by Lane Hayes
“There’s no need, Alex. I appreciate the—”
“It only takes a minute. I’m a pro at this part.” This time when he turned around, his smile was mischievous. “Go on.”
I couldn’t argue with a guy I hardly knew while standing practically naked in a kitchen that felt more like his than mine anyway. I made sure he saw my exasperated expression before I turned toward the master bedroom to throw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I dressed quickly and made my way back to the kitchen, intending to kindly but firmly get rid of my unwanted company.
My determination faltered as the soft strains of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” drifted down the short hallway. Was that little shit going through my iPod now? The guy seemed to have no boundaries whatsoever. Clearly I’d have to spell it out for him. I wasn’t interested in being his new next-door best buddy. Privacy wasn’t a luxury to me. It was a necessity.
“I love this piece. It reminds me of my mother.”
I studied Alex’s pensive expression before I approached the kitchen island. He looked up at me and offered a wan smile partially hidden by the hand cradling his chin as he leaned lazily on the granite countertop. I reached for a bottle of pinot and the wine opener, fully aware he’d managed to disarm me once again.
“I thought you didn’t like classical music. Want some?”
“Maybe half a glass. No more. Wine gives me a headache. And I was messin’ with you the other day. I thought you knew that. I love all music. Even classical.”
His eyes sparkled as he spoke, leaving me the impression he was possibly still messing with me. I didn’t get this man at all. Two minutes ago I’d been pissed at his ridiculous sense of overfamiliarity. My intention to kindly ask him to get the hell out was overridden by renewed curiosity. So instead of kicking him to the curb, I ended up offering him a glass of wine. Odd. But hell, apparently it was impossible to stay two steps ahead of Alex Reyes.
“It’s funny you should choose Beethoven,” I said, handing him a half-filled glass of pinot noir.
“Why is it funny? He’s one of my favorite composers.” Alex took a small sip before setting the glass aside and covering his mouth. Laughter lit his handsome features, and an almost palpable wave of joy emanated from him. It was an enchanting thing to witness. I found myself grinning back at him, though I had no idea what the joke was.
“Really?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not a complete bonehead. I’m pretty well educated and actually can carry a reasonable conversation beyond the world of sports and physical fitness. Music especially.”
“I’m not surprised. Well, let me try again. I am surprised.” I paused as Alex chuckled good-naturedly at an admission I had to assume would insult most people. “But really, it’s more that I didn’t think you’d—never mind. Why do you like this piece?”
“You’re funny. Rude, but kinda funny.” He held up a hand as I started to protest and pointed to the microwave. “Your plate should be ready. Zap it again if you like the chili a little warmer. The tortillas are fresh. Selena made them this morning. Come sit. We can talk Beethoven while you eat.”
I adjusted my glasses, aware I was scowling at my unwanted visitor. I opened my mouth to finally let him have it but ended up shaking my head in wonder instead. I wasn’t angry. I was perplexed. And yeah, hungry. I sighed heavily as I turned to join him at the island with my plate in hand.
“I’m rude?” was the best I could do as I reached for a tortilla and met his friendly gaze with an eye roll. “Tell me why you like Für Elise.” I took a bite of the chili verde. It was incredible. “Mmm. Your sister made this? This is good.”
“Selena’s a great cook. She spoils me.” He twirled his wineglass thoughtfully before continuing. “Hmm. My mom taught piano. She loved Beethoven and would tell stories about her favorite works. Beginners tend to pay attention to mechanics and miss the nuances between the notes. She figured associating a story with music would make it easier for her students to learn.”
“So you know the story behind the music?” I was intrigued. The former-soccer-star gym owner with rock star sex appeal didn’t strike me as someone who’d know shit about classical music. Unfortunately my expression gave my thoughts away. Alex gave me a dirty look and then quirked his full lips in a crooked grin.
“I know the supposed story. And your pompous professor look tells me you probably know it too. But….” He stopped with a dramatic sigh and shifted on his barstool so his knee brushed against mine. “I’ll play along.”
I took a bite of the chili verde and gestured for him to keep talking.
“Long story short, it’s a love song probably meant for a student named Therese, not Elise. Most likely it was unrequited.”
“What do you think?”
“She didn’t marry Beethoven, so it may be true, but I don’t think of music that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I listened to my mother’s stories, but I always found my own meaning. Interpretation is up to the listener. I have my own memory associations. And this one reminds me of my mother. That’s all.” He sat back in his chair, nudging my knee again as he propped his elbow on the back of the seat. “What about you? What do you think of when you hear this piece?”
I brushed a napkin over my mouth and tried to focus on the accented delicate notes being played in the background before addressing the question.
“I can’t explain. Not easily anyway. It’s personal.”
Instead of goading me to share, Alex cocked his head thoughtfully and nodded. “Music is like that.”
I smiled around another bite of chili in silent agreement. We sat enjoying the sweet lilting music in companionable quiet for a moment. When I reached for my wineglass, I was aware of his steady gaze. I licked my upper lip before taking a quick sip.
“Does your mother still teach piano?” Lame, but I was more concerned with keeping the focus from me. Alex struck me as the ultimate sharer so I didn’t think he’d mind driving the conversation while I finished eating.
Silence.
I looked up, puzzled by his sudden reserve. He gave me a lopsided, melancholy smile, but this time it went nowhere near his eyes.
“She passed away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. It’s been years, but it still makes me sad.”
I swallowed hard as I glanced over at Alex. Just as joy had radiated from him earlier, a sudden wave of melancholy seemed to cloud the room with potent sorrow. It called to me in a way I couldn’t begin to describe, and before I could stop myself, I uttered the last words I ever would have imagined.
“I understand. Mine died years ago too.”
My heart beat like a drum as our eyes locked. On the surface nothing was happening here. We were two guys, next-door neighbors with mutual friends sharing a glass of wine while listening to music. But I felt something… more beneath the surface. Something I couldn’t begin to quantify. What I did know was I wasn’t given to bouts of reminiscence. Especially about my family. Why was I opening an old wound now with a practical stranger? It made no sense.
The sonata ended, and the spell was broken. Alex looked away first, then stood with a grimace as though he’d been sitting for too long. I watched him move around the island, stopping to rinse his wineglass and cover the dish he’d brought over. There was a graceful air about him I found incongruous with his energetic presence. The man was a former athlete, so it probably made sense. I shrugged in confusion and adjusted my cock in my sweatpants. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“I was twenty. It was fifteen years ago. She died of cancer. I think about her every day. Every day. So strange. I guess it’s true time makes it easier, but it’s always there. A kind of dull ache. How old were you when your mom passed away?” he asked casually.
Fuck. I took a deep breath before reaching for my empty wineglass. Alex picked up the bottle and refilled my glass wordlessly. His expression was intense again, as though my answer was important somehow.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, still unsure how to gracefully accept condolences all these years later.
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“A brother. Ryan lives in Tahoe now with his family. Thankfully he was around back then.”
“Yeah. Selena is like that in our family. My dad is alive and well, but he’s a little lost without my mom. She helped him keep perspective, you know? He tends to be single-minded. Everything begins and ends with one thing now. Fútbol.” Alex shook his head mournfully.
“Did he play?” I asked, attempting to move beyond death and unspeakable loss.
Alex tilted his head back as his musical laughter rang through the open kitchen area. It was as if the clouds parted, and the sun shone brilliantly, chasing away the somber mood and restoring a sense of peace and joy. I stared at his strong jaw and the creases at the corner of his eyes, wondering how one person could affect the atmosphere in a given space the way Alex seemed to. It was intriguing.
“I take it that means no,” I snarked.
“Definitely no. He manages athletic talent. He managed me when I played professionally and my best friend Michael too. Have you met Michael? He and Luke live upstairs.”
“I know who they are.”
“Right. Well, my dad was devastated when Michael decided to retire last year. I think he kind of blames Luke, which is totally unfair, but like I said, his perspective is off. He doesn’t understand having a life off the soccer field,” he said with a humorless half laugh.
“Is he managing anyone now?”
“Yeah, he stays busy, I stay busy, and Selena manages us both.” He chuckled as he crossed his impressive arms over his chest. “Selena has a husband, three kids, a cranky old man to deal with, and a g—brother. She must have a thing for chaos because she seems perfectly happy,” he added with a shrug.
“Do they live nearby?”
“Yeah. Redondo Beach. It’s close enough.”
I gave a half chuckle as I pushed at my glasses. “Far away works for me.”
“Don’t you miss your brother? What about other family? Aunts, uncles?”
“I don’t have any other family, and Ry has his own life in Tahoe complete with a wife and two kids. He doesn’t need or want his little brother around and hell, we’re thirty-six and forty-one now. Time to grow up.”
The look Alex gave me was nothing short of incredulous. In fact, he looked like he’d encountered an alien speaking a language he had no hope of understanding.
“Grow up? Familia es todo! You don’t grow up from your family. Who says that?”
My eyes widened as he continued his tirade in Spanish, lambasting the very concept of not needing and appreciating family. I let him talk on until he ran out of steam. When he finished berating me with “eso es estúpido,” I gave him an irritated look of my own.
“Whoa! It’s not stupid not to want family around, it’s just a different point of view. I like being alone. I don’t need or like people underfoot. As much as I love my brother, I’m fine seeing him a couple times a year.” I stood and picked up my plate before rounding the island and joining him near the sink.
“Dámelo.”
I handed him the plate without thought. He took it but didn’t move. In fact, he went completely still.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nada. ¿Hablas español?”
“No.”
“Why are you lying? You obviously do, which means you probably understood me calling you an idiot.”
“I understand Spanish,” I interrupted, not caring to hear the English translation. “But I don’t speak it.”
Once again I was treated to a puzzled frown. This time, however, he looked pissed too.
“How is that possible?”
“I employ a lot of Spanish-speaking people, so I’ve made an effort to understand the language. What’s wrong with that? You look like you want to slug me.” I chuckled softly and put my hands up in surrender, hoping to defuse his mood.
“So, you’re okay with understanding, but you don’t care if you’re understood?” His furrowed brow told me what he thought of the concept.
“Uh, when you put it that way—”
“What other way is there? Trying earns respect. When you don’t try, you end up looking like an ass who thinks he’s too good to deal with people who don’t speak English as a first language.”
“Hey! I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I just don’t speak Spanish. Why does that piss you off so badly?”
Alex pursed his lips together and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. Whatever. I’ll get out of your way. See you ’round.”
He skirted the island around the opposite side to avoid passing me. I surprised the hell out of myself by grabbing his elbow to stop him. He was finally leaving, and I was finally going to get the peace and quiet I’d been looking forward to all evening. But I couldn’t let him go like this.
“Hey, wait.”
Alex stared at my hand on his elbow and then at me as if to say “get the fuck off.” For the first time, I caught a glimpse of the warrior he must have been on the soccer field. He looked fierce.
“Por favor,” I tried with a small smile. I wasn’t sure he was going to listen, but he cocked his head and waited. “Lo siento. I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re angry, but I’m sorry if I insulted you. I didn’t me—”
I stopped midapology when Alex cracked a small smile that slowly morphed into a radiant megawatt grin. I was rendered speechless. I didn’t understand his quick temper or his odd sense of righteousness, but I was even more baffled by my reaction to him. My natural inclination would be to shrug it off as his problem, not mine. But I was curious about him. I really wanted to know what I’d said to set him off.
Alex looked out the window as though he were trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m a little hotheaded sometimes,” he said with a half laugh. “You didn’t really say anything wrong, but….”
“What? What is it?”
He considered me for a moment before speaking. “It smacks of racism.” He held up a hand when I sputtered indignantly.
I was certainly not racist. And now I was insulted. Very insulted. How dare he?
“Obviously I don’t know you well, and I’m sure you aren’t a bigot, but here’s the thing. If you have the ability to communicate and you choose not to, you’re setting a divisive line between you and the people who work for you. It’s a form of prejudice.”
“Bullshit! I’m not prejudiced in the slightest. I’m just not comfortable speaking the language.”
“Why not?” he challenged, recrossing his arms over his chest defensively. “It’s one thing to know rudimentary words. And yeah, I know what ‘rudimentary’ means, asshole. But I can tell you understand more than ‘hola’ and ‘adios.’”
“Asshole? Look….” I adjusted my glasses and gave him a fierce stare of my own.
I wasn’t sure how the conversation had spiraled from Beethoven to family loss to racial prejudice, but I knew I was on the losing end of this battle, and after the ridiculous hours I’d put in all week, I was in no shape to participate in mental combat. I should have walked directly to the door and said good night. However, I couldn’t let this go.
“I’m a perfectionist. I don’t speak Spanish well. My accent is heavy where it shouldn’t be, and in my opinion, it’s more insulting to massacre a language.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“First of all there is no such thing as perfection. You’re human. I think.” His mouth quirked to let me know he was teasing, but the gesture lacked warmth. I had a random thought that I didn’t want him to leave until he smiled again with sincerity. “No one learns without practicing and failing. Over and over. Who cares if you mispronounce a word? Instead of worrying about botching a word or two,
why not concentrate on trying. It’s just a thought. I should get going.”
Alex gave me a ghost of a grin, not even close to what I’d hoped for, before he walked toward my front door.
“Good night. I’ll see you ’round.”
“Que pase buenas noches,” I tried, wincing at my awkward accent.
When he turned around, I was finally treated to that heart-stopping smile. My pulse raced uncomfortably as I waited for him to respond. I wasn’t sure why it mattered to me. No doubt I’d obsess about my strange behavior later. Nothing about my reaction to him made sense.
“Very nice, Professor. Buenas noches,” he said with a wave as he closed the door softly behind him.
I stared after him for a long moment before turning back to the kitchen. I picked up my empty wineglass and briefly weighed the merit of refilling it. What the hell, I thought. A half glass more might actually help clear the foggy layer of uncertainty in my head. Impulsively I reached for the iPod on the counter and let the haunting strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata wash over me.
The opening adagio was mournful. Funereal. Though years ago I hadn’t heard it that way. I’d heard a siren’s song. I’d associated the music with the heady rush of first love… or maybe infatuation. I couldn’t say now. It was too long ago, and I’d buried those memories very deep. So deep, I could make myself believe it was someone else’s story. Tonight I was too tired to lie to myself. Not wanting to remember something didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Just as choosing not to speak Spanish didn’t mean I couldn’t, I thought with a wry grin.
I pressed the Shuffle button hoping for an upbeat change in tunes. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t ancient history I couldn’t get out of my head now. It was Alex. How was it that he could insert himself at will and change the very energy in the room? It was as though he waltzed in and reconfigured the furniture without me noticing until he left. Everything was still present and accounted for, but something had changed, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was or why the hell I cared.