As Far as You'll Take Me Page 15

  “I don’t think I want to play our piece for the end-of-term recitals,” he says.

  I pull back. “Oh, okay?”

  “No, not like that.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I think we should move it forward. Like, do it for one of the Friday recitals. I’m on the schedule in two weeks—I know it’s tight, but I feel this whole career slipping out of my hands.”

  “I can do it,” I say. Though my primary incentive for doing it really just went out the window. I’ve been to a couple of these performances, and certainly no scouts are there. But if it’ll help Pierce, I have to do it.

  He kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Marty.”

  After our walk along the pier and the rocky beach, we find ourselves back on the streets of Brighton. Pierce stopped to get iced coffee in a café, one of the three million that line the streets here. And we sit down at dinner, organic and vegan in true Brighton fashion.

  I’m still feeling vulnerable after opening up in our earlier conversation, so I continue to lighten the mood with some less divisive get-to-know-you questions.

  “What’s your favorite trumpet piece?”

  “Easy,” he says, “Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto. It works so well with the rest of the orchestra, and it’s technically intense. It takes major trumpet chops. I always had this idea that I’d show I could play it in some solo performance, and they’d have the whole orchestra play it and give me the solo.”

  “Wild and crazy fantasies over there.”

  He kicks me under the table. “Stop your cheekiness right now.”

  After we’re done eating, his phone buzzes on the table, and he steps outside to take the call.

  Our waitress stops by the table with the check, and I hand her some cash.

  “Oh, was something wrong with your food?” she asks, seeing that I’ve barely touched it.

  I shake my head. “No, it was great. I ate before I came,” I say, though in actuality, I had a banana for breakfast and nothing until right now. “Could you bring me a box?”

  Wasting food makes me feel uncomfortable. But eating food makes me uncomfortable. I fully plan to “forget” my box here. That way, the waitress will judge my forgetfulness, not my disregard for the hungry. A few minutes later, Pierce comes back in, visibly shaken. He’s clenching his fists as he approaches the table. The mood changes. He looks at the table, sighs.

  “I should have told you, my friend here—the one we were supposed to stay with?—he’s a total flake. He told me we could stay, then just called to say he’s actually in Canterbury for the night with his mates. I gave him a fucking earful, but I don’t even think he cared. People are the worst.”

  I place my hand on his, in an attempt to calm him.

  Though I’m a bit freaked—I can’t miss my FaceTime call with Megan and Skye. Not again. It’s somehow already ten at night here, so I’ve got two and a half hours to be somewhere with Wi-Fi.

  But we can figure it out. It will be fine.

  I hope.

  “Sorry your friend’s the worst. What are our options?”

  “It’s too late notice to look for an Airbnb. We could get a hotel, but that’d be a couple hundred pounds this time of year. I don’t know about you, but I can’t swing that.”

  I pretend to do the math in my head, but I know that would take about a third of my remaining funds, and I still have no source of income on the horizon.

  “I don’t know. That’s a lot of money. You don’t know anyone else here?”

  “Do you?”

  I slap his arm. “Don’t get fresh with me.”

  “Did you just slip into nineties lingo?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Sometimes my dad says things so often I think they’re phrases people still use today.”

  “That’s wack.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” I say, with a hard eye roll. “I hate to suggest this, but any way we can make it back to London by twelve thirty?”

  He lets his head drop to the table. His muffled voice breaks through. “It’s our only choice, though, innit?”

  I give the back of his head a scratch, because it feels right. It feels like what a boyfriend would do right now. Then I pull out my phone and try to find Wi-Fi. After a few unsuccessful attempts—why is your internet unlocked if you’re still going to ask for a damn password? answer me that, restaurants—I find one that connects. The signal’s weak, but I can tell it works when a couple of emails and texts come in.

  I type out an email to Megan and Skye.

  Hi guys,

  Pierce (yes that guy) and I were going to FaceTime from Brighton (which must be the gayest city in the UK) but our lodging plans fell through, and we need to go back to London. Might be late.

  Marty

  I take a deep breath and slide my phone in my pocket. The panicking side of me is always there, looming in the shadows. And that side is telling me to worry. That the car will comically break down or we’ll get stuck in traffic and I’ll never make it. My brain races for backup plans, but there aren’t many to be found.

  As Pierce walks us toward the car, he places a palm on the small of my back. I look to him, but his gaze remains forward. His confident stride throws me off. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that our plans have changed, or that anything is up in the air. It also comforts me, and his calming presence tells me everything’s going to be fine.

  I take one last look at the lights of the city and realize this is the first time I’ve ever gone on a trip with a guy I liked, even as short as it was.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever confidently walked through streets while publicly showing off the relationship I was in. Everything about this day was freeing, even learning more about his experience with Colin, and how he never wants to hurt me like that.

  I know that if I worry too much about the drive or running late for the call, I could end up ruining this sweet moment. It’s all kind of perfect, even with today’s many imperfections.

  “This is a beautiful city,” I say softly.

  “Made even more beautiful by your presence.” He nudges me with his shoulder, then breaks into laughter. “Ah, sorry, mate, that sounded much smoother in my head.”

  I laugh too, and that’s when I realize that for all the ups and downs this short trip had to offer, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I start freaking out once we hit traffic, but then I see that Pierce has got a smile on his face. While I had a good day too, I feel the need to express exactly how important this call is.

  “I’m starting to panic,” I say. It’s been an hour and a half, and we’re about halfway there. “The thing you should know about Megan is she’s fucking vengeful for a best friend. Like, me and Skye have always been there for her, but she straight up doesn’t deal with drama. She ends friendships like it’s her job, her calling.”

  “If she hasn’t ended yours yet, she’s not going to do it because you miss one stupid call.”

  “It’s two stupid calls!” I run both hands through my hair, which is still windblown from the walk on the pier. “I was gallivanting with you in Cardiff last time and completely forgot to call them. She was pissed. This is how I was supposed to make it up.”

  “Add ‘gallivanting’ to the list of words people don’t use anymore.” He chuckles. “And what is this thing with Fridays? Was this something special for you?”

  The traffic eases up, and we fly through a roundabout. I’ve no idea what the speed limit is, but he’s over it.

  “We went to this small school, and a few people we knew would throw these bonfires every Friday in the summer. It felt like everyone was invited but us, and we always felt left out. Like, we spent years not getting invited to this thing, but as we got older and people cared less about being cliquey, they started inviting us. But Megan would always make a big show that she couldn’t come, that we always had plans. So I guess that’s where it stemmed from. Kind of silly, but that’s us.”

&nbs
p; “You didn’t mind not going to those parties?” he asks, and I almost laugh.

  “They were huge. At least, that’s what the pictures made it seem like. Chaotic. Loud. Kind of like those pep rallies we had to attend in school to cheer for whatever football game our team was playing. I wanted to avoid it. I liked hanging out with Megan and Skye anyway. It was so much more chill. More …”

  “Safe?” he finishes. And in one moment I realize that for all his faults, he really does get me on some level. He knows what triggers my anxiety; he knows my response.

  I see him shake his head in the light of other cars. It got dark quickly, but it’s peaceful out here. I can’t see the stars, but you’d almost confuse this with a country road in Kentucky. That is, if we didn’t go through traffic circles every few kilometers and if we weren’t on the completely wrong side of the road. Okay, it’s a little different.

  He reaches into the glove compartment above my lap.

  “I was going to give this to you tonight, but I think you should have it now, since you’re in a right state.”

  I take the envelope from his hands, and I pull out a thick piece of paper. I use my phone to see it, and when the light shines on it, my heart rate doubles. It’s a ticket. A ticket with my name on it. I scan the details frantically.

  “Florence, love. Well, that ticket’s for Pisa first, but we’ll take the train to Florence, then find our way to Siena.”

  I melt when he says “love,” and I’m a puddle by the time he says “Siena.” “Why is my name on this?”

  “Usually you need your name on tickets when you try to use them. Or, if you want the actual answer, I was kind enough to have Shane steal your passport so I could get these for you.”

  “I’m going to Florence? You’re taking me to Florence?”

  “You’re catching on. I talked with Dani and Ajay, and convinced them we could use a Tuscany trip next month. I for one definitely need this. A light week of classes, followed by a lovely weekend with …” He pauses. “My boyfriend?”

  I didn’t think he could top the flight. And with one word, he’s topped it with a label I’ve wanted to have attached to me for years. I’ve wanted a boyfriend ever since I could remember, but I’ve never allowed myself to feel like this.

  But Pierce isn’t like anyone else. He’s not your run-of-the-mill high school boy. He’s not a super-cool, established man. He’s somewhere in between. And that’s where I’ll meet him, somewhere in the in-between.

  “It sounds like you’re being presumptive.” My gut lifts in my stomach as I talk. I feel weightless. I feel at ease. “But if you’re asking, yes. Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

  I take his hand, and he stares straight ahead. The smile never leaves his face. Nor mine.

  We make good time for the rest of the trip. I’m late. Later than I thought, but as we come into London, my chest eases, and for the first time I think, I’m coming home. About a place that isn’t Kentucky.

  “Shit,” I shout as the realization hits me. “I should have told Shane I was coming back. Is it weird to just barge in? He could have someone over.”

  “Or I could have someone over tonight.” He pauses. “You, I mean. That was an odd way to say it.”

  I say nothing.

  “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

  I smile. “I do. As long as I can use your Wi-Fi to call Megan.”

  It’s a weird feeling, going to someone’s apartment for the first time. Wales was fun, but it was neutral territory. So far outside our normal lives that it felt incredibly normal to share a bed—I mean, if I hadn’t, I’d have shared with Sophie. So I might as well sleep with someone I can spoon.

  We take the elevator to the fourth floor, and walk through the hall to get to his door.

  I’m immediately jealous of his flat. It’s not huge, but it’s all his. It smells of tea and him. The kitchen’s spotless, and I don’t know if that’s because he never cooks or he’s just a neat freak. He takes me on a tour of the flat, from living room to bedroom (and nothing in between), and sits on the couch. I take a seat next to him, and he hands me a card with the overly complicated Wi-Fi code on it.

  I type it in, and the anxiety levels start to increase. She’s going to be pissed. But if I can just get her on the call, I can explain. She’ll understand. She’ll have to behave if Pierce is on the screen anyway.

  The phone connects. I stop breathing. I wait for the hate mail to show up. But nothing does.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  But then I get a call. On the app that gives me free calls over Wi-Fi. I only gave my number to a handful of people—the ones who didn’t have iPhones and couldn’t FaceTime, basically—but the app doesn’t search my contacts for the number, and who memorizes phone numbers? So I answer it.

  “Hello?”

  I’m greeted with cheers and music and yelling.

  “Finally. Um, hey,” Skye says. I can barely hear him over the commotion in the background. “You made it back.”

  “Yeah, Skye, I’m so sorry. Should I FaceTime Megan now or—what’s that noise?”

  Over it all, I hear his breaths. They’re panted, uneven. “I, um. It’s not. Well, we’re at the bonfire.”

  “Megan? At a party?”

  This is a first. I should be impressed, but I’m unsettled.

  “Why are you calling me? Isn’t this using your data?”

  “It’s worth it. I needed to talk to you about this.” He sighs; the crackling of the fire takes over my phone.

  I stand and pace the floor. I bite my lip. I want him to spit it out, but I can’t force him. That won’t help.

  “Is she pissed at me?”

  “More than that. I literally don’t know how to say this to you. Fuck.”

  “Skye.” My voice is as solid as I can make it. I know Skye doesn’t say “fuck.” “What’s going on?”

  “You’re not out to everyone, right? Like, this is still something we don’t talk about, right? Because Megan, like, she dragged me to the bonfire. And she keeps chatting with people, and, like, they’re like, ‘Hey why are you here? You hate this shit.’ ” He’s repeating himself, throwing around the word like to delay it as long as he can. I need him to get to the point, or else my grip on the phone might break it. “And she keeps responding that she had plans to video chat with you, but you’re too …”

  He stops.

  “Fuck.” Fuck. “Say it.”

  “… busy with your boyfriend to give her the time of day anymore. She’s said it to, like, ten people. I keep trying to stop her, but I literally can’t.”

  So this is bad. This is bad, and I’m sinking to my knees and I’m on the ground. Sitting. Pierce is coming over, and I think I dropped the phone because Skye’s still talking but it’s too far away for me to make out what he’s saying and I shut down I shut the fuck down because what else do I do here no I am actually asking what the fuck do I …

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Marty.”

  Headache. Pounding headache. It’s fuzzy in here.

  “Marty.”

  That’s definitely my name. But who’s saying it? Are my eyes open? “Ugh,” I grunt.

  My eyelids peel apart and light floods my pupils. I’m lying back on a bed, head resting against a soft pillow with something cold on my head. Pierce appears in my vision, and when he picks up the dripping rag from my forehead, water hits my face.

  “What happened?”

  He leans in, cups my face with his hand, and plants a kiss on my dry lips. His hands stay there. His lips stay too. When he pulls away, I see the creases in his expression, the glossiness in his eyes.

  “You passed out. Scared the fuck out of me, Mart.”

  I groan. “People actually do that? I thought fainting was just in the movies. Why did I—”

  The call. Skye’s voice.

  Megan.

  The bonfire.

  My whole constructed world falling apart.

  “Oh.”

  �
�Mm-hmm,” Pierce mumbles. “I talked to Skye about it once you dropped your phone—he was freaked too, but I let him know you’re alive. I can’t believe she did that to you. I thought she was your friend. Your best friend.”

  “I don’t know.” And I really don’t. “Megan’s view of right and wrong is warped. Once there’s bad blood with someone, I’ve seen her justify about anything.”

  He laughs drily. “She has her own narrative about what happened. I’ve never heard someone so delusional.”

  “How would you know that?” I ask.

  “Your mate, Skye, kept saying he tried to stop her. But sounds like he was a bit of a pushover—he was scared of her, like you.”

  “I’m not—”

  He holds a finger to my lips. “She controlled you, she used your anxiety against you, both you and Skye are terrified of her. But I’m not.”

  A sourness hits my stomach, and I know he’s right.

  “I didn’t want to overstep, but I made Skye give her the phone and informed her that outing someone was an assault, that she was putting you in danger, and that she could be in legal trouble. I said I’d be getting an advocate on the phone on Monday. I think she knew I was pulling all of this out of thin air, but she stopped.”

  “The damage was already done,” I say, bringing him into a hug. “But thank you for fighting for me.”

  My emotions are one big jumble. I’m angry, defeated, and almost broken, but my home here has softened the blow. It’s giving me hope that one day I can return to Kentucky, fully out, without caring what people think. I can almost see that Marty.

  “Do you think your parents will find out?” he asks.

  I give a shallow laugh. “I’m out, Pierce. I actually told my parents first, then Megan. But no one there needed to know, you know? There are only a handful of people I trust there, and even so, you never know if they’re a cool, respectful person in the streets, but—I don’t know—go to Klan meetings at night?”