We Have Till Dawn

by Cara Dee

  I bobbed my head and plucked at the strings of my precious Gibson guitar, flirting with Anthony’s flawless playing on the piano, though the gospel choir behind us owned all of us. They were the ones who fueled us, the ones who made the atmosphere around us fucking crackle.

  Music filled my soul.

  Gideon filled my heart.

  He’d shown up late because Chester had eaten something he shouldn’t and had thrown up all over Gideon’s home. The dog was feeling better now, but I had a feeling Gideon would go home fairly quickly after the show was over. Not that his worry had stopped him from buying four—that’s right, four—hot dogs from a vendor, as well as two cups of hot chocolate and a deep-fried Snickers.

  I was pretty sure I’d seen him buy raffle tickets too.

  Anthony and I exchanged a quick look as the song drew to its close, and we stopped playing at the same time, leaving the last few seconds for the choir and Luiz on the drums.

  Fuck me, I was spent. I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt as the crowd applauded.

  Last song. It’d been a hectic week, and it felt like the last two months had led up to this moment.

  Nerves tightened my stomach, and I swallowed dryly.

  Anthony let out a whistle, causing me to glance over at him, and he nodded at…something.

  I followed his gaze over the crowd, instinctively seeking out Gideon near the western wall where he’d been standing before—and fuck me so hard and then kill me. Mamma mia, why? Just why? Why was Pop talking to him? Of all the visitors, not to mention some of Pop’s actual friends, he had to wander over to a complete stranger with whom I happened to wanna spend the rest of my life?

  My father wasn’t generally an observant man. Had it been Nonna… Let’s just say there’d been a reason I hadn’t sought out Gideon in the crowd when she was still here, ’cause she could sniff out a story from a mile away.

  “We have one more song for y’all,” Anthony said into the mic. “Couple weeks ago, Nicky came to me and said we had to play this one, and he wouldn’t really tell me why.”

  What the fuck, dude?

  I scowled back at him.

  He smiled, perfectly at ease, and went on. “We’ve performed it together before, so I said shoot. It was nice to have a tune we didn’t have to rehearse, considering how little time we had.” He paused. “Yesterday we had a recital over at the Initiative, and Nicky sang with his group of students. Now listen, I’ve always told the little shit he should sing more than he does.” He got several laughs from that. I wasn’t on the same page. At fucking all. What was he playing at? “But something was different last night,” he said. “His voice was stronger. And I happen to know…because it’s what our nonna always says… We sing better when we have someone to sing for.” That motherfucker. Without another word, he sang the first line from “Stand by Me,” and I acted on autopilot.

  My fingers fell over the strings, and I had no choice but to walk over to my own microphone and face the crowd.

  Because for some idiotic reason, I’d asked to turn this into a duet rather than be his backup.

  I joined in on the first chorus and closed my eyes. It was just better. I knew Gideon was watching and listening. That was enough. The rest of the world could fuck off, and so could my nervousness, if I was gonna be honest. Cazzo.

  Thankfully, it worked. The music swept me away, and even I thought I sang better than usual. More than that, my guitar became an extension of me. We built up a crescendo, and the choir pushed us toward an edge—where Anthony and I just stopped. I drew an unsteady breath that sounded too loud, and then Luiz set us on fire with the drums. Anthony and I raised the tempo and the volume, backed off and quieted down, went up toward the edge again, then back down.

  In a quiet moment, I smiled to myself and pictured Gideon’s face before me. It was the song to impress him. The very one. I plucked at the strings and improvised a technical lick, then slid my fingers along the strings and made the music wail for me in a bluesy, full-blown solo. As if my guitar had its own tortured voice.

  Anthony followed, Luiz followed, the choir followed. We built up everything once more until we all jumped off the ledge and belted out the last chorus till our lungs burned for air.

  Stand by me, darlin’.

  Choose me.

  Pick me, god-fucking-dammit.

  Chapter 10

  I was stalling.

  The gig had left me a little too raw, and I had to at least compose myself somewhat before I faced Gideon. So I took my time helping Anthony box up our instruments and equipment.

  Pop gave no fucks and stepped up on the platform, hands in his pockets, his ugly old bucket hat on as always, and an open jacket to show his The Fender Initiative sweater. Our old man was as unpolished and politically incorrect as they came, but he had a heart of gold and had always supported us in his own clumsy way.

  “Youse rocked it tonight, eh?” He bobbed his head in agreement with his own statement. “No one was sitting at the end. I saw.” He gestured at the floor. It was starting to clear out. As always, too many were dumping their lawn chairs and “forgetting” their blankets. Same shit every year. “Everyone cheering—that’s good.”

  “Thanks, Pop.” I bundled together the cord to my amplifier and walked over to kiss his cheek. “Anthony drivin’ you home?”

  “Yeah, since Nonna took my car,” he replied.

  “Don’t catch a cold, old man,” Anthony hollered from over by the drums. He was helping Luiz pack up. “Go have some coffee under a heater.”

  Pop snorted and jerked his thumb at Anthony while he eyed me. “When did that boy become my father, huh? That’s what I wanna know.”

  I grinned and started taking apart the microphone stand.

  Then he wagged a finger at me. “And you. Either you’re stupid, or you think I’m stupid. You can’t sing like a canary to Ruby and Camila and don’t expect shit to get back to your grandmother and me. Huh? The fuck’s wrong witchu?”

  I winced. “What’ve they told you?”

  “All about that suit in the back.” He jerked his chin, presumably at Gideon. “You’ve been shacking up with him in the city.”

  I shoulda known about Ruby. Her grandmother talked to Nonna, who talked to everyone, including Ruby herself, and she wasn’t the best at resisting my grandmother’s ways. But there were limits, and I knew I could count on my friend not to spill the beans about how Gideon and I met.

  “So that’s why you were giving him the third degree,” I said.

  “Third degree,” he scoffed. “I was just making sure you wasn’t bringing home a mamaluke like that one did.” He nodded at Anthony.

  I was too nervous to laugh, but I probably would later.

  “Anyway.” Pop twirled a finger and got serious. “Bring the boy over for dinner once he’s stopped calling youse ‘just friends.’” Ouch. But I hadn’t expected Gideon to call us anything else. “He seems nice—maybe a little uptight, but you can’t be picky anymore, son. You ain’t twenty no more, and you wanna find a good man before your balls start sagging.”

  “For chrissakes!” I hollered.

  “What?!” He widened his arms. “I’m just sayin’!”

  “Can I turn thirty first?!”

  “Ay, both’a yas!” Anthony called.

  I growled under my breath and tried to reel it in. My temper, not my pre-sagging balls.

  “I give you two love and good advice,” Pop argued, speaking with his hands, “and what do I get in return? You stomp on my heart.”

  “Oh, for—you’ve been spending too much time at Nonna’s,” I told him irritably. “How about you take care of your own sagging balls? Go meet a nice lady who didn’t change your diapers as a baby!”

  “Why the fuck would I do that for?” He frowned. “If I sell the cow, the neighborhood women won’t bring me casseroles when I dangle the milk in front of them.”

  I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face. “I give up.”

  �
�Might as well. And go talk to the boy!” he ordered.

  Madonn’, if Gideon thought it was funny when I called him baby, it had nothing on when Pop called him boy.

  “I will, ’cause you’re givin’ me a headache.” I jabbed a finger at my temple and dumped the last cords in a hardcase box. “All the fuckin’ drama all the fuckin’ time.”

  “Easy,” he bitched. “This is still a house of God. Don’t curse.”

  I shot him an incredulous look.

  He grinned and scratched his nose. “What?”

  I just shook my head and walked off the stage.

  Gideon was standing some twenty feet away, close enough to have probably heard most of that exchange, and the closer I got, the more I thought he looked troubled. His worry wrinkles were in full effect in his forehead.

  He was holding a glazed bear claw in one hand and a bunch of napkins in the other.

  “Hey, you.” I came to a stop before him and told myself to keep my cool. For all I knew, he was still worried about his dog.

  He waved his pastry at the stage. “No one even reacted when you fought with your father.”

  I frowned, confused. “Fought? That wasn’t a fight.”

  “It looked like a fight. It sounded like a fight.”

  Aw, fuck. I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced at Pop and Anthony over my shoulder. They were shooting the shit and stacking boxes together.

  “That’s just how we talk sometimes, hon. We can be pretty loud, I guess.” I turned back to Gideon again. “We’re good, but I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to warn you about Pop. I underestimated the power of rumors, and now they think we’re dating.”

  “Oh.” He dropped his stare to the ground, or the pastry in his hand, and nodded slowly. “I apologize. You were… I can’t find the words. The way you performed tonight—I felt it everywhere. It was overwhelmingly beautiful.”

  “But something’s wrong.” I took a step forward and tried to make eye contact, and if I didn’t find out what was up with him soon, I’d flip my fucking shit. “Talk to me, Gideon.”

  He winced and clutched his side. “I am incredibly nauseated. I had six hot dogs. Can you take this?”

  Mother of—!

  I quickly accepted the bear claw, then ushered him toward two abandoned lawn chairs near a wall. “Why would you eat that much? Now you’re gonna have a stomachache. I swear—you make me worry, papito.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he argued weakly. “I’m a nervous eater sometimes. Specifically when I don’t know protocol and there are no known social cues to pick up on. I-I didn’t know what to say to your father, and then there was the lady selling the hot dogs. She looked so happy when I bought the food. She was raving about the charities some of the proceeds go to.”

  Christ. My sweet man. I shouldn’t have unleashed him on his own, smack-dab in the middle of a Catholic community. We had our ways of making people open their wallets.

  I helped him sit down before I took my seat next to him.

  “There are two socially accepted activities to occupy your hands with when you arrive alone at a social event,” he informed me. “You can stare at your phone, or you can eat and drink. Checking my phone seems rude in my world, so…” So, he’d eaten. A lot.

  “What’s the story about this one?” I held up the bear claw.

  He eyed it wistfully. “It looked tasty. I might want it in a moment.”

  I shook my head and set down the pastry on the ground. “Nonna makes the best bear claws—with even more glaze. When you feel better, I’ll get you a bunch. Okay? I think you need to rest your stomach for the night.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” He could not look more sullen.

  I rubbed his back, trying not to let my amusement show, and hoped it would be safe to run and grab my jacket soon. There were no other family members he could run into—or friends, for that matter. And it was freaking brick here. I couldn’t stop shuddering from the cold.

  “So what turned you into a nervous eater tonight?” I wondered. “You were inhaling hot dogs before my pop came over to you.”

  He sighed and stared at his lap. “I have a lot on my mind. Then Chester today… I’m worried about him.” He checked his watch and cringed. “I was hoping to convince you to spend more time with me, but I should head home and check in on him.”

  I had a feeling I knew the gist of the things he had on his mind.

  It was mildly terrifying to acknowledge that he held my happiness and the future I wanted in his hands, especially since I knew without an ounce of doubt that he was going to choose his fiancée. Not for her sake, probably, but for the chance to have a family, to have children, to ensure a lifetime of stability.

  I was confident enough in us to believe that he would’ve chosen me if he didn’t dream about all those other things.

  My family was amazing in my eyes; it was full of warmth and banter and affectionate madness, but we would never be called structured or…heh, stable.

  “I think I’ll stay here tonight.” I looked over at Anthony. Maybe I could drag him out for a copious amount of booze tonight. I didn’t wanna be alone in my temporary apartment in the city. I was sick of temporary.

  “You can’t sleep in a church that looks like Germany before it was restored after the war,” Gideon argued, bewildered.

  I smiled and patted his leg. “I meant with my brother.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Oh. Good.” He peered skyward. “I genuinely don’t understand how you’re even allowed to host events here.”

  I looked up too. Much of the ceiling was gone, and there were major holes in the walls. The church was literally in ruins. All the pews long gone.

  “They removed all the glass and made sure nothing was loose,” I said. “But I’m sure there’s a little ‘I know a guy who knows a guy’ involved.”

  “And what, a permit fell off a truck?” he asked skeptically.

  I laughed. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not in charge. But a brick hasn’t moved in the five years we’ve held this show here.”

  “Hmpf.” He wasn’t satisfied but dropped the topic and grabbed my hand. “I will still see you tomorrow night, right?”

  “Of course.” I squeezed his hand.

  I’d cling for as long as I could, ’cause it was all I had.

  Anthony and I were dead on our feet once we’d dropped off the equipment at the academy and made it back to his place. All the good bars in his area closed within the hour, so we decided to bundle up and bring a couple six-packs up to the roof.

  There were three condos in his brownstone, and Anthony’s place was on the third floor, with the rooftop terrace belonging to only him. That was the kind of gold you could strike when you’d dated someone who’d bought the condo before Park Slope was gentrified. Anthony had bought it from his first love for a fraction of what it was worth after an amicable breakup because the ex, who’d been significantly older, had landed a job in Arizona where he’d been from.

  That guy had to be nearing seventy now. I remembered he’d been like thirty years older than Anthony.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said.

  “So have I, but you can go first.” He fiddled with the heater above the wicker sofa.

  I didn’t care about the dead leaves and dirt; I just sat my ass down on the creaky sofa and twisted the cap off a beer. The terrace was small, just big enough for a cramped seating area, but it hadn’t stopped Anthony from buying potted trees that sat along the waist-high wall—along with pots of herbs on the edge. All dead. He sucked at keeping them alive, and the lemon tree was never gonna bear any fruit. But bless him for trying, I guess.

  “No bullshit,” I told him. “I wanna know what you see in Shawn. Genuinely. He’s the opposite of your type. Lay it on me.”

  “Seriously? This again?” He flicked on the heater once it was plugged in and sat down next to me.

  Our feet landed on the low table in front of us, and I just waited for him to get to it.

>   Because yeah, seriously.

  “I’m just sayin’,” I said. “You used to shop for men in the geriatric ward.”

  He snorted. “Old isn’t actually my type, jackass. I just prefer maturity.”

  “Oh! Oh, so that’s why you bagged and tagged Shawn, the diva of his kindergarten, because he’s mature.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Anthony didn’t have the fight in him. He blew out a breath that misted in the air. “He’s safe, Nicky. That’s what it boils down to. You and Pop get on my ass about how he takes advantage, but that’s the thing. He’s not capable of taking anything of value from me. I don’t give him money anymore, for the record.”

  I side-eyed him and took a swig of my beer.

  “We are approaching our expiration date,” he added, “but I’mma let this run its course until he gets bored. He wants constant attention, and I’m tired of it. It isn’t worth the company.”

  It was his choice, but it didn’t feel right. Anthony had so much to give. Being with someone just for the company and sticking to “safe…” Fuck, I hated it. Fuck safe.

  “So, you don’t even love him,” I said.

  He shrugged a little and leaned his head back against the wall. “Whatever it was is pretty much gone.” He lolled his head my way and said, “My turn. Why the fuck are you and Gideon still pretending to have some business arrangement? You’ve clearly lost your shit over the man, and he doesn’t seem to be any different. He’s come to see you here four times. Church rehearsal, choir rehearsal, student recital, and then tonight. I don’t think Shawn’s come to see me that many times in the entire time we’ve dated.”

  “I—”

  “And the donation? Come on.”

  I huffed in frustration and ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what to say. You’re kinda preaching to the choir, ’cause I want more. He’s the one who’s engaged to a woman who can give him kids.”