Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  Aidan cleared his throat. “I’m not after Ms. Ashmore.”

  “Then why do you care if I—”

  “’Cause I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.” The word conveyed too much. He felt exposed by it and quickly countered. “I, mean, don’t want to see you get bogged down in anything. Y’know?”

  “Well, you sort of cut me off ’cause I was going to say that even if she’s a wild cougar or whatever, she sorta freaks my shit out.” He laughed at himself then. “After that day I worked the desk, when you and Jill were talking or whatever, she came up here.”

  Aidan bristled immediately and sat forward in the armchair. “To your apartment? Did she…” do anything to you? He wasn’t brave enough to force the words past his suddenly dry lips and he took a sip off his hard root beer instead of finishing.

  “She was totally shitfaced. I thought she was going to fall over or puke on me or somethin’. And she’s pawing at me in the doorway and telling me what a ‘pretty little boy’ I am and all this stuff that was fucking hilarious at first. But then she wouldn’t leave.”

  “You invited her in?”

  “No way,” Bryan shook his head. “Y’know how much of a bitch it is to get puke out of this rug?” He toed the bright, patterned area rug. “I mean, sent it down to the laundry after I’d had a party one night, but the smell just lingered forever.”

  “So…”

  “Yeah, so, she left. Well, she comes back the next night. She’s sober. Asks me if I want to join her for—”

  “Wine,” Aidan whispered.

  “Exactly! Wait, how do you know?”

  “Apparently she likes the men in this building and only knows a few moves.”

  “Well, I knew what she was really getting at and I might have taken her up on it, except I was meeting my friends at the rooftop bar. When she asked if I’d mind if she tagged along, I was really confused ’cause she’s what? Fifty? Sixty?”

  “I don’t know,” Aidan admitted, trying not to remember being underneath her writhing body, unable to move.

  “I was kind of an asshole about it, but what the hell was she going to do with us? I mean, what would we even talk about? So I just told her nah, I’d catch her later. And that’s when she flipped and started pulling up her dress and saying she’d make me feel good—like right there in the hall—and I just shut the door in her face. I don’t have time for crazies.”

  Shut the door in her face. It had been so simple for Bryan. Aidan let out a silent sigh, grateful, at least, that she hadn’t hurt the kid.

  <<< >>>

  “So, are you going to give me my eviction notice or what?” Bryan asked as he walked Aidan to the door later that evening. Aidan’s heart broke a little and he tried to stall, just for a moment longer. They’d shared two hard root beers and an hour’s worth of conversation, but the time had come.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what you came here for, right? Management wants me gone? The bitch downstairs complained one too many times?”

  Aidan reached into his back pocket and produced the official letter that came from Mr. Francis himself. Neither Aidan nor Jill had wanted it to happen, but Bryan had been warned…and warned and warned and warned again. Bryan took the envelope and nodded.

  For a very long time Bryan was silent and Aidan tried to think if there was something he could say to make the situation just a little bit better. Then all at once, a grin split Bryan’s face and he said, “At least now I don’t have to wash these dishes. Folks are gonna be pissed they have to move me again, though.”

  As Aidan walked back toward the lobby, quiet, but buzzed from the root beer, he thought to himself, at least Ms. Ashmore won’t get her hands on him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  The Food of Love

  “So what’s Bryan going to do now?” Patrick asked, concentrating on the pan he was stirring.

  “He said his mom and dad have already found him a new place,” Aidan said. His voice sounded muffled, and Patrick turned away from his cooking to see why.

  “What are you doing?”

  Aidan continued poking in the closet. “Um, nothing.” He grinned sheepishly around the open door.

  “I’ve no skeletons in there, if that’s what you’re expecting to find.”

  Aidan shut the closet and hopped up to sit on the breakfast bar, his legs swinging idly, heels bouncing off the cupboard doors below. “I was trying to decide if I should bring a few clothes here. It feels a bit like I’ve moved in.”

  Patrick chuckled. “I thought you had, my love. You’ve stayed every night this week.” He turned the heat down under the pan and balanced a lid on top of it. “Okay, they’re going to take about another half an hour. So that’s the peas on, potatoes are in there—” he pointed at the other pan “—lamb is—” opening the oven door and wafting the steamy heat away “—doing nicely. I think that’s…” Patrick trailed off, having noticed Aidan’s pensive expression. “What?”

  “Did you want me to go home? I mean, that’s okay. It’s not like I have moved in, or anything, I—” Aidan stopped talking, because it’s awfully difficult to continue when someone is kissing you passionately, which was precisely why Patrick was doing it, and he kept the kiss going until he felt Aidan relax. He slowly released him.

  “For the record, I would love nothing better than to have you officially move in, but it’s early days, and I promised I wouldn’t rush things. But so you know, you are most welcome to share my apartment, my bed—even my closet.”

  Aidan laughed, a sigh of relief leaving him at the same time.

  “So did you want to clear some space?” Patrick asked.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Patrick took Aidan’s hands and pulled him down from the breakfast bar, leading him back to the closet in which he’d been snooping. “It’s full of junk anyway, so it’s doing us both a favor.”

  “We can leave it ’til tomorrow. Jill only needs me on call this weekend.”

  “Does that mean I get you to myself all night?” Patrick opened the right-hand door of the closet and pulled out a box, catching a glimpse of Aidan’s huge, delighted smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Aidan nodded enthusiastically and held out his arms for the box.

  “It’s a wee bit heavy,” Patrick warned as he passed it over. “Just stick it on the couch and we can go through it in a sec.”

  “Don’t you want to look on your own? They’re your things. What if there’s stuff in there you don’t want me to see?”

  “Like I say, no skeletons here. I am what you see, Aidan Degas. A daft Irishman who blushes at the drop of a hat and falls in love almost as fast. So you go ahead and look through the box while I clear out the rest of this rubbish.” Patrick bent down to remove another armful from the shelf, mostly old clothes, along with a couple of odd shoes. Behind him, Aidan tore the tape from the top of the box. “I’m a bit of a hoarder, did I tell you?”

  “No, but I kinda figured. Hey, this box is mostly photos. Your school photos. Cool!” Aidan held one up for Patrick to see.

  “Oh, Jesus! I can spot me from here! Look at that shockin’ hair!”

  Aidan was already on to the next photo, chuckling, and then laughing loudly. “Oh, Paddy. What are you wearing?”

  “I’ll have you know that was my confirmation suit. I loved that suit, I did, until I grew too tall for it. Even then, my mam had to bribe me to part with it.”

  “What did she offer in return?”

  “I’d always wanted one of those watches with all the little dials—stopwatch, date—that sort of thing.”

  “The one you’re wearing?”

  Patrick studied the watch on his wrist. “Well, no. See, we weren’t so well off—that’s why we emigrated. My dad couldn’t find work in Ireland, and his uncle offered him work over here. Then Dad passed, and Mam got sick, and I never got my watch. But after she’d gone, and Seamus and I got our inheritance, that was the first thing I boug
ht.” Patrick studied the watch face for a moment and smiled, though he was feeling sad. Aidan came over and hugged him. He understood the pain Patrick was feeling, and just spent a few minutes silently comforting him.

  “Better?” Aidan asked.

  “Oh, I was better as soon as you gave me a cuddle, but I was enjoying it, so I thought I’d just stay quiet.” He kissed Aidan’s forehead and gave him a cheeky grin. Aidan playfully shoved him away. “Right, what else have we got?” Patrick scooped out the last few objects, which left the shelf clear. He set them down on the floor. “I’ll give this a quick wipe and it’s all yours.” Patrick ran his fingers up Aidan’s arm and along his neck as he passed on his way to get a cloth. Aidan shivered at the touch and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears.

  “I think your moosh is boiling over,” he said.

  Patrick checked his peas. They were bubbling against the lid and dribbling down the side of the pan, making the gas flames hiss and spit. He turned the heat down again.

  “What is that?” Aidan asked. Patrick couldn’t see what he was referring to.

  “What’s what?”

  Aidan picked up a small black case from the pile Patrick had left on the floor.

  “Oh. My flute.”

  “Oh my God! You play the flute?”

  “A bit, aye. And Seamus plays the violin. Mam was adamant we both learn to play something. It was that or learn to dance and we’ve not a right foot between us.”

  “Can you play for me?”

  “Oh, I’m not that good.”

  Aidan had already returned to the sofa and set the flute case on his knee, He flicked open the silver clips holding the box shut and lifted the lid, his eyes lighting up in wonder at the silver instrument nestled in its royal blue velvet bed. “How does it fit together?”

  “Just slide the two smaller pieces into the big one with all the keys.” Patrick had filled a bowl with water and took it over to the closet, wiping the shelf with a cloth at the same time as subtly watching Aidan trying to figure out how to put the flute together.

  “Is that right?”

  Patrick nodded. “Almost.” He dried the shelf and tipped the water into the pot of the enormous cheese plant that had come with the apartment, returning the bowl and cloth to their respective homes, before joining Aidan on the sofa. “All right, so this is the mouthpiece,” he explained, rotating it into the right position. “The hole should line up with the keys, and then the foot goes like this, with the rod also in line with the keys, although it does depend on how long your fingers are, but that’s right for me.” He handed it back to Aidan. “Have you ever blown across the top of a bottle?” Aidan nodded to confirm he had. “It works just like that. You put the plate against your lip and blow.”

  Nervously, Aidan lifted the flute. Patrick turned it the right way around for him and nodded in encouragement. Aidan pressed it to his lip and blew. The breath passed right over the hole, making no sound whatsoever. He tried again, his brow creasing into a heavy frown. One last try and he gave up, handing the flute to Patrick. “Here. You show me. You’ve practiced more.”

  Patrick smirked. “We can practice any time you like, my love.” Aidan rolled his eyes, his mouth widening into a flirtatious, plump-lipped smile. Patrick felt a stirring in his pants and adjusted his position; he was having a problem pushing the thought from his mind of what it would be like to have that mouth around his dick, but they were expecting guests for dinner within the hour. It would take five minutes, if that, pointed out that sly little devil.

  “Are you gonna play?” Aidan asked, still with that same lustful smile. Patrick put his flute to his mouth and positioned his hands, wriggling his fingers and pressing the keys in quick succession by way of a quick warm-up and reminder to his brain of how the thing worked.

  He started to play; it was the first thing that came into his head and it was so corny. “Londonderry Air”—the melody more commonly known as “Danny Boy”—just what someone might expect an Irish guy to play, yet it was such a beautiful, haunting melody and Aidan was instantly entranced, almost as if he’d been suspended in time. Patrick let the last note fade and moved the flute away from his mouth.

  “Did you even blink?” he asked, which prompted Aidan to do so.

  “That was so beautiful,” he complimented with a contented sigh. “Play something else?”

  Patrick shrugged, as if he had no choice but to grant Aidan’s request, but he was quite enjoying it. It had been a while since he’d played and every time he left it, he consciously thought he should do it more often, but life got in the way—work, opening and closing the gym, being in a relationship… All right, the last one was a whole new experience, and if his playing continued to delight Aidan the way it was now, then it would be just the motivation he needed to practice more often.

  He began to play again, going with a more spritely jig that he busked, throwing in some pretty little trills and really getting into the swing of it. He closed his eyes, feeling his emotions merge into the music, the melody taking on its own magical form, a musical tale, once upon a time… Patrick thought back to that first day he saw Aidan visiting Nadia, their first conversation, and their first kiss. With each reminiscence the tune soared gloriously and reverberated in the pitched ceiling above. But then there were the other memories, of Aidan’s sorrow, the misunderstanding with Lily, telling Jill about Ms. Ashmore, and in those moments, they were blue notes, deep, dark, weighted with sorrow, or fortified by anger. And then there was their love-making just a few days ago—rich arpeggios rising quickly, falling slowly.

  As Patrick neared the end of his improvisation, he opened his eyes, fighting back his smile at the incredible sight that greeted him. Aidan was watching so intently. A solitary tear slowly rolled down his cheek, and the most beautiful joyous smile radiated from his entire being. Still meeting Aidan’s gaze, Patrick played the final note and set his flute to one side, and the two of them slowly moved together, arms around each other, a long, slow, deep, deep kiss.

  When it finally came to a stop, Aidan ran his finger over his own lips, and then over Patrick’s. “I feel like you just made love to me all over again.” The doorbell sounded and Patrick smiled.

  “Maybe later, my love, when our guests have gone home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three:

  Dinner Guests and Unexpected Company

  “I don’t understand,” Aidan said again, absently watching Patrick scoop the mushy peas onto his own plate, before handing the serving bowl to Aidan. “Patrick said this was your gym.”

  Maxine—Patrick’s best friend since college—was one of their two guests for the evening. The other was Lily. While both women wore dinner casual, Maxine was the more made-up of the two. She had fox eyes and a coy, curvy smile that she had accented with lip liner and gloss. At the same time, it was evident she wasn’t a sit-around-and-polish-her-nails kind of girl. Her biceps, which showed out of the short-sleeved dress she wore, were well-toned and attractive.

  “It’s a joint ownership,” Maxine explained. “We went in on it together after college. Back then I was dating my boss at this little car dealership—total mistake, by the way, what a d-bag—and I was getting ready to call the whole thing off, which meant I was probably going to be out of a job. So Patrick and I were sitting around drinking one night and I was bitching and carrying on about how much I wanted to be my own boss, and Patrick said he’d invest if I wanted to actually do something with my training certificate.”

  “You had the money to invest right out of college?” Lily asked Patrick, surprised.

  “My mam and dad’s life insurance, aye. I thought, who better to run a gym than my girl here? She could’ve been a bantamweight champion—if she hadn’t decided she liked the shape of her nose so much.”

  Maxine laughed and sipped her wine. “I had exactly ten matches total. Wouldn’t call that a world-record-breaking career.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t get in the ring with you,” Patrick said. To Lily he nodd
ed and mock-whispered, “She won ’em all.”

  Aidan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had dinner with friends like this. Probably when Nadia was still alive, though somehow the realization didn’t bother him as much tonight. Watching Maxine, Patrick, and Lily as they spoke back and forth, he could happily have listened to the easy ebb and flow of their conversation all evening.

  Patrick glanced over at him a few times during the night, and Aidan just smiled back from his heart. He was having a really good time. Maxine was funny and she told stories about Patrick that made him in turns laugh and blush. It was fun to learn more about who Patrick had been when he was younger.

  “Do you remember that weird guy who had the crush on you, Max?” Patrick asked. “The one who gave you a potted plant for every holiday.”

  “Oh, Lord, yes. I could barely move around my dorm by the end. Plus, I’m so not a plant person. I’ve got no idea why he thought I was into that stuff. I mean, they’re pretty and all, but I don’t know a thing about soil pH and repotting and all that weird stuff. I thought if you just watered them, they would be fine forever. Thank God for Patrick.”

  “You know about plants?” Aidan asked curiously.

  “A fair bit,” Patrick agreed. “I need to in my job.”

  “Oh! You don’t just…you know…” Aidan wasn’t sure how to say it, but for once his difficulty was about sparing Lily’s feelings rather than his own. “I thought you just dug holes to, er…”

  Luckily, Patrick was on-hand to dig Aidan out of that hole: “That’s a big part of the job, for sure. But I also handle most of the landscaping for the grounds, and I’ve learnt a few tricks along the way about keeping the lovely flowers alive. It gives the bereaved a sense of peace to see something beautiful when they walk through the gates.”

  That was true. The rows of purple and white flowers on either side of the entrance to the cemetery were very beautiful. Aidan had never actively considered them until this moment, but thinking back, there was something very comforting about them.