Aiden stood and went to him. “I don’t want to just be your ‘fuck buddy,’ Dean.” He reached out and took Dean by both shoulders. Dean flinched slightly at the touch, but he didn’t look up. “I’m just saying… I don’t know if I’m ready to give up my career.” He shook his head. “Not at fucking thirty-two years old. It’s been my dream my entire life. I don’t know anything different.”
Dean took a deep breath and, finally, lifted his face. His jaw was set as he looked Aiden directly in the eye. “I want you to keep performing. It’s what I’ve always wanted for you.” There were things hinted at in Dean’s eyes—other things he wanted—but he didn’t say them out loud.
“I know.” Aiden also knew Dean would sacrifice himself now as he had when they were teens, and it killed him. But he didn’t know what to do about it. I can’t stay. Not if there’s a chance….
Dean turned away. “Let’s go take a shower, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
THIS was going to be rough, Dean knew. It would be easier to just end it now instead of sleeping with Aiden, knowing that at any moment, things would come to an end. But he didn’t have the willpower to kick Aiden out of his bed if he wanted to be there. Last night had been… amazing. And Dean knew they had feelings for each other. It wasn’t just him—he could see it reflected back at him in Aiden’s eyes.
Fuck it.
He could do it. Even if he ended up crying himself to sleep like a baby every night for the rest of his life, it would be worth it just to have had a few wonderful moments with Aiden. He wasn’t willing to call it quits after just one great night… and one damned hot shower.
He needed more. No matter what the cost.
“So,” he asked as he pulled into the Scotts’ driveway and shut down the engine, “are we keeping this quiet?”
Aiden looked at him curiously. “Our relationship?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not in high school anymore. We’re both out. Why would we need to hide it from anybody?”
Dean sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I just… I didn’t know if you didn’t want people to think we were a couple….”
“Are you worried about that?”
“Why would I be?”
“If I go back to New York,” Aiden said, “you’ll still be here. Maybe you don’t want people thinking you were dumped or something like that.”
“So don’t dump me,” Dean snapped. Then, when he realized how that came across, he said, “I mean… you don’t have to be a dick about it, right? You can just tell people you needed to go back to New York for your career. You don’t have to say you dumped me.”
“I would never say that.” Aiden undid his seat belt and leaned across the truck seat. He put a hand on Dean’s chin and turned his head so they could kiss. When their mouths parted, he said, “This isn’t about some lame fear of commitment. I’m not trying to escape from you.”
“I know. I understand.”
“So… let’s say we’re a couple.”
Despite his misgivings Dean felt a warmth in his chest at the sound of those words. He smiled. “Okay. We’re a couple.”
WHAT the hell am I doing? Aiden wondered as he kissed Dean goodbye, then climbed out of the passenger door. He closed the door and gave Dean a final wave. Then he watched the truck back out of the driveway and take off down the street.
He wanted to be with Dean. He enjoyed Dean’s company, he was incredibly attracted to him, and he sensed there was something between them—something more than just great sex. He wasn’t fooling himself. He knew the sense of familiarity he felt in Dean’s presence was something of an illusion. He’d known the old Dean. At least to some extent. But a man can change a lot in seventeen years. Aiden had already seen proof of that.
He liked the changes. Dean was more mature now, more responsible, and more outwardly caring. Not that he hadn’t been caring when he was sixteen, but he’d hidden it under a cool aloofness. If Aiden were being honest, he had to admit the dichotomy between the image Dean presented and what Aiden had sensed underneath the surface had been part of the attraction. But the older Dean seemed to have little interest in maintaining that facade, and Aiden respected that. Dean had become an honest, straightforward man.
Still, Aiden was holding back. He’d been wallowing in depression over his lost career for a long time now, but the audition had given him hope. He could still wow an audience on stage. He still had a long way to go before he’d be back in peak form, but he no longer felt it was hopeless.
He’d had a moment of panic that morning when he saw how domestic he and Dean were being. It had been nice. More than nice. But it had also said to him, It could all end here. He couldn’t live in Springhaven and continue to perform. Not unless he was willing to settle for an occasional unpaid gig at a local fair or a church potluck, which he wasn’t. There was the Manchester Philharmonic and other orchestras in southern New Hampshire, and he didn’t want to disparage them, but… they weren’t what he’d been used to. Could he be happy living in Springhaven with Dean and just playing an occasional orchestra gig in Manchester or Portsmouth now and then? The Boston Symphony Orchestra was world-renowned, if he could manage to land a gig with them, but he couldn’t imagine driving over three hours—or more with Boston traffic—to get down there on a regular basis. He’d have to move to the city. Dean would never be happy if he were forced to leave his hometown, and Aiden wouldn’t want to do that to him.
He flexed his hands carefully. The ibuprofen he’d taken at Dean’s just before they crashed had probably done them more good than the Ultram had. NSAIDs were better at reducing swelling. Unfortunately, Aiden could only take them in small doses. His stomach was burning this morning. But his hands seemed to be okay again.
He headed inside, planning out his morning in his head. Coffee would be good. Things had grown too… emotionally fraught… at Dean’s. Neither of them had finished their cups. After that he could tackle something short and easy. He’d overdone it yesterday. The concerto itself hadn’t been difficult, and that was encouraging. But rehearsals always involved going over passages multiple times, and that had worn him down.
But he could do it. Aiden felt confident about that now. Or at least he felt he could recover some of what he’d lost, some of his skill, some of the career that had fallen apart after the accident. The question was, how much?
And what am I going to do about Dean?
Chapter Twenty-Three
DEAN carried both boxes from his truck to Bygone Books, one stacked on top of the other. He didn’t need to carry both at once, but Aiden wasn’t there to chew him out, so he did. It made him feel macho, even if it did hurt his arms.
Fortunately, Lisa saw him coming and opened the door for him so he didn’t have make a fool of himself juggling the boxes and the door handle at the same time. He staggered the last few feet to the counter and thumped them down on it.
“Dean! I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been meaning to call.”
That wasn’t Lisa’s voice. He stifled a groan and turned to find Mrs. Strickland beaming at him. Her dress was eggshell blue this morning, complete with matching shoes and gloves and a hat that looked like a bouquet of periwinkles.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Strickland?”
“I just wanted to say how delighted I am that you managed to get the Springhaven Septet back together!” She spread her hands, her pale blue purse dangling from one wrist. “I know there were moments when it seemed hopeless—”
“Mrs. Strickland,” Dean cut her off, “I don’t know what you’ve heard—”
“—but we all had faith in you. You always come through for us. I don’t think there’s been a single time—”
“Mrs. Strickland—”
“Well, listen to me go on!” She put a hand to her breast and tittered, causing the silk wisteria blooms on her hat to rustle. “I must be getting back. Keep up the good work. You’re doing splendidly! Goodbye, Lisa, dear!”
Before Dean could say another word, the old woman had waved and disappeared out the door.
“Christ,” Dean growled.
Lisa looked amused as she took a pair of scissors from a drawer and snipped open the packing tape on top of one of the boxes he’d brought in. “I seem to recall you defending the Lilac Ladies yesterday.”
He ignored the jab. “Considering the septet is still only two people—I’m assuming you’re on board, now that I’ve delivered your boxes—”
“Of course.”
“Two people is still a far cry from ‘getting the Springhaven Septet back together.’”
Lisa pulled some of the books out of the box, smiling enigmatically. “I see someone’s a bit out of the loop. There are four of us now. Rick and Sarah are joining us.”
“Rick and Sarah?”
“Yes. It seems they might be getting back together.” Something must have shown on Dean’s face, because Lisa stopped what she was doing and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What?”
“Nothing.” Nothing a good boot to Rick’s head won’t fix. “You’ll find a few missing,” Dean pointed out. “I took, um… six.” He cringed when he mentioned the number. Talk about greedy!
“That’s okay, hon. I said you could take a few.”
“Six is more than a few. And your friend talked Aiden into taking a couple. I can pay you for them.”
Lisa waved his concern off. “It’s fine. Now are you planning on having rehearsals soon?”
Rehearsals? Oh… the septet. Dean shrugged. “I still need to get Ben sorted out. But I’ll be in touch soon.”
“All right.”
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get out of there. Not because he objected to Lisa or her store, but because he had a certain ex-friend he needed to throttle. “Um… I’ve gotta go.”
“Just give me a call when you want to get us all together.”
TOM Batchelder’s music shop hadn’t changed much since Aiden was a teenager. The layout was the same, the wall color and wall hangings were the same, and Aiden would bet some of the instruments hanging from racks against the walls were the same ones that had been there seventeen years ago. Even Tom looked the same, apart from a bit more gray in his hair.
But one thing had changed—Aiden himself.
“Can I help you?” Tom asked, looking at Aiden with absolutely no sign of recognition.
Aiden glanced at the few keyboards on display off to one side of the shop. “I’m looking for a keyboard. Not something that makes futuristic swooshy noises, but an electric piano. One with weighted keys and a good piano sound.”
“What you see there is what we have.” Tom came out from behind the counter and walked over to the newest model. It was a Yamaha Arius 181, which Aiden had at least heard of. The price tag was formidable at fifteen hundred dollars, but he could afford it. “This is the best, by far,” Tom continued. “But it’s one of the most expensive on the market—a new one goes for about seventeen hundred, and this one is only two years old. I almost didn’t take it, but… well, Mrs. Martin had been a friend. When she passed away—”
“Mrs. Martin?” Aiden asked. “When did she pass away?”
“Just last year. Did you know her?”
The news of his old piano teacher’s passing struck Aiden harder than he’d expected. To be honest, he’d thought she must have passed away years ago. She’d seemed so old when he was a teenager….
“I… took piano lessons from her when I was young,” Aiden said. “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone now.”
“Well, she was in her nineties….”
“Nineties!” Aiden said. “And she bought a high-end electric keyboard just before she passed away?”
“Oh, she could still play,” Tom explained. “Not a touch of arthritis. But her grandchildren moved her to Riverview, and she couldn’t bring her baby grand with her. So they bought her this. When she passed away, they asked me to take it off their hands. I was very fond of Mrs. Martin—she gave me my first lessons—so I couldn’t say no.”
Aiden sat down on the bench and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. The piano looked new, with a rich mahogany veneer. It was a far cry from his Steinway, but it was portable, which was the point.
Tom leaned over and switched the piano on. “Go ahead and try it.”
Aiden glanced at him, hesitating, then launched into one of the pieces he knew would test not only the piano’s sound, but also its ability to sustain several notes at a time. One of the key flaws of electric keyboards was notes being dropped, because the buffers couldn’t handle the way chords built upon chords in a classical piece. Debussy’s “La Cathédrale engloutie,” commonly translated as “The Sunken Cathedral,” contrasted low rumbling chords with high, bell-like clusters that were meant to be sustained for several beats. The Yamaha performed admirably, and by the time Aiden had finished the piece, he found Tom staring at him in surprise.
“That was… excellent,” Tom said.
“Thank you.”
“You said you took lessons from Mrs. Martin?”
“Yes,” Aiden said. “From the time I was about six until I moved away in high school.”
Tom’s eyes went wide. “Aiden Scott.”
“That’s me.”
Tom waved a hand vaguely in the air. “But you’ve been… all over the world. I’ve read about you performing in London and Paris and… Munich. You don’t want something… electric.” He said the word with disdain. “Don’t your parents own a grand piano? A Steinway?”
Aiden segued into “Clair de lune” while they spoke. “It’s not easy to carry a grand piano around with me. I’m looking for something with a professional sound and feel but portable. Do you deliver?”
“Sure. Where are you staying?”
“I might want it delivered to Dean Cooper’s house,” Aiden said, glancing up at him. “Though I have to ask him first.”
Tom looked surprised. “Oh.” Aiden could see the gears turning in his head, trying to sort out whether Aiden and Dean were a couple, or if this was just for the Fourth or something. Apparently he decided it wasn’t any of his business, because he simply said, “Well, just let me know. If my nephew isn’t busy, we could deliver it tonight.”
“I’ll talk to Dean.” Aiden turned the keyboard off and stood. “Now, I hear you have a friend who sells standup basses….”
Chapter Twenty-Four
DEAN wasn’t surprised to find Sarah’s car parked at Rick’s, though he was irritated. He’d really wanted to get Rick alone. And pummel the crap out of him.
No, not really.
Well… probably not.
He parked his truck on the street and jumped out just as Rick came out of the house, carrying a garbage bag.
He looked at Dean, and his eyes bulged out of his head. “Uh… hey.”
“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Dean snapped, uncomfortably aware of how much he sounded like his grandfather, when the old man had scolded him for something. “I want a word with you, Rick.”
Rick huffed, then walked across the lawn to the garage and tossed the bag on top of a pile of similar bags.
“Doing some housecleaning?” Dean asked.
“Duh,” Rick replied sarcastically.
Dean grabbed his upper arm as he turned to go back to the house and yanked him to a halt. Rick stared back at him, not exactly friendly, but not exactly hostile either. He seemed resigned, as if he’d been expecting this encounter. “I hear you and Sarah are getting back together,” Dean said.
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re gonna beat the crap outta me if I hurt her again?”
“It is,” Dean said. He let go of Rick’s arm, but the man stayed put. “I don’t like this, Rick. I know it’s not my business, but Christ… you cheated on her, you made me lie for you—”
“I never told you to lie.”
“You kept begging me not to tell Sarah,” Dean growled. “That’s as good as a lie, as far as I’m concerned.”
&
nbsp; “Dean—”
“And I did it. I kept quiet, because… well, that’s all ancient history now, and we all know what happened. No more secrets.”
“No more secrets,” Rick echoed. “It’s all out in the open, and I paid for it. Maybe you don’t think it’s enough—”
“Punishing you isn’t my job. That’s between you and Sarah.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Yes, Dean,” a woman’s voice said. Dean and Rick turned to find Sarah watching them from the doorway, another garbage bag in her hand. “Why are you here?”
Dean wasn’t sure anymore. Sarah was a grown woman. She had a right to get back together with Rick if she wanted to. It wasn’t even a case of Dean being jealous of one of them. “I don’t trust him” was the only thing he could think of to say.
“You took my BB gun,” Rick said, a wry smile creeping across his face. “I’m harmless now.”
Dean raised a finger—not his middle one, at least—and barely stopped himself from jabbing it in Rick’s face. Rick looked back at him calmly. He knew Dean wouldn’t clock him one, no matter how much he deserved it. And truthfully, Dean didn’t know if he deserved it. Rick had been such a shit for so long, it was hard to think of him being a decent guy again.
“Dean,” Sarah said, a hint of warning in her voice, “leave him be. This is between me and Rick now.”
“Yeah,” Dean said reluctantly. He lowered his hand.
Rick took a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on Dean’s. “That’s not a hundred percent true. It’s between you and me too. What I did cost me—it cost me big. And I was stupid and blamed it on you. I’m sorry for that, Dean.”
Dean frowned at him. He’d wanted to hear that for a very long time, but he wasn’t in the mood to hear it—not when he was this worked up. He looked sharply at Sarah. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
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