that’d be one hell of an awkward car ride if he just broke it off because I asked too much.
This is dumb.
We lean against the railing near the edge of the pier, and I take his hand.
“What happened with you and Colin this summer? I need to know your side of things if I’m ever going to get out of my head about it.”
He sighs. “I knew she’d tell you.”
“Sophie did, but she only wanted to protect me, and Colin was her friend, and he played that awful recital—”
“You think I don’t know that? Everyone blamed me for that disaster. But”—he clears his throat—“Colin and I had issues. Our relationship was a whirlwind—no, it was a cyclone. He was codependent to a fault, and I don’t operate that way.”
I release his hand.
“Love, not like that.” He lightly takes my hand back. “He needed more from me than I could give, especially right after starting at the academy.”
“That’s vague. What did he need?” What if I need the same things?
“Babe, I could go on for the rest of the night about his needs. We were only together maybe three weeks, but he wanted a husband, like, yesterday. He wanted to go out and be seen together all the time, and if I stayed in to practice or something, he would flip out.”
He walks over to the other side of the pier, and I follow. He stares out at the water and the shore like some forlorn sailor from a literary novel. His shoulders are hunched, and I hate making him feel this way. I gently rub his back with my palm.
“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to, you know. Start this.”
“Do you know what scares me most about being with you?”
I pull back, and he turns to me.
“You’re different from Colin,” he says. “But the circumstances are the same—no, they’re worse. All of your dreams lie in London. You’re a hell of an oboist, and I know you’ll get a gig soon enough. You emote better than anyone else I’ve seen, which, as I’ve been told, is not something I can just learn.”
I shrug and back away.
“Please, stop cowering like that every time you get a compliment. If you want to hold your own here, you must realize how great you are.”
“I’m fine.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I mean, the last video I made for my portfolio is basically useless. So painful to watch—I missed so many notes.”
“I’ll tell you something that Baverstock tells me every week.” His voice drops. “Music’s not about hitting all the right notes. It’s about causing a reaction, showing emotion.”
“That’s a compliment.”
“That’s not how he means it,” he says. “I hit all the right notes. I can play higher and finger faster than any trumpet out there, but I’m struggling in this school. Last week, Baverstock called me a marching band dropout. But I’m sure Sophie told you all about that.”
“Hey,” I say. I grip his shoulders and pull him closer to me. “She didn’t tell me this—she’s not like that. She wants to protect me from going down the same path as Colin. But that won’t be me. And as for you.” I kiss him between breaths. “I’ve felt your emotion. You’re an earthquake of emotion, babe, and I know you can find a way to get more of it into your playing.”
“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