In Harmony (Fenbrook Academy #2)(31)
Author: Helena Newbury

“Actress, dancer or musician?” he asked.

He knew about Flicker, then. Probably what had attracted him to the place, the chance to meet some young starlet or ballerina. He was going to be disappointed. “Musician.” And then, anticipating his next question, “Cello.”

He smiled, just like Fifty Shades of Gray Hair had at the party. “Oh—”

“Yes. The one where you sit with your legs spread.” I’d meant to say it just a little testily, to let him know how I felt about that line. But it didn’t quite come out like that. It came out as confident, even flirtatious.

He told me he was at Harvard and about his plans after graduation. I told him about playing with the quartet in Central Park and composing and cramming into tiny practice rooms. It felt good, to talk to someone outside Fenbrook’s little world. I glanced over to where the girls were sitting and got an encouraging smile from Natasha. I didn’t dare risk looking at Connor. If I saw him and Ruth were kissing, I felt like my heart would shatter.

We kept talking and I only realized how much the bar was filling up when someone squeezed their way between Anthony and me, cutting off the conversation. More people were pressing behind us, leaning over us to talk to the bar staff. When the guy between us moved away with his drinks, Anthony waved me closer. “I can’t hear you otherwise,” he said.

He had a point. The din was rising around us and with music blaring as well…but what was he suggesting—that I sit and he stand next to me? That we share a seat?

I stood up and moved over to him. He pushed his stool out a little from the bar and patted his lap. Oh. I hadn’t been planning on that. But when I looked round, a woman had already slid onto my vacated stool.

Anthony was smiling at me, which made me feel like an idiot for hesitating. It was no big deal, right?

I sat on his lap, glad I was in my usual jeans instead of a skirt or dress. Even so, I could feel the heat of him through the thin denim.

“That’s better,” he told me, his mouth right up against my ear. It meant that he didn’t have to shout, which was good. But it also felt very intimate, and that I wasn’t so sure about.

I told myself I was being stupid, and when we started talking again it seemed okay. He said he was sick of the women at Harvard, and told me how much he liked my hair.

And then someone bumped against his head from behind and apologized, and as if in response he grabbed hold of the bar and pulled the stool closer in. The bar counter had an overhang, so that put my stomach snugly against its edge and our lower bodies under the counter. Out of sight.

He told me I was beautiful and then, completely unasked, kissed me on the neck. His lips were too soft and too wet, and I could feel the cool spit they left behind. I was so focused on that, I didn’t notice his hand on my leg, gliding along the outside. And then sliding around to try to push between my thighs.

“No,” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear. His hand was like a knife-edge, sliding down. “No,” I said again, louder, definitely loud enough for him to hear even over the din. I clamped my knees hard together.

He made a shh-ing noise, as if I was being silly. And then I felt his expensive leather loafer against my ankle, hooking my leg outwards, and suddenly my legs were open. His hand was on my crotch, rubbing me there, and no one could see—

“Take your f**king hands off her,” said a deep, Belfast voice.

We both turned at the same time to see Connor looming over us. Anthony stopped rubbing, but didn’t move his hand.

“We’re fine,” he told Connor. “We’re fine, aren’t we?” he asked me, the panic just creeping into his voice.

Connor’s eyes were on mine. “No,” I whispered.

The stool, Anthony and I were all suddenly sliding back from the bar as Connor yanked on its metal stem, the base making a nasty screeching noise on the floor that killed all conversation around us. Anthony snatched his hand from my crotch, but not in time to stop everyone seeing it.

Connor’s hand grabbed mine and he pulled me from Anthony’s lap. I recognized the look on his face. I’d seen it before, in the gym. He drew back his arm.

“I’m calling the cops!” the barman yelled, and I thought of Connor’s past. And his future.

“Connor!” I grabbed his arm before he could hit Anthony, but he shook me off. “It’s okay!”

“No,” said Connor. “It’s not.” And he swung.

It wasn’t like you see in the movies, all slow motion and artistic, with someone flying through the air. It was quick and brutal and over in a second, Anthony’s head snapping back with a sound that made me want to vomit. He fell backwards off his stool and smacked into a table, flipping it over and scattering drinks, a glittering wave of glass and alcohol sloshing across the floor.

The girls ran over and we all stood there watching as Anthony tried to raise himself up and then slumped back down to the floor. I still had hold of Connor’s arm and I clung to it for dear life, but he seemed to be as shocked as I was. Blood was dripping from Anthony’s lip onto his clean white shirt and fanning out into a red flower.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked.

I nodded dumbly. Moments later, blue and red flashes filled the windows. A lot of people chose that moment to leave, but the girls and I stayed. I had to see what happened to Connor—help him, if I could. But I had a horrible feeling I already knew how this story would end—a broke, flunking Irishman with a history of violence, attacking a clean-cut Harvard student. Connor was on his way to jail, and I felt hot tears prickle my eyes.

The bar staff pushed everyone except Connor and Anthony back and we had to watch from across the room as two cops arrived and questioned them. Now that he was safe, Anthony looked to be mad.

I ran forward, narrowly avoiding being tackled by the barman. “I saw it,” I said to the back of the cop’s head. “He was only defending me.” I pointed to Anthony. “That man assaulted me!” But I already knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Even if they charged Anthony with something, Connor was still in trouble.

And then the cop turned around.

“Karen?” said Officer Ryan Kowalski.

Jasmine dodged past the bar staff and ran up beside me. “It’s like she said. That a**hole’s hands were all over her. Connor just went…a bit Irish.”

“Jasmine?” said Ryan.

Clarissa and Natasha ran up, at which point the bar staff pretty much gave up on trying to keep people back. “We saw it too,” they said together.

Ryan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, as if it was going to be another very long shift.

***

It took a half hour for Ryan to reason Anthony out of pressing charges. The turning point was when he asked me if I wanted to press sexual assault charges against him. I did, but I wanted Connor to stay out of jail more. I stared at Anthony until he got the message and relented.

When he’d slunk into a cab and was heading back to Harvard, I ran over to Ryan. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “If it had been any other cop…we were really lucky.”

He gave me a solemn nod, and then sighed. “It wasn’t completely luck. I knew this bar was where you guys hung out. I figured we should be the ones to check it out.”

He was gazing across the bar, and I realized he was looking at Jasmine. With a look some would have called longing.

“Why didn’t you call her?” I asked, bemused.

He looked at me indulgently and then indicated his uniform. “I remembered what I was,” he said. “And what she is. Cop and actress. Different circles, you know? I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

And with that he was gone. I stood looking at the spot where he’d stood, and then looked over my shoulder at Jasmine. Jasmine with her life lived by the skin of her teeth, with her string of cheating boyfriends and ill-advised one night stands. “But you’re exactly what she needs,” I said sadly.

Raised voices from the other side of the bar. Connor and Ruth were arguing, with her doing most of the talking and him shrugging off her questions. A second later, he stormed past me and out into the street.

I ran after him and found him standing outside taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm himself. He looked up when he saw me. “You okay?”

“Are you?”

“Well, I’m not in jail. Thanks.”

“Thank you. For—” It hadn’t affected me, really, until that moment. Maybe the adrenaline had held it back, or maybe I’d just been too worried about Connor. But now it hit me: the way Anthony had used me for his pleasure, what he might have done with me if he’d got me outside, or into the restroom. I started shaking, and couldn’t stop. The worst part was knowing that, save for some good luck, there would have been one less person like Connor around to balance out the Anthonys of the world. He’d been the one nearly sent to jail. “Why did you do it?” I asked, close to tears.

“Because you needed me,” he said. He was still breathing hard, trying to control his anger.

“But you hit him!” I shouted. “You hit him, after you’d pulled me away from him!”

“Because he deserved it,” said Connor. He turned away from me.

Hot tears were running down my cheeks. “But you could have gone to jail! Why?!”

He turned to me and I saw it in his eyes—the same internal struggle I’d seen when I’d first asked him to help me.

“Because I love you, you idiot!” he said.

Everything went very quiet.

“What?!”

He started walking towards me. “I’ve loved you from the first time you asked for my help, when you called it a stupid beer. That’s why I had to help you, even though I thought I’d mess it up.”

“But—but you didn’t say anything! You never said anything!”

“Because I knew I didn’t deserve you. Because I was a stupid waste of space who couldn’t even write a bloody essay, and I knew I’d mess things up for you. I just wanted you to be okay. That would be fine, that was all I needed. Just see you graduate and go off and find some posh guy to marry. But—”

He’d reached me, now. I stood there silently looking up at him, barely daring to breathe.

“But you helped me, and…it started to feel like I was good for something after all. Maybe even good enough to be with you. But I didn’t dare mess it up between us….”

“What about Ruth?” I asked, my throat so tight it was almost a whisper.

“She’s just a friend. I’m sleeping on the floor.”

My world turned upside down. I’d waited so long that it took a second to register that all the pieces had just slotted into place.

Then I reached up and grabbed him around the neck, dragging his face down to mine and we were kissing, my hands on his cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth, his warm fingers in my hair. I was afloat on a silver river of pure, heady elation. We kissed hungrily, starved for months.

“You daft mare,” he gasped when we finally broke apart. “I thought you didn’t even like me!”