Eternal Heat Page 13

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, and leads her to the dance floor.

  “They’re so freaking cute together,” Sam says easily, taking a drink. I’m proud of how little it bothers her to see Chloe and Grayson as a couple, considering how she’d once been caught up in the crossfires of that relationship.

  Jack brings his glass up to his mouth, but before he takes a sip, he casually says to Sam, “There’s a guy checking you out at nine o’clock.”

  Sam smiles at this bit of intelligence from her favorite wingman and subtly glances over. She and the intended target make eye contact. She gives him a subtle smile intended to lure him over.

  I can already see it’s going to work. Sure enough, he slides off his bar stool and heads over.

  Sam grins. “Good work, Jack.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Within three minutes, Sam’s been lured away and Jack and I are left to our own devices.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Any prospects out there?”

  “Eh.” He shrugs. “I haven’t really scoped the place out yet.”

  “Good,” I say lightly. “You have to stay and make me feel like a desirable woman.”

  He frowns at me. “You are a desirable woman.” I was just teasing, so I’m a little surprised by his serious reaction.

  I pat his knee reassuringly. “Thanks, babe.”

  Jack gets a thoughtful look on his face.

  “I was just kidding,” I say, wondering what it was that got him so concerned. I’m not prepared for the next thing he says.

  “Do you think my relationship with you girls is weird?”

  “Weird?” I tilt my head at him. “Why would it be weird?”

  “I don’t know. Because of the way I am with you. All of you.”

  “You mean like our wild, screaming orgies?”

  “Ashley!”

  I laugh. I don’t shock Jack too often, but when I do I get a special kind of pleasure from it.

  “Damn, girl.” He laughs and leans back in his chair. “Here I am trying to ask you a serious question.”

  He’s joking, but not. I can see it in his eyes. I rub his arm.

  “Sorry. I guess I know what you mean.” For plutonic relationships, I realize we have a higher-than-normal level of physical contact with Jack. But it’s just always been that way. I don’t even remember how it started. Things have changed a bit in recent years though. “I notice you’re different with Chloe and Isabella now.”

  “Isabella’s married and Chloe may as well be,” Jack says simply. “Grayson’s not going anywhere.”

  I nod. There’s no question about that.

  His face is growing more and more serious though. Something about this is weighing on him. “Why are you asking, Jack?”

  He only shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “No reason, I guess.”

  I scoot a little closer and lean my chin on my hand. “Uh-huh.”

  He eyes me and sighs. He comes in closer, too. “Well, if I wanted to be in a relationship with a girl, would she think it’s weird?”

  I tilt my head at him. He seems genuinely concerned. “Do you have a girl in mind?”

  “No. But it’s bound to happen eventually, right?”

  Yeah, it probably is. Now that I think about it, even though Jack isn’t any more serious about girls than Sam is about boys, there’ve been far fewer of them than there used to be. Maybe our Jack is finally starting to grow up.

  “Any girl who dates you should accept you for who you are. That includes how you are with your friends.”

  He nods, but still seems a little bothered.

  “What’s this really about, Jack?”

  He shrugs again. “I don’t know. I guess....” he pauses. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little unsettled lately. I see what Isabella and Chloe have and think maybe that’d be nice, but...”

  “But what?”

  He glances around a bit, stalling. Finally he says, “I don’t know if I’m really boyfriend material, you know?”

  “Ah Jack, are you kidding? You’d be an awesome boyfriend.”

  He looks at me a little desperately, like he really needs the reassurance. “I would?”

  “Of course! You’re one of the sweetest guys I know.”

  “Sweet?” He makes a face, like I’ve just insulted him, but I can tell he’s not too bothered.

  I laugh. “Yes, sweet. And fun and smart and so loyal. You’d do anything for your friends, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  “I can only imagine how you’d treat a girlfriend. You’re so good to us, Jack. Any girl would be lucky to have you. Don’t worry, the right girl for you is going to love you for who you are. I don’t see you pairing up with the jealous type anyway. Any woman you fall for is going to be a strong woman, and a strong woman won’t be threatened by your friends.”

  He gives me a smile. “Yeah, okay. Besides, how many guys know how to braid hair?” He gives the tail of my braid a little flick. “That’s a plus in my corner, right?”

  “You do it better than Chloe does,” I say smiling. It’s true, too.

  He gives me a broad grin. “Damn right. I give killer back rubs, too.”

  “Yes, you do.” I turn my back to him and bring my braid in front.

  “Is that a hint?” he asks laughing.

  I would tell him he still owes me my post-performance shoulder rub, but he’s already squeezing my shoulders and making me melt right where I’m sitting.

  We don’t say any more, but it’s not long before Jack’s desire for a more meaningful relationship has me thinking.

  About Erik.

  By the time I see Professor Reinecht on Monday, I’ve recovered from the disappointment of the first round and am possessed with fresh determination to win the competition. After all, winners get to play at freaking Lincoln Center. I’ve been practicing my next piece like crazy all weekend, so I’m knocked a little off kilter when Professor Reinecht changes it.

  “Are you sure?” I’m looking over the sheet music he’s placed in front of me. “The other one is more demanding.”

  “Only by an inch. The mechanics of your playing is not the issue. Something in you flows when you play this one. That’s what we want the judges to hear.”

  I don’t argue over that. I know he’s right.

  We run through the piece once, and I ask him to go over it with me again before I’m left on my own for a couple of days. I want to make sure I’m practicing it the way he wants.

  I skip lunch and go straight to the practice rooms, while his instructions are still fresh.

  The next day, I head to the Gizmo after my morning class. This time when I spy Erik sipping his coffee at a back table by the window, I’m glad he’s there.

  I get my order, then walk up to him and wait until he looks up at me. His face registers surprise and maybe a little trepidation.

  “You haven’t offered to buy me coffee again,” I say.

  Erik starts to get up almost instantly, but freezes when he notices the cup I’m holding. “You already have coffee.”

  “I don’t have a place to sit.”

  Giving a hesitant smile, he gestures to the chair opposite him. “Please.”

  I sit down and hang my bag on the back of the chair. He’s giving me a questioning look. I smile and shrug. “I figured there’s no reason we can’t be friends and talk from time to time.”

  He smiles more broadly then. “I’m glad, Ashley.”

  It feels good to hear him say my name. I take a sip of my caramel macchiato.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well, I figure we have plenty of other stuff to catch up on. I haven’t heard anything about your experience at Juilliard.”

  “You want to hear about that?”

  “God yes,” I say, and he laughs. “You know, I actually went to New York this summer with some friends and we saw Juilliard.”

  “You did? Did
you go inside?”

  “No. I just gazed at it from the back of Illumination Lawn.”

  He laughs. Something deep inside me I didn’t know was still tense starts to uncoil. It’s nice to talk to him and have it feel easy.

  “So are you going to give me the dirt, or what?”

  And that’s how it begins. He tells me about Juilliard and how intense the competition is there. Things can get competitive here at Hartman, too, but he makes The Juilliard School sound like a whole different world. There’s something underneath the way he talks about it that makes me wonder if he was happy there. From what he’s saying, it sounds like he did well. Before I can ask more about it though, he insists I do some of the talking.

  I steer away from the heavy stuff and tell him a bit about my experience with the program here.

  “I’m so impressed with the way you’re playing now,” he interrupts to say.

  I know I’ve improved, but sitting across from the man who could probably outplay me in his sleep makes my own accomplishments feel a little different. I change the subject and start telling him about my Firework Girls, and Jack.

  “Jack sounds like a Firework Girl himself,” Erik says, smiling.

  “He’s sort of the Firework Girl of Honor.”

  He checks his phone, which has been lying on the table. He told me about fifteen minutes ago he has a class soon. I get the feeling he’s been pushing it, not wanting to leave.

  I’m not quite ready for this to be over either, but I still ask, “When does class start?”

  “I have one whole minute.” He gives me a regretful look.

  I smile. “You’d better get going.”

  “Yeah.”

  He sits there another few seconds though, and we just look at each other in silence, our eyes soft with understanding.

  “This has been nice,” he says quietly.

  I nod.

  He stands reluctantly and puts his phone in his pocket. “We’ll have to do it again. I still owe you a coffee.”

  He doesn’t really, but I only shrug and stand.

  “See you around?”

  “Something like that,” I say, smiling.

  After that, I take to going to the Gizmo at the same time on purpose. He bought me coffee the first time, but after that I’ve purchased my own. It felt too much like dating otherwise, and even though I’ve wondered if we could ever get to that point again, the thought of it is a little terrifying. For now I’d rather just be friends.

  It’s been a few weeks of this, and he’s starting to feel part of my routine again. We continue to talk about safe subjects. Friends, classes, our practicing routines. I tell him I like to head to the practice rooms late at night because fewer people are there and I’m more likely to get my favorite spot.

  I don’t mention the other reason I like being there at that time.

  As I said, I’m keeping things safe.

  One night I’m in my favorite practice room at the far end of the hall. I’ve wrapped up my official practicing routine, the one I tell Professor Reinecht about, and have started with the messing around part. The only time I do this is when it’s late—it’s nearing midnight now—because I don’t want anyone to think I’m not serious about what I’m doing. I don’t know why I don’t want anyone to hear these songs I carry around in my head, I just don’t. I’m only playing around anyway.

  Though, this sort of playing is a different kind of magic. It consumes me in a way I’m almost powerless to control. Sometimes, I feel positively eaten by it.

  I finish the song and rub the ache out of the back of my neck, rolling my head. A soft rap at the door causes me to jump. There, through the little window, Erik’s peeking in at me.

  My heart starts pumping. I almost feel caught. As I slide off the bench and go to open the door, he gives me a sheepish look through the window.

  “Sorry to bother you.”

  I step back to invite him in. He closes the door behind him. “That’s what I get for telling you my schedule. Stalker.”

  He grins a bit and shrugs.

  He’s already told me he has a piano at his condo. Naturally. I know without him saying so that he came to the practice rooms specifically to see me. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I can’t deny I’m glad to see him.

  “What were you playing?” he asks. “It was really phenomenal.”

  I press my lips together. How much did he hear? He has that look on his face like he wants to start going on about it. It’s the same look Sam had when she caught me playing my own song once, way back in our junior year. I’m not even sure why I think of it like that—like I’ve been caught doing something bad. But when I play like that, it’s so different from what everyone else here is doing. That can’t be good. All it’s going to do is show I’m a self-taught poser when what I’m trying to do is be serious about this.

  “It was nothing. What are you doing here?” I didn’t mean for that to come out as harshly as it did.

  He looks a little taken aback. “Well, I...” he gives me that sheepish smile again. “I know I can’t say I was just walking by, but that didn’t stop me from coming anyway.”

  I’m softening again, now that we seem to be safely past the subject of my made-up songs. I cross my arms, but give him a smile.

  “And you came because?”

  He smiles and shrugs. “It’s been a long time since we played together.”

  I glance at the piano. “Uh, yeah. It’s been a bit.”

  “Do you remember Chopin’s Sonata in B Minor?”

  I give him a look. Of course I do. That one was our favorite.

  He gives me a questioning smile.

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “All right then. You first.”

  He grins wider and heads to the bench. I can’t help but smile at him. I’ve missed playing with him, too. I drift to the piano and rest my hand on its smooth surface.

  His hands hover above the keys, but he doesn’t play. He glances up at me.

  He pats the spot on the bench next to him.

  I hesitate, then sit down.

  He takes a satisfied breath and begins to play. That’s all it takes. We’re caught up in the music again, but that’s not all. Or at least, it isn’t for me. As we take turns playing, and even start to play a duet together, I’m caught up in all those old feelings of love I had for him. They’ve returned so strongly, I’m not sure they belong entirely to the past.

  I feel a little swept out to sea. Erik is next to me and his music is all around me and my defenses are falling. It’s alarming to realize he could walk right into my heart again, if he wanted to.

  We finish our duet but don’t say a word.

  We don’t look at one another.

  We keep our eyes on the keys and our hands in our laps. I’m breathing a little too hard. He is, too.

  “Ashley,” he says softly, “I’m really glad you’re here at Hartman.”

  I nod, keeping my eyes on the black and white keys in front of me. “I’m glad you’re here, too.” And I am.

  I feel him looking at me. I slowly bring my eyes to his face. Everything else falls away. It’s only Erik. And me. And everything between us.

  He’s holding my eyes and I can’t look away. But I’m afraid because I think he’s going to kiss me, and what then?

  Still I keep my eyes on him. He leans slightly toward me. I should lean away or look away, but I don’t. My heart leans to him, and I follow. As we slowly close the gap between us, I see in his eyes the same torment of longing and fear that I feel.

  Our lips touch and I close my eyes. Something in me comes unlocked.

  As we press tentatively against each other, a lump swells in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down if I wanted to. A small sob escapes my lips. He takes my face in his and kisses me more firmly, but so gently.

  I kiss him back, but then we stop and we’re embracing instead and I’m crying openly.

  “God, sweetheart,” he says, tears in his own voice. “I’m so s
orry.”

  I nod and pull back to look at him, the tears running down my cheeks. His eyes are glistening too and he looks so pained I want to comfort him. I put my hand on his cheek and he looks at me earnestly.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “God, it was so awful,” he says, his voice cracking. “I missed you so much. I swear I loved you. I’m so sorry I put you through that.”

  I kiss him again and we cling to each other. It feels like we’re finally, finally mourning together the losses we both shared. Heart aching, I settle lower into his arms, my head on his shoulder as we rock together in silence.

  As our tears slow, still clinging to each other, we start talking about the one topic we’ve avoided more than anything else. I tell him what it was like, holding nothing back. I tell him about going to his house to find it closed up. I tell him how humiliating the doctor visits were and how I couldn’t bring myself to tell any of my friends what was going on.

  When I tell him about the miscarriage and the D&C at the hospital, my tears start up again, and he holds me tighter and strokes my hair. Then I confess the worst thing.

  “I didn’t want to get rid of the baby,” I say tearfully, “but I didn’t want a baby either. It was... such a relief. You know?”

  I feel him nod against me.

  “I—” he begins, his voice tight. “That’s kind of how I feel right now. I mean, I know you lost the baby either way, but my dad only said you weren’t pregnant anymore so I thought you had an abortion. I’m so relieved that’s not what happened.”

  I pull back and look up at him.

  “I mean, I’m not glad you went through a miscarriage, but—”

  “You thought I got an abortion?” I ask softly.

  “I thought my dad made you.”

  I shake my head and he exhales in relief. He still looks pained though. “I know what happened is still bad—”

  “No, I understand what you mean.”

  We look at one another, taking deep breaths. He holds my face in his hands, kisses my forehead, and looks at me earnestly. “I’m so sorry. Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

  “I have.” I shrug. “I already have.”

  “God, really?”

  I nod.