Thomas & January (10 page)

She seemed to become overwrought at that news and I felt like my heart was going to pound out of my chest.
Oh my God, what if these pills are a matter of life and death
.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand in mine. Instead of the usual warmth I’d felt before, they were ice cold. As we walked, I couldn’t stop myself from warming them between my own. “What,” I said, before taking a deep breath, bracing myself for news she had some crazy heart condition or something. “What are the pills for?” I tried to ask breezily.

“Motion sickness,” she said, shocking me. The adrenaline I’d felt preparing myself for bad news turned to anger.

“What!” I asked too loudly.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said, fidgeting near the door. “Excuse me,” she asked a ship employee, “but I’ve left something in our car. Is it possible to retrieve it?”

The employee, a young man, probably my age, frowned at her, looking like it broke his heart that he couldn’t help this damsel in distress.
Zap
. I wanted to punch him. “I’m sorry, miss, but once the ship leaves dock, these doors go on automatic locks.”

“Oh, okay,” January said, deflated. The man walked away but not without glancing back once more.

“January.”

“Hmm?” she asked, distracted.

“You have motion sickness. Like, when you sail?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

“Tell me then.”

“Um, I get motion sickness on everything. Car, train, boat, plane. You name it, I get sick...and not just a little sick either.”

“January MacLochlainn,” I said, scrubbing the back of my neck in frustration. “How the hell did you think you were going to do this job, huh? It’s nothing
but
traveling.”

“Listen, this isn’t a handicap, okay? I can travel, I just need meds to do it.” Her eyes went wide and she placed her hand over her mouth. “It’s happening,” she said as the boat tipped and weaved in the water, ready to sail.

“Oh no, it’s not,” I said, grabbing her hand and heading to the shops on the ship. “God, I should have known when you offered that ridiculous ginger candy that only my grandmother would eat.”

“Please don’t mention food,” she whined.

              Truthfully? I was more upset that she was in any kind of pain. For some reason, the idea of this girl in agony made my stomach twist. In the nearest shop, I ducked inside and got a lemon-lime carbonated drink that looked like Sprite and a few boxes of seasick meds. I slid Seven’s credit card because I’d forgotten my own back in the car. I didn’t want to think about how I was going to explain these weird charges to Jason. He could just suck it, January was ill.
              “Come on,” I said to a very green looking January. She leaned on me, which let me know just how ill she was. I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t have done it unless things were dire. She’d wanted me to think she hated me. I dragged her to a window seat and sat her down. I tore off the cap to the soft drink as quickly as possible and handed it to her.
              “Start sipping,” I said. She took it and brought her trembling hands to her mouth.
              I ripped open the box of what I thought looked the most promising, relief-wise, in the shop and handed her the two pills. She downed them quickly and I sat beside her, reading the label to the other box to make sure I could mix the medicines if the other didn’t work. I picked up her bag and dug out her ridiculously ginormous bag of ginger remedy/old lady candy and unwrapped a piece.
              “Take it,” I said, handing it to her.
              She shifted her body around so she wouldn’t be facing the ocean. I dragged her closer to me and made her lean her head on my shoulder. I rubbed up and down her arm until she seemed to feel better, her breathing becoming steady again.
              “Thank you,” she said to the air in front of us.
              “Of course,” I said.
I hate seeing you hurt
.
I’m sorry for hurting you last night. The look on your face speared my icy heart. I wish I could take it all back.
But like a coward, I didn’t say any of it. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
              She sat up, leaving my side bereft of her warmth. “Do you know why you’re with me here, January?”
              “Because I’m being punished by God?”
              “You’re being groomed,” I told her, ignoring her jab.
              “Pass me that banana, will ya’?” she teased.
              “Good to see you’re feeling better. It was touch and go there for a while,” I joshed back.
              She smirked. “So you’re grooming me.”
              “For my job,” I said.
              Her brows creased. “Why? Are you leaving Seven?”
              “No, I’m being considered for a position on the upper floor. Management, baby,” I said, not realizing I’d said baby until it was too late. Her eyes popped wide for a moment. I cleared my throat. “Management. Mom would be so proud.”
              “No shit. When?”
              “It’s not when it’s
if
. Jonah and I are both vying for the same position. This little international excursion is a test, a competition.”
              January thought for moment before the most mischievous look on her face crossed her features. “We’ll beat ’em.”
              She made my heart pound. “We will?” I shifted my feet around a bit.
              She rolled her eyes. “I know your ear for music and I know his. We’re going to beat him.”
              We’re
going to beat him
, she’d said. “If you say so,” I said, turning my head toward the water but feeling an ache in my chest the likes I’d never felt before. I barely stopped my hand from grabbing at my heart.
              January fell asleep on my chest half an hour into our journey and I hated how much I loved looking at her as she slept.
January
              Thomas thought I’d fallen asleep on his chest. I knew this because after I’d taken the liberty of using his chest as a pillow and a few minutes had passed in silence, I’d opened my mouth to tell him what an incredible ass I thought he was but was struck mute when he tentatively began to rub my arm. I fought the goose bumps threatening to betray me and paid great attention to the movement of his hand.
              At first, he used only the tip of his index finger, experimenting with a mere graze here and there. I guessed when he felt like I was properly asleep because I felt the weight of all his fingertips explore the surface of my arm, but he always remained above the elbow, still testing the waters it seemed. He traced the contours of my arm over and over almost driving me insane but just when I was about to shiver uncontrollably, he placed his entire warm palm on my arm and guided it down to my wrist then back up.
              It was the sexiest thing I’d ever experienced and it was only my bleeping arm. He stopped and I wanted to cry out for him to continue, but he surprised me when I felt his warm palm cross my nape and throat. He guided his hand up to the back of my neck and back down to my shoulders. My breathing got deeper and I fought to regulate it, swallowing as silently as possible so not to scare him off.
              “So soft,” he barely breathed, making me melt at this unseen side of him.
              His hand followed my arm down again until he reached my hand. He picked it up and rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand before threading his fingers through my own, holding them there. I wanted so badly to squeeze his grip, to let him know I knew and that it was okay, but couldn’t bring myself to ruin the amazing moment. The moment I discovered Thomas Eriksson was nothing but a fake. His river ran much deeper than I imagined, and I knew this from his careful and remarkably affectionate touch. He was a master at the game of pretend, but I knew all his secrets in this tiny slip of his guard and I planned on disarming him completely...by Paris.
Careful, Thomas.
I thought.
I’ve got your number.
             
That’s when my eyes closed in sincerity. I’d never fallen asleep so easily and I had Tom to thank for that.
***
              “You seem to sleep on me very easily,” Tom said, waking me.
              I turned over in his lap and looked up into his face, smiling like I knew something he didn’t. “Good morning?” I asked.
              “Yes, but it’s close to eleven now. We’re docking soon. Now, actually. We should be able to get to our car within the next fifteen minutes.”
I sat up and stretched, still smiling. He’d let me sleep on him the entire ferry ride.
              “What?” he asked, suspicious.
              “Nothing,” I said, checking my stupid grin.
              People were lining up at the doors to access their cars and we followed suit. Inching closer and closer as the
Dublin Swift
’s employees guided everyone to their vehicles. We weren’t allowed to start our cars until they’d opened the lift to the dock so we sat in absolute silence, waiting.
              “How long have you played the piano?” Tom asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel of the car.
              “Since I was four...so, about fifteen years. My grandmother taught me at first when she lived in Austin, before she relocated back to Jersey.”
              “Is that where you learned Cooley’s Reel?”
              “Yeah, I know a bunch of silly Irish tunes like that.”
              “You’re talented,” he said, making me blush to my toes.
              “Thank you, but you don’t have to lie,” I teased.
              “I’m not,” he bit out, very serious and startling me. “I’m not,” he repeated, softer. “You’re truly gifted, January.”
              “Th-thank you,” I said, staring at him in astonishment. “So are you.”
              He scoffed at that. “No, I’m not.”
              “Bullshit,” I said.
              “Excuse me?”
              “Bull. Shit. You are talented. You forget, I knew your band before I knew you. I know who wrote all your songs. It was your name on almost every track.”
              “Yeah and a fat lot of good that got me.”
              “It may not have gotten you signed, but that’s the luck of the draw in my opinion. You and I both know there are a million bands out there that didn’t make it but are just as, if not more, talented than those who have. Maybe that’s why you’re here, in this car with me, waiting to see five bands in London. You know what talent really is, and you can help push it to the front of the queue with Seven.”
              He dragged the side of this thumb across the top of the steering wheel and I accepted that as a form of acknowledgement.
              “Besides I’m kind of glad you didn’t make it.”
              “Nice, January.”
              “No, really. Listen, if you had made it, I’d have never...”
kissed you
, “met you and wouldn’t have gotten the ultimate lesson in scouting under such
awesome
tutelage. Call me selfish, but I’m happy to be sitting here with you.”
              He looked at me and shook his head, a tiny grin gracing his lips.
Bingo
.
              “I think you’re incredibly suited for this job, Tom. It may not be what you had imagined yourself doing, but fate has a way of stepping in and guiding you the direction you need to go even when you yourself had no intention of creating that path.” I sighed deeply.
              A chorus of engines started as the lift to the ferry opened up and Holyhead’s blue sky greeted us.
              “We need to feed you,” he said out loud, not really talking to me.
              “Thanks, I’ll just get my bib and rubber-coated spoon then.”
              “Shut up,” he said, laughing and surprising me.
              “I just meant that if we’re going to be on the road for a while and what with your little issue, you probably need to eat something to keep you from feeling ill.”
              “Oh, thank you,” I said, genuinely touched that he even thought past the minute with me.
              “Yeah, don’t mention it.”
Our little rental putted down and out into the fresh sea air.
              “Pass this way with a pure heart,” I said, reading an inscription on a bit of concrete just off the port.
              “Holyhead’s motto.”
              “Very pretty.”
Tom grunted his reply. I suppose it was better than nothing.
              “I know of a fish and chips shop just off Cambria in the city proper. Cherry found it when The Ivories were here a few years back.”
              “Sure,” I said. “Cherry, from The Ivories Cherry?”
              “Yeah.”
              “Oh my God, she is so freaking cool. I love the crap out of her.”
              “She is cool, my Cherry Bomb. She’s a sister to me.”
              “Tell me about your friends.” I knew this was a subject he wouldn’t shy away from. It was the one topic that made Tom’s eyes light up like the Fourth of July.
              “They’re my family. You probably know all about The Ivories, but there’re a few more of them who don’t take a stage at all but are so extraordinary they should.
              “For instance, besides Cherry, Callum and Harper are my best friends. I hang or
hung,
before I moved to Austin, with them almost every other day. January,” he said, meeting my eyes for a moment before moving them back to the road, “they are so freaking amazing. Both of them grew up in the foster system and were kicked out at eighteen with nothing but the shirts on their backs. They met, worked themselves up from nothing and are becoming some of the most accomplished people I’ve ever met in my entire life! And they never asked for anything. They became extraordinary all on their own.” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I miss them so much,” he said, his neck and face heating up at their memory. He was fighting with emotion so badly it was affecting his heart, I could tell.
              “I want to meet them,” I said, trying to keep him there with me, to keep him from reverting back to his closed-off normal self.
              “So do I,” he said, shocking me mute. “They’d love you.”
              “Thank you,” I barely whispered as we pulled up to the chip shop.
              We walked into the tiny little shop and bought an order of fish and chips to share. Turns out, we both liked vinegar and salt on our chips so I lucked out there. With drinks in hand, Tom and I sauntered across the street and set our food on the wall between us and a very beautiful cemetery.
              “What’s with your name, January?” he asked.
              “Oh,” I laughed, rolling my eyes, “my parents.”
              “Oh, really, that’s fascinating. Your parents named you, did they? What a conversationalist!”
              “Shut up, rude ass. My parents named each of us after the months of the year.”
              “Starting with you, then.”
              “Yes, and it goes all the way down to October. My mom lost her eleventh and couldn’t have them anymore. So, we’re stuck at ten kids.” I smiled.
              “Ten kids! My God, that is - that is a lot of kids.”
              “Yeah, but you’ve never had so much fun as you’ve had with my family. They are the craziest, funniest, most amazing people in this world. The way you feel about your friends is the way I feel about my family.”
              “Then you must love them very much,” he said softly, eyes trained on a few grave markers.
              “I do. My sister July is my best friend. She is so rockin’ cool, Tom. She’s got this crazy long, jet-black hair and is, like, six feet tall. She’s bigger than life!” I smiled at a memory of her. “All of us are pretty tall. I’m the shortest actually.”
             
“You’re the
shortest
?” he asked in disbelief, his eyes roaming down then up my body and heating me up from the inside without so much as a graze of his hand.
              “Yes.” I cleared my throat.
              “I imagine your family must be an imposing force.”
              “That they are, but not because of their height. We’re just big and loud and lots of fun. I miss them already.”
              “It’ll be alright,” he offered. “You’re going to have a lot of fun at this job, trust me.”
I eyed him carefully, taking in his tall frame, stopping on the hand that rubbed my arm not two hours before.
I have a feeling you’re right, Thomas Eriksson.
/p>