by Ava O'Shay
Quill looked up as he turned the page of the magazine he really wasn’t reading. “None of it is my own stuff. I copy what other people do.”
Don put his hands on his hips, the rag dangling precariously from his fingers. “You take something old and make it new. That is original.”
“Semantics,” Quill muttered.
“Want to talk about it? Girl troubles?”
Don had been polite enough not to ask about the condition he’d returned to work in. It had been a week since the fight and his hasty break up with Missy, but the scars of the night had remained. Bruising turning from purple and green to black and yellow.
“Missy and I broke up.” Maybe admitting it would make Don happy, and they wouldn’t have to talk anymore about it.
“I didn’t see it lasting.” Don leaned on the counter.
Neither had Quill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little bummed he’d failed at building something with her. Quill leaned back, getting some much needed space. “Why didn’t Cori go to Julliard? She said she didn’t think she was ready, but she’s more than ready. She’s amazing.”
The sparkle Quill was so used to seeing in Don’s eyes faded. He grabbed his beard and pulled. “I lost my wife around Halloween last year. Breast cancer. Corinne didn’t feel she was ready to leave so soon after.”
“I’m sorry. I lost my grandma last year around the same time. It sucked. Everything kind of went to shit after that.” Quill caught himself. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cuss.”
Don nodded. “No. I think there are times profanity is needed. Everything went to shit for us for a while, too.”
“My grandma had a heart attack. It wasn’t expected,” Quill said quietly.
“My wife was sick for a long time. It’s a hard thing watching someone die slow. It was hard on Corrine. Her mom was a pianist. She wanted Corrine to go to Julliard. It had been her mom’s dream. Maggie, my wife, was more than talented enough to get in but we were in love and got our priorities a little confused. Got pregnant and her dreams floated away. She taught Corrine to play at an early age. We were blessed that Corrine had such natural talent. But Corrine’s dream isn’t the classics. She likes to push the limits of music, and I think she struggles with that. Her mom was a purist and would get so frustrated when Corrine would alter the notes and make the classics new.” He smiled. “She is struggling with what her mom wanted and what she wants.”
“It’s hard when you’re afraid of disappointing people,” Quill said.
Don continued to rub his beard. “It is, but it happens, and you get over it. You have to do what’s right for you, otherwise you won’t be happy.”
Quill nodded absently. He wish he knew what was right for him. “I hear this weekend is your big debut.”
“Was supposed to be, but I’ve been busy with school so haven’t been getting much done.”
They stood in silence for a while.
“I know life can toss you a bad hand, but you’re a good kid, Quill. Let yourself be that good kid. Relationships are about a lot more than sex.”
Quill’s head jerked up to look at Don. Was he really going to talk about sex with him— in the middle of the store? “I know that.”
“I’m not sure you do. I don’t know a lot about your past son, but I can see it with the way you work the girls who come in here. You go for the sex, and then try to build something out of it. Love comes from relationships. Emptiness comes from sex.” Don kept his gaze tight on Quill’s.
“I’m not… “ Quill started.
“I know I may be crossing some employee/employer line, but you’re a member of our family here, and I can’t stand by and watch you try to destroy yourself. Life is about love. Why don’t you start with letting yourself love the music? Then you may find out you love something else.”
Quill swallowed. No one had ever had a conversation with him like this before. He didn’t know what to say.
Don solved the problem for him. “You have a lesson coming in in a few. Go get ready.” Don placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m always here if you need to talk.
Always.”
Quill looked at Don and wondered how he could put so much hope in someone so completely damaged. “Thanks,” he said around the lump in his throat.
“Anytime, son.”
Quill’s chest tightened at Don’s casual use of the word son again.
The bell on the door interrupted the awkward silence that had fallen over them.
A girl stood at the door, holding a guitar case. The same girl Quill had left in bed last week.
“Shit,” he said to himself.
Don glanced his way then stepped forward, always the professional. “Hey there little lady, you have a lesson I take it.”
“Yes. I’m Anna. I’m a little early.” Her gaze flickered to Quill’s then back to Don before dropping to the floor.
“I’m ready now. We can see where you’re at and what your goals are with the extra time.” Quill walked around the counter and waved for her to follow him into the practice room, knowing Don was watching them the entire way.
He settled onto his favorite stool and motioned for Anna to have a seat across from him. “So, have you played before?” He started.
“I made this lesson before… “ She let her voice trail off.
Quill’s tactic had been to avoid admitting they’d had a late night booty call and go along with the lesson as if they’d just meant. It was clear Anna had other ideas.
“It’s fine.”
“I don’t want it to be weird.”
“Well, it’s going to be weird seeing as I woke up in your bed after we apparently had sex, and I don’t really remember doing it.” Quill didn’t want to be rude, but this wasn’t exactly a comfortable conversation to have.
“You don’t remember any of it?” She looked like she didn’t believe him. “No.”
“You remember the fight?”
Quill rubbed his jaw. “That part is hard to forget.” “So, you don’t remember the car?”
Quill narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling she wanted to hash this out and any solace he’d had at not remembering his drunken night was going to be shot to shit. “I remember the fight and I remember… nope that’s it.”
She smiled shyly. She wasn’t unattractive. In fact, she was kind of cute. Petite. Long brown hair. Big, innocent, brown eyes. Not really his type, except for the giving it up with a guy she didn’t know part, but cute.
“I’m assuming you want to have a little walk down memory lane before your lesson?” “We had sex in your car,” she said flatly.
“Okay.” He’d need to get some disinfectant wipes on his way home. “And on the steps of my apartment.”
Quill dropped his head in his hands. “In my bed… “
His looked up at her. “And… “ “Then you threw up and passed out.” “Beautiful.”
“I’m not sorry. It was fun. Too bad you don’t remember.” She shrugged and unhooked her guitar case. “I’ve played about a year, but have kind of got stuck and need a push to move to more difficult stuff.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He blew out a breath, thankful the conversation had moved to something safer.
The lesson as a whole wasn’t as bad as it could have been. It was apparent Anna wasn’t an innocent bi-stander in the situation, which made him feel better.
She walked out of the practice room with a wave. “Anytime you need to blow off steam, I put my number in your phone.”
“You hijacked my phone?” “Your sister called.”
“You answered my phone!” he yelled. “Well, you couldn’t.”
“You could have let it ring.”
“I wasn’t comfortable with that.”
“I’m not comfortable with you answering my phone.” “Too late now.”
She was kind of a snot. Quill lifted his hat off his head and ran a hand over his hair.
“I told her she didn’t need to pick you up. That I had you and w
ould make sure you were okay.”
Quill couldn’t wait for the moment when Ren decided to pitch him shit about the entire event. “I’ll see you next week,” Quill said stiffly, hoping she would get out of his practice room and never come back.
.twenty-three
Quill Diaz
October 27
5:30 p.m.
“Holy shit what happened to you?” Ren ran at him, cradling his face in her hands. “Is this why that girl was taking care of you? Did she do this? Who did this to you?”
Quill had finished up with the girl’s lesson, cleaned up his room, and headed home in hopes of finding something to take him into oblivion, not to talk with his sister. He pulled his head out of her grip.
“What happened?” she asked again.
“If you were ever home you’d know,” Quill tried to elicit some form of guilt from Ren at being gone most of the week. With school and work, their schedules had them rarely crossing paths. She hadn’t ever met Missy, which was probably a good thing. Missy represented everything Ren hated. Plastic bitchiness.
“What happened?”
“Missy dragged me to a party. Hooked up with her ex. I walked in and took him out.
He’s in a frat, so his brothers were kind enough to let me know they didn’t appreciate it.” “Wow. So who was the girl the other night?”
“I’m not really sure who she was. I was messed up; she was around. And to make everything more of a fucking nightmare, she shows up for a guitar lesson today.”
“No way!” Ren yelled and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Way.” Quill opened the refrigerator and ducked to see what they had to eat.
“Mrs. Daniel dropped off some kind of casserole yesterday.” Ren propped herself up on a stool.
Quill looked over the door. “She still feeding us with you and Jolin apart?”
“I broke up with Jolin, not her. At least that’s what she told me.” “Bonus for us.” Quill grabbed a dish and popped it in the microwave.
“I’m sorry the thing with that Missy girl didn’t work out.” Ren propped her chin up with a hand. “But it was destined to fail. Her name was Missy for God’s sake. What a horrible name. Might as well call her bitchy and stop with the formality of it all.”
“Because Serenity is such a winner,” Quill chided. Ren flipped him off.
Quill still wasn’t use to her toned down look. She had her hair pulled back with a headband and the piercings she’d removed a few weeks ago during her make-over phase had now been put back. Her eyebrow sparkled with her changing expressions. She pulled her lip ring into her mouth—a tell-tale sign she was thinking.
“I should have known. She told me from the start she was looking for a bad boy.” He shrugged. “I was looking for normal. We weren’t on the same page.”
“Still. I’m sorry. It sucks.” The microwave dinged.
“I’m fine,” Quill finally said. “That’s what you always say.”
“I’m always fine. I don’t want to talk about this with you. I don’t want you to analyze me.”
Ren yawned. “You deserve to be happy, and sleeping with a bunch of whores isn’t making you happy.”
“You deserve happy, too,” he mumbled through a bite of noodle casserole. He pointed a finger at her. “You seem to be changing back to the old you. Didn’t work out how you thought it would?”
Ren lifted her arms above her head and stretched. “My counselor told me that changing the outside didn’t necessarily make everything go away. I was just wearing a costume. Said I still had to talk about shit which majorly sucked because I already cut my hair and now she tells me she was being metaphorical.” She gave him a sly smile. “Did fucking like an old married couple make all your shit go away?”
“Not in the least.”
“I think we were changing the wrong stuff.” She slid off her chair.
“Change doesn’t do shit. I feel worse now than I did before.” Quill took another big bite of his dinner.
“Me too.”
“I’m going out. Want to come?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m beat. Why don’t you hang out here with me? We can watch TV.”
“We don’t have booze here, and I want to get wasted.”
“Please don’t.” Ren’s expression broke his heart. She wanted him to be something he just couldn’t be. He’d tried, but this was who he was. He was a drunk, worthless, womanizer. He was comfortable with that label. Not much to live up to and people didn’t expect much more from him.
Quill talked through a mouthful of noodles. “It’s who I am.”
Ren frowned. “You can be whatever you want to be. Don’t let your past destroy you.”
“Tonight I want to be shit faced, and I don’t want to hear a lecture from you. You’re my fucking sister not my mom.”
Ren shook her head and left him alone to finish his meal.
.twenty-four
Assad McVee
November 15
3:30 p.m.
It been weeks since he’d hung out with Quill, and Assad was a depressed mess. Cori called him every day inviting him to the music shop to work on Quill’s music, and every day he came up with an excuse as to why he couldn’t. His entire life had been altered by Quill. He didn’t go to The Warehouse. Hadn’t been since the night of the kiss. Assad had his bass set up in the basement of his house and worked out his part of the songs on his own. Quill had taken his heart, his music, and his best friend.
“Shit.” Assad felt like throwing his guitar against the wall. How did a guy come in and totally throw his life into turmoil?
The phone he’d place on the music stand vibrated and fell to the floor. Assad cringed, figuring it was Cori asking him for the hundredth time to come to the shop and play with them.
But he couldn’t.
Ren’s words had stuck with him. If he wasn’t willing to fight through the unknown with Quill, he needed to step away. He didn’t know if he was willing to fight. His imagination ran wild with all the scenarios encircling Quill’s past. Assad was a psych major. He’d seen case studies that would turn anyone’s idea of humanity on its head. Quill didn’t liked to be touched. That was a good indicator to abuse. He lashed out when approached from behind, so he wasn’t trusting.
The phone buzzed again and wiggled across the floor.
“Dammit,” he muttered and picked it up. But wasn’t Cori’s face that shined on the screen. It was a girl from the music department who he’d hooked up with last summer.
He ran his thumb over the screen. “Hey Rachel.”
“Assad. I didn’t think you’d pick up. Glad you did.” Even though she was a year older than him, she had a voice of a kindergartener. He bet half the time she answered the phone people asked if they could talk to her parents.
“Well I did. What’s up?” Assad placed the bass in its stand and moved to an old couch his parents had set up next to his weight set.
“I have a concert I’m supposed to go to tonight, and I wondered if you’d be my date. I have a little schmoozing to do with the alumni fundraisers, and then we could get a drink.”
Assad closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch. He didn’t really feel like going out, but sitting in his parents’ house moping about losing his friend and never getting a chance at a guy he really liked was getting old. He needed to pull his man pants back up and move on. “Sure. What time and how fancy?”
“Oh awesome. About six. I’ll meet you in front of the concert hall. It’s casual, but you know that means slacks and a tie in the concert pianist world.” Rachel giggled.
“Okay. I’ll be waiting by the pillar next to the ugly bushes. Maybe we can catch a bite to eat after.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Assad stared at his phone for a minute before pushing off the couch to take a shower and search out something to wear.
-oOo-
“Thanks for coming.”
Rachel had a hold of his arm and
was plastered to his side most of the evening. It was a blatant attempt to make the alumni think they were together. Not that it would bring more money in, but if the music department was anything like the psych department, alumni seemed to think the college students were at their bidding. Being with a date made it harder to boss them around. The music had been pleasant. Some second year piano students playing classical stuff. It reminded Assad why Cori wanted to do something other than traditional. They weren’t unique, and each of them sounded exactly like the last. Assad was sporting a major headache.
“Want to pass on dinner and head to The Warehouse for some drinks? I need something after the four renditions of Bach.” Assad leaned in and talked into Rachel’s ear.
A shiver ran through her at the breeze his words caused on her ear. She smiled up at him in an ‘I want you’ sort of way.
Assad smiled back. This could be an opportunity to get Quill out of his head. First step forward in moving on from something that never started but seemed to be lingering.
“Let’s get out of here.” Assad took her hand and led her to his car.
The college wasn’t far from the club, and within twenty minutes, they had made it to the parking lot.
However, it took another fifteen to get out of the car.
Assad ran his hand up her thigh. Rachel had worn a straight black skirt and white button down top, always the professional. It left easy access for his hands. He kissed her again, drawing a moan from her and a hand reaching up to undo the tie he still wore. Assad helped her and pulled at the tie until it was loose enough to go over his head.
“No clip on, huh? Classy,” she purred in her little girl voice.
Assad didn’t like her talking when he couldn’t see her face. It made him feel like a pedophile. She sounded so innocent and young, however he remembered the few dates they had over the summer, and she as anything but.
“I’m a classy guy.” Assad took her mouth in another kiss. His hands cupping her ass and lifting her to straddle him in the driver’s seat. Her ass beeped the horn, and they both started laughing. She did it again, and Assad was in hysterics. They couldn’t continue with their impromptu make out session without bursting into a fit a laughter.