Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
It was midmorning when Anthony woke alone in Cillian’s bed. He lay there for several heartbeats, listening and wondering if he was alone in the apartment. When he couldn’t hear anyone moving around, he got up.
His clothes were scattered on the floor, where they’d been discarded the prior night. He pulled on his briefs and jeans, a sock falling out of the leg as he did. He ignored the sock because, while he was quite happy to walk around barefoot, he was not walking around the apartment naked. They were not that close, and he wasn’t that comfortable.
He stepped out of the bedroom and grabbed his shirt off the floor. As he did, he spotted Cillian, sitting at a keyboard that Anthony had thought was a desk last night. He had headphones on, fingers flying over the keys as he followed the music in front of him.
For several heartbeats, Anthony stood there not sure what to do. Cillian was consumed with playing. For how long had he been sitting there? He hadn’t even bothered to dress, wearing only pajama pants.
Should he make a noise?
Sneak away?
Walk over and greet him with a kiss?
Ten years ago, he’d have gathered the rest of his clothes and left, except he wanted this friendship between them to be more than one night. Did Cillian feel the same, or was this a sign Anthony should leave without disturbing him?
Cillian turned the page with one hand while the other kept playing. He paused, catching sight of Anthony, and pulled off his headphones. “I didn’t see you there, sorry.”
There was a smile on his lips; his gaze drifted over Anthony’s body.
Anthony closed the distance between them and kissed his cheek. “You were busy. What time did you get up?”
“Um…” Cillian peered around Anthony to check the time on the microwave. “About an hour ago. I need to work on these songs before the tour, and I have a meeting with a composer today when I’d usually practice. My agent put me forward for this movie soundtrack… What? You seem surprised.”
He was surprised. “I guess I didn’t realize what you did.”
“You thought I rolled out of bed and played a couple of concerts a year?”
He wasn’t sure what to say. “I figured it was more than that. You mentioned teaching, though I can’t imagine you teaching kids.”
Cillian laughed. “That’s so cute. I don’t teach children. I only teach grade six and above.”
Anthony frowned. “They’re still children.”
“Grade six piano.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t realized they were piano grades.
“And it’s by referral only. I have a few friends who teach lower grades, so when their students need a high-level teacher, they send them to me.” He stood and stretched, his pajama pants sliding low on his hips. “I need a coffee. You? Or do you need to rush off?”
“Coffee would be great.” And this was all far too normal. It was as if they’d done it a dozen times before. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I can make it.”
“It’s fine. I’ve learned most of the songs, but because practice time with everyone together is going to be limited, I want to act like I know what I’m doing.” He threw Anthony a wink and a grin as he moved into the kitchen.
From his grin, Anthony was sure that Cillian knew exactly what he was doing. “Do you often play movie soundtracks?”
“No, this will be a first. Plus, it pays nicely, and I’ll be able to add it to my résumé. If I do get it, it’ll be a hectic couple of weeks, and I’ll have to reschedule my students.” He pulled out cups and turned on the coffee pod machine as he talked.
“So you don’t have a set sort of job? You just do a collection of random ones?”
Cillian leaned one hip against the kitchen counter. “The life of a musician. I play weddings and funerals, corporate events… I like them because they are good money and often lead to offers from other businesses or their owners. Christmas is always super busy. Then there are the other performances, like playing with the ballet or orchestra.”
“Or a rock band.”
Cillian grinned. “That wasn’t something I had planned on, but my agent knew someone who knew someone, and that’s how it works. I also travel overseas to perform by invitation, either corporate or for a production, or to play in a competition. Winning is excellent money.”
“I didn’t even realize you had an agent.”
“You thought I booked my own gigs?” Cillian shook his head. “At the start, yeah, but I won a major competition earlier on, which landed me my agent, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He handed Anthony a filled mug. “Milk, sugar?”
Anthony stared at the mug in his hand. He’d gotten into the habit of drinking it black. The scent teased his senses. Real coffee was so much better than instant. It wasn’t something he’d take for granted again.
Cillian opened the fridge door. “I only have almond milk… I know, I know. How crazy is it that I grew up on a cattle farm but can’t do dairy?” He poured quite a lot into his coffee, then placed the carton on the counter in front of Anthony. “Are you one of those proper milk only people?”
“No. I’ve been drinking black instant coffee for the last ten years.”
“Even at your sister’s?”
“No, I used her coffee machine, but I didn’t think about adding sugar.” He grimaced at his foolishness, reaching for the almond milk and adding a splash. There was no reason for him to hold on to the habits he’d made for the last ten years. And if he decided that he preferred black coffee now, there was no harm done.
Cillian watched him. “I hadn’t considered how habits change and differed to before.”
“Neither had I. The first year I was very aware of everything that wasn’t as I liked it, or what I did. I was also angry. But then… I don’t want to say I got used to it… adapted maybe… and now that I’m out, I need to adapt again.”
“You aren’t the same person you were ten years ago, and those habits are no longer habits.”
“Yeah.” Anthony took a sip expecting a mild coffee, instead it punched him in the face. “What is this?”
“It’s what they call an eleven out of ten.” He picked up the pod box. “I keep artist hours, so I need a strong coffee in the morning. Some days, I go to the gym first and then have another one before I actually start my day.”
“But you were just practicing…”
“I didn’t want to wake you up.” He put his hand over his heart. “So I suffered.”
“I’m used to being woken up.”
“I didn’t want to be an asshole, and I didn’t want you thinking I was kicking you out.” He ran his fingers through his dark blonde hair, making it stand on end. “Do you want to have a shower?”
No, Cillian didn’t want to kick him out, but he’d made it clear he had a busy day ahead of him. “What time do you need to be out by?”
“In about forty minutes, if you want me to drop you at home. I was going to wake you when I finished that song.”
“You don’t need to.” It rubbed that he was dependent on other people’s kindness.
“It’s not a problem. I’m heading in that direction, anyway.”
Why the fuck are you being so nice to me? But he forced himself to smile. “Thank you.”
Cillian took a sip of coffee, one eyebrow lifted. “You don’t like me picking you up and dropping you off.”
Anthony sighed. “I feel incredibly useless. Inept. And I hate it. I was not prepared for… for being so stuck, and…” He shook his head. “Frustrated. I apply for jobs and never hear back because as soon as I tick the box that says I’ve been convicted of a crime, I’m pretty sure my résumé goes straight in the bin.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“I don’t really want to be a librarian despite the degree and having two years’ experience working in the prison library. I’d prefer document control, or data entry, but I’ll take anything. My old contacts will be next to useless. They wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. Without a job, I can’t move out of my sister’s place… Well, I can, but it’ll be way out of Sydney.”
Cillian nodded. “You pay for the convenience and connections.”
“Spoken like someone who has considered moving.” Anthony recalled last night’s conversation.
“I grew up on a farm. I miss that open space.” He closed his eyes and took a drink. “Of course, when I was sixteen, I hated all that open space and lack of people.” He opened his eyes, and a smile curved his lips. “Want an embarrassing coming out story?”
“Sure.” Who was going to say no to that?
“Dad had hired a new farmhand, and he was hot. Or at least he was to sixteen-year-old me, and I was keen to meet guys and do more than think about sex. But being on the farm limited my options.”
“What about school?”
Cillian laughed. “You really are too cute. I lived in the middle of nowhere. I did my schooling online. My older sister went to boarding school, but then she was into chemistry. Driving into town was a trip and a half, and I wasn’t brave enough to attempt anything in that gossip cauldron. Anyway, I got super-helpful on the farm, so I could be near him. Up to that point, I thought I’d been keeping being gay a secret, but one day, as I was heading in for the night, Dad tells all the farmhands that if any of them looks twice at his underage son, they’ll be off the property and at the cop shop before they’ve had time to pull their boots on.” He took another drink of coffee. “And that’s how I found out that Dad knew I was gay, even though I’d never said a thing.”
Anthony smiled at the idea of a teenage Cillian trying to play it cool around the hot farmhand. “Your father sounds like a good man.”
And nothing like his.
“He is. I cut my palm helping when I was about thirteen. He freaked out, convinced he ruined my career before it started. I needed a few stitches, but there was no damage to the ligaments or tendons. After that, there were some things he wouldn’t let me do. Fortunately, my younger brother was thrilled with his promotion.”
There was a smile on his lips and a softness in his eyes that made Anthony envious. Cillian’s family loved him and accepted him and wanted what was best for him. He couldn’t imagine what that must be like. “So you’re the middle child?”
Cillian nodded. “My sister got all the brains, I got the talent, and my brother got the brawn. We look similar, but that’s where it stops. But it meant, while we were growing up, we could pull off anything if we worked together. Your family wasn’t like that, was it?”
That was an understatement. Anthony finished his coffee and placed it on the kitchen counter. “My father fostered a competitive environment, believing it brought out the best people. Margot, being the oldest, and being a girl, avoided the worst of it. Hayden got used to being the youngest and the only boy, and then I came along and snatched away all that attention. We’ve been at war ever since.”
Cillian gathered up the cups and put them in the dishwasher. “He is a difficult person.”
That was tactfully put. Hayden was an asshole, and that was on a good day. “How do you know him?”
“Through his ex.” Cillian’s expression closed. He’d been open until that point, but now there was a definite shift in his tone. Anthony didn’t know him well enough to say he was lying, but there was more to the story. “You’re out, and were before, according to the papers. How did your family take it?”
Anthony grimaced. “Hayden caught me out at fourteen. I’d bought some men’s fitness magazines for everything but the articles. He brought it up over dinner, hoping to score points. In that split second, I realized I either denied it, in which case he’d be picking and searching for ways to expose me, or I shrugged it off.”
“You went with the latter?”
“I did, and I made some comment about how he didn’t need to worry about me stealing his girlfriend.”
“I bet that went down well.”
“I don’t remember the rest of the evening, but I remember my father telling me not to embarrass the family. I didn’t openly date guys until I went to uni.”
“I wasn’t able to date until I got to uni.” Cillian sighed.
Anthony wanted to ask more, to compare if they had both gone completely off the deep end at uni or carefully waded in, but time was slipping past, and Cillian had a meeting. “Why don’t you have the first shower, and I’ll make a second cup of coffee for you?”
Cillian glanced at the clock. “Shit, I do need to get moving. The bread is in the freezer. I should’ve offered you some breakfast.”
“It’s fine. I can make toast.” He walked around the island, and Cillian brushed past him, his hand sliding over Anthony’s stomach. His lips brushed Anthony’s shoulder as if he couldn’t resist touching him. “I’ll be five minutes, and I’ll put a fresh towel out for you.”
Then Anthony was alone in the kitchen… almost. The large ginger cat wiggled out of its fluffy cat igloo and strolled over to sit by its bowls.
It was all so domestic, so normal, and he wanted this to be his life.
But, at the same time, his heart was racing, and anxiety churned in his gut, because he didn’t know how he’d stumbled into it, and it could all be taken away with one wrong step.