Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  “For once in my life, I wanted to be something I wasn’t. I wanted to be more.” “You’re already more,” Quill whispered. “You’re so fucking more.”

  Ren gave him a sad smile. Her eyes were glassy from unshed tears. “I miss him, Q. I can’t be what he needs but I miss him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I didn’t think he’d give up so fast.”

  “He hasn’t given up. He’s giving you time.”

  “He’ll find someone else.” She sighed. “He should find someone else.”

  “Because you didn’t fight for him. Eventually you have to fight for what you want, even if you don’t think you deserve it.”

  “If you like that guy, you need to talk to him.” “I don’t even know him.”

  “Don’t let a good thing walk out the door. He was really upset he’d done something to hurt you. Fight for him.” She gave him his words back.

  “You first.” He laughed.

  She shook her head. “The doc said I shouldn’t have a relationship when I have so much shit to sift through. I shouldn’t bring someone else in. She said I’m not emotionally ready to be in a relationship. That’s why Jolin left.”

  “You told him to leave. He didn’t leave on his own.” Quill rubbed her arm.

  “He left when he told me he needed to do something for himself. He wanted to see what the frat was all about.”

  “He could have done both.”

  “He couldn’t in high school, why would you think he could now?”

  “Maybe because we supposedly matured? Because what guy would give you months… months, Ren… refusing to have any sexual relations with you so you would understand what love was?”

  Ren’s gaze locked to his. “What happened tonight?”

  Quill shook his head. “Nothing, Ren. Nothing happened,” he lied. “I got to go. I have a lesson.”

  “It’s too early. The store isn’t open.” “I need to get ready.”

  The cello was sitting in the corner of the room waiting for him to give it life again. He grabbed it and left for the music store. Cori was supposed to meet him in a few hours, and he had to make it through a lesson before he got to see her again. Sliding into his car, he checked his phone. Assad hadn’t texted. He doubted he’d hear from him again.

  .sixteen

  Quill Diaz

  September 27

  8:00 a.m.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Quill.” Don walked around the counter and slapped Quill on the back.

  “Got a lesson in an hour. Thought I’d come in and work on what I’m going to actually teach her.”

  “Start with the parts of the guitar, and then move to a few simple cords. Remember, curtains up at all times.” Don winked.

  “You’re running a music shop, not a whore house. Nothing to worry about.” Quill laughed.

  “I’m laying the law for your benefit. It’s you I’m concerned about, not the girls.” “I appreciate the concern.”

  “It’s sincere.” Don stared at him.

  Quill dipped his head. “I appreciate that.”

  “Anytime you need anything. Anything. You know where to find me.” Don grabbed Quill’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Thank you.” Quill felt a lump forming in his throat. Jesus he was turning into a girl.

  Quill did what he did best when emotions were involved, he bailed, walking around the counter and into what he now considered his practice room. Cori had hers set up with a piano, electric key board, and any other instrument she could get her hands on. The lights in her room were off. A part of him wished she’d been as anxious as him about their meeting this morning. He flipped the lights on to his almost completely empty room. There was a small piano pushed into the far wall and a lone guitar set on a stand.

  Don had pulled a metallic green acoustic guitar in the room. Quill turned in a circle looking for his old guitar. It was gone. In the short time he’d worked for Don, he knew him well. If it was around, Quill would have put the new one in the corner and used his old one. He didn’t like charity. Quill stowed the cello, moved two chairs close to each other and settled in to get a feel for the new guitar.

  He strummed over the strings, listening to the tone and checking if it was in tune. The book Don had sent home with him gave him the basics to teaching someone the guitar. Well, it was a book teaching guitar, so basically, Quill was copying the first two lessons. The longer he played, the more the tension in his shoulders released. Music had always been his stress relief, and it was working its magic again. He closed his eyes and began playing Overjoyed by Matchbox Twenty, mumbling the words to himself. His voice gained strength when he hit the verse talking about secrets, and then a hand touching his… it brought back memories of Assad’s soft touches. He’d never been touched with such care before, which was probably why he seemed unable to touch the women of his past with any softness. The only examples of affection had been totally fucked up. And now he’d fucked up the first good thing to come his way.

  “Shit.” He put the guitar back on the stand and pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a minute before he realized he didn’t have Assad’s number. “Jesus,” he swore again. He was such an asshole. Assad was different than the girls he fucked and chucked. Primarily because they hadn’t fucked, and it was the first time he didn’t feel like shit after being—well, after being close to someone. Even though the evening had ended in him puking his guts out and punching Assad, he was having trouble keeping his mind from going back to Assad’s hands on his body. His dick responded every time he let the memories come through. But more than that, so did a weird warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. The problem was with all the feelings running through him, the bottom line was the encounter had brought back memories he had buried deep. Memories he didn’t want to remember or deal with. Memories that had him avoiding sleep. Assad deserved an apology and if possible an explanation, although Quill wasn’t sure he could do either. He needed to focus on what he did best, women, and get Assad and the shit of his past out of his head.

  “Hey.”

  Quill almost dropped his phone when the simple word brought him out of his thoughts. “Sorry. I’m Missy. I have a lesson.” The girl was a walking Barbie.

  Keep the curtains open, Quill repeated to himself. Don’t fuck this up.

  “Hey, yeah. Was just warming up while I waited.” He stood and held out a hand. “Quill. Nice to meet you, Missy.”

  I’ve quit pick up sex, he repeated over and over in his head. Why was God testing him like this? Couldn’t his first lesson be a homely grandma?

  -oOo-

  Missy was certainly a looker, but her guitar skills were severely lacking. They’d spent the last hour trying to get her to keep her hands where they were supposed to be. After about the fifth time, he had to stand behind her and hold her hands in place. He figured out what she was doing and changed tactics. He scooted his chair closer and sat knee to knee, reaching forward instead of getting behind her. The expression on her face made it clear she didn’t appreciate the shift.

  “So you never played before?” Quill turned on the charm. He needed the money the sessions provided, and if he was a prick, they wouldn’t come back.

  “Just tinkered around the campfire.” She beamed a shining white smile at him.

  “You’re a natural,” he lied.

  “You think? I’ve never been very musical, but have had this thing sitting around forever.”

  Quill let his hand linger on hers for a moment longer than necessary before lying through his teeth. “Your hands are definitely for the guitar. With some practice, you’ll be knocking out the tunes in no time.” He got up and moved to where he’d made a pile of sheet music for his students to practice. For Missy he picked up the scales. He was afraid those would even be a challenge. “So, here is your assignment for next time. You can see Don to schedule another lesson. Remember, practice is the only way you’ll improve.” He gave her one of his smiles that made the girls drop thei
r panties. He hoped this time it made her pick up her stuff and schedule another lesson. At fifty bucks a shot, he was bringing in thirty-five dollars for the hour lesson.

  Quill thought it was a crazy amount for his limited teaching ability, but Don said the women would pay, and apparently they were.

  “Thanks, Quill. You’re the best teacher. I’ll practice and be better next time.” She batted her long lashes at him.

  Do not proposition her, he told himself. You’ve already screwed up, don’t dig a deeper ditch. Don wants you to be a better person.

  He touched her shoulder, cocked his head, and chuckled. “You did great.”

  Missy made a squeak noise and ran into the wall next to the door. “Oh. Whoops.” She giggled then leaned against wall. “Would you like to… like get coffee some time?”

  Quill wondered if getting coffee was the new foreplay. He couldn’t remember a run on coffee invitations before. “I’m done in a few hours.” He moved in closer, lowering his voice to a sexual tone he knew would drive her crazy. Crap what was he doing? Did he have absolutely no self-control? A shiver ran through him. His body needed to get control again. To push the memories out and get a grip. Missy could help with that.

  She returned his unspoken intent with an all too willing response. “I can meet you across the street.”

  “No. I’d rather not meet there. How about The Perk?”

  She back peddled out of the room never dropping her gaze. “I’ll be there.” Quill nodded and licked his lips.

  Missy waved and swayed her hips out the front of the door.

  “I think I threw up a little in my mouth.” Cori made a gagging motion as she walked by his room.

  “Hey, you got to make them think they have a chance at being a classical guitarist or what’s the point.” Quill tried to suppress his grin.

  “Like agreeing to go for coffee?”

  “Never turn down a good cup of joe. Unlike some people.” He frowned, referring to her refusal to get a cup with him when they first met. He thought he saw her almost smile.

  “Come on. I have stuff to do later.” Cori headed off toward her room.

  Quill grabbed his cello and followed her to her room. It was a disaster. She turned sideways to squeeze between the piano and a synthesizer. Quill wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

  “Working on something?” he tried.

  “Yeah. I have an audition and was trying to come up with something new.” She pushed the piano back and picked up some papers from the floor.

  “Can I help?”

  She glanced up. “No, I have a system.” “A system of chaos,” he mumbled.

  She glanced up at him again and rolled her eyes.

  “Sit there.” Cori pointed at a chair she’d freed from a stack of notebooks. Cori sat behind the piano. She lifted a few stacks of papers until she retrieved a headband, then slipped it on.

  She rubbed her hands together and settled in. “You look tired.”

  “Been burning the midnight oil on a presentation,” she said.

  Quill unzipped the cello, carefully pushing the canvass aside, running his hands down the length of the neck. Quill felt it was important to treat the cello with the respect it deserved every time he removed it. When it was free of the cover, he draped it over a music stand and settled the instrument between his knees.

  Cori was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. “What?” He looked around.

  She shook her head like she was trying to rid herself of a thought. “What happened?” he asked again.

  “Nothing. You just. I’ve never seen someone take a cello out like that before. Why is everything you do have some sexual innuendo?” She looked flustered, but did some shimmy move that looked like a relaxation technique and seemed to regroup.

  “I wasn’t aware I was doing anything.” Quill tried to look innocent.

  “Whatever. Go ahead and play the song again. I remember a few areas I thought you could improve, but I want to hear it like it was all the way through before I make changes.” She rested her elbows on top of the piano and rested her chin on her hands. “Play.”

  Quill drew his eyebrows together at her bossy command, but decided to ignore it. He shrugged his shoulders, cracked his neck and started playing. After the short intro, he began to sing. He rarely used his voice to its full potential, not wanting to belt out a song while Ren was in the apartment, but he wanted Cori to hear what he planned on doing in the classroom. He held out the final note then waited to hear her opinion.

  None came.

  Quill shifted in his seat to look back at her. Cori’s hands had dropped to the top of the piano. Her eyes closed and a serene look on her face. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into his. He felt his heart skip a beat when her deep, brown eyes seemed to search his soul. How was she able to see him when so many couldn’t?

  “Was it okay?” He hesitated to ask. Hesitating to break the quiet of the room, to interrupt the hum the music left.

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I like how you changed it from a major to a minor. I didn’t notice it before. How you kind of made it sound soulful, maybe a little blue grass, but kept the integrity of the song.”

  Quill wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. He wasn’t familiar with musical terminology.

  All he knew was he played the song the way it told him to. “I don’t really know what all that means, but I take it it’s a good thing?”

  Cori finally gave him a hint of a smile. “Yeah it’s a good thing.”

  She looked down at the keys of the piano then started playing the song again. “This is the original key and tempo of the song.” Her fingers flew through the first few bars before slowing down and moving to the keys in the lower range. “You slowed it down.” Her gaze flashed up to meet his briefly. “Which is the tempo.” She played a few more notes. “Changing from major to minor is a way you can take a familiar song and transform the effect it has on the listener.”

  “I didn’t know I did it.” Quill shrugged. “I hear a song, and it’s like it tells me how it wants to be played.”

  “Interesting. You play by ear and not by reading music?” Cori asked.

  “I don’t read music. I hear stuff and can play it. Now with the cello, I have to adapt it. It would sound like crap if I tried to play it the same way it is on the radio.”

  “Come here.” Cori scooted over to the far side of the bench, motioning Quill to sit by her. “Transposition of music is based on a scale of degrees of the chords.” An excitement buzzed off Cori as she began to explain music. “There are seven notes on every scale.”

  Quill must have had a blank look on his face because she huffed and reached up to dig through her piles again, coming out with a pencil and a spiral notebook full of music bars. “You seriously never had music training. Not even a clarinet or piccolo in elementary school?”

  “Nothing.” Quill shrugged.

  “Okay. Look.” She began writing on the lines. “There are also seven chords on a scale.” She glanced over at him. “We’ll work with cords. In G major, G would be one, A is two, B is three and so on.” She scribbled messy sticks with circles, coloring each one in along the way.

  Quill could smell her shampoo and a citrusy smell of a lotion or soap. Either way, it was intoxicating. He was having trouble grasping what she was saying due to it being completely foreign to him, but also because being this close to her was incredibly distracting. He wanted to understand what she was saying because she was extremely excited about sharing it with him.

  “Translating a key to its parallel minor requires you to flatten or lower the third, sixth, and seventh notes in the scale by half a step to give it a dark, sad, minor feel. You did that for the chords built off those notes.” She glanced over and smiled.

  Quill smiled back, trying to look like he followed. He must have succeeded because she rattled off a whole lot of gibberish next.

  “In the key of g minor, the three, six, and seven are lowered methodically, wh
ile harmonically, only the three and six are lowered. So the scale changes from G_A_B_C_D_E_F# in major to G-A-Bb-C-D-Eb-F.” Cori slid the notebook his way to show a written version of the crap she’d spouted.

  “Oh,” was all he could say.

  She took a big breath. “But you did all that in your head. That’s amazing.” “Oh,” he said again. A big smile plastered on his face.

  “I can do it, but I have a computer program. I stick the first few bars into and it transposes it for me, and then I fiddle around with different instruments but to just start playing the song in a minor chord by ear is incredible. My dad was right. You have a gift.”

  Quill sat and smiled at the adorable rant he’d just witnessed. Cori was incredible. He loved talking to her.

  “You can do it both ways. You can change a sad song to a happy song.”

  “Oh,” he said again. Shit, where were his super powers when he wanted to have an intelligent conversation.

  Cori stopped and let out a giggle.

  Quill’s already fragile heart melted. How in such a short time had he begun to care so much for Don and his daughter? After eighteen years of only caring about his sister, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the people coming into his life.

  “Sorry, I get excited about music, and when I heard you really belt it out today… well I thought… well, I should have told you how good it was before but there was a lot going on.

  When you sing it with your diaphragm… “ She placed a hand on his belly. “When you pull the air in deep. It is an amazing sound. Even when you’re quiet it’s good. Quill, you have a great gift.”

  Quill couldn’t take his gaze off her eyes. They were almost black. The pupil disappearing in the pool of darkness. Her eyes were almond shaped. Similar to Akeo’s. He wondered if she was part Asian, too. His skin burned where her hand rested. The same space that Assad’s hand had caressed a few hours before.

  “Why do you dislike me?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off hers.

  She held his stare for a beat before pulling her hand away and diverting her gaze. “I don’t dislike you. Which is why I won’t let you make your moves on me. I think we could be great friends, and we shouldn’t mess that up by having sex. Let’s get started. Although you did an excellent job at transposing in your head, there were a few notes we need to adjust for the fluidity. You’re going to blow the professor away.”