by Cara Dee
He let me insert one of the buds.
I took the remaining bud and picked my latest playlist. Conveniently one with love songs that I’d selected because of the man in front of me.
A slower pop song about new love in New York started playing, and I popped the collar of his coat to provide somewhat of a barrier.
“It’s just us here.” I pressed our foreheads together and dropped my phone between us. “We’re the only ones who matter right now. Just us. And the song.”
His rapid breaths misted in the air, and I did what I could to encourage slower breathing. I snuck one hand inside his coat and placed it on his hip where he could feel my fingers tap out the beat of the song, in hopes his breathing would match it. Wait, fuck, was the beat too fast? It was too fast. Christ, I was an idiot.
I hurriedly picked up my phone and scrolled—perfect. One of the latest-played songs was not only slower, but it had something Gideon had asked for.
I pushed play on the recording of Anthony and me playing “Cages,” a song in which I sang almost as much as he did. My brother on the piano, me on the guitar, singing about failed expectations, searching in the darkness, and fighting uphill battles.
The song flooded my senses, and I slid my hand up his chest instead, making sure I didn’t press too hard. I tapped the slow beat over his pounding heart and gently nudged him to rest his forehead on my shoulder instead. I’d close my jacket around him if I could.
“That’s you,” he rasped. “It’s your voice.”
I nodded and kissed him behind his ear. “Try to breathe with the beat.”
He shuddered.
Halfway through the song, I thought I could detect the slightest improvement, so I put the song on repeat for now.
I kept my cheek pressed to his ear, reckoning it blocked out some of the outside noise, and rubbed his neck absently.
“Your voice is soothing,” he muttered. “Anthony’s is more…tortured.”
Fitting word.
“I’m quite partial to y-yours, but I might be biased.”
I smiled against his skin. “Bias is underrated.”
He choked a little laugh that almost sounded like a whimper, and it slashed worry through me. I inched back enough to be able to see his face. Motherfucker. A tear was rolling down his cheek, and I wiped it away with my thumb.
I hugged him to me and cursed myself to the fiery pits of hell. Why the hell had I brought him here?
“I shouldn’t have pushed you to do this, Gideon. I’m so fucking sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Stop it.” He gathered my hands against his chest, and I felt that his heart had slowed down significantly. “Anxiety and panic won’t kill me, Nicky. I’ll take a panic attack every day of the week if I don’t have to go through it alone. You’re the f-first one who…” He sucked in a breath and trailed off.
As much as I itched to hear the rest of that sentence, he needed to cool it. He was just calming down. Talking could wait.
“Focus on breathing,” I murmured. “Do you want some water?”
He shook his head. “I want to go back to your place. And I want chocolate.”
I chuckled silently. He was coming back to me. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You put both earbuds in, and we’ll pick some metal you like. Then I’ll guide you over to Godiva.”
“All right.”
When he lifted his head, I twisted my body and pointed across the street, closer to the eastern corner of the plaza. “See the Godiva sign over there?”
He followed my gaze and nodded.
“Okay. I’ll lead the way. You just focus on the music and following me.”
“I will. But I saw something in your playlist I’d like to hear. I’m curious about what you enjoy.”
I handed him my phone and watched him scroll through the playlist I’d originally played, the one with love songs, and he picked one called “Slow Dance.”
It took him thirty-eight seconds to quirk a brow at me. “A hip-hop song that’s anything but slow…about slow dancing?”
I laughed. “This ain’t hip-hop.” I’d call it mainstream pop with some R&B elements. “I like the beat.” I bobbed my head and swayed a little.
He mustered a faint smile. Then he glanced up at the Coca-Cola billboard behind me that Times Square would be nothing without, and he appeared more content now.
“It’s a spectacular place when I don’t have to listen to it,” he admitted.
“The sounds are worse than the billboards?”
“Much.” He nodded. “City noise is unpredictable when it’s too close. I like having it in the background at home and so on, but being a pedestrian in this city is a headache.”
“But you like our walks…?”
“I love them,” he corrected. “I just make sure to prepare myself beforehand.”
Made sense.
We’d had a little too much of the unpredictable tonight, though, so I wanted to get him home as soon as possible.
“Come on. Chocolate, then home.” I untangled myself from him and left the bench, losing my earbud in the process.
He took it and inserted it in his other ear.
Chapter 9
“Honey…your alarm…”
“Is a menace,” he grumbled sleepily.
Once he’d turned it off, he returned to me and pressed our bodies together, one hand sliding down my back to squeeze my ass cheeks. Then he released a long sigh and stretched out alongside me.
“I don’t want to work today,” he yawned. “I want to stay right here all day and cuddle and eat fries and feel ridiculously cherished whenever you call me baby or papi or honey. But my newest favorite is papito. You only use it when you take care of me.”
“That’s when you’re my little Daddy.” I chuckled drowsily and buried my face against his neck.
What was less funny was his lack of mentioning sex. We’d gone almost five days now without him fucking me. I’d hinted at it here and there. I’d asked if he was curious about bottoming, to which he’d made a face and shaken his head. I didn’t care. I was a bottom through and through, but I’d thought by suggesting new things, he might…wake up. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t still sexual with me. He rendered me breathless and stupid every damn night with blow jobs and massages and whatnot. Just…nothing for himself. He was “tired.”
“Come here.” He turned onto his side and dipped down, capturing my mouth with his. “Friday is the worst day of them all.”
Because it was my day “off.”
“Mm…” I inched back and wet my bottom lip. “How can you still taste like chocolate?”
I’d bought him a fairly big box of chocolate at Godiva earlier this week, along with a large cup of hot chocolate, and he’d snatched a few pieces here and there whenever he was with me. But after a long night of sleeping, not to mention we’d brushed our teeth together like some sappy, love-sick couple yesterday, it didn’t make sense.
“It’s possible I grabbed the last two pieces when I got up to use the bathroom an hour ago,” he confessed.
I grinned lazily and kissed him again. “Christ, I—” love you. “Can’t get over how fucking cute you are sometimes.”
There was no going back for me. After our adventure to Times Square, we’d come back here, and I’d asked him to finish the sentence he hadn’t been able to complete earlier. He’d admitted that I was the first one, aside from his parents, who made him feel like he didn’t have to worry about composure and always being on top of things. And it’d just sealed my fate. I was gonna be one miserable fuck for an eternity when this was over.
“Want me to whip up some breakfast before you go?” I asked.
I wasn’t surprised when he declined. He’d only let me do it once, then abruptly declared he couldn’t afford to get hooked on my spoiling him. Only, he’d used fancier words.
“What’re you going to do today?” He rolled out of bed with a grunt and reached for his discarded clothes on my chair at the keyboard. �
��Practice with the choir, I assume?”
“Not until tomorrow morning,” I replied. “Today I got brunch with Tina, then work. We have a recital at the academy.” It was that time of year. There would be a recital every Friday until the semester was over.
Gideon glanced back at me as he zipped up his pants. “You can’t return the money when you see Tina. You gave me your word.”
“I won’t.” I stretched out and groaned, hoping I’d get another couple hours of sleep soon.
After putting on his undershirt, Gideon began buttoning his regular shirt. It fit him to a fucking tee. “What kind of recital is it?”
I smiled instinctively, beyond proud of my students. “So, every year, Anthony and I put up lists in the hallway at the first entrance where kids can decide what project they wanna be part of at the end of their semester. Today is my soft rock performance for those who’ve played their instruments three years or longer.” Which meant it was a group of seventeen hormonal teenagers, mostly between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, except for two eleven-year-old prodigies. Among them was David; he and I would share a piano tonight and sing together. He was only on his second year of playing the piano, but he was fucking brilliant already.
Before I knew it, I sat up in bed and rambled to Gideon as he continued getting dressed.
“Three students from Anthony’s saxophone class are joining us too,” I said. “And three boys and three girls from the freshman choir. They’re fucking adorable. You should hear them. Their voices—” I kissed my fingertips.
Gideon grinned tiredly and threw his tie around his neck. “My voice at fourteen was anything but adorable.”
“Right?” I chuckled. “We have one guy who’s worried about his voice cracking, so he’s staying away from anything high-pitched.”
How could he make tying a tie look so pornographic?
“Sounds like a good time,” he responded. “I take it your auditorium will be filled to the max with proud parents.”
Sort of. Our auditorium was tiny; it was one of the reasons we split the end-of-semester recitals into smaller groups, because there were only seats for seventy-five people.
“There’s room for one more if you…you know…have nothing better to do.”
I saw the eager agreement in his eyes before he accepted the invitation verbally, and it made my day. Not only would I see him tonight too, but his genuine interest in my work meant the world to me.
Then I pointed out jokingly that it wasn’t fair that he came to see me in Brooklyn while I knew virtually nothing about his personal life.
“What’s there to share?” He crawled onto the bed and leaned over for a kiss. “I don’t come from a family that hosts Sunday dinners or organizes outdoor concerts with their local church. I see my cousins and their extended families for major holidays—the ones I don’t see at work every day.” He got my lips again before he straightened up. “I have an elderly neighbor who comes over sometimes to pet Chester and recommend a new wine she’s tried, and I have one friend from college with whom I meet up for dinner perhaps twice a year—unless he has to cancel because he has three daughters all active in various sports.” He blew out a breath, grabbing his suit jacket, and he faced me. “Under normal circumstances, I’d be with Claire for dinner most evenings, but I haven’t seen her since our arrangement began. My social life isn’t anything to write home about, so to speak.”
I pinched my lips together and processed everything, and I didn’t have much to say in response, other than that I wanted to replace a few people in his life with some cool people from this little place called Brooklyn.
“What time is the recital tonight?” he asked.
“Seven,” I replied. “First entrance—not the one you used last time. Just follow the herd.”
“I’ll be there.”
Fifteen minutes to showtime and I was stuck to a six-year-old girl whose mother had just called in tears to apologize and say she was gonna be late picking up her daughter. Li’l Maya was a happy sprite who’d joined our kiddie choir this semester as part of her therapy to lose her stutter.
Now she didn’t wanna let go of my hand.
“Five minutes till the doors open, guys!” I hollered. “I want everyone on stage within a minute!”
“And phones off!” Anthony reminded as he appeared with two more chairs. Presumably for the guitarist and bass player. “You want them here?”
I nodded. It looked good. Drums, bass, guitars, and tambourines to the front right, sax players and choir standing in the back, then David and me on the piano to the front left.
We had two younger instructors helping out in the back, and they could deal with the girls’ panicking about makeup and wardrobe. This was about the music; there was no creative theme or papier-mâché scenery to speak of. We’d put up blue velvet curtains and a blue velvet background, and everyone had on a black “TGI Fender” tee. That was enough.
The sax players and a few others walked past Maya and me to do a quick sound check, and David followed shortly after. It was my cue to free up my hands, so I squatted down to Maya’s level.
“You sure you don’t wanna wait with Angela, hon?” I asked, referring to one of our instructors. “She has grapes and juice boxes…”
Maya shook her head stubbornly and tightened her grip on my hand. “I’mma wait w-wiv you.”
I threw a helpless look toward Anthony, who was watching the exchange, and his own expression left it up to me. What do you wanna do? I didn’t fucking know, but we were out of time, so I had to improvise.
We couldn’t have her getting upset backstage.
“One minute till the doors open!” Anthony called to everyone.
The last two stragglers from the choir darted onto the stage, and my brother closed the curtains.
“Fuck it,” I muttered and picked up Maya. “Try not to steal the show, brown eyes.” I touched one of her bouncy curls and earned myself a toothless grin. “No grabbing the microphone, no touching the keys on the piano. Gabeesh?”
“G’bish!” She nodded. “Can I w-wave?”
I laughed and joined David on the bench, and I situated her sideways across my lap. “You can wave when all the people have sat down, and then when we start playing, you keep your little paws to yourself. How’s that?”
She nodded seriously. “I keep ’em here.” She folded her arms over her chest and tucked her hands close to her body.
“That’s perfect,” I chuckled. Turning to David, I offered a reassuring smile at his raised brows that he aimed at Maya, before I turned back to the rest of the ensemble. “Everyone ready? Anthony’s about to open the doors.”
The kids responded with nervous nods and murmurs of “sure” and “ready.”
“Remember to have fun,” I urged. “I don’t wanna be the only one with ants in my pants.”
From the older teenagers, that earned me a couple eye-rolls. It seemed they had to be indifferent now, but they’d had no issues clownin’ off at rehearsal earlier. The sax players had even come up with a dance. I hoped they felt brave enough to have at it.
Maya grabbed the pocket of my jeans and peered inside. “You got an-n-nts?”
I smiled widely and shook my head. “Just an expression. There are no ants, I promise.”
“Phew.” She grinned goofily.
Seconds later, the auditorium filled with the sounds of parents, siblings, and grandparents. There was always a pang in my chest because I knew not all the kids had someone in the audience. It was why Anthony and I made sure to record each recital, so the students could show their folks at home. I knew Carmen, in particular, was bummed out about her dad not being able to make it. He couldn’t get off work. But he’d see her fantastic progress with her saxophone online.
As my brother gave us a brief introduction on the other side of the curtain, telling the family members a little about what we’d worked on this semester, David stretched his fingers and rolled his shoulders like he’d watched me do so many times.
My little wonder boy. Kid could go far if he kept this up.
When Anthony was done, I made eye contact with everyone one last time and nodded, ’cause this was it. It was time to show their nonnas how it was done.
The curtains were rolled back to the sound of parents applauding, and Maya waved merrily to everyone the second the spotlights hit us. I stifled my chuckle and adjusted the mic between David and me, and there was no other intro. I counted us down from four, my stomach fluttered, I wondered where Gideon was sitting—or if he was one of those standing in the back—and about a hundred tiny other thoughts flitted past in my mind right before my fingers hit the piano keys.
“Lonely with Me” by Parachute was a good upbeat song to start things off with, and if Gideon happened to read into the choice of song, I’d consider it a bonus.
David joined in a couple lines later, as did the drums, bass, and guitars.
Baby…
I’ll be wherever you are.
The most explosive entrance belonged to the choir and the sax players who filled in during the chorus, and it was im-fucking-possible to withhold my grin as I sang. They were so goddamn good. My chest swelled with pride, and Maya forgot my instructions and clapped excitedly.
I was ready to join my brother here full time. This was my dream. We were gonna expand. His vision was mine too.
Baby…
You shouldn’t be lonely.
Before this recital was over, we were gonna get a damn standing ovation, ’cause we were killing it. The energy flowing through us was something else. All the nerves had taken a hike, and the students were moving to the beat we created together.
The same energy buzzed through us the following evening when Anthony and I found ourselves standing on a stage in a run-down, abandoned church at the edge of Williamsburg. Heaters along the brick walls and bistro lights in the broken ceiling threw a warm glow over the packed church for the fifth year in a row.
One big spotlight was trained on the stage and showing how much we could sweat.
We were on our last session for the evening, and the families with young children had gone home. It allowed us to raise the nonexistent roof of this place, and we weren’t the only ones. Out of the approximately two hundred Solo cups in the crowd, I estimated half of them had more bourbon than hot cider.