by Tillie Cole
“Bonnie,” I whispered.
“But you can’t be with me for this next part, Cromwell.” I shook my head. “Shh,” Bonnie said. “I should never have let it get that far. But even though it is failing, losing strength, my heart latched itself to yours, and I had to know what it was like. To be with you.” She sniffed and a tear fell. “You made me feel so cherished.”
I needed to get up. To take Bonnie with me and to fucking run from whatever this shit was. But we couldn’t run when the very thing we were trying to escape from, the thing that was dying, was the thing that still kept her alive.
“I’m sorry.” Bonnie put her hands on my face and kissed me. “I’m so sorry, Cromwell.”
“No,” I argued, head shaking. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “But I can’t do it to you.” She stood, leaning on her chair for support. My mind reeled when I thought of her lately. How slow she would walk. The times she would stop and catch her breath, disguising her reason for stopping as something else. The dark circles under her eyes. The need for so much sleep. The camisole she didn’t want to take off last night. If she’d had surgeries before . . . it had covered her scars.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” I said.
“Please, Cromwell. Please just leave it be.” Her hand was tight on the chair. “I have to fight. But if I lose . . . if that fight is over before I have a chance to try . . .” She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t hurt you in that way.”
“Bonnie—”
The sound of footsteps came into the room, cutting me off. A woman, with brown hair and Bonnie’s eyes, walked into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“He was just leaving, Mama,” Bonnie said. Her voice was still thick with tears.
“Bonnie—”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she said and sat back down on her seat. My mind was reeling.
“No,” I argued.
“Please,” she said, breaking into a cry. I reached forward, but a hand on my back stopped me. I turned to see her mum.
“Please, son,” she said, her accent just as strong as her daughter’s. I didn’t want to leave Bonnie. I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to see Bonnie cry. I stepped out into the corridor with her mum. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. My head was a jumble. Bonnie . . . dying . . . heart failure . . . transplant . . . It wouldn’t sink in. It wouldn’t . . .
Her mum was watching me closely. Her eyes were shining too. “Give her a chance to get settled at home. Give her a chance to adjust. This is all hitting her hard.”
I stared at her, wondering how the hell she was holding it together. But then I saw her lip shake and realized she wasn’t. She’d just got good at hiding it.
“Please, son,” she said. “We just want to make this as stress-free for Bonnie as possible.” Her façade faltered. “We have to do whatever we can to help her keep up the fight.”
I stared at Bonnie’s door. Then I backed away from the door, toward outside. My head was pounding, my mind trying to take it all in. This couldn’t be happening.
Not now I had her.
Not after I’d let her in.
I burst through the door and into the cool air. My feet stopped dead and my eyes closed. I couldn’t get my head around what had just happened.
I opened my eyes, and my gaze fell on the quad. On the students laughing and joking, not a damn care in the world.
I wanted to scream.
I stared at the dorm and thought of Bonnie inside. I had to do something. My hands pushed through my hair. And like it did every time I thought of her, music played in my head. Notes danced, all to Bonnie’s pretty face.
I took off at a sprint.
I didn’t know what to do.
She wanted me to go . . .
. . . but I wasn’t sure that was something I could do.
Chapter Sixteen
Bonnie
“Bonnie?” My mama pushed open the door to my room. The second I saw her, I crumpled where I sat. Tears streaked down my face. My shoulders shook as I remembered the look on Cromwell’s face as I told him about me. It was devastation, pure and simple.
And when he wouldn’t go . . . when he wanted to stay by my side . . .
Arms wrapped around me. I sank into my mama and cried like I’d never let myself cry before. She ran her hand down my back, letting me have this moment. Letting me exorcise this pain. I cried and cried until my tears ran dry. My throat and chest ached with the purge. Mama lifted my chin and I looked into her eyes.
She had been crying with me.
“Baby,” she whispered. She ran her hand along my cheek. “I never knew you liked him.” I nodded and looked out of my window. At the students going about their everyday life, not a care in the world. Not living in the pain of hurting someone they’d grown to care deeply for. Feeling the void in my room since Cromwell had left.
“It’s not fair.” I sighed and felt the palpitation flutter in my chest. The feeling no longer surprised me. It was part of my life. “Why did God put him in my path now? When it’s too late? When I might not make it?” I looked at my mama. “Why would He be so cruel?”
Mama sat on the end of my bed. “Maybe he was brought into your life to help make it better. Have you ever thought of that? Maybe he was brought in at exactly the right time. When you will need people you love around you most.”
If my heart could have raced, it would have right then. But I shook my head. “Mama . . .” A cave formed in my stomach. “What if they don’t find me a heart?” I saw her flinch just at the thought. Seeing those I loved ripped into pieces by my illness was the worst thing of all. The sight of them falling apart was the cruelest kind of torture. And I’d let Cromwell slip through. “What if I let him in completely, and then I don’t make it? How could I do that to him? How could I hurt him that way?”
Mama held my hand. “Don’t you think that should be his choice, sweetheart? You’ve already got so much weighing on your soul. Don’t add making decisions for him to the list.”
I imagined letting him in. I thought of the weeks and months ahead, not fought alone, but having him by my side.
The suffocating darkness of fear was drowned out by the light.
“Your papa will be here now, sweetheart. Let’s get your things and go home.”
I rested on the bed as my mama and papa took care of my things. Mama waited in her car as I shut my dorm room and walked outside. My papa was driving my car home.
“I’ve called Easton,” Mama said. I took a deep breath. She squeezed my hand. “We have to tell him, Bonnie. There’s no more holding it off.”
I ran my hand over my sternum. “I don’t think I can . . . it will break his heart.”
Mama said nothing. Because she knew it too. But it had to be done. She pulled away from the campus and drove toward home.
As we turned into our driveway, I looked up at the white house with its wraparound porch. Mama’s hand squeezed mine. “You okay, Bonnie?”
“Yeah.” I got out of the car and walked slowly to the front door. I went to go up to my room, but my mama put her hand on my arm. “We’ve made up the office as your room now, sweetheart.” I shook my head. I remembered now. Stairs were causing me too much of a problem. And as things got worse, equipment would have to be brought to the home. My room needed to be accessible.
Mama led me to what was once my papa’s office. I smiled on seeing my electric piano in the corner. I absently noticed the lilac color of the walls and the carpet at the end of the bed. But I was moving to my piano and sitting on its stool before I’d even blinked.
I lifted the lid and started playing. I felt all the tension leave me as the music filled the room. I didn’t even know what I was playing at first; I just played whatever was in my heart. My fingers were clumsy, the agility in them fading. But I kept playing. I wouldn’t stop until I had no ch
oice.
As the last note faded out, I smiled. Opening my eyes, I noticed my mama standing in the doorway. “What was that? It was beautiful.”
I felt my cheeks burning. “It was something Cromwell wrote.” I had memorized the few bars he had composed in the coffee house. It was my new favorite.
“Cromwell composed that?”
“He’s a genius, Mama. And I’m not just saying that or exaggerating. He can pretty much play any instrument. It’s why he’s at Jefferson. Lewis invited him and gave him a scholarship. He was something of a child prodigy. Some say he’s a modern-day Mozart.”
“Then now I see it.” She joined me on the stool.
“What?”
“Why you’ve fallen for him.” Her arm linked in mine. “The way you love music. You were always going to find someone who loves it too.”
A smile crept on my lips, but it quickly fell. “He’s kinda damaged, Mama. He has all this talent, but he doesn’t like to play or compose. Something holds him back.”
“Then maybe you should help him find the love he’s lost.”
I blew out a breath. “I can’t believe you’re approving of him.” I thought of his tattoos and piercings, his permanently dour expression. “He’s not exactly the typical boy next door most mamas want for their baby girl.”
“No, he’s not.” She bumped my arm. “But the way he was fighting for you, didn’t want to leave you, tells me everything I need to know. Obstacles in life sometimes make you look at the world in ways you never did before.”
“And what did it tell you?”
“That he’s fallen for you.”
I stared at my mama and shook my head. “I’m not sure that’s quite true. He can be cold and rude, even cruel at times . . .” But then I thought of how he held me last night. How he was so gentle. How he checked I was okay. And I wondered . . .
“Yet despite it all, you’ve fallen for him.” Mama got up and kissed me on the head, leaving me sitting in silence on the piano stool. “Your papa is bringing your things in now.”
“Okay,” I said, as if by rote.
“Bonnie?” Mama asked. I looked up. “Do you want me to tell Easton?”
Fear of telling him left me paralyzed. But I shook my head, knowing it had to come from my lips. “I’ll tell him,” I said and felt the weight of the world bear down on me. Because the thought of Easton’s reaction scared me more than the heart failure itself.
*****
“Bonn?” Easton walked into the office that was now my bedroom with a look of confusion on his face. He saw my piano and my bed. The walls, the carpet. He stopped dead. He was still wearing his clothes from last night. He must have come straight from Charleston. “What’s going on?”
I could tell by the look of apprehension on his face that he already had an idea. “Come and sit by me,” I said, patting the bed.
“No,” he said, his voice tight. He started breathing deeply. “Just tell me, Bonn. Please . . .” The fear in his voice almost destroyed me.
I stared at him. At his long blond hair and bright blue eyes. “I wasn’t in England this summer for a music seminar, East.” He stood still and listened. “I was there seeing a team of doctors about my heart.” His nose flared. I needed to just tell him quickly. “There’s nothing more to be done, East.” I inhaled, forcing myself not to break. “My heart is failing.”
It was slow, but second by strained second, Easton’s face contorted into one that was racked with pain. “No,” Easton said.
“I’m on the transplant list. But I’ve had to move home. My body is getting weak, East. I’m deteriorating fast. It made sense to come home so I’m safe.” I didn’t add the list of possible threats that came with heart failure. He knew them as well as I did. Both of us were too terrified to say them aloud.
“How long?” he asked, voice hoarse, thick with emotion.
“I don’t know. The doctors don’t give a specific timeframe, but—”
“How long?” he asked, more panicked.
“Maybe three months. Two at the least, four if I’m lucky. Though it could be sooner.” I got off the bed. Easton stayed where he was, like he was soldered to the floor. I stood before my twin, my best friend, and put my hands on his arms. “But a heart might turn up, East. We have to pray that one comes.”
Easton stared down at me, but his stare was vacant. “East.” I tried to put my hand on his face. Easton moved back, and back again, until he ran out of my room. I tried to chase after him but he was too quick. He burst through the front door and out into his waiting truck.
“East,” I tried to shout as I watched him pull away, tires screeching, onto the road, but tiredness stole my voice. My mama was behind me, a worried expression on her face. But I didn’t say anything. I was too tired.
No matter how much sleep I had of late, no amount would ever make me feel replenished. And after last night, after staying up with Cromwell, and telling both him and Easton today, I was wiped.
I climbed under my comforter and laid my head down on my pillow. I closed my eyes and blocked everything out but the will to sleep.
It wasn’t a surprise that the image of Cromwell’s face managed to sneak through. I don’t want to go, I heard his voice say.
It made me smile. Because as much as I prayed I’d be strong enough for the battle ahead, having Cromwell along with me made the task that much less daunting.
I felt like I was in a waking dream when he held my hand. When his soft lips brushed against mine and I heard him play the piano so perfectly beside me. In such a short time, the memories he had given me had become the most treasured in my weak heart.
And it would be these memories, and the ghost of his lips against mine, that would inspire me to fight that much harder.
Chapter Seventeen
Cromwell
I banged on the door of Lewis’s office, rocking on my feet as adrenaline rushed through me. Last night I hadn’t slept for shit. I wanted to text Bonnie. Call her and hear her voice, but I had left her alone. I wanted her; I knew she wanted me. But I had to find a way to make her realize she needed me. Because as I’d lain there awake, staring at the ceiling, I knew I wasn’t giving her up.
I was a selfish prick. Always had been. But this time I wasn’t going anywhere, and it wasn’t just for me. Bonnie needed me too. I knew she did. I heard it in her voice and I saw it in her face.
I banged harder. “Lewis!”
I was running on no sleep. Easton hadn’t come home last night either. He hadn’t said a thing about Bonnie all this time. But his warning not to hurt her weeks and weeks ago now made sense. I assumed he’d gone to their home to be with her. And that just made me so jealous I couldn’t see straight.
I should be there with her too.
I had to be. The claws digging into my heart told me so.
I wouldn’t let her go through this alone. Because she had to get through it. There was no other choice.
“LEWIS!” I kicked the door in anger.
“That won’t get me to appear any sooner, Mr. Dean.” I spun around and saw Lewis approaching, carrying his briefcase.
“I need to speak with you.” I moved aside as he opened the door to his office. I pushed past him and went inside. Lewis came in afterwards, closing the door shut as I paced along his office floor. Lewis sat on the edge of his desk, putting his briefcase down beside him. “You have to put me and Bonnie back together.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it’ll work, Cromwell.”
“Don’t!” I snapped. “Don’t give me your professor shit about it.” I stopped in front of him. The anger that was pulsing through me, the desperation, faded. “She’s sick.” Lewis didn’t say anything. Sympathy filled his face. Knowing sympathy. “You knew.” I said through gritted teeth. He nodded. “How long?”
“I found out just a couple of weeks ago.”
I sank down to the guest seat at his desk. “That’s why she stopped working with me?”
“That’
s up to Bonnie to tell you, Cromwell.”
The blood drained from my face. “Because I was giving her shit. Not helping with the composition . . . Because she knew she was running out of time, and I . . . I . . .” I shook my head and pressed my palms into my eyes. “No,” I hissed.
Lewis moved to the coffee machine in the corner. “You want one?” he offered. I stared at him, almost saying no. But then I realized I had nowhere to go. I had no one else to talk to.
“Yes. Black, no sugar.”
Lewis busied himself with the coffee, and I looked at all his pictures and paintings. I stared at the one above his desk. The colors, like synesthesia. “She loved the exhibit,” I said.
Lewis turned to me and smiled. “Did she?”
“She’s fascinated by it all.” I thought of her sitting with me on the stool, singing her song as I played her guitar. “She just loves music, full stop. Wants to be so good at it that it’s all she thinks about.”
“And you?” he asked, putting my coffee before me. He took his own and sat down behind his desk.
I stared at the picture that always pulled my attention. The one of Lewis at the Royal Albert Hall. “I never realized how much I loved it too.” I shook my head. “No, I did. That’s a lie.” But I wasn’t going to say anything else on it. I wasn’t ready to think of the reason I stopped playing yet. On top of Bonnie, it was all too bloody much.
Lewis sat forward, arms on his desk. “Forgive me for prying, but it seems you and Ms. Farraday have grown closer of late.”
I stared down at the blackness of my coffee. “Yeah.”
Lewis sighed. “I’m sorry, Cromwell. It’s got to be hard. To grow closer, and then . . . this . . .”
“Not as hard as it is for her.”
“No,” Lewis said. “You’re right.”
“She wants to pass this class so bad.” I looked at him. “She wants to complete the composition for the end of the year so much.”