Chapter 18. #2
“I’m not as clever as Fiona,” I admit, working through a chord progression that’s been swimming around in my thoughts the past few days, “and I sure don’t got a lick of classical trainin’, but I can pretend I do now and then.
” I play a flourish of keys as I settle into an E minor, then hit an unexpected B bass note, feeling like Wily.
A percussive rhythm takes over, and suddenly I’m Raj, too—maybe Cam.
“Just can’t help myself lately. The songs keep pourin’ out. ”
“Can you play me one?”
I peer into his eyes—only his eyes—as my fingers keep moving over the ebonies and ivories.
Without much of an intro, I just start sing-talking to him.
“A plane in the sky … is closer to the stars … than I am … as I watch the same stars from my window.” Flourish of keys.
Hit of an uplifting G major before settling back to E minor.
“Longing … for closeness … Longing for you.” Another flourish.
“But if you round the distance of any star … to any one of us … we’re all just as far from them, yeah, or just as close.
” Smack of a bass note. TJ’s shoulder presses into mine.
My lips curl up, watching him as I play.
“Take the distance between you and me … round it to the nearest 10,000th mile, that practically puts us in the same damned room … no farther apart than molecules of air … than sunlight from our skin … the same sun can touch us both at once, can’t it?
Maybe we’re burnin’ together … even if burnin’ apart.
Round our distance to the nearest sun, and you’re in my arms again …
yeah, you’re in my arms again, oh, yeah.
” I rattle the keys like it’s Glorious under my fingertips.
“Distance is an illusion, ain’t it? … The stars are so close, you can catch them in your eyelashes …
Put that star between your fingers, squeeze and it’s yours …
like you, in my arms, just squeeze and it’s yours …
I want you the same, no matter the space …
it’s yours.” I draw closer. “It’s yours.
” One of my hands goes around TJ’s head, my face closer to his parted lips, heart racing.
“It’s yours.” Then our mouths are together, the song’s forgotten.
We rise, piano bench falls back, and the two of us are on the floor making out in front of a thousand empty seats, audience of zero.
I fucking love this guy.
Our clothes are off, replaced by sheens of sweat over our skin, as we lie there in the center of the stage on our backs, his head on my arm, staring up at the curved roof of the pavilion that covers the stage.
The crickets are out, taking over with their own version of music.
Even when we don’t go all the way, just making out like some crazy fever’s taken us over, it feels like a goddamned climax every time: always out of breath, drunk with happiness, and perfectly content.
“Did you write that one on the road when we were apart?” he asks me, voice right in my ear. “While missing me? Pining for me?”
I chuckle at his taunting tone. “I wouldn’t say it’s somethin’ I wrote with intention, exactly. Some songs just sort of … happen.” I turn my head a bit toward him. “Like us.”
He sighs happily as he sinks more deeply into my side. “Does it have a name yet? Can I name it? ‘Round to the Nearest Star’ …”
I shrug. “Sure, I think that’s a perfect name.”
“Really?” After a thought, he snorts. “You don’t gotta indulge me, Austin. If the name sucks, the name sucks.”
“I could spend a lifetime lying here under the stars naming songs with you, TJ. Just like this. You and me. I could just … fuckin’ die happy right here on this stage.”
“While I appreciate that sentiment, a bed might be comfier.”
I smirk. “You suggestin’ somethin’, mister?”
“Maybe.”
A handful of minutes later, we’re in his room, clothes off, and we make more use of the colorfully wrapped rubbery items filling his nightstand drawer.
There’s something different about the way we have sex here. In the hotel, it was all animal. Squeaking beds. Gripping hair and shattering breaths and chaos. Panting. Sweat. Ruffled sheets.
In this bedroom, something sweeter motivates us.
It isn’t that we’re not still aggressive. That I don’t still tug on his hair when we make out or he doesn’t claw his fingertips into me when I slide inside.
Our eyes are more focused, locked on one another’s.
Present.
He truly sees me when I’m naked before him, in more ways than just my clothes being all over the floor.
And I feel like I can truly see him, passion bursting from his eyes like stories out of music. It was the first thing I noticed about him, wasn’t it? The passion in his eyes …
It’s still there.
When we have sex in his room, our breaths rush in and out together like harmony.
Is this the difference between having sex and making love?
Is that what this is?
Are we making love?
“And this one’s Banano,” says TJ, pulling a big, banana-shaped plushie off the shelf.
It’s another afternoon when he’s brought me into his new office located in the separate family guesthouse—not to be confused with the guest wing, which is attached to the main house.
He claims he’s spent exactly four and a half minutes in here since he’s been home this whole summer.
We’re both shirtless, having just come in from another dip in the pool.
“He’s … really squishy. Like, super-duper-duper squishy. Handle with care.”
I gently take the plushie, treating it with as much tenderness as he just did. It has a cute, lopsided face. It’s so soft that no matter how I hold it, its whole face contorts. I can’t help but smile back, looking at it. “The first creature you came out to.”
“Unless you count Cole Harding as a creature. His unnatural beauty sort of qualifies him. That perfect man is not human.”
I give Banano a little kiss on the forehead, then return him to the shelf. “Your collection of stuffed animals is so dang cute.”
“Plushies. Not stuffed animals. And you better be glad I’m not a jealous type,” he says, “having the audacity to kiss Banano like that in front of me.”
I smirk at him. “Says the guy who just called this Cole dude a ‘perfect man’ with ‘unnatural beauty’ …”
“First, he’s engaged to a lovely guy named Noah who works at the Spruce Press. Second, you’ll understand when you meet him.”
“When I meet him?”
“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs, all matter-of-fact. “I want you to meet all my friends.” After a thought, he adds: “Eventually. Like, when it’s safe … or whatever.”
I don’t know why the idea hits me so hard. Like I hadn’t even considered meeting anyone else in his life outside this house.
Or maybe it’s his use of the word “safe”.
Like some part of me isn’t.
“Told my mom not to tell anyone yet. Other than Dad. About us.” He leans back against his desk, looking all sexy in just a pair of shorts, tempting me just by existing.
“She thinks it’s just because I want to come out in my own time.
And that’s sorta true. But … she doesn’t know the full reason. Like, the other half of the reason.”
“Chase Holt being that other half,” I finish for him.
“Bingo.” He always sounds so cute when he says that.
But in this particular moment, the cuteness is lost. “She’ll scream.
When I tell her, I mean. It’s her dream for me to be with someone who’s got music in their blood.
But … I won’t tell her until it’s okay,” he quickly assures me.
“I know your anonymity here is paramount.”
“Paramount,” I echo, amused at his choice of word. I guess the temptation wins, as I rush up to him and wrap my arms around his sexy waist, tugging his body against mine. “I trust your parents.”
“Yeah, but do I trust them? My mom is dying to brag to Nadine that she’s got a gay son. Dying. And once Nadine knows, the whole town will know. That’s how it works here.”
“Well, come your Fourth of July Boomin’ Barbecue thing, I’ll be meetin’ the whole town anyway. Someone’s bound to recognize me. So the real question is … do you trust your town?”
He squints. “What do you mean?”
“If everyone finds out. Would the town keep a secret?” I put a kiss on his cheek.
Then his neck. He bites his lip and rocks his head back.
“Would Spruce … protect you? Keep you safe?” I kiss under his chin, then place kisses down the center of his neck to his chest. “If a reporter dropped in … or one of my fans tracks us here …”
“Your kisses are super distracting …”
I run my lips over one of his nipples. “If that big world outside descended on us …”
“We just had a … a taste of that in my backyard last summer.” He squirms under the touch of my tongue on his skin.
“This male beauty pageant thing that sorta went off the … the rails.” He can barely keep his breath with what I’m doing to his sensitive nipple.
“We seemed to handle our own, despite the … influx of visitors …”
I lift my face back to his, kiss his lips, then smile. “Your town sounds mighty resilient, then.”
“Mighty,” he agrees, out of breath.
“So maybe it’s not so bad.” I pull away from him to get a look in his eyes. “Y’know. If your mom finds out about me. Won’t you need to tell her before the Fourth anyway?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m sure about. You. Your happiness. Being the stick that yanks you outta the quicksand—yep, I’m still keepin’ up with that metaphor—and I’m sure about keepin’ you free from feelin’ trapped. I refuse to be just another cage you’re kept in.”
My words hit him like a surprise.
His eyes drop to my chest in thought.
“It’s up to you,” I tell him, “and I mean it. You’ve got the key to your life. You always did. And any moment you want, you can just turn it in that lock and let yourself out. I’ll be there with you.”