His Surrender

by Jaclyn Osborn

  High school band teacher by day and jazz guy on the weekends. This Mr. Barnett was incredibly hot but totally off-limits. One, I got the feeling he was straight. At the bar, I often saw him chatting up the ladies. And two, he was my nephew’s teacher. I would never want to make things awkward for Foster by hooking up with the guy, no matter how hot he was.

  Because yeah, he was definitely my type.

  “So, it’s a bass clarinet?” I took another drink of my beer and muddled the thought around. “Is that what Kenny-what’s-his-face plays?”

  “Nope. And you call yourself a music lover. Such a disgrace, Uncle Jay.” Foster giggled and hung his head. “I wish I could practice it after school. Maybe then I’d get better.”

  “I’ll see about getting you one,” Ivan said, dumping a box of noodles into the pot. Then he took the hamburger meat from the fridge and dropped it onto a skillet. Hamburger mac and cheese. One of the only things my brother knew how to cook.

  “You don’t have to,” Foster said, messing with the rubber bracelet on his arm that said Plus Ultra on it. “I’m fine using the one from the school.”

  “Hey, I don’t mind buying one for you,” I said, glancing from him to Ivan.

  My brother was low on funds after the move from North Carolina. He had a thing about not taking handouts, though, so I had to be strategic in how I helped him. Sometimes I bought a large amount of groceries and came over to cook dinner, and then just told them to keep what we didn’t use.

  Ivan eyed me a moment before looking at the meat in the skillet. “That’s nice of you to offer, Jay, but I got it covered.”

  Damn you and your pride, you stubborn ass. I had more than enough money to help.

  “Mom and Dad should be over soon,” Ivan said, changing the subject. “I told them you were stopping by and they wanted to make a family thing out of it. You know how Mom is.”

  I smiled. “I might give you crap, little bro, but I’m glad you two are here. It sucked having you so far away.”

  We’d both grown up in Fort Smith but had moved away once we’d graduated—Ivan with joining the military and me with college, then law school. I’d made the decision to move back years ago when a better job opportunity arose. It was nice to have everyone back together again.

  Mom loved it too. Her beautiful boys she called us.

  After a day with my family, I returned home that night to an empty house. Well, empty of humans. My cat, Sputnik, waddled over to me—he wasn’t much of a runner—and rubbed against my leg, his rumbling purrs making me smile.

  “Hey, you spoiled thing,” I said, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

  I picked him up and carried him with me to the kitchen, setting him in the floor while I prepared his food. He had a lot of allergies and had to eat a certain type of food, so I had to be really careful in what I let him have.

  “There you go.” I ran my hand down his back as he started eating. My chubby orange Persian. The only man to touch my heart in years.

  I then walked to my bedroom, stripping as I went. The loneliness didn’t bother me like it did for some people. Partly because I knew I could have a guy over and in my bed in ten minutes if I wanted. I was alone by choice.

  My home was my space, and very few guys ever got the honor of seeing it. I hooked up in hotel rooms or at the other guy’s place, keeping emotions and all that shit out of it. It was how I liked things.

  Kept me from getting attached.

  Chapter 2

  Remi

  George Gershwin once said, “Life is a lot like jazz. It’s best when you improvise.”

  I lived by those words. Life was reflected in my music, as was my music in my life. They went hand in hand.

  “Good!” I told my class as they played the National Anthem that afternoon. The band played at pep rallies and football games, so it was a required song to know.

  The instruments blended beautifully: trumpets, flutes, clarinets, percussion, and the tubas. There was only one student having difficulty. Foster Foley. He sat at the end of the row, his brow furrowed as he looked over the sheet music, awkwardly holding his bass clarinet. He’d transferred to our school last semester. I’d taught him the basics of reading music, and he’d caught on fairly quick. However, knowing and doing were vastly different.

  With a little time and practice, I knew he’d get the hang of it. He had a passion for it; I could tell. What he lacked most was confidence.

  “Awesome job, guys,” I said, once they’d ended the song. “So, we’re a week into the semester, and I’ve been tossing around ideas for what to do for the spring concert this April. But I want to hear some of your ideas.”

  “Oh!” Lacey exclaimed. She played lead flute and was a senior in the class. “What about Andrew Lloyd Webber? We could do a Phantom of the Opera piece.”

  “I’m down for that,” Dillon said. He played the tuba and was always cracking everyone up. He could be serious when he wanted to be though. “Or Star Wars. That’d be freakin’ epic.”

  Whitney, another senior, raised her hand. “How about a contemporary piece? Like a medley of a bunch of pop songs or something?”

  Other students nodded and got really excited at that idea.

  Foster’s hand raised, stopping at his ear, as if he was too shy to put it any higher in the air.

  “Yes, Mr. Foley?”

  “We could do a video game medley,” he suggested, his cheeks reddening by the second, especially since all eyes were on him. “The songs are fun, but they can also be really pretty and complex too. There’s also Disney.”

  “Excellent ideas,” I said, jotting down all of their suggestions. I’d been considering a Rodgers and Hammerstein theme, but I wanted them to enjoy it too. “I’ll think on it some more.”

  Laura Chavez, the choir teacher, had approached me about doing a joint concert between the choir and band, which the kids would have a ton of fun with. That was a possibility as well.

  I would’ve loved to travel to band competitions and take the students on field trips to see other bands perform, but the school gave little to no funding for music. All of the money went to sports. So, I tried to make the class enjoyable and do things the kids would enjoy like an end-of-the-year concert where they got to play the music they wanted.

  “That’s it for today,” I said right before the bell rang. It was the last class of the day, and some of them looked to be dragging. They’d perk back up once escaping the school walls though. “Have a great weekend.”

  Foster put the bass clarinet in the case and placed it in the adjoining room where we kept the school-owned instruments—there weren’t many—and music stands. When he walked back into the band room, he gave an awkward wave.

  “Bye, Mr. Barnett.” He went toward the door.

  “Foster?”

  He turned around, his eyes going wide. “Y-yes, sir?”

  He was probably the shyest, most introverted kid I’d ever met.

  “You’re doing great,” I said. “I know it can be intimidating at first, but have some confidence when you play. Mistakes happen. It’s all part of the learning process.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced at his shoes and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “When I can afford my own, I’ll be able to practice a lot more. I know I bring my section down.”

  The school currently had a policy where the students weren’t allowed to take the instruments home—thanks to an incident the previous year when a student got mad and smashed one of them. Now, they could only use them during school hours, during performances, or in the presence of a teacher. I hated it, especially for situations like this.

  How was a student supposed to learn if they couldn’t practice at home?

  “Well, until then, if you ever want to practice after school, just let me know and I’ll stay after with you.”

  “Really? Cool.” He smiled. “See you Monday!” As he started to walk away, he pulled his phone from his backpack and put it at hi
s ear. “Hey, Uncle Jay. Oh. You’re picking me up? Where’s Dad? Okay, I’ll be out in a few.”

  Jay.

  I’d never spoken to Foster’s uncle, but I’d seen him around a few times on school grounds, as well as at the cigar bar on nights I performed. He sometimes came alone and sat at the back of the room, smoking a cigar and drinking. Other times, he came with a dark-haired guy. But every time, I caught him watching me.

  And I’d be damned if I didn’t like the attention.

  However, that was a line I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross. Even if he was into me, did I really want to get involved with the uncle of one of my students?

  Definitely not.

  After I left the band room and locked the door behind me, I walked to the teacher’s parking lot on the other side of the building. In just three days, the weather had gone from a biting chill in the air to low sixties. I was sure it’d go back to cold in another few days, but I’d enjoy the nice weather while it lasted.

  “Hey, Johnny,” I answered after fishing my ringing cell out of my jacket pocket. “Still need me for the gig tonight?”

  “Yeah, kid,” he said in a throaty voice derived from all his years of heavy smoking. “If you don’t mind. Big Mike’s not feelin’ up to it. His health isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Johnny was family to me even though we weren’t blood related. He’d been a close friend of my mom, and when she passed, he’d been there for me. Because god knows my own dad hadn’t given a damn. He’d locked himself away in his study and pretty much left me to fend for myself.

  “I appreciate it. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.” Johnny had formed a jazz band close to twenty years ago, but Mike, the piano player, had started having health issues, so I stepped in to play when they had gigs.

  I was happy to do it.

  “Ah, there are a ton of piano players out there,” I said, getting into my car.

  “Not one with as much heart as you. Even Big Mike says so. That kid has jazz in his soul, he tells me. Gotta agree with him.”

  “Now you’re just kissing my ass.”

  Johnny barked out a laugh. “See ya tonight.”

  ***

  I lived in a loft on the west end of Fort Smith. My building was surrounded by bars, restaurants, and a few shops. It was convenient. I could walk instead of having to hunt for a parking spot on one of the busiest streets in the area.

  The 906 was just a few blocks away, so I left thirty minutes before I was supposed to be there and still arrived in plenty of time. The gig was at nine that evening, but we got there early to set up and chill before going on stage.

  “Hey, Remi,” Brent greeted me once I came through the door. He was a server at the cigar bar and could always be seen with a big smile. Especially on the nights when a certain blond showed up.

  In fact, Brent had a bet going that he’d go home with said blond someday. Just watch, he’d said to the other waiters while I’d been in earshot. That guy is as good as mine. I didn’t know what his chances were, and frankly, I didn’t care.

  More luck to him.

  “Hey,” I responded, giving him a polite smile before going over to the small stage located on the far wall. It was barely big enough for the four members and our instruments, but we made it work.

  I rolled the piano into its place before running the cords for Freddie’s upright bass. The other guys showed up a little after that, and we clapped each other on the backs and chatted for a bit. They were all pushing sixty, but age didn’t matter. We all got along great. I’d grown up with those guys. When I was a teen, I’d go with Johnny to his band practices and hang with them. It was how I got into jazz.

  Music had been my escape after my mom passed. It’d been the one thing to keep my head above the water. For a while at least. Then I’d gone down a bad road.

  “Lookin’ sharp, kid,” Johnny said, pulling me in for a hug. He smelled like cigars and Old Spice, and though his long hair was a little frizzy and wild, his beard and goatee were on point.

  “Thanks.” I’d worn slacks with suspenders, a long-sleeved white-and-blue checkered shirt, a red bow tie, and a fedora. People called my style quirky, yet sophisticated. I loved dressing up and playing with clothes, mixing and matching certain styles.

  Ace, the drummer, called me a peacock.

  “Strutting and showing off your feathers again, I see,” Ace said, his mouth askew with an amused smile.

  “Leave the boy alone,” Johnny told him. “Just because you have no style doesn’t mean you need to harp on his.”

  I chuckled as they continued bantering back and forth. They’d been best friends since boyhood, and it showed in the way they behaved around each other. And it was then, in the middle of me laughing, that Jay Foley walked in.

  Damn, the man looked good. Too good. Short blond hair that was longer in the front and swooped across his brow, and he had a tall, athletic build. His shirt stretched across his chest, hugging his toned arms, and his jeans hugged his ass and thighs.

  As his gaze found mine, I looked away and adjusted the piano bench—even though it was right where it needed to be. From the corner of my eye, I saw him approach.

  “Good evening.”

  My insides melted at the sound of his smooth voice, and I turned to him with what I hoped was a casual smile. “Evening.”

  It was the first time we’d talked, and I hadn’t been prepared for the force that was Jay Foley. I’d thought he was gorgeous from a distance, but up close? His vibrant green eyes and sexy, curved lips were to die for.

  “Thought I should introduce myself,” he said, his voice low and way too appealing. He held out a hand. “Jay Foley. My nephew is a student of yours.”

  “Oh. Right. Foster,” I said, pretending as though it had just occurred to me. “He’s a good kid.”

  “He is,” Jay agreed, smiling. Unlike the flirty one he flashed when first walking up to me, this smile seemed more genuine. And damn if it didn’t make me even more attracted to him. “He talks about you a lot. Thank you for being so good to him.”

  “It’s a pleasure having him in band. I’m glad he enjoys it.” I didn’t know how else to respond. My thinking abilities were limited at the moment, as though the full force of Jay’s gaze jammed the signals between my brain cells.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” Jay stepped closer, and the scent of him made me weak in the knees.

  How did he have such an effect on me? I was no stranger to attractive men, having had more than my fair share of bed partners, but Jay was on another level. He made me feel like a schoolboy again with my first crush.

  “Remington,” I answered. “But friends call me Remi. I see you hanging around here a lot.”

  “You do?” A gleam shone in his eyes. “I bet you see countless faces every night, and yet you know mine. I’m flattered you find me so memorable.” Closer still, he moved to me, and my skin tingled from his proximity.

  My ass bumped into the piano as I tried to put some distance between us. I cleared my throat and glanced to the right where Johnny and the guys were setting out their instruments. “I need to finish setting up. It was nice meeting you.”

  A different kind of smile crossed Jay’s face. Not flirty or even cocky… it was more curious. “I look forward to the show. Perhaps we can talk after.”

  If I knew what was good for me, I’d tell him to go on his way and leave me be. He screamed playboy, and I’d gotten screwed over by one too many of those in my life. Many of them had been ridiculously handsome too, just like him. I had a tendency to gravitate toward men I shouldn’t. It was a curse. As if I wore a flashing neon sign that said doormat and attracted all the bad boys.

  “Maybe,” I said. If some other guy doesn’t snag your attention first. I’d seen him walk out plenty of times with someone more than willing to satisfy his needs. “Excuse me.”

  Then, I turned away from him, releasing the breath I’d held in my chest. I needed to put
him out of my mind and focus on the gig.

  “Ready, boys?” Freddie asked, readying his bass.

  Johnny nodded and lifted the saxophone to his mouth. Three notes were played before it was my cue to come in on the piano. Something I loved about music was it had the ability to take away my worries, doubts, and anything going wrong in my life, even for just the time it took to play the song.

  My fingers moved along the keys, a progression of chords to complement the sax before I took the lead, and then the sax, bass, and drums followed me. The first song was upbeat, and thirty seconds in I was smiling and moving my body to the music. Everything but the notes and rhythm faded away. The next song was slower, the saxophone singing with the blues.

  My heart felt lighter. The fog in my head cleared. Music. It had a kind of magic nothing else did.

  Five songs in, I’d forgotten all about the gorgeous playboy. Well, until I glanced up and found him watching me over the rim of his glass as he took a drink. He sat alone, a whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. I dropped my gaze to the keys, briefly, and when I looked back up, he was smirking.

  “Let’s take ten,” Johnny said once the song ended. “I need a drink and a smoke.”

  A few of the patrons clapped for us, while the others remained engrossed in whatever conversations they were having. That was fine with me. People enjoyed music in their own way, whether it be a good relaxing rhythm to unwind to for the night or an upbeat one to get you moving.

  I walked toward the bar located near the entrance and leaned against the counter. “Can I get a water?”

  “Sure thing, sweets,” Bianca, the bartender, said before filling a glass and sliding it over to me.

  “Let me buy you a real drink.” Jay leaned against the bar beside me, a strand of his blond hair falling into his eyes. I also noticed a freckle beneath his jaw. One I would’ve loved to kiss.