Chapter Thirty-Five
Brooks had mentioned, a while ago, that he wanted to hear me play the guitar, so it seems only logical that I bring him to Spinelli’s for our date.
The local Italian bistro, which overlooks the harbor, hosts live musicians every summer Saturday night on the patio.
Luckily for me, today is Saturday, and there’s an acoustic guitar at the edge of the stage.
After we’re seated, I take a quick detour on my fake trip to the restroom, to ask Antonio Spinelli if I can borrow his stage just for a quick song—one I’ve been writing in my head for a while now.
“Sure thing, Evan,” Antonio tells me, clapping my shoulder.
“Oh, and hey, your meal’s on the house tonight.
You and your man order whatever you want.
I know coming out wasn’t easy for you yesterday, but I want you to know that Natalia and I, we’re allies.
Always have been. Sucks we had our Pride flag ripped down, when all we wanted to do was support our son.
Funny, the proud parents of a soldier flag remained hanging, so we were allowed to be proud of that, but not about him being gay,” he huffs.
“Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate it. You don’t have to do that, though.”
“You’re brave. Consider tonight our thankfulness that you spoke up. That takes guts, you know? Now go,” he says, shooing me away. “Order up, and mangia, mangia!”
I give him an appreciative nod and return to the table, where Brooks is gazing out over the water.
He tips his glass up, taking a sip of water from it, and then raises an eyebrow up at me. “How was your trip to the bathroom? Everything come out alright?” he asks, skepticism in his voice.
“Fine?” I retort, confused. “Why the sudden concern about how I urinate?”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m just wondering why, if the bathrooms are that way”—he points—“you went the other way. What are you up to now?” He narrows his eyes at me.
I smirk. “Busted. You wanted to see me play guitar, right?” My eyes dart over to the guitar on the stand.
I go to stand again, and he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Evan! What are you doing? You’re going to play now? Here? In front of everyone?” His eyes flick around the crowded restaurant. Both inside and out are full. I’m surprised we managed to get in without reservations, honestly.
“Mhm,” I hum, “in front of everyone. Hope that, since you’re a Garth Brooks fan, you like country.” I wink at him.
I make my way over to the stool and situate the mic stand in front of me.
I grab the guitar, rest it on my lap, and give it a quick tune.
Then, I clear my throat. “Uh, hey—hi,” I speak into the mic, which squawks a little.
I feel the weight of nearly everyone’s eyes on me suddenly, and I gulp.
“I know I’m not the band you planned to see tonight, but I hope you don’t mind me playing a little ditty regardless.
This is a song I wrote myself, so bear with me.
It’s called ‘You Are My Compass.’ This is for you, Brooks, because you are my compass. ”
His cheeks get pink when the audience spins to look at who I’m dedicating the song to. He gives everyone a shy little wave. Then, as I start strumming, attention falls back on me.
I play a few chords, and then start to sing. The lyrics come out choppy at first, because I’ve never sung for anyone before, much less in front of a crowd—a small crowd, but a crowd nonetheless.
I was drifting, lost at sea,
Caught in storms inside of me.
Every star just led me wrong,
I forgot where I belonged.
Then your voice cut through the haze,
Like a lighthouse in the waves.
You reached out and pulled me close,
Now I’m finally headed home.
Tears well in my eyes, as I begin to belt out the chorus. My fingers go from dancing along the strings, to strumming with more intensity.
You’re my compass, when I’m torn,
Pointing north through every storm.
When I can’t see through the night,
You’re the fire, you’re the light.
Every road, every mile,
You make it all worthwhile.
No matter how far I run,
You’re my compass, you’re my sun.
When I look up, still playing away, Brooks looks awestruck, his hands covering his mouth. He’s blinking rapidly, as if he too is fighting back tears, just as I am. I continue onto my second verse…
I’ve been chasing empty dreams,
Maps that led to hollow things.
But your truth, it anchors me,
In your love, I’m finally free.
Even when I lose my way,
Your heart is my hiding place.
If I wander, if I roam,
You’re the pull that brings me home.
I circle around to the chorus once more, then I slow down the pace of the song a little. Lowering my voice, I sing the last verse. Not once do my eyes leave his, and I croon with an earnestness that nearly leaves me rasping…
In this world that spins so fast,
You’re the one thing built to last.
With you, I know who I am,
You’re my compass, you’re my land.
As I wrap up the song, I’m met with a round of applause, and even some hoots and whistles. Brooks rises from his seat, weaves his way through the tables, and throws himself into my arms. The applause gets even louder, and one woman even shouts, “If he doesn’t marry you, I will!”
I give my naked ring finger a fleeting glance. It’s now that I realize that the specific tattoo I have on my left ring finger is that of a compass. Not the captain’s wheel, not the anchor, not the pirate dagger—the compass rose is right on that specific finger.
Another sign. Always another sign.
Brooks and I take the long way back to the apartment, taking advantage of the clear, warm night to go for a bike ride down the coastline.
When I still am not ready to go back, I opt to surprise him yet again, by parking down by the marina and taking Brooks by the hand, walking him down the docks, until I get to Gannett’s slip.
Brooks looks around skeptically, like we’re doing something nefarious, when I guide him onto my brother’s pleasure craft, find his hideaway key, and start the engine.
I chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s my brother’s boat. When he goes camping, he does it on the water. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Oh,” he sighs, redness creeping into his cheeks.
I waggle my eyebrows. “There’s a bed down below deck.
But if you prefer some sea air and a chorus of gulls cheering you on while you sit on my face, we can totally do it up here too.
I’m really up for anything, just as long as we don’t arrive back here with anything less than thoroughly spent dicks. ”
“Jeeze, tall order,” he teases, smiling coyly at me.
“Hey, I wrote a whole friggin’ song for you. All I’m demanding is a couple of orgasms—a piece. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for, is it? You’re all about those IOU’s,” I taunt back.
He nods, hugging his arms around my waist and leaning into my side as I guide the boat out of the harbor and onto the open ocean.
I cruise around the dark and rolling water, looking for a place to drop anchor.
Just as we can see the silhouette of Stormhaven Light, jutting up from the craggy island it sits atop, I navigate the boat around, so that it faces in towards the harbor.
I drop anchor and kill the engine, taking in the sights and sounds around us.
Brooks leans back into me, his back to my chest, and I wrap my arms around him, placing a kiss to the top of his head. “You know I’m only joking, right?” I ask him, peering down at him, his hair flipping in the breeze. “I never expect anything in return. Nothing with you and I is transactional.”
“I know,” he assures me. “Never once have you ever done that to me. You’re the most thoughtful and soulful man, Evan.
I’m just thinking about this, all this. You’ve brought me out of my shell, my little bubble.
Never once would I ever think I would feel so—I don’t know—okay with leaving the camp in anyone else’s hands, while I go off on adventures.
This has been… so much better than I imagined.
Thank you.” He rises up on his toes and kisses me.
I guide Brooks over to one of the padded seats on deck, and sit on it lengthwise, tugging him down onto my lap, in between my legs. Reclining back, Brooks rests his head on my chest, while I lay my arms over his shoulders. He reaches up and holds onto my forearms, snuggling into me.
“This is nice,” he sighs, gazing up at the stars. “Look!” he exclaims, pointing at a shooting star.
“Make a wish,” I murmur, chuckling lightly. “And don’t give me that ‘I don’t need to, because I already have everything I want’ woo-woo sappy bullshit.”
He laughs. “You think you know me so well, huh?”
“No,” I disagree, “I know I still have a lot to learn about you…”
He peers up at me. “What do you want to know?”
“Favorite color?”
“Blue. Specifically the shade of blue in your eyes. They’re ocean blue.”
“Mu-shy!” I chuckle again. “You can ask me anything too, you know. I’m sure there must be something.”
“Okay…” He taps his finger to his chin. “If you could travel anywhere, all expenses paid, where would you go?”
“Easy. Alaska.”
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “Isn’t that too similar to Maine? Don’t you want to go somewhere tropical?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, because a day getting crispy in the sun, and getting sand in my taint and ass crack, sounds sooo fun,” I tease.
He rolls his eyes. “Well, when you put it like that, yuck. Now I don’t know if I would ever choose that. Italy always sounded nice.”
“Are you sure that’s not because you just had alfredo tonight?”
He laughs. “Nah. Venice always intrigued me. I want to ride a gondola through the canals.”
“Noted,” I hum.
“Don’t even, Evan. You know darn well I can’t just go gallivanting off to Venice.”
“You think you know me so well, huh?” I throw his words back at him, playfully.
He shakes his head. “You’re a vault, babe. I’m drilling holes in it, though.”
“You are,” I agree. “Why do you think we’re having this little Q and A session right now? Next question, do you ever think you’d want more kids?”