Nocturne (13 page)

“If you thought I was straight?” His tone was clipped. Irritated.

“It’s not just that, Nathan.” I wrapped my hand around his, but he didn’t respond. It sat flat in my palm. “If I thought that you liked me … I wouldn’t have ever gone on about the boys, the kisses, the breakups.”

“But I wanted you to, Savannah.” Nathan grumbled a little as he ran his hand over his face.

“Okay, but if you liked me …”

“I still wanted to be your friend, okay? I figured out pretty quickly that you didn’t feel the same way about me. I just didn’t realize it was because you thought I was
gay
. Did you not feel that way about me because you thought I was gay, or …”

Christ, he really wanted an answer. I had to go back and search some pretty early memories of Nathan to figure out when it was I thought he was gay. And how I felt before that.

“Well, I obviously had a crush on you the second I saw you. I was ten, for God’s sake.” I laughed a little, but he didn’t. “I don’t know, Nathan, that’s asking me to forget the last ten years and pretend I’m seeing you again for the first time. I can’t do that.” Suddenly, I felt tears stinging my eyes. I could see on his face that this was breaking his heart, and that’s not what I came here to do. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

That’s all I could say. There was too damn much to sort through if we really wanted to. But, I didn’t. He was my friend and I wanted to keep that relationship, if I could.

“Don’t be sorry, Savannah,” Nathan sighed as he pulled me into a hug. “I had years of chances to come clean with you about my feelings. I didn’t. That’s not your fault.”

“Wow, we’re a mess.” I sniffed and chuckled.

He laughed, too, this time.

“I still love you, though, okay? I don’t ever want to see you get hurt. Especially by Fitzgerald.”

I tensed instantly and pulled away from Nathan’s body. “What are you talking about?”

“Savannah …” He rolled his eyes and looked exasperated.

“Nathan,” I arched my eyebrow, “I told you—I’m not in love with him.”

“Yeah? And how long are you going to tell yourself that?

I stood, holding out my arms. “What the hell is your problem all of a sudden? He’s our professor. I see him three times a week for an hour. And, he’s a pompous ass.”

Nathan shook his head at me then spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Everyone’s been talking about it, Savannah. Everyone has seen how you two interact.” His eyes narrowed at me as he spoke.

I dropped my jaw. “Are you standing here, right now, insinuating that I’m having an affair with my professor?”

“Well, if you’re not, I suggest you figure out what it is, exactly, that you want from him. Before not dealing with your feelings at all leads one of you to make a huge mistake.”

Silence.

My cheeks betrayed me as they heated under Nathan’s words. Slowly looking up at his face, I saw him wince a little. Maybe at what he said. Maybe at my reaction.

Either way, he took a slow step toward me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

Softly, he said, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Savannah.”

I stepped out of his touch. “You’ve mentioned that, Nathan. But you’re the only one who’s managed to hurt me lately. Despite everything we’ve already talked about, you claim to know my feelings better than I know them, and demand action from me.”

“That’s not what—”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing, Nathan, and it’s not fair. Being my friend doesn’t mean you’re director of my feelings. I … I need to go. Look,” I took a deep breath as I paced toward my coat, “I don’t want to put all kinds of stress on you before your recital in a couple of weeks. Just … we’re fine, right?” I made myself sound convincing enough.

I knew how emotional Nathan could get, and his performance nerves were always all over the place. I cared about him enough in that moment to want him not to blow his final task in school.

“Yes. Savannah …” He dropped his arms and met me at the door, his eyes pleading.

I shook my head. “Don’t say anything, Nathan. Please. We’ve both said enough. Let’s just get through the end of the semester in one piece, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked to the floor.

Without another word, I zipped my coat and left Nathan’s apartment. When I reached the front steps, I was grateful for the rain. Closing my eyes and tilting my face to the sky, I let the cold, grey water wash over me.

It was only a few blocks down Huntington Ave back to the conservatory and my room. I set off through the rain, trying to clear my mind. Nathan. Gregory. It was all just … too much. And as much as I loved walking in the rain under normal circumstances, even
that
was becoming too much. The rain was coming down in sheets, and it was getting cold.

Ahead of me, turning onto the block and walking quickly, I saw a man in a black overcoat with a black umbrella and matching hair. From behind it almost looked like ... it was.

I ran, my feet splashing up dirty rainwater, and ducked under the umbrella.

Gregory came to a shocked stop, and I heard the rain pounding against the fabric of the umbrella.

“What are you doing?” He had to shout to be heard.

“Trying to get out of the rain!”

A gust of wind blew the rain at us, almost horizontal, and the umbrella nearly collapsed. Gregory looked around and then grabbed my upper arm in his right hand. “Come!” he shouted, then pulled me toward the next building an underneath an awning.

By the time we got under the awning, his umbrella was in shreds, the fabric completely torn from the wire spokes. He looked at it in frustration for a second, shaking it, as if giving it a stern look or a strong lecture might force it back into shape.

Finally he tossed it aside. I wrapped my arms across my chest, my teeth chattering. My coat had soaked through.

The rain was coming down harder now. Hard enough I could hear it rattle off the awning and the nearest cars, a roar of a sound. Behind us, the walls and windows were covered with signs reading
Boston Shawarma: Lamb, Kebab, Hummus, We Deliver!
To both sides and our front, a wall of rain, almost completely blocking the view of the street.

Right in front of me … his face. Rain still dripped from his hair, past his sapphire eyes. Eyes that were fixed on me. I couldn’t hear my heartbeat over the pounding of the rain. But I could feel it, rushing in my ears. Because he brought his hands up, cupping my face. As he did I reflexively raised my hands, placing them flat on his chest, as if to hold him back.

“Why didn’t you have an umbrella?” he asked.

I swallowed. I didn’t know how to answer that. So I told the truth. “I don’t like having to prepare for rain.”

He shook his head, just slightly, and his mouth quirked up into a grin, one eyebrow raised. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a loud, hearty belly laugh. Without thinking, I shifted my hands to both sides of his face. And I stretched up and kissed him, hard, on the lips.

Gregory froze. For maybe a quarter second. Then his arms instantly wrapped around me, one hand slipping through my soaked hair and gripping the back of my head. Our lips and mouths were open, working together, his tongue touching mine, and I let out a low whimper.

I heard a bell ring as the door to the Shawarma place opened toward us, and I pushed, hard, shoving back away from him.

Three girls …
students from the conservatory
… stepped out of the door. One of them groaned, looking out into the rain. “We’ll never make it without getting soaked,” she said.

In between the girls and me, Gregory just stood there. Staring at me with those eyes that grabbed my heart and twisted it in knots.

I shook my head just slightly then backed out from under the awning and into the rain.

I turned and ran.

Savannah

I
don’t know how the rumors started
, but they made quick work of spreading. Somehow, someone heard my shouting match with Gregory the week after spring break.
God, I shouted at a teacher. What was that about?
Marcia came back to the room one day and joked that she was checking to see if I was still alive after going a few rounds with the insufferable cellist. From there, things only got more speculative when Nathan and I stopped talking. A few girls in class whispered to me things like,
Is it true? Are you dating a teacher?
All I could do was thank God no one had seen that kiss.

In spite of myself, my eyes wandered to Gregory Fitzgerald every four minutes or so throughout our final exam in his music theory class. I’d taken enough practice tests and studied what I knew he expected out of us, and planned to get through the exam with little to no argument from him. Analyzing the notes in front of me wasn’t the challenge. It was, as Gregory drilled into us all semester, fairly straightforward on a face-value level. The challenge was ignoring the holes Nathan was staring into the back of my head. Him and the others.

I was horrified. Not only did I have more respect for myself than to date a professor, I certainly wanted no part in messing with his career—since that was all that tethered him to the land of the living.

Or was.

The way he’d kissed me back under that awning showed me something … more. There was life in those eyes. Sensation in those lips. Lust in his tongue.

He kissed me back.

Jesus, what now?
I thought to myself as I scribbled answers inside a blue book.

Nothing. Semester over, problem solved. Pretend it never happened.

Chewing on my pen cap as I neared the end of the exam, with loads of time to spare, I glanced across the room at Nathan. As if sensing my eyes on him, he looked up from his paper and toward me. He’d texted me wanting to know if I was okay. I wasn’t, and I hated that I couldn’t talk to him about it because, for one thing, I’d lied to him. I’d known for weeks that what I’d been feeling for Gregory was nothing short of a crush but it was so,
so
much more. I hadn’t told him about the kiss, either, because I was afraid. Or ashamed.

I really wished, in that moment, that I had old friendship back on solid ground but … this seemed like something I’d have to deal with on my own for a while. But, I wanted Nathan and I to really be okay. We’d been friends for too long to let miscommunication screw us up now. So, I smiled at him. As I did, I watched his shoulders relax as he smiled back. Nathan was graduating in two weeks, and I knew he’d been auditioning for a few symphonies, and, well, I was going to miss him.

I gathered my things and took another look at my paper, scrawling one last thing on it before heading to Gregory’s desk, where he sat looking at pages of music I couldn’t readily identify.

“Here you go, Mr. Fitzgerald.” I couldn’t even fake a smile as I shakily placed the paper in front of him. I didn’t know if he had heard about the rumors involving the two of us. Probably not. If he had heard them, however, I found myself hoping he wasn’t furious with me for kissing him in the first place.

Even though he’d kissed me back.

“Thank you, Miss Marshall,” he muttered without looking up from his papers. That made my stomach turn. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Couldn’t, maybe. If he’d had any respect for me at all through the semester I’d made quick work of erasing it with a single kiss.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered, turning slowly from his desk, fighting tears all of a sudden.

“Savannah,” he called softly. Of course, a few heads in the front row popped up, undoubtedly studying our interaction.

I cleared my throat and turned back toward him, where I found his piercing blue eyes scanning my face. “Yes?”

He squared his shoulders a bit and I watched him swallow before he said, “Good luck.”

I nodded and left the classroom quickly, without saying thank you. I’d intended to wait for Nathan, but I was too big of a mess. I sprinted back to my dorm, tears streaming down my face.

Bursting through my door, I was relieved Marcia was still in her exam and I had the room to myself. I tossed my backpack on the floor and collapsed, facedown on my bed, sobbing into my pillow. The rumors didn’t bother me. The school year was over and before anyone realized it, something else would happen to get people talking. I’d survived a class with the notorious Gregory Fitzgerald and was pretty sure I’d end up with a decent grade.

If he could even objectively grade my exam at this point.

I gripped my comforter as the tears came harder, at the realization of their purpose in the first place. I was going to miss him. I was going to miss Gregory. Not his broody, insufferable, uptight exterior, but what I knew was inside of that. His passion, his musicianship. It was the music. It was him. They were one and the same, even if he couldn’t see it. I was going to miss the times he brought his cello to class to illustrate his lectures with music. Those moments where I felt like there was no one else in the room, because as soon as his bow slid across the strings I felt like it was just me, and him, and the music. God, the
music.

His lips.

I’d only tasted his lips once, and the thought of
never
again
curled me into the fetal position. I needed another way. Another way for this end, other than goodbye.