us. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t even let myself think too much about it. I couldn’t. Because reason was flying out of the window. Cromwell was a statue, the only movement from his rapidly flowing breath.

  My hands trembled as I lifted them toward his face. Cromwell never broke my gaze. A sense of dizziness overcame me as my palms touched his cheeks. I rose to my tiptoes, trying to meet Cromwell’s eyes. “Don’t run.” I heard the waver in my voice. I sounded as nervous as I felt. “It’s okay,” I whispered. He closed his eyes, and an almost silent choked sound came from his mouth. That simple sound destroyed me. It conveyed a glimpse at the agony he held inside his heart.

  Suddenly, his eyes slammed open and he stepped forward, crowding me so completely that our chests touched and we breathed the same air.

  His laptop dropped to the ground, shattering on the hard floor as his hands took my wrists. “I can’t do this, Bonnie,” he whispered, voice hoarse and accent thick. His cheeks were still flooded, his eyes red. “I can’t face it all. I can’t deal with what you’re making me feel. When you’re near me. When you touch me.” His face contorted and he sucked in a tight breath. “I can’t cope with all the pain.”

  I wanted to say something. I wanted to reassure him. Tell him I knew what that kind of haunted suffering felt like. But nothing like that came out. All that spilled from my lips was a tortured call. A wounded “Cromwell . . .”

  As his name slipped from my lips, he staggered back. He didn’t even spare a glance at the shattered laptop on the floor. He just fled, leaving an air of desolation in his wake.

  I slumped against the wall, trying to calm myself down from the tension of the moment. I rushed to my bag and pulled out my bottle of water. I drank and drank until my pulse had calmed and the sudden surge of dizziness left me.

  What was Cromwell doing to me? I wasn’t meant to feel this way about anyone. I’d vowed not to let anyone get too close. But the way he played, how his deep blue eyes fixed to mine like they were silently crying for help . . . this broken boy was burrowing his way into my weak heart.

  But a slither of doubt crept into me as I thought of him as he left. I now recognized that expression on his face when he ran. He was pushing me away. Like he’d done now numerous times.

  I glanced down at my hand. I stared unseeing at my palm, and a realization hit me. He’d played with my hand on his shoulder. He’d been lost, wrapped up in his own creation with me touching him . . . until my hand slipped away and it had all broken into pieces.

  I closed my hand into a ball and looked away. I had no idea what that meant.

  But to have touched him like that . . . to have seen a flicker of his smile and heard the music he had created thinking about the concert . . .

  “Cromwell,” I whispered to the silent room. Then I waited for my heart to calm down so I could push him from my mind.

  It was dark before I left.

  And like a forever-raging sea, my heart never calmed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bonnie

  My eyes were heavy as they blinked awake. The dark room was only illuminated by the nightlight in the corner. My hand slapped at the nightstand as the sound of my cell pierced the quiet night.

  I squinted at the screen. My stomach sank. “Matt?”

  “Bonnie,” he said, out of breath. “You need to come. It’s Easton.”

  My legs were over the edge of my mattress before he’d even said my brother’s name. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s worse than ever.” Matt went quiet. I could hear him moving away from the sounds of music and laughter. “You still there, Bonn?”

  “Yeah.” I put the cell on speaker as I threw on my jeans.

  “He’s taken a swing at one of the frat brothers. He hit East back.”

  I pulled on my sweater. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s bloodied. But he’s not letting anyone near him.” Matt paused. “I’ve never seen him like this, Bonn. He’s all over the place.”

&
nbsp; “Where are you?” I grabbed my car keys. I briefly saw my face in the mirror. I looked awful. I threw my hair back in a bun and forced my tired feet to move from the room.

  “The Barn.”

  “What?” I asked as I made my way breathlessly to the car. “On a Wednesday?” I checked the time. “It’s three in the morning, Matt!”

  “It was Cromwell. He wanted to spin. None of us were missing seeing him live. He came back to the dorms earlier tonight ready to party, drunk as hell. East sent out the word and we all came. It’s been lit!” At the mention of Cromwell’s name, my breathing stuttered. He’d gotten drunk again. No doubt on the whiskey I’d seen him consume over and over again. “Bonn? You there?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  I pulled out of campus and onto the back road that led to the Barn. With every mile, I fought to stay awake. I was getting more and more tired of late. I realized I’d been asleep for all of ninety minutes before Matt called. Cromwell . . . what has you so hurt? I thought. I hadn’t been able to get tonight out of my head. Now I had Easton to worry about.

  Guilt assaulted me when I thought of my brother. Then dread, followed by absolute gutting pain. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Tears clouded my eyes. I wiped them away before they could fall.

  “Not now, Bonn,” I told myself. “Keep it together for Easton.”

  I shook my head and opened the window to let in the fresh air. As I drove I looked at the stars in the dark sky. They always made me feel better.

  The lights of the Barn pulled me in. Drunk students piled out of the doors. Fast thudding music played, and I wondered if it was still Cromwell spinning.

  Somebody waved their hands. In the glow of my headlights, I saw it was Matt. I pulled my car to a stop around the back, near an old silo. It was déjà vu as I got out of the car. I took a deep breath of air, ignoring the slight new strain it took to inhale. As I walked toward Matt and Sara, I saw a familiar pair of legs next to the silo.

  I pushed past Matt to Easton on the grass. His eyes were rolling around in his head. I kneeled down. “Easton?” I slapped his cheek. I looked back at Matt. “What the hell has he taken?”

  Matt shook his head. “Don’t know. Never saw him take shit but shots and beer.”

  I ran my finger under the leather cuffs he always wore and over his scarred skin, searching for his pulse. It was beating fast, but not crazy.

  His eyes opened. “Bonn.” He smiled, his mouth bloodied. I assumed it was from the fight. Easton’s face slipped from happy to torn in a matter of seconds. He pulled me closer. “What’s happening?”

  “You’re drunk and, I think, high, Easton.” I took hold of his hand.

  “No.” He searched my eyes. It looked like there was a moment of clarity in his. “I mean what’s happening?” I stopped breathing for a second. He laughed once without mirth. “I know it’s something.” He cupped my head and brought me in close, touching my forehead to his. “You’re hiding something from me. I know it.”

  Tears pricked my eyes as his rolled back again. Pain shot through me, and I wanted to scream. Instead, I turned to Matt. “Can you help me, please? I need to get him back to his dorm.”

  “Bonn?” Another voice came from behind me. Bryce was jogging over to us.

  “Hi, Bryce.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Matt hoisted Easton to his feet, but my brother’s weight was too much for him. Bryce helped prop Easton up. “Where to?” Bryce asked.

  “My car, please.” I led them to my car and opened the back door. Bryce slid Easton inside and shut the door. Hit with a sudden wave of dizziness, I leaned against the car and put my hand to my head. I was too hot. As much as I was fighting it, I knew this was getting too much.

  “Bonn? You okay?”

  I faked a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

  Bryce smiled at me and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’ll follow you back in my car. I didn’t drink.”

  I glanced at the Barn. “Were you on the decks?”

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. Party’s over anyway.”

  “You sure?” Bryce had a nice smile. I wondered what Cromwell’s full smile would be like . . . I shook my head. I wouldn’t think of him right now.

  “Bonn?” Bryce tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I tensed. “Sorry,” he said, blushing. “I shouldn’t have . . . I . . .”

  “It’s okay.” I squeezed his hand. It wasn’t calloused like Cromwell’s. He didn’t have tattoos on his knuckles.

  I doubted he could create a masterpiece from nothing either.

  I released Bryce’s hand and opened my car. “I’ll see you back at his dorm.” I slipped into the car as Bryce jogged to his. I watched him go and felt an ache in my chest. I had never let him in. He’d been there all this time, on the sidelines. And I’d never let him in. I’d never let anyone in.

  You can’t, an inner voice said. It wouldn’t be fair.

  My traitorous brain brought Cromwell’s image back to my head. And what it felt like sitting beside him. What it felt like to touch him. Listening to him. Him fighting a smile as we sat on the grass at the concert.

  “Bonn?” Easton’s slurred voice came from behind me.

  “I’m here, Easton.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I’m driving you home.” I turned onto Main Street. “Not long now.”

  “No, with you. What’s happening?”

  My stomach fell again. It was the second time he’d asked it. A cloud of darkness seemed to settle over the car. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I looked in the rearview mirror. Easton’s face was tormented. His hand landed on my shoulder. “You’d tell me, Bonn, wouldn’t you? The truth.”

  “Easton.” A lump the size of Jupiter clogged my throat. “I’m okay.” I hated myself the minute I said those words. “Just rest.”

  Easton smiled in relief, but I could see the lines of worry still printed on his forehead. He must have been thinking this for a while. My hands shook on the wheel as I drove the rest of the way home. I pulled into a parking spot in front of his place.

  Bryce pulled in beside me. I turned off the engine and just sat in silence for a second. It was all getting too hard. It was all getting too much. I looked at the students staggering drunkenly back to their dorms and felt a gap form in my stomach. I had never experienced that. Would never know what it felt like.

  I wasn’t one to wallow. But right then, I let the grief for what I had to miss consume me.

  A knock on my window snapped me out of my sadness. Bryce’s face was there. “Open the door. I’ll get him out.”

  I pushed out of the car, trying to ignore the fact that my legs felt like lead. Bryce threw Easton’s arm around his neck. I led the way to the room. I pulled out my key, but I paused when I thought of how Cromwell had reacted before.

  I knocked on the door. My heart worked overtime as I waited to see if he would answer. It was only hours since he’d walked out on me. Yet it felt like a lifetime ago. No one answered. He must have still been at the Barn.

  I slid my key into the lock. As I did, the knob turned and the door opened. I lurched forward, righting myself at the last minute with my hand on the doorframe.

  It took me a while to lift my head, but when I did, I was greeted with a hard wide chest, every inch of which was covered in tattoos. I sucked in a breath when I saw Cromwell standing before me in only black boxer briefs. His chest was rising and falling, and I realized he was out of breath.

  His dark blue eyes were glazed from liquor and struggled to fix on me. “What the fuck?” he growled.

  “Cromwell, I’m sorry. It’s Easton, he—” My voice cut off when I heard a mattress creak. My eyes immediately moved to Cromwell’s bed, and my heart completely shattered in my chest. I didn’t know that was possible. I didn’t realize my heart was still able to function this way.

  “Cromwell?” A voice I knew sailed from the bed. Kacey lay under the comforter, only her
bra straps showing.

  My face set on fire. My cheeks burned and I struggled to breathe. I looked up at Cromwell and found him still watching me. Only now his face had paled. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but the only word whispered was “Bonnie . . .” I heard something in his voice. Saw something in his eyes as he stared at me, something I couldn’t explain. Guilt? Embarrassment?

  I didn’t know if that was just wishful thinking.

  Ever the one to torture myself, I couldn’t stop studying him further. His chest was red and glistening. His hair, which was, to be honest, always in some form of disarray, was even more messy and unkempt. And then I focused on his lips. I didn’t know why, but seeing them red and swollen got to me most. When I’d got to my dorm tonight, I’d stupidly let myself wonder what it would be like to kiss them. To feel them against mine. To hear my name whispered from them as he held my hand . . .

  I made myself focus on the here and now, and push that painful vision from my head. Cromwell was practically naked. As was Kacey. I quickly realized that Cromwell hadn’t cared. What we had shared tonight hadn’t meant anything to him. Not if he could, only hours later, go out and do this.

  “Oh, hi, Bonnie.” Kacey sat up in the bed. Her eyes avoided mine. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment.

  “Hi,” I managed to force out. I turned, ignoring Cromwell. “Um . . . I was bringing Easton home. He drank too much.” I walked back to where Bryce was glaring daggers at Cromwell. “But he can stay in my room with me. I can see you’re busy.”

  I put my hand on Bryce’s shoulder and ushered him back. I didn’t want to turn around to see if Cromwell had shut the door or watched us go. But nothing seemed to be going my way tonight. A glutton for punishment, I glanced over my shoulder, only to see Cromwell standing in the doorway, his tattooed body taut as his hands gripped his black hair. But it was those deep blue eyes. Those eyes as dark as a summer’s night that fixed on mine, drunken desperation shining in their depths, that utterly destroyed me.