Eternal Heat (Firework Girls #3) (13 page)

“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,” he says.

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.

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—
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
—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. Threatened.

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 say, smiling. 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,” she says.

“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 say, looking at her, “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. God. 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?” I ask. 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 say, giving him a small wave and heading 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.

In lieu of our traditional post-performance tradition of Volcano fries at Delsa’s Diner, I opt for Rounders, the bar on 8th 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,” she says, “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 says putting down her phone. “We’re all set.”

“Perfect,” Sam says. She 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 says, waving her hand. “You can’t miss your chance to hand Erik’s ass to him.”

“Right,” I say nodding and trying 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.

“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, and she gives him a subtle smile intended to lure him over.

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

“Good work, Jack,” Sam says, grinning.

“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 says, shrugging. “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,” he says. 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 says, laughing himself and leaning 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,” I say. “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 says, giving 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 say, turning my back to him and bringing 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 fucking
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 say, looking over the sheet music he’s placed in front of me. “The other one is more demanding.”

“Only by an inch,” he says. “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 it.

I skip lunch and go straight to the practice rooms, while his instructions to me 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 makes to get up almost instantly, but freezes when he notices the cup I’m holding. “You already have coffee,” he says.

“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?” he asks, still smiling.

“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?” I ask.

And that’s how it began. He told me about Juilliard and how intense the competition is there. Things can get competitive here at Hartman, too, but he makes Juilliard 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.