by J. D. Ryan
And speaking of his son…Brian clapped Kit on the back as they crowded around the small table in the dressing area. “You ought to bring Ebon by again one night. He liked the music that one time. Maybe he’d accept your hair better if he saw how much the crowds like it.”
“Yeah,” Tom chimed in. “We like the kid, Kit. Doesn’t he want to play an instrument or something?”
Kit dropped to a chair, massaging his wrist. Playing in a band was harder than most people realized. If you didn’t take a couple of little breaks, your hands and wrists sure let you know they’d had a workout. “Ebon’s not really into music. I tried showing him a few things, but he’s more into this Scout thing right now. He likes to sing. Maybe when he gets older he’ll pick up an instrument.”
“When he gets older,” Brian said, waggling his eyebrows, “I’ll show him how much girls love a good guitarist.”
“God forbid.” Kit didn’t really understand why his son wasn’t an avid musician, but he’d love the boy even if he were tone-deaf. He’d offered to pay for voice lessons, but Ebon just wasn’t interested in a music career at this stage of his life. Kit had always known that music was going to be his life, so he wasn’t sure if he should worry that Ebon didn’t seem to have an all-consuming passion or not. Maybe Kit was just as abnormal as his father always accused him of being, and Ebon was a normal kid who hadn’t made up his mind about anything as yet.
They took a few minutes to finish their drinks, then hit the stage again. By this time, the club’s patrons knew they could deliver the goods. They crowded the floor as they heard the opening riff of one of Radioactive’s own tunes. Kit was especially proud of his part in creating their songs. Rod was pretty good at coming up with the lyrics, but he couldn’t think of the right tune to save his life. It took expertise to come up with that part of a song, especially with two guitars, a bass, and a drum to think about.
The opening riff concluded, Rod hauled the microphone close and growled the lyrics to the excited crowd.
On and on, all night long
We’ll rock your night, just come along.
It was different playing your own music. Kit found himself analyzing the tune, finding a place where Brian’s rhythm could shift to a higher octave, a spot where Chris might toss in a few extra licks on lead. He really liked the way the drums laid down a steady backbeat, and modulated into an F key for a few licks of his own. He never seemed to finish tinkering with a song, even when the audience obviously approved of the thing. He was happy the rest of the band let him do his thing, too, instead of insisting the songs be played exactly the same with every performance.
This was what he lived for: creating something out of your own head that had people on their feet, dancing to your tunes. Sending your own creativity out to inspire others, and seeing them enjoy what you’d created. He could probably get a boring job somewhere making twice the money, but it’d never live up to the rush of having a crowded club in the palm of your hand, screaming your own lyrics back at you.
Chapter 3: Coffee, Tea, or Me?
Who knew this many people needed a latte on a Tuesday morning? Kit collected his coffee and scanned the room. Every table was full, mostly with students typing away on laptops or oldsters with the daily paper. He edged through the crowd at the door and made his way across the street to the park. Maybe his favorite bench by the pond would be free. The park was one of the main reasons Kit kept the apartment. He didn’t think he could live in a place where he couldn’t get out and get a bit of nature now and then.
His luck wasn’t holding up today. As he rounded the bend of the pathway, he spotted a tall figure, muscular arms outstretched across the back of Kit’s favorite bench. Something about the man looked very familiar, so Kit kept walking until he could see the man’s face. It was Mr. Hill from the Scout meeting.
Oh, crap…the man from his dreams. Kit thought about doing an about-face and retreating to another bench, but just as the thought crossed his mind, Mr. Hill glanced up and their eyes met. Mr. Hill had the most amazing big brown eyes, like pools of molten chocolate. Kit felt his cheeks redden, even though there was no way the man could guess he’d been the starring attraction in several quite lovely daydreams over the past few days. He forced himself to stay cool, give Mr. Hill a little nod in greeting, even stroll closer as if he’d planned on walking around the lake all along.
“Didn’t I see you at the Scout meeting?” The man had a deep, resonant voice, almost a bass. Kit felt a thrill shoot up his spine. He loved a melodic voice even better than hard muscles.
He belatedly realized he’d come to a stop facing Mr. Hill, and was standing there like an idiot. “I…er…yeah, my son’s in your troop.”
“The new kid, right? Ebon Barlow? He’s going to make a fine Scout.” Mr. Hill shifted to one end of the bench and moved a Starbucks cup to his other side. “There’s plenty of room if you want to join me. I’m Max Hill.”
Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and perched on the other edge of the bench. “Um…thanks. I’m Kit. This is my favorite place to sit and drink my morning coffee.” Great, now he sounded like an idiot, too.
Mr. Hill—Max—raised an eyebrow. “I’m on my lunch break.” One slender hand indicated a crumpled paper sack on his off side.
And now Kit looked like a lazy bum, getting up at the crack of noon. He just wasn’t going to win today. “Tuesday’s my day off.” He took a sip of coffee to cover his embarrassment. He’d forgotten to give it time to cool, and it scorched his throat all the way down. He tried to disguise his wince as a cough.
Max’s other eyebrow lifted. “That sounds like you only get one day off a week. What kind of slave driver do you work for?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I just have more than one job.”
“Do you and the missus ever see one another then?”
Kit’s cheeks flamed. “No missus, actually. I don’t swing that way. It’s just me and Ebon.”
Max paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Raising a kid on your own’s a tough job. I’m surprised you have any time off at all.”
“I usually take a little nap after I get him off to school on Tuesdays. Not really sleeping in, but it’s nice for a change.”
“You said you have more than one job? Is that in addition to being a full-time parent?”
Kit grinned, despite his nerves. It wasn’t often somebody actually understood being a father was a 24/7 job. If you had a partner, you could share the load 50/50, but alone…yeah, it was a job all right. He explained about the restaurant, how they worked with him so he could meet Ebon after school every day.
“And I give music lessons,” he added, trying another sip of coffee. This time, it went down without scalding his innards.
“Wait,” Max said, snapping his fingers. “Aren’t you the guy who plays the piano for the school programs? My sister’s kid was in some sort of musical thing a few months ago and I’d swear I saw you at the keys.”
“Guilty. I figure it gives me a little exposure for my music lessons if the parents see I can actually handle an instrument.” Plus, the school had agreed to allow him the use of their piano for his music lessons and practice, in exchange for his work.
“Sounds like a good idea to me. If I remember correctly, I was impressed that they’d found such a good musician for our little school.”
Kit’s face flamed once more. “Thanks. I like playing for the kids. They’re still young enough to get a real kick out of everything.”
“And us old fogies don’t appreciate your talent, huh?”
“No. I mean…that wasn’t what I…” Hell, how did he always manage to get himself into these situations?
Max chuckled. “Relax, man. I was just ragging on you. I like working with kids for the same reason. They just get so excited, and all it takes is a little attention from you.”
Wow. Kit had never found another adult who understood exactly what he felt—that almost magical connection that happened when you bonded
with a child, when you could see the world through their eyes once more. “That’s just the way I feel. I love seeing their faces light up when I play something they can get into.”
“And I like seeing it when I teach them something they enjoy. I guess we’ve got something in common, Mr. Barlow.”
“Call me Kit, please. I get enough of the other from Ebon’s teachers.”
“And I’m Max.” The other man took a big gulp of his coffee. “You said this was your favorite spot in the park?”
“We live just over there.” Kit pointed. “I come here all the time. I think it’s good for Ebon to get some Mother Nature, too, you know?”
Kit kept up the small talk, though he also kept getting distracted by the nearness of Max Hill. This close, Kit could smell the spicy aftershave the man used, the rich, earthy scent of his skin. He even thought he could feel the heat radiating from the larger man’s body. Belatedly, he realized they’d shifted from talking about kids to talking about music.
“And that’s why I like the classics,” Max was saying. “Bach, Beethoven, Mozart—I love the intricacy of their music, you know?”
Kit felt his heart sink. “So you’re not into modern music at all?”
“Oh, I can listen to what’s on the elevator music, but I don’t really get it to be honest. I just can’t understand why people like listening to all that screaming they call music nowadays. Those guys are just yelling at the tops of their lungs, banging away on their guitars and drums until you can barely hear the vocals at all.”
Ouch. “You know, I kind of like that kind of music myself. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”
Max chuckled. “Of course not. My sisters and their kids listen to that crap all the time and I put up with it. One of my nephews even likes some crazy foreign band named AC/DC. Talk about your screamers. I think they even used a live cannon on one of their so-called songs.”
So much for Kit’s crazy dreams. A man who hated heavy metal would never be interested in Radioactive’s bassist—even if he did swing the right way. Kit was out of luck on this one. He should just keep his mouth shut on the subject of heavy metal music.
Chapter 4: Max at Home
“So, are you seeing anybody?”
Max frowned at his mother as he set the table. Every week, the same routine: stuff him with home-cooking and grill him about his sex life. Mom had long ago given up the idea of grandchildren from her only son, but she was still intent on finding him the perfect man.
“I’m not looking for romance, Mom. I told you that. I need to concentrate on my career.” Max ignored the fact that he’d been thinking about romance quite a bit over the past few days. Ever since running into that hot Kit Barlow at the park. He thumped a plate onto the table with a bit more force than necessary, trying to ignore the little voice in his head, the one that said he might indeed be looking for something.
Mom waved her spoon in his direction. “You’re too serious. You need to loosen up, go to one of those clubs, and meet a nice man.” Max’s sisters bustled about the kitchen making salad, dishing up the potatoes, and putting the pots into the washer. One of his brothers-in-law sat on the sofa with the kids, watching the latest Disney DVD. The other one worked nights, and rarely got to attend their little family dinners.
“Mom, please.” Max wiped a hand over his suddenly-sweaty forehead. He had to stop thinking about Kit.
Renata squeezed past Max to set the potatoes on the table. “Mom’s right: you need to loosen up, brother. You act like an old man sometimes. All work and no play.”
“I play with the Scouts all the time.”
“Max, those are children.” Ariana put down the salad bowl. “You need to hang out with people your own age. Have some fun for once.”
“Can we just have one meal where you four don’t gang up on me?”
From the living room, he could hear his nieces and nephews roaring over some joke on the DVD they were watching. At least they didn’t pressure a man all the time. He enjoyed his sisters’ children—he’d gotten into Scouting when the eldest had joined, actually, then discovered he really liked teaching the kids how to start fires, tie knots, and help others in the neighborhood. For a moment, he wondered if his mother would let him eat at the kids’ table. He could just load up a plate and join the kids, who’d already been served. She’d probably just yell her comments from the dining room, though. He’d have to put up with the nosiness until he could figure out how to shut his family up.
Sophia, his youngest sister, patted him on the back. “I’m on your side, Max. We’re the only unmarried people in the family. We need to stick together.”
“And you work harder than your brother does, young lady. Always taking overtime at the hospital.” Mom set the roast onto the middle of the table, stood back to admire the meal, and beckoned for her children—and her son-in-law—to seat themselves. “Both of you need to realize it takes more than money to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” Max protested, just as Sophia voiced the same sentiment.
Mom tutted, then passed the roast around the table. “You two try so hard to be different from your father. And while I admit the man has no ambition at all, he does know how to have a good time. Why do the two of you have to be the exact opposite?”
“Yeah,” Renata chimed in. “Find a happy medium. Leave work at the office—or the hospital—and live a little.”
“I wish I could.” Max dished up potatoes and beans to go with his roast. Nothing beat Mom’s cooking. “It’d be nice to be able to take a little time off, maybe start dating again.”
Sophia passed him a bowl of salad. “You guys don’t understand. Good men don’t just fall out of the sky into your lap, you know.”
Their sisters started arguing and Max’s thoughts wandered. Wasn’t that nearly what had happened the other day in the park, when that gorgeous Kit Barlow had strolled up? Max hadn’t even been thinking about men, but suddenly there he’d been, lean and wiry and with that long, black hair. Max had always had a secret yen to run his fingers through a mane of long hair. He wondered if Mr. Barlow had some Native American in his ancestry, to explain that thick, straight hair and the bronzed skin. And he was a musician, too, with those long, strong fingers that would drive a man mad if they took hold of his body.
And what was he thinking? He had to quit daydreaming. Of course, Max didn’t have time for romance, not if he wanted to become a manager at the firm. Between the office and the Scouts, there just wasn’t any room for another person, even one as interesting as Kit Barlow. He’d never really understood how the others left everything at the office when they got off for the evening, anyway. And yet, he’d really enjoyed that afternoon, talking with Kit about everything under the sun. The man just seemed to understand what made Max tick. He had the same attitude toward teaching, for one thing, with the same joy in seeing those young faces light up when you shared something interesting with them.
And Kit said he had every Tuesday off…well, until his son got out of school at 3:00, anyway. Maybe Max should have lunch in the park more often, spend some more time with the man. It had been nice, talking to another adult about something besides what they were planning for the next Scout meeting. He liked Joe Lopez, but they had little in common besides Scouting.
Kit was a musician, and a talented one. The only thing other than work that Max was willing to spend time on was a good classical music program. He wondered if Kit were in the local orchestra. Surely as fine a musician as he’d heard at that school program would be in that distinguished organization. Max imagined Kit’s lean body in a tuxedo or business suit, his hair done up on a long braid down his back.
Max belatedly realized his sister had said something to him. “Er…what was that, Renata?”
“Honestly, Max, you were miles away. I hope you weren’t thinking about work on your time off.”
Max felt his face flame. “I was just…”
His mother leaned forward, brandishing her fork. “Were you daydr
eaming about someone, young man?”
“Mom!”
Ariana put a hand to her face. “He was! Max is interested in someone.”
“Who is it?” Sophia asked. “Is it serious? How long have you known him?”
Max wanted to shove away from the table and head for the front door. “For Pete’s sake, it’s nobody.”
“Nobody we know, you mean.” Mom nodded in a way that had the hairs on Max’s nape bristling. “Did you meet him at work?”
“I mean I haven’t met anybody. I don’t have time to meet anybody. I was just thinking about…something else.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Mom’s gaze bored into him like a dentist’s drill, setting his teeth on edge. She nodded to his sisters, and four pairs of eyes turned his way. “Now, you just tell us all about him.”
“I tell you there isn’t any him. It was just…I mean I…” Damn.
Between the four of them, the women soon wormed the details out of Max. Sophia was unexpectedly excited. “I work with Valerie Barlow and she’s got a brother and a nephew. I’m sure it’s the same man. He’s gay, too. Val is always trying to hook him up with the male nurses or doctors.”
“So what? I still don’t have time for that sort of thing.” Max pointedly cut into his slice of roast, which he realized had grown cool. Kit Barlow had made him miss his dinner.
Maybe he should just bite the bullet and arrange to be in that park this coming Tuesday. Kit had somehow taken hold of his interest. If he was going to daydream about the man, he might as well meet the guy for real. After all, they’d hardly be dating. Just a nice, adult conversation once a week or so.
What could go wrong?
Chapter 5: Kit at Home
“So, are you seeing anyone?”
Kit frowned at his sister as he stirred the spaghetti sauce. Every week, the same routine: stuff herself with his home-cooking and grill him about his sex life. She’d given up trying to set him up with her girlfriends—after that one disastrous attempt at heterosexuality with Anita, they’d both accepted his true sexual preference. But she still insisted on trying to find him the perfect man.