Eternal Heat Page 12

  Finally, he sets down his cup, leans in slightly on both elbows, and looks me in the eye. “I know it’s a little late for this, but I owe you an apology.”

  An unexpected lump forms in my throat but I swallow it down.

  “I know it can’t make up for everything that happened. I can’t even imagine what you went through and—” he stops abruptly. He looks down, blinking at the table, apparently suppressing some unexpected emotion of his own.

  I try not to let myself be swayed by it. I really do.

  He takes a determined sip of his coffee, then looks at me again. I’m captured by his eyes. Maybe I’m a fool, but all I see in him is sincerity and pain and regret.

  “I know there’s no fixing it. I’m not trying to do that. I just thought you deserved to hear me tell you how terribly, terribly”—and here his voice cracks—“sorry I am. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

  The lump in my throat has made a reappearance, but I still refuse to cry. “You promised me I wouldn’t go through that alone.”

  He nods and closes his eyes briefly. “I know. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  “Then why was I?” I say earnestly. I realize I said that louder than intended, but I don’t bother looking around. I lower my voice and lean in, still holding his eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me? Call me? Something.”

  He looks down and frowns at his cup. He digs his thumbnail into the cardboard at the base. “I don’t want to give you excuses,” he says at last.

  I sit back and sigh. “Well, that’s fine for you, but I’d sure as hell like an explanation.”

  His eyes fly up to mine. I’m still frowning at him and he seems to be taking me in, like it had never occurred to him that I might just want answers.

  “Okay.” He takes a deep breath, then says again, “Okay.”

  I slowly cross my arms, not as a sign of anger, but just because it feels safer. Right now it’s the only defense I have.

  “After I left your house that night,” he says slowly, our eyes watching each other hesitantly, “I went home and told my mom what was going on. She...” He stops and frowns at the cup again. He takes a deep breath, then looks at me resolutely.

  “She said the easiest thing would be for you to get an abortion. When I told her that’s not what was going to happen, she panicked and got my dad involved. I told him I loved you and planned to see things through. He said he’d talk to your folks and work things out, but I didn’t understand what he meant by that until he got back and told me what he’d done. Once I realized what was really going on, I kind of kicked myself for thinking he was on my side. Looking back I think he didn’t show his cards right away for a reason.” Erik shakes his head a bit and shrugs. “My dad was a lawyer, remember.”

  “Yeah,” I say dully. “I remember.”

  Erik clenches his jaw. “Well, yeah. That’s the thing isn’t it? That’s why he acted so fast. He had to make sure he had everything in motion so I couldn’t fight him on it.”

  Erik leans forward more, his face getting earnest. “I did try at first, Ashley. I really did. I fought my dad so hard about it that night, they confiscated my phone so I couldn’t contact you. I didn’t say what my plans were. I was trying to play my cards close to the vest too, but I think my dad, at least, knew they had to get me out of there because if they went to sleep that night, they’d wake up to find me gone in the morning. And you know what?” His eyes get a look of hard determination. “No way was I going to stay with them any longer than I had to. I planned to get the hell out and come to you the second their back was turned.”

  He looks down at the table, breathing hard. He’s gripping his cup with both hands now.

  So what happened? I want to know, but it’s all I can do to keep my own emotions under control. If I say a word, the lump in my throat will take over. I can’t let that happen. I won’t cry. I refuse.

  I watch him as he takes a steadying breath. The muscles in his face are flexing as he clenches his jaw.

  “They called the airline to get last minute flights to New York and the next thing I know, my mom’s packing my bags. My dad and I nearly came to blows because at first I refused to leave the house.” His eyes are fixed rigidly on his cup. “ That’s when my dad made it perfectly clear his talk of prosecuting you was serious business. He was more than willing to destroy you and your family and ruin your life. He wanted to. The only reason he didn’t is because—” His voice breaks again, but he takes a hard breath and continues firmly, “because he knew that leverage was the only thing keeping me at bay. And he was right. It did keep me at bay.”

  Erik pinches his eyes shut, then looks at me earnestly.

  I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. I can’t. I can’t cry with him.

  “I backed down,” he says softly. “I just... didn’t know how to protect you from him. The longer things went on, and I thought about what you had to be going through... I knew you had to hate me. And who could blame you?”

  He takes a steadying breath and leans back in his chair. “My dad said I lost the privilege of graduating from the Academy. He pulled some strings and got me into a private high school in the city. I finished things out there. By the time they gave me a new phone, it didn’t matter anymore. I knew they would do anything they could to keep me away from you. I wasn’t going to risk him throwing you in jail.”

  We sit there in silence. He’s frowning and staring at the table like he’s somewhere else.

  I can only look at him and try not to cry for both of us. I feel a twinge of guilt for hating a dead man, but it’s how I feel anyway. I wish I could go back in time and know what Erik was going through. But I can’t. And while there’s part of me that feels a sort of... understanding at least, it doesn’t change the fact that our relationship was shattered beyond repair a long time ago.

  “Ashley,” Erik says softly, “I’m really not trying to give you excuses.”

  I nod, still unable to risk speaking. My hands are clenched together on my lap. My entire body is clenched. It’s like if I move at all, the dam will burst.

  “And I’m not trying to...” he takes another deep breath. “I know it’s too late for us. I just... I just thought you deserved to hear...” He holds my eyes.

  God, there he is, the boy I loved so long ago.

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  The tears are building in my eyes now, I can’t stop them, so I look down at the hands in my lap and nod. I nod again.

  Okay, I think. Okay, I hear you. But I can’t talk.

  Slowly but determinedly, I get to my feet.

  I brush my fingertips on the top of his hand, the only acknowledgment I can give him, and hurry away.

  Chapter 13

  I somehow make it to my beat-up old hatchback but cry all the way to Sam’s house. She’s not even home from work yet, so of course Jack isn’t there either. He works from home as a web designer, but practically lives here in his off hours, like I do. Why Sam is the hub of our lives, I don’t know for sure, but she is.

  I put on a light movie to cheer myself up—Pitch Perfect—but manage to frown at the screen and leak tears onto the pillow on Sam’s couch the whole way through.

  Then, as if I didn’t have enough to process, I get an email that was sent out to all music majors, announcing an upcoming national competition, the Myra Hess Piano Competition. There are going to be three rounds. Each school will hold their own round and send two musicians in each category to one of four regional competitions. The kicker? The top three from each region will compete in the finals at Lincoln Center in New York City.

  God, Lincoln Center.

  I toss my phone on the pink shag carpet. I can’t hardly think about another competition right now. My mind’s still too busy running over everything that happened when we were teens, looking at it again with fresh eyes. Erik hadn’t been ignoring my texts and phone calls, his parents took his phone and then got him a different one. He didn’t run from me, he was practically taken. Th
reatened.

  I remember how frightened I’d been by his father’s threats, and wonder how I would have handled it if I didn’t have my parents to support me. Erik was still just a kid and didn’t have anyone. He didn’t even have me.

  When Sam gets home, I tell her the whole story and, later, listen with a sort of numbness as she relays everything to Jack. I’m too drained to do it myself. I’m lying on my stomach on the couch and Jack is kneeling next to me, rubbing my back in slow, firm motions.

  One of my arms is hanging off the couch. Sam is sitting on the floor, holding my hand, and rubbing my arm.

  “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” she suggests. I’ve already turned down Sam’s suggestion of ice cream, and Jack’s of hard liquor.

  But I don’t answer. I’ve finally found a way to voice the thing I’ve been afraid of since Erik first told me his side of things. “Do you guys think I’d be weak,” I say slowly, “if I forgave him?”

  Sam exchanges a glance with Jack before looking back at me. “You mean, so you can get back together with him?”

  I shake my head once. “No. It’s too late for that,” I say, echoing what Erik said earlier. He’s probably right. “I just... I kind of feel like I forgive him. Does that make me foolish?”

  “No, honey,” Sam says.

  “It doesn’t?”

  Sam sighs. “It sounds like he was just as much a victim of his dad as the rest of you were. Don’t you think?” she asks, looking up at Jack.

  There’s a bit of a pause as Jack continues to rub the aches out of my shoulders. “Yes,” he says at last. “Part of me wants to say he needed to man up but, that’s probably me just feeling protective of you. He was only a kid, like you were. And what would have happened if his dad had pressed charges against you?” Jack rubs his thumbs firmly up either side of my spine. “Ya cradle robber,” he says gently.

  I crack a faint smile and Sam smiles back at me. I feel a little lighter, trying my new-found forgiveness on for size.

  “So since we’re not mad at him anymore,” Jack says, sighing, “I guess trapping him inside of a piano case is out.”

  I don’t even want to know if he’s kidding.

  “Though that would still be a way to get him out of the way for the competition,” he says, like he’s trying to tempt me.

  “No thanks.” I smile. I had mentioned the competition, but we didn’t discuss it much. It’s funny how even something that huge seems small in the face of everything else going on.

  By the time we finally settle in to watch a movie—The Princess Bride, which we’ve all seen about a hundred times—I’m feeling strengthened. At peace almost.

  Sam and I are both curled against Jack, whose long legs are draped across the coffee table. His arms are stretched along the back of the couch. Halfway through the movie, right before Princess Buttercup is about to push Wesley down the hill, Sam keeps her eyes on the screen and asks softly, “Do you still have feelings for him?”

  I don’t answer right away. If I’m honest with myself, yes. There’s a part of me that’s always loved Erik, and probably always will. But I don’t think that’s what Sam is asking. Frankly, I think she already knows. I suspect she’s asking about our future, or if I think we even have one.

  But five years and that much hurt is an awfully big gap to bridge. It’s been so long, I don’t even know who he is anymore. He doesn’t know me anymore either. I keep hearing the words he said earlier: “It’s too late for us.”

  It’s not until Wesley rescues Princess Buttercup from the lightning sand, and she’s hanging onto him and saying, “We’ll never succeed,” that I finally respond to Sam.

  “I just... don’t want to be mad at him anymore.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Then don’t be,” Jack says, rubbing my shoulder reassuringly before putting his arm back on the couch.

  “Meanwhile, kicking his ass in the competition might help a little bit in the revenge department,” Sam says.

  I smile. “I don’t want revenge.”

  She raises her head slightly to look at me. Her short blonde hair is always sticking out in different directions, but one side is extra wonky since she’s been lying against Jack’s chest. “But you wouldn’t mind kicking his ass in the competition right?”

  “Sam, I want to kick everyone’s ass in the competition. That has nothing to do with him.”

  She puts her head back down, satisfied. “Well then, you go do that.”

  “Just like Wesley is kicking the ass out of that Rodent of Unusual Size,” Jack says.

  But I don’t know if I can.

  Letting go of my anger seems like a far easier task than outplaying Erik Williams.

  In the weeks leading up to the school rounds of the Myra Hess Competition, Erik and I haven’t done more than say hello when we see each other at the Gizmo. We’ve given each other a few tentative smiles, though, and every time, my heart feels a kind of release. I hadn’t realized how hard it was on me, to be mad at him all this time.

  I don’t miss that anger.

  I try not to think about whether or not I miss him.

  Meanwhile, I’m trying to focus on my life as it is now: classes, friends, and practicing the hell out of my competition piece.

  In spite of my best efforts, I was right about one thing. It’s been far easier to forgive Erik than it was to outplay him. I did my best, but at the end of the school rounds, my heart sinks when they call my name for second place.

  I put a gracious smile on my face anyway, and kind of shrug at my group of cheerleaders in the audience: Sam, Jack, and even Chloe and Grayson, who drove up from Swan Pointe just for the occasion. They’re smiling back at me and clapping enthusiastically.

  I keep my smile in place while they announce the winner and I watch him walk up to the stage. I console myself that at least I get to move on to regionals. The competition isn’t over yet.

  In theory, anyway.

  As he comes up next to me, I feel a confusing mix of resentment and pride.

  His piece was truly magnificent. I wish someone would have recorded it and put it on iTunes as if we were American Idol contestants, then I could buy it and listen to him play over and over again.

  Just like I used to do.

  As we leave the stage and go into the wings, I give him a sincere, “Congratulations.”

  “You too,” he says, though he’s giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

  I sigh. He understands what’s going on here as well as I do. But what else is new? Erik’s always been better than me. “Why are you sorry?” He really shouldn’t have to be sorry about placing first in a competition.

  He sighs. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

  I nod and look away. “I know you are. It’s okay.”

  And just like someone flipped a switch in me, I’ve done all I can handle. I’m not mad, I just need a breath.

  “I’ll see you around.” I give him a small wave and head for my bag.

  He lets me go and this time, I’m glad. But I feel better, like I’ve taken a step toward something, though I’m not sure what.

  Chapter 14

  In lieu of our traditional post-performance tradition of Volcano fries at Delsa’s Diner, I opt for Rounders, the bar on Eighth Street. I’m actually surprised at how well I’m dealing with this latest blow to my ego, but a drink sure isn’t going to hurt anything.

  The five of us are sitting around a table far enough away from the DJ and the dance floor that we’re able to talk. Chloe’s on her phone, texting Isabella in Boston. We’ve all been trying to reschedule our upcoming group trip to the Rivers Paradise Resort in Swan Pointe, this one including the guys, since the next round of competition interferes with our original plans.

  Finding new dates that work for everyone has been a challenge. Chloe and Grayson have been the hardest ones to work around, since they travel so much for the website they launched together several months ago. It’s called “A Guy and A Girl Take on the
World” and uses both their website and their YouTube channel to cover travel, adventure, and food. They’re pretty entertaining together, actually, and have already amassed quite the following.

  It’s been easier, since most of us are all here together, to look at the calendar and find a weekend that we hope works for the trip. Chloe’s just checking to see if Isabella’s available. Grayson’s sitting next to her, his arm draped on the back of her chair. He’s absently playing with a lock of Chloe’s auburn hair.

  Meanwhile, Sam has returned to the topic of this evening’s competition. “I gotta say, you didn’t mention how cute Erik is. I mean, he’s a fucking hottie, isn’t he?”

  “You said it,” Chloe agrees, still typing in the message on her phone.

  “Hey!” Grayson says, pretending to be offended.

  Chloe looks at him and smiles. “But not as hot as you, baby.”

  I’m not sure I agree with Chloe’s assessment of who’s hotter, but I don’t say so. It’s irrelevant anyway.

  Chloe gives him a kiss and he settles back in his chair, satisfied. I smile. I think he was just fishing for a kiss to start with. “Okay, those dates work for her.” Chloe puts down her phone. “We’re all set.”

  “Perfect.” Sam nudges Jack with her elbow. “Now we just have to find dates.” The talent these two have for plucking dates out of thin air astonishes me.

  “Thanks for changing things,” I say again.

  “Of course.” Sam waves her hand dismissively. “You can’t miss your chance to hand Erik’s ass to him.”

  “Right.” I nod and try to look confident. It’s partially for my own benefit and partially to keep Sam satisfied. If she thinks I’m doubting myself, she’ll harp on it and I’d rather just move on to another topic of conversation.

  The DJ starts to play “Thinking Out Loud” and Chloe and Grayson immediately look at one another, smiling. “That’s our song!” Chloe says.