Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
I, however, couldn’t believe my ears.
Easton never knew I’d met him in Brighton. No one did. Quite honestly, I still couldn’t believe that I’d spoken to him the way I did. But the way he’d spoken to me…dismissed me. He’d been so rude, I couldn’t help it. I had seen him stagger down to that beach, Jack Daniels in hand. I had watched him in that packed club. Watched as people danced to his music like he was a god. And all I felt was…
Disappointment.
Cromwell Dean. Most of the world knew him as a DJ, but I knew him for something else. I knew him as the classical prodigy. And unbeknownst to Cromwell Dean, I had seen him. Seen him as a child conducting a symphony so beautifully that he inspired me to be a better musician. Seen raw footage of an English boy with the talent of Mozart. My music teacher had shown me the video of him in one of my private piano lessons. To show me what someone of my age was capable of.
To show that there were others in the world that had as much passion for music as I did. Cromwell Dean had become my greatest friend, even though he didn’t know I existed. He was my hope. Hope that outside of this small town, people held music in their hearts the same way I did. Someone else bled for notes, melodies, and concertos.
Cromwell had won the BBC Proms Young Composer of the Year aged sixteen. His music had been played by the BBC Symphony Orchestra on the final night of the Proms. I’d watched in the middle of the night, on my laptop, tears streaming down my face, overawed by his creation. The camera had shown him watching the orchestra from the front row.
I’d thought him as beautiful as the symphony he’d composed.
Then, only months later, he disappeared. No more music was made. His music died along with his name.
But in all that time, I never forgot his name. So when he began making music again, my excitement was uncontainable.
Until I heard it.
I had nothing against electronic dance, per se. But to hear the boy I had idolized for so many years mixing synthetic beats instead of the real instruments he played like a maestro destroyed my heart.
I had gone to listen to him when I was in England. I couldn’t help myself. I melded in with the crowd. I closed my eyes. But I felt nothing. I opened my eyes and watched him, feeling only sympathy toward the boy I had once seen conducting the music he had crafted so stunningly. Hands dancing with the baton as he was carried away with the sweeping strings and soaring woodwind. The music he had poured onto the page from his soul. The imprint of his heart that he left in the theater that had been gifted the performance. And the people who’d been blessed to hear it.
Up on that podium, his eyes were dead. His heart was absent from the beats, and his soul wasn’t even in the room. He may be the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, but what he was playing wasn’t his passion. It wasn’t his purpose.
He couldn’t fool me.
The Cromwell Dean I’d watched as a child had died with whatever made him lose that need to create such life-changing pieces of music.
“Bonnie?”
I blinked, my eyes clearing only to stare at the wooden door of my dorm hallway. I turned to see Kacey entering her room beside mine.
“Hey,” I said and put my hand on my head.
“You okay? You were standing with your hand on the doorknob for a few minutes.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Got lost to my thoughts.”
Kacey smiled. “How’s Easton?”
I rolled my eyes. “Drunk. But, thankfully, asleep and safe in bed.”
Kacey came closer. “Did you give Cromwell a ride home?”
“Yeah.”
“What was he like? Did he speak?”
“A little.” I sighed, tiredness kicking in. I needed to sleep so badly.
“And?”
I eyed her and shook my head. “Quite frankly, he’s kind of a dick. He’s rude and arrogant.”
“But hot.” Kacey blushed.
“I don’t think he’d be a good one to go for, Kace.” I remembered the girl he had disappeared with in Brighton. In the middle of a set. His crass words to me on the beach: “I’ve already had my dick sucked…”
Kacey wasn’t really a friend; she just lived next to me. She was sweet. And I was sure Cromwell Dean would chew her up and spit her out when he got what he wanted from her. He seemed exactly the type.
“Yeah,” Kacey said in response. I knew she was only being polite pretending to heed my words. “I’d better get to bed.” She cocked her head to the side. “You too, sweetie. You’re looking kinda pale.”
“Night, Kace. See you tomorrow.”
I pushed through to my single room. I dropped my purse on the floor, put on my PJs, and climbed into bed. I tried to sleep. I was tired, my body aching with exhaustion. Yet my mind wouldn’t turn off.