Not that it was likely. Knowing Finn, he’d probably still be sleeping.
As soon as he stepped inside he sighed in relief, the familiar scent of wood and polish taking him back to his childhood. A faint image of his mother playing toyed with the edges of his memory and he thought he remembered sitting on the floor here, listening. But memories were tricky things and he couldn’t be sure it was real—it could be something he’d constructed in his own mind. He’d been very young when she died. But whatever its provenance, the image held power. Especially today.
He ran his fingers over the closed lid, the varnished wood warm and smooth, then sat down and relaxed.
After the seven-year estrangement from his family, he knew he could live without the piano. And this, the whole house, was Sean’s now. Everything had changed and the ghosts of his memories, the good and the bad, would soon be swept away. That wasn’t a bad thing, just another ending.
Taking a breath, he opened the lid. He played a few bars of the Chopin he was working on, but he felt like something different today. Instead, he played Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone,” singing along quietly. The lyrics spoke to him, even if his voice lacked Finn’s rich timbre, and when he finished the first time he played it through again.
Halfway through, Sean interrupted. “Hey, I thought I heard you.”
Embarrassed to have been caught singing, Joshua stopped with his hands resting on the keys. “I hope I didn’t disturb you?”
“No, not at all. I told you, anytime.” He stepped farther into the room. “So, ah, good Thanksgiving?”
He nodded. “Peaceful, yes. And you?”
“Indulgent.” Sean smiled and put a hand to his stomach. “I’m going to need to run a marathon to work off all that turkey.”
“It’s the pie that does it for me,” Joshua admitted. “I have a sweet tooth.”
“Like Finn. He can always eat more pie.”
Joshua knew that, but didn’t comment. “I’m glad you’re here, Sean. I wanted to tell you that I’ve sold the piano. I don’t know how they’re going to handle the shipping, but I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.” He made a face, brushing his fingers over the keys. “The buyer’s in LA. Can you believe it? I can’t imagine there’s not a decent piano on the west coast.”
“Um...” When Joshua looked up, Sean was wearing a confused frown. “Hasn’t Finn spoken to you?”
It took a beat for him to process the question. “Finn? No. About what?”
“The piano...” Sean scratched a hand through his hair. “Uh, Finn bought it.” He leaned back out into the hallway and yelled, “FINN!”
Joshua stared. “Finn bought the piano?”
“I’ll, uh, let him explain...” He stepped out into the hall again and yelled for Finn to get his “lazy ass downstairs.”
Nervous, Joshua got to his feet and closed the piano lid. Why would Finn buy his mother’s piano? He didn’t even play. At least, he hadn’t. The idea that it was some kind of sentimental purchase—that it had something to do with their history—crossed his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. It wasn’t like there were any specific memories around the piano. No good ones, anyway.
As Finn’s footsteps thumped downstairs, Joshua was struck by a terrible idea: had Finn had bought the piano out of spite? To make a point? To take something from Joshua? He felt sick at the thought. Finn might still be angry, but he’d never be so cruel. Would he?
By the time Finn appeared, unshaven and sleepy, Joshua was a knot of tension.
“What do you—?” Finn stopped when he saw Joshua, their eyes meeting in an unguarded moment. For an instant it felt like it used to—an immediate, intense connection—and then Finn tore his eyes away. “Ah, what?” he said to Sean.
“Joshua came to tell us someone bought the piano,” Sean said, arms folding over his chest.
“Oh, right.” Finn nodded and glanced back toward Joshua. “Yeah, I uh—” He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Liz said that the piano at the school was on its last legs? So I figured, you know...” He licked his lips. “Hope that’s okay with you, man. I mean, I know it was your mom’s.”
Joshua stared, stunned. “You’re—you’re giving an elementary school a thirty-thousand-dollar Steinway concert grand piano?”
Finn looked up, half met his eyes. “You don’t want me to?”
“I—No, it’s your choice. It’s very generous of you. And I’ll enjoy seeing it played there very much—and playing it myself, of course.” He put his hand on the lid, smoothed his fingers over the wood. “But, Finn, you do know you can buy a very decent upright piano for under three thousand dollars, right?”
Finn shrugged. “Yeah, well, I got this one instead. Liz, uh—she thought it was a good idea.”
“Well.” Joshua wasn’t sure what he felt, but couldn’t shake the idea that Finn might have given him some thought in all this. “It’s very welcome news. I was—I would have been sad to say goodbye to her. The piano.”
Sean grinned. “Yeah, I thought it was a great idea when Finn suggested it. Just wish I’d thought of it!”
Finn scrubbed at the stubble on his jaw. It made him look a little older, but Joshua liked it; Finn wore it well. “I should go take a shower,” he said, mostly to Sean, and turned to leave.
“Finn?” Joshua’s heart fluttered in his throat. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Finn didn’t look at him. “Anything for the kids, right?”
Joshua didn’t answer, but he got the message. Whatever had motivated Finn’s act of generosity, he didn’t want Joshua to misinterpret it as something personal. At least, nothing that pertained to their future. He couldn’t believe it had nothing to do with their past.
And that made him feel warmer than he had in a long time.
He was still nurturing that fragile warmth the next morning, when he got up to rain heavy enough to dissuade even him from his daily run. Instead, he made coffee and toast, lit the wood-burning stove and indulged in a morning on the sofa with his book. The rain beat a comforting tattoo against the windows, louder than the persistent roar of the ocean at the end of the lane, and conjured dangerous memories.
Usually he refused to pander to them, but today he surrendered and let his mind drift back to his first time with Finn in the little trailer on the edge of the estate, the summer storm breaking around them. They’d both been so young, so eager and nervous. It should have been a recipe for disaster, but like everything else that charmed summer it had been perfect. Such love had bloomed between them that day, such joy.
If he closed his eyes he could remember the smell of the rain as they’d run, laughing, across the grass to Finn’s trailer. He could remember the taste of salt on Finn’s skin when he kissed him, the way he’d shivered when Joshua first took him in his mouth—his expression of shock changing to wonder and delight. And he could remember how dazzled he’d felt to have this beautiful man want him, to be able to touch him and see his own desire mirrored in those incredible sea-green eyes.
He remembered the rain on the roof too, rattling down like a curtain keeping them safe from the world as they’d tangled together, burning for release and for each other. Finn had come fiercely, like he always did, wrapped in Joshua’s arms with his face pressed into his shoulder as he spilled hot between them. And Joshua had loved him so much in that moment he’d had to bite his lip to keep from crying.
This is it, Finn had whispered, pressing the promise into Joshua’s skin with warm lips as he’d held him close. You and me. This is it forever.
He’d wanted so much for it to be true, but even then he’d felt the chill of his father’s shadow. In his heart, he’d known it couldn’t last. But, God, how he’d wanted to believe it would.
Joshua let out a breath, opened his eyes and rubbed them with the heel of his hand. Enough. Enough nostalgia; it brought nothing but sorrow
. With a determined breath, he reached for his book and took a sip of his cooling coffee. The weather didn’t relent and he was glad of the excuse to stay right where he was, cocooned by the sound of falling rain.
* * *
“Hey,” Sean said, turning away from the counter at Dee’s, “we should call in on Joshua on the way home.”
“Really? Why?” Finn doubted Josh would want them there, gloating.
Sean waved the envelope in his hand. “I want to give him the invite in person, so he knows I mean it.” He made a face. “I still think he feels weird about the house. I don’t want him thinking we’re only being polite.”
“Thing is, you gotta give the guy a chance to say no, okay?” Finn scratched a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “He might—I dunno, he likes his own space. He might not want to spend Christmas with half the town.” With me.
Sean gave him a blank look. “Finn, no one wants to spend Christmas alone.”
So said the incorrigible extrovert and there was no point in arguing. They ran through the rain to the car with their coffees, and an extra for Josh.
By the time they turned onto Sandy Lane, Finn’s fingertips were tingling in anxious anticipation. In daylight, he recognized the street better—a familiar row of beach cottages, mostly shut up for the winter. At the end of it rose the dunes and beyond them lay the bay and the ocean. Mostly hidden by the misty rain now, he could imagine it in summer. Not that he needed to imagine; he could remember.
“Which one is it?”
Finn squinted through the rain and saw light from one of the cottages. “That one, I think.” He recognized the elegant tree out front. “Yeah, it’s that one.”
“Wow.” Sean pulled the car up outside and killed the engine. The rain grew louder, hammering on the roof. “It’s small.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like—really small.”
Finn cut him a look. “Don’t say anything, okay? Last time, he thought I was gloating.”
“Gloating? Why would you gloat?”
“Uh, I dunno. I wouldn’t.” He glared out the passenger window, feeling Sean’s curious gaze settling on him. “I just mean he’s sensitive about it.”
Sean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I guess,” he said thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s a long fall from Hanworth Hall to this.”
Or maybe it wasn’t a fall but a climb? Maybe it was an act of defiance. Something stirred in Finn’s chest at the thought, something hopeful and terrifying.
Something like pride in Josh.
“C’mon,” Sean said, grabbing his coffee and opening the door. “We look like a couple of creeps sitting out here.”
Finn followed Sean up the short path to the cottage. The tree out front dripped heavily and the porch was barely large enough for one. Finn crammed in behind Sean, shielding the coffees from the rain while Sean knocked on the door.
After a short wait, it opened. Josh looked, predictably, horrified to see them.
“Hey!” Sean bulldozed through the discomfort. “Hope we’re not disturbing your Sunday?”
“Um...” Blatant alarm filled Josh’s eyes, which were as wide and grey as the rainy sky. “No, of course not. Come in.”
He stepped back, quite obviously changing gear. “I wasn’t expecting—I mean, of course you’re welcome, Sean.”
Sean.
Finn hustled in behind him and closed the door, shaking off the rain. The front door opened into a square of hallway behind which he could see the living room and kitchen. The whole place would fit into one room of Sean’s house—Josh’s former home.
“We brought coffee,” Sean said with a smile.
“Well, uh, thanks. Leave your coats here and come on through.”
Two hooks sat behind the door and Finn felt odd hanging his jacket over Josh’s coat, as if it were somehow too intimate. He pushed the thought aside and followed Sean into the living room.
Cramped and cozy, the room was very, very Josh. A small sofa tucked under the window, a wood-burning stove sat in the fireplace with a chair drawn close. And, of course, a piano crammed itself into one of the alcoves next to the fireplace, the other housing bookshelves overflowing with books and stacks of music.
With a sharp pang, Finn recognized Josh’s guitar, the one he’d dragged around with him all that summer, hanging on the wall. But it wasn’t so much on display up there as it was being kept out of the way.
“There’s not a lot of—” Josh picked up a sweater from the chair to make room. “Sorry, it’s kind of a mess.”
“Dude...” Sean looked enormous in the small room. “It’s cute,” he said, ignoring Finn’s advice not to comment. “Snug.”
“I like it,” Josh said, flicking Finn a wary glance.
Finn tested a smile and Josh’s eyes widened. Jesus, he was surprised to see a smile? “Cream, two sugars, right?” Finn said, holding out a coffee.
“Yes. You—” His eyes lit up as he took the coffee, but he stopped before he finished the sentence. You remembered.
“Ali told me,” Finn said—lied—and Josh looked away, face falling. Finn felt like an ass: Dick move, Callaghan.
Grabbing the chair by the fire, Sean left Josh and Finn to perch awkwardly on opposite ends of the small sofa. Finn kept his gaze fixed on the flames in the stove, but out the corner of his eye he could still see Josh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair all ruffled and scruff darkening the sharp line of his jaw. His heavy sweater frayed at the hem and cuffs and he worried a loose thread between his fingers.
Josh had only worn T-shirts that summer, but Finn knew—could almost feel—what it would be like to hold him in that sweater, his lean muscles hard beneath the soft wool. It was such a sharp, visceral sensation that he sucked in a breath. Josh glanced at him and Finn looked away. Fuck.
“We won’t stay long,” Sean said, fishing the invitation from his pocket. “Just wanted to give you this. We’re doing a thing at Christmas and we’d love you to come along.”
“Oh?” Josh made a careful mask of his face. “What kind of a thing?”
Back when Finn had known him, Josh had worn his heart right there on his sleeve. This caution was new, something learned from experience. Finn hated to think that he’d given the lesson.
“Open house,” Sean said. “Tejana’s idea—we’re hoping a few people will be able to come over and share the day with us. Finn’s coming, and Liz and Matt. Dee and the girls said they’d make it. Even Don’s stopping by...”
Josh took the envelope cautiously. “I, uh—”
“No pressure,” Sean said with an easy smile. “I don’t know what your plans are.”
He didn’t have any plans. Finn could read it in his face. “Or maybe you just want to chill,” he said, giving Sean a quelling look. “Stay home where it’s quiet.” Josh stilled and Finn cringed; he knew how that sounded, coming from him. “I mean, not that you’re not welcome. I just—”
“Finn, shut up.” Sean pushed to his feet. “Josh, we’d love you to come. Like I said, it’s an open house so, if you’re around, come on over. Anytime, okay?” He stuck out his hand and Joshua blinked at it before getting up and shaking.
“I appreciate the invitation, Sean. I’ll”—a half glance at Finn—“definitely try to come along. Thank you.”
And, fuck, this couldn’t be more awkward. Finn shoved his hands into his pockets and gave Josh a nod because shaking hands like casual acquaintances was impossible. He kept his gaze averted, roving over the bookshelves instead of meeting Josh’s eye, and that’s when he saw it. On a high shelf, propped up in front of the books, sat a photo frame. And inside—
He jerked his gaze away too late; he could tell by Josh’s flush that he knew he’d seen. Thank God Sean was moving to the door and hadn’t noticed.
“I’m sorry,” Josh mu
rmured, so quiet only Finn could hear. “I forgot it was there.”
Finn just nodded, his heart beating so high in his throat that he couldn’t speak.
Josh had a photo of them, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, just kids grinning at each other in the summer sun. The glimpse of it lodged in his heart like a splinter. He wanted to grab it, study it, and scour it for every detail. He never wanted to see it again.
He put his coat on without looking at Josh, stepped out after Sean into the rain.
After Josh had ended it, Finn burned everything because he couldn’t bear to remember. What did it mean that Josh still kept the memory alive?
Chapter Ten
He couldn’t turn down a hand-delivered Christmas invitation, so Joshua did the next best thing: he tucked it, unopened, into his “to be dealt with later” pile and tried to forget it existed. There were weeks until Christmas, after all.
To distract himself, he dived into organizing the annual carol singing fund-raiser for the school—all very Dickensian, with lamps on poles and woolen hats and mittens. With luck, it might even snow. As always, he started rehearsals right after Thanksgiving, using the school every Tuesday night. And, of course, this year he had his mother’s piano to help the rehearsals along. He relished playing it and the kids must have responded to the beautiful tone because they sounded wonderful, like the very essence of Christmas.
So it came as something of a shock when, two weeks into December, Dee leaned over the counter in the coffee shop and said, “So who’s your Secret Santa?”
“Huh?”
“For Sean’s Christmas thing? The Secret Santa in the invitation.”
Ali stopped wiping down the tables. “Mom, he can’t tell you. Otherwise it’s not secret. Duh.”
“That’s right,” Joshua said. “I can’t tell you.” Mostly because he had no idea.
When he got home that night, he dug out the invitation and opened the envelope. Inside he found a handwritten note and another envelope, sealed with a Santa sticker. He turned it over and wondered what he’d do if it contained Finn’s name. What would he give Finn for Christmas, if he had the chance? His eyes strayed to the photo, still on the bookcase. It hadn’t lasted long, but the expression on Finn’s face when he’d seen it had been intense. Joshua couldn’t be sure what it was, but it certainly hadn’t been indifference.
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