by Cara Dee
“No, we don’t.” I offered an innocent smile as Anthony rejoined us after getting a new microphone. We were supposed to rehearse at the church, but a Vigil service took precedence, so we’d opened up one of our rehearsal rooms at the academy tonight. The choir was here and warmed up, and then one of the microphones had acted up.
Anthony shot me an annoyed look before walking over to the platform in the back where the choir stood.
I knew what he wanted to say anyway. I wasn’t having it.
My phone buzzed on the top of the piano. It was a message from Gideon.
I’m not a fan of you having a day off.
I smirked.
I wasn’t a huge fan of it either. I missed him. It was fucking crazy how that man had gotten under my skin in just a month. But the outdoor concert was approaching, and my ass needed some recovery. Last night, Gideon had taken me for a walk in Hell’s Kitchen. We walked a lot these days, actually—to chitchat, of all things—and I had expected what’d become our new normal. A walk and then, when we came home, some good fucking until we fell asleep. Instead, he’d taken me hard in a dark alleyway behind a bar, and I’d been too turned on to point out that he hadn’t used enough lube.
I’d also been too turned on to ask for a break once we got back to the apartment. The man drove me bonkers and had revved up my sex drive to the max.
If I invited him down here—on a night I wasn’t charging him—would he show up? I mean, if he had nothing to do… Maybe we could go out for a drink afterward. It sounded so normal in my head, and I wanted something normal with him.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
I texted him quickly.
If you have nothing better to do, I’m rehearsing with the choir at my brother’s academy tonight. I’ll buy you a drink when we’re done if you’re interested.
“Okay, from the start,” Anthony announced. “We’ll do Nicky’s song after.”
Finally.
So far, we’d only worked on it separately. I’d sent the choir the sheet music along with my notes earlier in the week, and Anthony and I had tinkered with it during our lunch breaks.
I hoped it made the set list for the concert. We had enough Christian songs, one of which we were practicing tonight.
Anthony was amazing as always, and he existed only for the music. He sang and played guitar, facing the choir, while I sat at the piano. And it happened to give me a view of the hallway outside the rehearsal studio, and I spotted Shawn through the window about halfway through the song.
The fuck was he doing here?
He removed his beanie and mittens and glanced through the window, in search of Anthony, but his gaze landed on me first.
I cocked a brow.
He rolled his eyes and kept searching until he found his ATM.
Without regard to what we were doing, Shawn opened the door and walked over to Anthony.
It made me livid in a flash of a second, and I let out a sharp whistle.
“Oi! You can wait.” We were in the middle of the motherfucking song, and Anthony was concentrating.
My brother obviously heard me, and he furrowed his brow at me before he looked over his shoulder and saw his boyfriend.
“I just need a second, asshole,” Shawn spat at me.
“Why, because your first one’s too loose?” I asked.
Anthony coughed.
Maria and a few others let out a collective spluttered laugh, and the song kinda died out when Anthony stopped playing.
I stopped playing too.
Shawn shot me a glare but made no further comment. He was dressed for a Friday night in the city, so I bet he was in a hurry. He squatted down in front of Anthony and turned on the charm, speaking too quietly for me to hear, though I already knew he was here to ask for cash. It was what he did, and my infuriating brother always gave it to him.
Or maybe not this time?
I tilted my head, not bothering to pretend to be subtle, and watched Anthony’s body language. There was tension in his shoulders, but he spoke casually. Nothing casual about Shawn, though. He scowled at whatever Anthony had said.
My phone buzzed, and I dragged my gaze away to check it. A reply from Gideon.
I’d be a poor stalker if I announced my presence.
I grinned and typed back.
Well, if someone were to decide to stalk me, it’s the second entrance where there’s a sign for rehearsal studios. The door code is 7845, and I’m in the first room to the right. Stalkers are encouraged to take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall. Just in case.
If he did show up, I’d be somewhat surprised. He’d told me he wasn’t comfortable with other people’s spontaneity. He needed time to mentally prepare himself and go over all the steps and routes and risks. He’d also told me he believed it was the reason he couldn’t cook, whereas he was great at baking bread. Baking was like math. There were perfect formulas to follow to achieve perfection. Cooking required a practiced touch and feeling, he’d said.
I had to admit I loved getting to know him. Bit by bit, he shared parts of himself during our walks, sometimes serious topics, but mostly easygoing stuff.
Learning about Claire was probably tougher on me than on him at this point. I’d found out she was a family friend—Gideon’s cousin’s family had a lake house next to Claire’s family’s “estate,” and so on and so on, and just shoot me. She was perfect for him in the vision Gideon had created. A family life with heirs and lake houses and private jets. Blah.
Shawn stood up and marched for the exit, and I looked over at my brother in question. He just shook his head subtly, not wanting to get into it, and ordered everyone to focus and get back to work.
When he lost his politeness, which was rare, everyone heeled and listened.
It was a physical jab in the anxiety pump to hear Anthony snap at you because it happened practically never.
An hour later, we were all lost in the music again.
Anthony and I were both playing the guitar for this, and the song was fast enough for us to have worked up a sweat. I fucking loved it. We were in our element. We played, we sang, we stopped to make changes, and the choir was given freedom to be creative with the harmonies. Sometimes, it was the best way to create a song. To let it surface from a sea of improvised freedom.
We had Sylvia, an old classmate of Anthony’s, playing synth next to Luiz on the drums, and she’d gotten a lot better at her new hobby since last time. It was Anthony who’d encouraged her to learn an instrument after her sister died, and she’d always loved the eighties…
“Sorry!” Tia exclaimed after mixing up the cues for the harmonies. I shook my head and made a quick circular motion, silently telling her to just jump in again, before I played the next lick. It was our favorite way to work, to keep going and going until we nailed the song.
Anthony hit the chorus again and sang of getting back up and holding on tight because love was hard. And it was fucking supposed to be. I wanted to drill the lyrics into his skull.
The third verse was quiet, with focus on the synth and backup vocals, and it built up to the last chorus where I got some action too. I stepped forward to the microphone and joined in on the singing.
Anthony and I stood across from each other so we could communicate throughout the rehearsal, and when he nodded at my guitar and said, “After the third, I want more freestyle,” I knew what to do.
We started the song all over again.
Everyone was fired up, and it was a rush to me. To Anthony too. To have this steady flow of energy traveling through us—it was why we loved playing.
I grinned and screwed my eyes shut as I missed a cue, but there was no time to think about it. Keep going, keep going. I jumped in again as soon as I could, and I blew out a heavy breath.
A beat later, I noticed a handful of friends in the choir glancing at the door, so I looked over too, and I smiled widely. He came. Gideon actually showed up. He looked a little ruffled in his very unruffled suit; my
guess was that he was a bit overwhelmed, but he offered a small smile and sat down in one of the chairs below the window.
My eyes were still on him as I leaned toward the mic and sang backup for Anthony, and I prayed Gideon paid attention to the lyrics too. Then I backed off and dropped my gaze and delivered what I hoped was an impressive solo, short as it may be. It wasn’t the kind of song to amaze, to be honest.
It would be kinda cool if he were amazed by me, though.
At around ten, everyone was starting to get tired and checking the clock on the wall a lot, so it was time to wind things down. Gideon had spent half an hour watching us rehearse the same song over and over, and that couldn’t have been a blast. But he was here. He hadn’t checked his phone a single time either.
“Only one rehearsal to go!” Maria exclaimed happily.
“We’ll have two hours in the morning the same day as the concert too,” Anthony replied, reaching for his towel to wipe his face.
I wiped my forehead on the sleeve of my Henley.
“Only two rehearsals to go!” Maria corrected jokingly.
The first rush of people was quick to say their goodbyes and wish everyone a happy weekend before ducking out, leaving Anthony and me with Maria, Luiz, Sylvia, and Nina. While Anthony huddled with most of them to shoot the shit, Maria and I went over the set list—what we had so far, anyway—so she could print it out for everyone for next time.
“So we’re moving ‘Testify’ to the first section?” she asked, holding up her binder.
I nodded and tapped a finger to an empty slot. “Yeah, and this one goes from here to the last one.”
During the event, we’d play five songs in three different time slots. Fifteen songs in total, with breaks in between for other acts. A local kids’ comedian was coming, and there was some auction with the proceeds going to a shelter.
We had thirteen songs at this point. After checking with Anthony this week, we’d added “Stand by Me” to the last slot, and I was fairly certain he’d choose “Washed by the Water” as the fourteenth. It was one we’d performed with the choir before, so it wouldn’t require a lot of practice.
“By the way, is there any news about Nashville?” Maria asked.
“Anthony would know that better than me,” I replied. “I think we’ve shared all the info. You’re in, right?”
“Of course! I’m not missing that.” She bumped her hip to mine, and I grinned. “We’re gonna party it up in the South, papi.”
“Fuck yeah.”
Next spring, we had a gig at a rock festival outside Nashville, and we’d left it open to the choir to join us. We were an on-again, off-again band—or rather, a band with plenty of hiatuses—and it wasn’t anything we put that much energy into. It was just fun to play here and there. This festival happened to be right up our alley, so Anthony had submitted a demo, and we’d been picked in the first selection, which was fucking cool if you asked me. But it wouldn’t make us rich or anything. In fact, we were chartering a bus and staying at the cheapest hotel in the area, and those from the choir who wanted to join us had to pay for their own room and board.
Nine men and women from the choir had signed up, last I checked.
By the time Maria said it was time for her to hurry home, Anthony was alone with Luiz by the drums, and I could finally say hey to Gideon.
“See you next week, babe.” I closed the door after Maria, then turned to the hottest man in the universe. “I don’t wanna tiptoe around anything, so I’m just gonna come out and say it made me really fucking happy that you showed up.”
Gideon had shared with me the countless hours he’d spent in front of the mirror perfecting “casual, polite, kind” smiles, and he wasn’t bad at those. He blended in just fine. But when the smile warmed up his eyes, that was when I knew it was genuine. It was small, but it was there.
“I wanted to see you.” He rose from his seat and smoothed down his suit jacket. “You’re very talented.”
“Thank you.” I wanted to kiss him but figured that would be too much. “Did you dislike these lyrics too?”
I’d been right about the other song. Gideon hadn’t liked it because it hit too close to home. He just hadn’t clarified further than that, so I remained in the dark. Was it about the settling for less than what he really wanted, for instance? Or was he feeling trapped?
“I didn’t dislike them, no.” It sounded like he’d phrased himself that way for a reason. Not disliking them didn’t automatically translate to liking them.
“I wrote it for my brother.” I reached out quickly and pretended to adjust the lapel on his suit. “But if you took something from it, I’d call it a bonus.”
Gideon peered down at his chest, then lifted a brow at me and smirked faintly. “I can pick up some subtle cues, you know.”
“Good!” I let out a laugh.
“I know you don’t want me to hide who I am,” he murmured.
My humor faded, and I shook my head. “No, I don’t.” I spotted Luiz and Anthony coming closer, so I looked over at them. “Good job today, man.” I held out my fist.
Luiz bumped it with his own. “You too. See ya Wednesday?”
“Definitely.” I was gonna go over some advice with him then because he wanted to advance as a drummer.
Once he had left, I could sense that Gideon’s focus was on Anthony, and I wanted to show him he could trust me to make a possibly awkward moment as painless as it could be. Work was mixing with family, and when work was sex work, it could be uncomfortable for anyone, with or without a diagnosis.
“Gideon, this is my brother Anthony. Anthony, Gideon,” I said. “We’re gonna go grab a beer. You wanna come with?”
I knew he’d say no.
“Nice to meet you.” Anthony shook Gideon’s hand firmly before addressing me. “Nah, I gotta be up early, but you have fun.”
He was a pro. He’d save his questions for later. And he really did have to be up early.
After grabbing our jackets, we made our way outside, and Anthony activated the alarm before locking up.
“I guess I’ll see you at Nonna’s?” he asked, pocketing his keys.
“Always. But I’ll call you tomorrow to bug you with worries and so on.” I felt like a mothering fretter around my brother at times, but it was what it was. I wanted him happy and cared for.
“Can’t wait.” He offered a wry smirk, even though I knew he appreciated the concern as much as it bugged him. At least on the topic of his love life.
Anthony veered right with a two-finger wave, aiming for the parking lot next to the building, and Gideon gestured toward the street for me, where my gaze landed on a car that didn’t belong in this area. And Park Slope was nice.
Just not Bentley SUV with a private driver nice.
“Madonn’, Daddy, this is a $200,000 car.” I drew a finger along the glossy black exterior as Gideon opened the door for me.
“Do you have an interest in cars?” He cocked his head, looking like he hadn’t expected me to have such a hobby.
And I didn’t. I shook my head and slid into the car, offering a nod of greeting to the driver—who offered absolutely nothing in return. “My pop had his own body shop before he retired,” I answered. “He lives and breathes cars. I used to run around down there all the time as a kid.”
“Back to Manhattan, sir?” the driver asked.
Gideon looked to me in question. “Where would you like to go?”
I knew just the place, and I was suddenly antsy to show Gideon a little about my life. I gave the driver the address to Sueños, a small bar in Williamsburg where I’d had my first legal shot of tequila after turning twenty-one.
Gideon wouldn’t feel overly overwhelmed there. It was a lively place, but the booths were designed as little pockets with cabana themes that provided a semblance of privacy. Plus, it was gay-friendly, and I knew the owners.
“You’re about to discover why my Spanish is better than my Italian,” I joked.
The other
day, he had quizzed me about my ancestry after I’d called him papi. Like so many others in the Northeast, I was Irish and Italian, though the only stereotypically Irish thing about me was the color of my eyes. They were from Ma’s side, and she hadn’t been solely Irish herself. The Italian dominated. But growing up in a Latin neighborhood had left its marks, and I was a professional language butcher, mixing Italian, English, Spanish, and slang. More so than Anthony, who’d done the adult thing and polished his skills to be able to say he was fluent in three languages. Me? Half the time, I didn’t know what was what.
When I told Gideon this, I thought he’d find it funny. Instead, he pursed his lips and eyed me like he’d just solved a math problem.
“You always place your brother a little higher than yourself,” he noted. “He’s better at languages, at singing, at playing the piano, he’s higher educated, he’s more business-minded, et cetera.”
Damn. Did I do that? I squinted at nothing and scratched my ear.
“I hadn’t thought of that. It’s not a way to put myself down, though,” I replied. “If you want a good Sunday dinner and our grandmother’s not around, you want me, not Anthony. I’m better with the guitar, and I think I’m scrappier than he is. He’s calmer and more careful. I’m impulsive and don’t mind taking some risks.”
He chuckled. “You list traits about yourself that I usually abhor and do anything to stay away from, and yet…” He released a breath and shook his head. “You’re all I can think of, Nicky.”
There was no stopping the shit-eating grin on my mug.
I was fairly certain it was the first time he’d called me by my name, too. Or nickname.
“Nicky,” he repeated to himself. “Normally, I don’t even like nicknames.”
“Fuck normal, baby. I like that I stand out.” I grabbed his hand and kissed the top of it, then linked our fingers together and rested them on the narrow seat between us. “Who doesn’t wanna be memorable, right?”
“Memorable… That’s an understatement.” He smiled wryly. “You’re very…colorful.”
Both good and bad, I assumed. I bet I shook up his gray existence, but it didn’t take a whole lot to do that. He came from a typically WASP-y line of golfers, investors, and yacht club members. I knew enough about him that it wouldn’t take more than a Google search to find out exactly who he was, and the reason I hadn’t done that was because I didn’t wanna see just how different we were. Too different wasn’t a positive thing. Too different was frightening in Gideon’s world.