Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  “No he didn’t. He’s a psych major. He isn’t allowed to say that.” She smiled, making her cheeks scrunch up.

  “That’s fucking classic. A psych major?” Quill laughed and ran the bow across the strings, making a low, rumbling note.

  “He didn’t tell you much about himself?” Her head bobbed up and down on her arms as she talked.

  “No. We didn’t sit around the campfire singing kumbaya. He spent a lot of time going on about how attracted he was to me. How he didn’t like labels. Got drunk and stupid when we were bowling.” Quill continued to make low music with his cello.

  Cori laughed. “He is a blast when he drinks. Super funny.”

  Quill looked up and raised an eyebrow. “You slept with him didn’t you?” Her smile faded. “Yeah. But only once.”

  Quill stopped playing and set the bow down next to him. “He was incredible wasn’t he?” A dreamy smile spread across her face. “Yeah.”

  “Figured.” Quill shook his head.

  “He was helping me after my mom died. I was hung up on him for a while. I got a new guy now, so I’m moving on. Or trying to. It’s very hard to move on from Assad. He hasn’t ever really had a relationship, so I bet there are a lot of people out their pining over the guy. I just added my name to the list.”

  “Tell me about it,” Quill snorted.

  “Well here’s the Assad bio. Don’t tell him I told you.” Cori sat up and rubbed her hands together.

  “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.” “Apologize again.”

  “I did. Like three four times. He told me to call him after I got my shit together. Needs to work on his bedside manner if he’s planning on being a shrink. And he said fuck like a million times, and he doesn’t swear.”

  Cori laughed again. “He swears when he’s upset. Just like the rest of us. He isn’t a saint.”

  Quill sat back and waited for her to divulge Assad’s other side.

  “He’s a grad student. Teaches an introductory class on personality studies or something like that.”

  “Holy shit. He’s using me as a lab rat,” Quill muttered.

  Cori frowned then continued, “He’s twenty-three and most of the time acts like he’s twelve but occasionally turns on his parent voice.”

  “Yeah I got the parent voice the other night.” Quill picked up his bow and stared running through their song again.

  “And—he likes what he likes and sways like the wind.”

  Quill’s gaze flashed to hers. “So you were floating out there in the wind, and he decided to nail you?”

  She shrugged. “He was there for me when other people were afraid to talk to me. Afraid they’d say the wrong thing. Assad doesn’t possess that gene.” She chuckled. “He’s an old soul. Has a way of knowing what everyone needs. Except maybe him. Or he knows but hasn’t found it yet. He’s a good guy.”

  Quill smiled. “I’m sorry about your mom.” “Thanks.”

  “That’s why you deferred Julliard.”

  “That and I wasn’t sure where my music was taking me. Mom wanted me to go the classical route, I wasn’t sure I fit.”

  “What you do with the instruments… putting them all together like you do… it’s amazing.” Quill fiddled with his cello. Pulling it back between his knees, he couldn’t help but wonder how Assad would have felt there. How it felt to just lay next to him. To kiss him all night long. It was difficult to tap down the jealousy of knowing Cori had been there. Assad may not be perfect but to Quill he was. Perfectly out of his reach.

  Cori was staring at him with a weird expression. He lowered his attention back to the cello and hoped she didn’t have mind reading skills. He was so screwed—wanting Assad and not wanting him at the same time.

  “Thanks,” she finally said.

  “So have you decided?” he asked. “Decided?”

  “On what you’re going to do? Classical? Or something else?”

  “I’m not doing the classical thing, but I’m not sure where they’ll put me. I have an audition next month. I guess they will have to decide if they want me, what track to put me on.”

  Quill nodded absently. “That’s cool.” He’d miss her when she left. The friendship they’d built through music had filled an empty place within him.

  “We hung out. Assad and I.” Cori picked up the conversation where they had left it, much to Quill’s dismay. “One dark and rainy night we slept together without much sleeping going on.”

  Quill didn’t like knowing this information, and he wasn’t sure why she was sharing it with him. It wasn’t helping to hear the details of how Cori slept with a guy he couldn’t get out of his head.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I’m telling you because it’s okay if you and him are… “ “We aren’t.”

  “But… “

  “We aren’t,” he repeated. He looked up at her black eyes and tried to read her feelings.

  But as usual, her dark eyes gave him no clue. “We won’t be.” “You were?” she tried. “You still want to.”

  “Life’s complicated.”

  “Well. I’m okay with whatever you… “ She waved her hand in the air. “Noted.” He tried to shut down the conversation.

  “Okay then.” She seemed hurt at his brush off but Quill wasn’t going to get into it with her.

  “Let’s run through the song with the changes.” Cori began to play the introduction while Quill pulled his chair over closer to her piano bench and followed behind with his cello, quickly catching up. He liked this song. It was the first one they’d done where Cori sang with him. The words resonated with him. The entire song was the push and pull of two lovers who want to be together but one continues to hurt the other, pleading to be given another chance after each disappointment. Quill sang his words with all his heart wishing Assad could understand his need to keep his distance but his regret at doing so.

  The final note held to the last beat of the music. Quill slowly opened his eyes to find Cori’s staring at him. The music had carried Quill away. Their perfect tone melding into an almost sexual experience.

  Quill let out a breath.

  Cori’s tongue came out and licked her perfect lips. Her gaze boring into his. He kept his stare even, searching for some indication of what she was thinking. Drowning in the deep pools of ebony as she leaned forward and touched her lips with his. The warmth of her mouth was almost more than he could take. The only other person to kiss him with so much emotion was Assad.

  With a sigh, Quill let the moment end, resting his forehead against hers. “I can’t do this.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry. Singing with you is… it’s amazing. I love making music with you. I love the kindness, the softness, and emotion that comes out when you play. I am so thankful you are a part of my life.”

  Quill stood up and moved away from her. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m not the guy you think I am. I got to get going. I’ll see you at the show.” He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t allow his dirt to touch her and destroy the only friendship he ever had.

  She surprised him when she uttered the words, “You are so much more than you let yourself be.”

  He had to smile at her rainbow colored glasses. “I’m shit, Cori. Through and through. I let horrible things happen. I did things that will make you sick. I’m empty. I don’t have anything to offer Assad or you. After we play at the club? I’m done.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

  Quill took a chance and looked over his shoulder. “Yes it does. Which is why I am leaving.” He zipped up the cello. “I’m not what anyone needs in their life.”

  “How do you know what I need?”

  He sighed. “I don’t. I just know it isn’t me.”

  .twenty-seven

  Quill Diaz

  November 20

  9:00 p.m.

  The mood of the crowd was pumping and The Warehouse seemed busier than it ha
d in all the Friday nights he’d frequented. Quill stood to the side of the stage holding his cello while Cori belted out her favorite eighties music and Assad sang back-up. They’d agreed he’d finish up the set with his songs. It’d be too disjointed to have him join in the beginning. Assad hadn’t said anything when he arrived, and Quill had already gone through sound check with Cori. His expression was pained and Quill had to assume between turning Cori away and Assad pushing him away, his looked similar.

  Cori continued to look over at him through each song, giving him a quick smile of reassurance. Quill had no idea when their friendship had turned to kissing, but his world had shifted the day he kissed Assad and nothing surprised him anymore. A few weeks ago, he was alone and didn’t care about shit. Today his heart was being pulled in two completely different directions. Neither of which he deserved. He’d already destroyed Assad. He wouldn’t do the same to Cori. Even if it killed him.

  The set ended and the band came toward him. He moved to the side and sat on a stool, rubbing his hands down his thighs in a futile attempt to dry his sweaty palms. He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath. “I can do this,” he said to himself.

  A hand fell on his shoulder making him jump.

  “Ready to play?” Sean, the drummer, shook his shoulder in a manly way. “Yeah. Sure.” Quill hoped his voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

  “Cori says you rock it, so no worries.” He slapped Quill on the back and moved back to where the band was drinking water and beer.

  Quill snuck a look in their direction and met Assad’s stare. He gave Assad a small smile, but Assad turned away. Quill ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Jesus Christ, what am I doing?”

  “Sharing your gift with a tiny speck of the world.” Cori hopped up on a stool across from him. Her blue hair hung loose in her face, shining in the bright lights reflecting off the stage.

  Her transformation almost made Quill forget the sweet persona with glasses sliding down her nose that he’d grown to appreciate while working with her at the music store.

  “Not sure they’re going to understand it the way you do.”

  “Who cares? We do what we love, and we do it for ourselves no one else.” Quill couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds good. Let’s see how it goes.”

  They sat in an awkward silence until Cori finally spit out what she needed to say. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with the kiss. I… “ She pulled her hair away from her face. “It’s just after I watched my mom lose opportunity after opportunity because of her illness? Well, I promised myself if I felt like doing something, I was going to do it. Not wait until the time was right. Grab the golden ring. Carpe Diem and all that shit. You know?”

  “I’m not sorry.”

  Cori dipped her head and looked up at him through dark lashes. “I’m not really sorry either.”

  “I’m not what you need in your life. I wish I was. But I’m not. Anytime I find my happy something terrible happens. I’m not meant to be happy. It isn’t in my cards.”

  Cori blinked at him. “Everyone deserves happy.”

  Quill’s gaze moved from her eyes to her lips and thought about how sweet she tasted. “Not me.”

  The stage manager called out that the next set was up, and their conversation ended abruptly.

  “Here we go.” Cori smiled sadly and slid off her stool.

  “God help me,” Quill said, not really expecting any help after the eighteen years he’d been hung out to dry.

  The band returned to their spots on the stage. Quill followed and settled in on a chair that had been place a little off center from the piano. The third set was the shortest of all the sets. It was like an encore. An added bonus.

  The crowd cheered when they finally settled.

  “Tonight we have a special guest joining us. Quill Diaz.”

  A few people yelled and clapped. Either the girls he hadn’t slept with yet or ones that he hadn’t made feel like hookers.

  “He plays the cello.” Cori swiped her hand toward Quill and his instrument. “So sit back, and shut the fuck up,” she yelled. The crowd screamed and whooped.

  Quill couldn’t help but smile.

  Cori and he had put together four songs for his debut. They started with Cyndi Lauper’s, Girls Just Want To Have Fun, lowered into a minor key to make it a haunting ballad. The crowd, which had been loud and obnoxious in a drunken concert goer’s sort of way, quieted and listened intently to the music. Quill’s nerves immediately dissipated when the music began. Just like in his room, the music healed him from the conversation he’d had with Cori. From the pain of losing Assad. From his past.

  The second song they’d decided needed to be a bit more upbeat otherwise the crowd would get depressed with his style. They were at a bar after all. So Quill traded out the cello for a banjo. He’d taught himself the song in between lessons over the past few weeks and loved the fast pace of the Mumford and Son’s song I Will Wait. The crowd yelled and hollered at his fast hands strumming. Assad picked up the lyrics quickly and provided the perfect back up. Quill turned to face him, dueling with his banjo against Assad’s bass as they sang the words to each other… I will wait for you. By the time the song was over something had shifted between Assad and him, and he was flying higher than any drug he’d taken. The scream of the crowd was amazing. By the time Cori and him preformed the Taylor Swift song, he had them eating out of his hand. Maybe he could have a little happy.

  And if his observations where correct, Assad may just have forgiven him.

  .twenty-eight

  Quill Diaz

  November 20

  12:00 a.m.

  If the pats on the back, the tiny pieces of paper with phone numbers on them shoved in his pockets, and free beers sliding down the bar to his waiting hand were any indication of how he did.

  He’d rocked the place.

  Cori was elated that her prodigy, as she was now referring to him, had done so well on his first night out. “You did awesome! They love us!” Cori wrapped her arms around Quill’s neck and planted a hard kiss on his mouth.

  Quill supported her tiny frame with an arm tightly pressed against her back. “We rocked it,” she whispered.

  “Yes we did.” He beamed.

  She smiled back. A beautiful smile he felt was just for him, until she pushed off his chest, turned and flung herself into the arms of a guy covered in tattoos.

  Once she peeled herself from his leather clad form, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward where Quill stood, dumbfounded. Where’d this guy come from? Did she just pick up this dude at the local motorcycle bar? Quill’s head was spinning from her and Assad’s mantra of loving what they loved. He wished it was that easy.

  Quill kept his ‘I don’t give a shit’ façade in place when the guy wrapped a loose arm around Cori’s neck and held a hand out to shake.

  “You guys rocked the place. Awesome.” Motorcycle dude grinned a perfect white smile.

  Quill wasn’t sure he liked him.

  “Quill, this is Simon. Simon, my protégé, Quill.” She giggled. Simon? What a douche, he thought.

  “Thanks man.” Quill knew he wasn’t in Cori’s league. But Jesus Christ, she deserved better than biker boy. He certainly wasn’t going to just let this loser have her without finding out if he was an asshole.

  Cori continued to bounce on her toes, completely high from the concert they’d given. “Simon is a record producer.”

  Oh. Maybe he’d read this guy wrong.

  “He came to check out our new sound.” She beamed. “Oh.” Now he felt like the douche.

  Simon kissed Cori on the cheek. “And check out my girl. You guys were incredible.” He turned his attention back to Quill. “Cori says you do all the arranging?”

  Quill narrowed his eyes when Cori’s hand snuck around to rub the guy’s flat stomach, and he buried his face in her hair, kissing her.

  “Yeah.” Two ‘ohs’ and a ‘yeah.’ He was sho
wing his way with words. “I’d love to have you come into the studio and lay some tracks.”

  What? Was this guy serious? Who did he think Quill was? Adam Levine? “Yeah, right.” Quill laughed.

  “He’s serious,” Cori said.

  Quill looked from Cori to Simon. Holy shit they were serious. “This was kind of a one-time thing.”

  “No it wasn’t,” Cori yelled, grabbing his arm.

  “I think we could do some good stuff together. Think about it and let Cori know. Or give me a call, and we can talk.” Simon handed him a card.

  Quill flipped it around in his fingers. Simon the record producer. “I’ll think about it.” “He’s totally in!” Cori screamed. “Let’s get some drinks!” Cori jumped around, continuing to yell over the recorded music the club was now playing.

  “You guys go. I got someone… “ He waved his hand around absently as they moved off to the bar.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Quill mumbled and headed to a party going on in the parking lot.

  -oOo-

  “You did good tonight.” Assad squished into a spot next to Quill, who was in the midst of a group of what he’d like to consider his new found groupies.

  Quill chugged his current beer, slammed the plastic cup down, which didn’t make much of an impression since it was plastic, pushed off the car he was leaning against and away from the downer mood Assad was sure to bring.

  “I was under the impression we weren’t talking,” Quill said. “I don’t have my shit together so you know… “ He waved him off.

  Assad grabbed Quill’s arm. “C’mon. Don’t do that.”

  Quill swore when he let his gaze meet the amber eyes that continued to haunt him. “I think we should talk,” Assad tried.

  Quill laughed. “That’s exactly what I don’t want to do.” He shrugged off Assad’s grip, walked back into the club and onto the dance floor, quickly finding a girl to start grinding against.

  Quill closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying the bump and grind of the people around him, but was really just trying to get Assad out of his head again.

  When hands reached around, resting on each of his thighs, and hips started swaying against his ass, he leaned into them, enjoying the high of the night. When Assad’s familiar lips touched Quill’s neck, he knew immediately who it was. Without making a scene, Quill simply walked away.