A Wish for Us Read online

  “You were amazing.” I looked over to her, and she dipped her head away. “You must feel a million miles away from home, huh? Jefferson’s not exactly London. Not that I’ve ever been, but . . . yeah.”

  “Distance is good.”

  She nodded like she understood. She didn’t.

  “Your major is music?” She shook her head. “Obviously. It must be.” She cast her gaze over the people stumbling out of the barn. I’d leave too if I had to listen to that crap the other DJ was spewing out. “I’m majoring in English.”

  I didn’t talk back to her; it just wasn’t me. Instead, I drank my Jack in silence as she drank her Corona. A few minutes later, Matt and Sara came over. Matt crouched next to Kacey and spoke to her in low, urgent tones. She sighed. “I need to call her?”

  Matt nodded.

  “Christ.” Kacey pulled out her phone and stood up.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Easton,” Matt answered. “He’s wasted. Refusing to move.” He pointed at Kacey. “She’s calling his sister. She’s the only one who can handle him in this state. Asshole gets violent as all hell when you try to cut him off. Likes to party, but can’t really handle the party, if you know what I mean.”

  “Back off!” Easton’s drunken voice rang out across the field. People gave him a wide berth as he stumbled our way, still clutching his tequila bottle. It was empty. “Cromwell!” He stopped beside me and swung his arm around my neck. “That set!” he slurred. “Can’t believe you’re here, man. In Jefferson! Nothing ever happens here. It’s a boring shithole.”

  He slumped down next to the barn. Matt tried to get him to his feet. “Fuck off!” Easton snapped. “Where’s Bonnie?”

  “She’s coming.” Easton dropped his head but nodded to show he’d heard.

  “He’s my ride,” I whispered to Matt.

  “Shit. Our ride is full. Bonnie will take you home. She always takes East back to y’all’s room anyway. She’s nice. She won’t mind.”

  “I’m going to get my things.” I ducked back into the barn and got my laptop. I pushed my hair from my face as I exited the barn. I scanned the grounds. I was hoping coming here would make me feel better. Would take this dark pit, the one forever trying to cave in my stomach, away. I’d played my music to a packed crowd. Spoke to people, but I could feel the sadness I’d pushed down low fighting to be freed anyway. Ready to consume me. To bury me in the past.

  Coming here had made no difference at all.

  I noticed a silver 4x4 parked across from me. The headlights blinded me as I approached. I winced. My hangover was well and truly setting in. Matt was helping Easton off the floor, some new bird in tight jeans and a white cardigan on Easton’s other side.

  This must be the sister. I made my way over as Matt shut the car door. Easton lay sprawled, knocked the hell out, on the back seat.

  “You’re okay to get him home?” Matt asked the girl, before he hugged her and let her go. Sara did the same.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Cromwell!” Matt ushered me over with a wave of his hand. The sister didn’t turn as I approached. Her back was rigid. “Over here. Bonnie’s taking Easton home.” He looked down at her. “You won’t mind taking Cromwell, will you? There’s no room left in our ride. East brought him here.”

  I didn’t hear her reply. Instead, I moved to the boot of the car and put in my stuff. Matt waved at me as he walked away, taking Sara with him. Kacey put her hand on my arm. “Nice to meet you, Cromwell.” She walked away with everyone else, looking back over her shoulder one more time as she did.

  Just as I was about to open the passenger-side door, Easton’s sister turned to face me. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  A hazy memory hitched a ride on the warm breeze and bitch-slapped me across the face.

  Your music has no soul . . .

  She sighed, clearly seeing my pissed-off reaction, then said, “Hello again.”

  “You.” I laughed dryly at the way the bastard universe liked to work against me.

  “Me,” she said, seemingly amused, and shrugged. I watched her as she walked to the driver’s side. Her dark brown hair was off her face, just like it had been in Brighton. She wore it in a ponytail, the tail hanging down her back until it stopped halfway down her spine.

  She got in, then the passenger-side window rolled down. “You getting in or are you walking home?”

  I rolled my tongue ring in my mouth, trying to unclench my fists. No way would I show her how much that one bastard line she’d said on a cold-ass summer morning in Brighton had got to me. I refused to let it affect me like that again.

  Bonnie, as she was apparently called, revved the engine. I huffed a disbelieving laugh. I opened the back door. Easton was snoring. His arms and legs took up every bit of space.

  Bonnie leaned back, looking at me through the seats. I avoided her eyes. “Looks like you’re gonna be up front with me, superstar.”

  I gritted my teeth and took a long deep breath. I searched for where I’d been sitting. The Jack was still there. I ran over to get it then slid into the passenger seat. I was going to need alcohol for this journey.

  “Jack Daniels,” she said. “Seems like you and he are close friends.”

  “The best,” I said and slumped in the seat.

  The silence in the car was deafening. I reached over and switched on the radio. Some folk song was playing. No thanks. I flicked on the next song on her playlist. When Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony started, I decided to just turn the damn thing off.

  “Your choice in music leaves a lot to be desired.” I took a long drink of my Jack. I didn’t know why I’d even opened my mouth. I was never the first to speak. But as her words from that night circled my head, I’d felt the anger rise up inside me and they’d just spilled out.

  “Ah, that’s right. No classical. And now no folk. Good to know that good music offends you.” She took her attention off the road for a split second to look at me from the side of her eye. Her eyebrows pulled down. “You’re here for Lewis, right? Why else would you be in Jefferson?”

  I took another drink, ignoring the question. I didn’t want to talk to her about music. I didn’t want to talk to her, full stop. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and put it in my mouth. I went to light up, but she said, “No smoking in my car.” I lit up anyway and took a long drag. The car stopped so fast I almost lost my Jack to gravity. “I said, no smoking in my car,” she snapped. “Put it out or get out. There’s your two choices, Cromwell Dean.”

  My body tensed. No one ever spoke to me like this. The fact that she’d pissed me off made it worse. I met her eyes and took a long, sweet suck on my cigarette then flicked it out of the window she’d opened for me. It was the first time I’d looked at her straight-on. She was all brown eyes and full lips. I held up my hands. “All gone, Bonnie Farraday.”

  She pulled back out onto the road and suddenly we were at Main Street. Students were staggering home in twos and threes, walking back to the dorms from the Barn. I didn’t want to talk to her, but the silence in the car was even worse. My hands clenched on the thighs of my jeans. “Not your scene?” I asked tightly.

  “I was busy tonight. Studying before classes start on Monday.” She pointed behind her to her snoring brother. “Or at least I was trying to, until my twin decided to get wasted, as always.”

  My eyebrows lifted. She saw. “Yeah. Easton’s older by four minutes. Look nothing alike, do we? We are nothing alike. But he’s my best friend. So here I am. Bonnie’s taxi service.”

  “Easton said you were both local.”

  “Yeah, from Jefferson. As South Carolinian as they come.” I felt her eyes on me. “Weird though, huh? That you’re here after our meeting in England?”

  I shrugged. But it was. What were the chances of that?

  Bonnie pulled the car into a space in front of the dorm. She looked back at her brother. “You’re gonna have to help me carry him up the stairs.” I got out of the car and moved to
the back seat. I pulled Easton out and threw him over my shoulder. “My laptop,” I said, jerking my chin to the boot. Bonnie moved to the boot of the car and took out my stuff. I managed to carry Easton up the stairs and throw him down on his bed.

  Bonnie was behind me. She was out of breath, huffing and puffing from the stairs.

  “Maybe you should start some cardio. Stairs shouldn’t be that hard.” I was being a dick. I knew it. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself. That night in Brighton she’d well and truly pissed me off. Apparently, I couldn’t let it go.

  Ignoring me, Bonnie put my things on my desk. She took a glass off Easton’s bedside table then left the room. She came back with it full of water and placed it beside him. She left two tablets beside the water and kissed his head. “Call me tomorrow.”

  I lay on my bed, my headphones around my neck, ready to zone out. Bonnie passed me and stopped. “Thank you for carrying him up.” She took one last glance at him. Her eyes seemed to soften for some reason. It made her look . . . prettier than normal. “Can you keep an eye on him, please?”

  I pulled that thought out of my head. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can look after himself.”

  Bonnie snapped her head to me. She appeared shocked, then her face frosted over. “I see you’re as charming as ever, Cromwell. Have a good night.”

  Bonnie left. As she did, Easton stirred and cracked open an eye. “Bonnie?”

  “She left,” I said, throwing off my shirt. I stripped down to my boxers and got into bed.

  Easton had turned back over. “My sister. She tell you that?”

  “She did.”

  He was asleep in seconds.

  I opened my music on my phone. And like every night, I let the comfort of dance music fill my head. The colors were different with EDM. They weren’t the ones that made me remember everything.

  And I thanked whoever the hell was up there, God or whatever, for that fact.

  Chapter Four

  Bonnie

  I shut the door of my SUV and made my way to my dorm room. With every step I thought of Cromwell Dean. I knew he was here, of course. The minute Easton found out he was rooming with him it was all he would talk about.

  I, however, couldn’t believe my ears.

  Easton never knew I met him in Brighton. No one did. Quite honestly, I still couldn’t believe that I’d spoken to him the way I did. But the way he’d spoken to me . . . dismissed me. He’d been so rude, I couldn’t help it. I had seen him stagger down to that beach, Jack Daniels in hand. I had watched him in that packed club. Watched as people danced to his music like he was a god. And all I felt was . . .

  Disappointment.

  Cromwell Dean. Most of the world knew him as a DJ, but I knew him for something else. I knew him as the classical prodigy. And unbeknownst to Cromwell Dean, I had seen him. Seen him as a child conducting a symphony so beautifully that he inspired me to be a better musician. Seen raw footage of an English boy with the talent of Mozart. My music teacher had shown me the video of him in one of my private piano lessons. To show me what someone of my age was capable of.

  To show that there were others in the world that had as much passion for music as I did. Cromwell Dean had become my greatest friend, even though he didn’t know I existed. He was my hope. Hope that outside of this small town, people held music in their hearts the same way I did. Someone else bled for notes, melodies, and concertos.

  Cromwell had won the BBC Proms Young Composer of the Year aged sixteen. His music had been played by the BBC Symphony Orchestra on the final night of the Proms. I’d watched in the middle of the night, on my laptop, tears streaming down my face, overawed by his creation. The camera had shown him watching the orchestra from the front row.

  I’d thought him as beautiful as the symphony he’d composed.

  Then, only months later, he disappeared. No more music was made. His music died along with his name.

  But in all that time, I never forgot his name. So when he began making music again, my excitement was uncontainable.

  Until I heard it.

  I had nothing against electronic dance, per se. But to hear the boy I had idolized for so many years mixing synthetic beats instead of the real instruments he played like a master destroyed my heart.

  I had gone to listen to him when I was in England. I couldn’t help myself. I melded in with the crowd. I closed my eyes. But I felt nothing. I opened my eyes and watched him, feeling nothing but sympathy toward the boy I had once seen conducting the music he had crafted so stunningly. Hands dancing with the baton as he was carried away with the sweeping strings and soaring woodwind. The music he had poured onto the page from his soul. The imprint of his heart that he left in the theater that had been gifted the performance. And the people who’d been blessed to hear it.

  Up on that podium, his eyes were dead. His heart was absent from the beats, and his soul wasn’t even in the room. He may be the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, but what he was playing wasn’t his passion. It wasn’t his purpose.

  He couldn’t fool me.

  The Cromwell Dean I’d watched as a child had died with whatever made him lose that need to create such life-changing pieces of music.

  “Bonnie?”

  I blinked, my eyes clearing only to stare at the wooden door of my dorm hallway. I turned to see Kacey entering her room beside mine.

  “Hey,” I said and put my hand on my head.

  “You okay? You were standing with your hand on the doorknob for a few minutes.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Got lost to my thoughts.”

  Kacey smiled. “How’s Easton?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Drunk. But, thankfully, asleep and safe in bed.”

  Kacey came closer. “Did you give Cromwell a ride home?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was he like? Did he speak?”

  “A little.” I sighed, tiredness kicking in. I needed to sleep so badly.

  “And?”

  I eyed her and shook my head. “Quite frankly, he’s kind of a dick. He’s rude and arrogant.”

  “But hot.” Kacey blushed.

  “I don’t think he’d be a good one to go for, Kace.” I remembered the girl he had disappeared with in Brighton. In the middle of a set. His crass words to me on the beach: I’ve already had my dick sucked . . .

  Kacey wasn’t really a friend; she just lived next to me. She was sweet. And I was sure Cromwell Dean would chew her up and spit her out when he got what he wanted from her. He seemed exactly the type.

  “Yeah,” Kacey said in response. I knew she was only being polite pretending to heed my words. “I’d better get to bed.” She cocked her head to the side. “You too, sweetie. You’re looking kinda pale.”

  “Night, Kace. See you tomorrow.”

  I pushed through to my single room. I dropped my purse on the floor, put on my PJs, and climbed into bed. I tried to sleep. I was tired, my body aching with exhaustion. Yet my mind wouldn’t turn off.

  I couldn’t get Cromwell out of my head. And worse, I knew I’d be seeing him on Monday. We were in most of the same classes. I was majoring in music. There had never been any other choice for me. I knew Cromwell was the same. Easton had told me.

  I closed my eyes, but all I saw was him lounging on the passenger seat of my car, the Jack in his hand. Him smoking when I’d asked him not to. The tattoos and the piercings.

  “Cromwell Dean, what happened to you?” I whispered into the night.

  Reaching over to my cell, I brought up the video of the music that had been in my heart for so long and pressed play. As the string instruments danced and the wind section took the lead, I shut my eyes, and sleep found me.

  I wondered if music like this would ever again find the heart of Cromwell Dean.

  *****

  “Sis?” I turned around on my chair to see Easton entering my room.

  “Well, hello,” I said. Easton dropped onto my bed. He ran his fingers over my guitar before putting it on the fl
oor.

  “Sorry about last night,” he said and met my eyes. “It was Crom’s first night on the decks and the place was insane. I got swept up in it all.” He shrugged. “You know me.”

  “Yeah. I know you.” I moved to the small fridge in my room and handed him a soda.

  “Sugar. Thanks, Bonn. You know how to cheer me up.”

  “You know I don’t even drink that stuff. I have it here for your hangover emergencies.”

  He winked at me. “Cromwell said you drove us home.” I nodded. “What do you think of him?”

  I pushed his legs out of the way so I could sit beside him on the bed. “What do I think of him?”

  “Yeah,” he asked and downed the soda. He got up and grabbed another before sitting back down. “I get he comes off rude. But I like the guy. Just don’t think he has many friends.”

  “He just got here.”

  “I mean in England too. No one ever calls him. I’ve seen a few texts, but he said they were from his mama.”

  “He shouldn’t be so rude then, should he?”

  “He was rude to you?”

  “He was drunk,” I said, completely excluding the fact that he was a lot worse when I met him in Brighton.

  Easton nodded. “You should have been there, Bonn. The guy is insanely talented. It’s like he just zones out and plays straight from his soul. And shit, he’s gonna be in your class, yeah? You’ll have to watch out for him.”

  “I get the impression he doesn’t need anyone to watch out for him, East.”

  “Even so.” He jumped off the bed and held out his hand. “Come on. Mama and Papa will be at the diner already.”

  I took his hand and got off the bed. He looked at me, watching closely. “You okay? You seem tired. You’ve stayed in more than usual this summer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Easton, I am tired. I had to come get you after pulling an all-night study session.” I could feel my cheeks heat at the excuse. “I wanna impress Lewis on Monday, you know? To get someone like that here . . .” I shook my head. “It’s not every day someone with that talent becomes your teacher.”