We Have Till Monday

by Cara Dee

  August laughed under his breath. “So we’ll have two of you.”

  I grinned and scrubbed a hand over my mouth. Christ. I was spent. “Let’s shower before we change the sheets.”

  Camden huffed pitifully. “Did you not hear the part about me not being able to move?”

  That was okay. I could carry him. Maybe.

  Chapter 16

  I’d never been this conflicted before. With my heart and body screaming at me to say three little words to August and Camden, my brain told me it was time to get the fuck out of Nashville and screw my head on right. Love didn’t happen that quickly. It couldn’t. It was nothing but an intense infatuation, and having spent these ten days with them had clouded my judgment. I was high on them.

  I needed to come down from that high.

  “Don’t cry, baby boy.” I dipped down and kissed Camden’s cheeks, his nose, and his eyelids. “We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?”

  He sniffled and nodded, refusing to let go of me.

  I cleared my throat, struggling to withhold my own emotions, but August and I had to be the voice of reason or some such bullshit.

  “You should probably leave before I tie you to the bed.” August stepped closer and kissed me firmly. “We all have some thinkin’ to do.”

  I nodded and swallowed hard, kinda terrified to think about what they would feel once they’d come down from this high. Because their judgment was clouded too.

  “I expect frequent updates from the road.” August leveled me with a serious look. “Make sure you eat and rest properly. Don’t drive when you’re tired.”

  I cupped the back of his neck and kissed him. “Don’t worry.”

  He scoffed. “Next, you’ll be tellin’ me not to breathe.”

  I chuckled and squeezed Camden to me a little harder. “All right, I’mma head out. You both have my number. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

  I felt robbed the instant Camden reluctantly let me go and plastered himself to August instead. Who knew when I’d touch them again? We were officially untangled physically, and there was nothing left to do but climb into my truck and leave their ranch.

  “Drive safe!” Camden croaked.

  My throat closed up, so I only managed a nod and a two-finger wave. Then I shut the door and started the engine. Truck filled with food and instruments, and possibly a T-shirt I’d stolen from August, heart left behind.

  Cazzo.

  Soon I’d be writing tragic country songs too.

  I put on my shades and drove up the dirt road, over the crest, until the ranch disappeared from the rearview.

  I released a breath and sniffled.

  It took nearly nine hours on the road before I caught up with Nicky and the others on the bus.

  They’d left Tennessee at the crack of dawn, whereas I’d dragged out my morning for as long as possible.

  We stopped at a gas station to stretch our legs and get something to eat, and I could sense Nicky’s questions coming from a mile away. He chose to dive in when I walked off to a picnic area to have a smoke.

  “How you feelin’?” he asked.

  I shrugged and scratched my elbow. “Kinda numb at the moment.”

  He nodded and sat down on the edge of the table.

  I assumed we’d make another stop along the way, and by then, I’d need to put on a hoodie.

  “For what it’s worth, I hope youse find a way,” he said. “It’s been ages since I saw you as happy as you were at the barbecue.”

  I smiled faintly and exhaled some smoke. “My head’s fucked,” I admitted, hesitating whether or not to go on. But in the end, I wanted his input. “After Saturday, I kept thinking maybe I was falling in love or some shit. Even though it’s way too soon for that.”

  That made him smile a little too, but it was too smug for my liking. “It doesn’t have to be, Anthony. Don’t let your, uh, advanced age fool you into believing everything that happens quickly needs to be slowed down.”

  “My advanced—hey, fuck you.” I glared at him.

  He laughed. “You know I’m right. People over forty spend their days telling the younger generation to slow down. Someone’s in love? ‘Oh no, this ain’t the one—you’ll have plenty of time for that later.’ Or, ‘Take your time. It could just be a crush.’”

  That was it. I was gonna sell my brother.

  I scowled to myself and took a drag from my smoke.

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t take the time to clear your head,” he went on. “In fact, that’s what I’ve already told you. But don’t dismiss the feelings either. That’s dumb.”

  “You can be dumb,” I muttered.

  He sucked his teeth. “On second thought, maybe you’re twelve.”

  I flipped my fingers under my chin and left his messerschmitt ass behind.

  The emptiness hit me for real when I got home and I’d talked to August, showered, and thrown myself on the couch with a beer and a bag of chips.

  I’d promised August I’d get something to eat…

  Chips were food, right?

  I sighed and rubbed my jaw, feeling strange after having shaved for the first time in a week. Then I caught sight of the bracelet on my wrist, and I read the word over and over. Daddy. He’d said I was one too.

  Fuck.

  It was too quiet here. I stood up and grabbed the remote from the kitchen bar, then turned on the TV.

  It took care of the silence, but it didn’t stop my thoughts from wandering. Throwing a handful of chips into my mouth, I glanced around my home and pictured August and Camden here. They might even like my kitchen. The only thing missing was some extra workspace. Nonna had told me to install an island between the kitchen and the stairs. There was plenty of room—for a table and chairs too. I’d just never gotten around to it. Money used to be tight, and I hadn’t cared enough. I ate at the bar or right here.

  Next to the stairs, a narrow entryway lead to Nicky’s old bedroom, the guest bath, and the closet where I kept most of my instruments. I still hadn’t done anything with the bedroom, unless you counted loose plans to turn it into a larger storage area for my gear. Maybe Camden would have some ideas.

  Before I could prevent it, a pipe dream of a future appeared right before my eyes. Camden would have his own room there. My instruments wouldn’t get their own space; they’d stay in the closet and in the small unit underneath the stairs. August and I would share my room upstairs. Perhaps we’d hang a lot of pictures on the walls.

  I’d been meaning to put some up, but fuck, drilling into brick…

  No more postponing that shit. I had plenty of photos from my stay in Nashville, and I’d bought the damn drill—oh, some six years ago. Tomorrow after work, I was gonna develop some photos and hang my family on the wall, including August and Camden.

  Even if nothing happened with us in the end, I’d cherish my memories.

  Cazzo, I missed them so much already.

  “No running in the halls, kids,” I hollered.

  Giggles and “oops” flooded the area outside of a classroom.

  “Sorry, Mr. Fender!”

  “Sorry, Mr. Fender.”

  I waved it off and wished them a good choir practice, then ducked into my office where my lunch waited for me.

  A Twizzler and a small bag of Doritos.

  In my defense, I’d been too tired to prepare lunches after I got home last night, and I didn’t have the time to buy anything that didn’t come from the vending machine at the main entrance of the school.

  My lack of time was also why I was spending my lunch break hiding out in my office. The plan had been to buy picture frames and develop some photos, but then I’d taken one look at my schedule for the week and realized it wasn’t gonna happen.

  I was working too many hours.

  If I was going to have the slightest chance at creating something with August and Camden, I needed to make room. Nicky had already shared a bunch of ideas, so I knew where to start.

  I powered up my old co
mputer and unwrapped my Twizzler.

  A knock on the door was followed by Nicky poking his head in. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  He sat down on the other side of my desk and cut straight to it. “I talked to Gideon on the way back from Nashville—told him about what a second building could do for the Initiative’s future. How we could sign on more schools and hire more teachers.”

  I raised a brow but kept my gaze on the empty document I’d opened.

  For years, I’d been toying with the idea of offering online tutorials, starting out with children who—for one diagnosis’s reason or another—weren’t able to meet face-to-face. It could be crippling anxiety for someone with autism, or severe shyness for someone with a stutter. I’d worked with several of those kids before. But it didn’t have to be limited to students with special needs.

  And those tutorials would need to be produced somewhere, which didn’t have to be right here. It was shit I could do from home. Or…say, a ranch outside of Nashville.

  “He wants to invest in the business,” Nicky said.

  That made me pause, and I furrowed my brow at him. “We don’t have investors.”

  The Initiative wasn’t the type of company you invested in. We took donations, and we got local funding for running music programs for a few public schools. The rest was tuition.

  Nicky shrugged. “Maybe it’s not an investment he thinks will pay off in profit as much as it will bring in more money so we don’t gotta work seventy-five-hour weeks.”

  I scratched my forehead and saw where he was going with this—or rather, where Gideon was going. He and my brother were settling down together. There’d be a wedding at some point soon, and a kid or two would follow. It made sense that Gideon wanted Nicky to work reasonable hours.

  Still. That kinda money… Christ. Gideon had already donated a fuck-ton of money to us.

  “We’re talking millions,” I stated.

  Nicky huffed a chuckle. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I’m comfortable with it. You know me. But he knows real estate and business.”

  I should hope so. Gideon’s last name graced buildings in the city. He came from a family that’d helped build New York back in the day.

  There was one problem, though. Nicky and I were on the same page; we knew the key to really get the Initiative off the ground was to expand and take on more public schools. Hell, even the private schools that didn’t prioritize music would line up. But expanding and making more money didn’t mean less work for us. We couldn’t delegate everything. My brother and I would just end up with more administrative roles in order to run the whole thing, and I didn’t wanna lose my classes. I’d busted my ass through school to be the music teacher I wanted to be, the one who could apply his degree in psychology to help. To really help. And I told Nicky as much. I told him I was torn. I told him I was proud of the classes we could offer, the quality that went hand in hand with our name, because the academy was run by musicians, not suits, but that it came at a price. If we put suits on the musicians, what would happen to the classes? What would happen to us?

  “You have a point.” Nicky put his foot up on the edge of the desk and tapped his chin. “Could we raise tuition?”

  I frowned and shook my head. “No more than what inflation dictates. We have too many students from low-income households. No matter what, I wanna keep the classes affordable.”

  “Hmm. True.” He checked his watch and stood up with a sigh. “I gotta get to my next class. I’m teaching a bunch of hormonal eighth graders to play the drums this month.”

  “Sounds like fun.” I had another twenty minutes before I had a class of third graders. Thankfully, they just sang while I played the piano.

  “I’ll get back to you about—you know.” He opened the door, then paused. “You got plans tonight?”

  “I have no life outside of Nashville,” I deadpanned.

  “Lemme rephrase,” he chuckled. “Do you work late tonight?”

  “I get off at seven.”

  “Cool. I’ll swing by with lasagna and a business-savvy Gid.”

  Fuck yes, lasagna.

  “What do you want to talk about now?” Camden asked happily. “I’m not ready to hang up yet.”

  I smiled and trapped my phone between my shoulder and cheek. “You can tell me what fun you’ve planned for the rest of the week. If you worked all day yesterday, you deserve some time off, I think.”

  Apparently, August and Camden had spent all day yesterday producing new cooking tutorials, so I had that to look forward to.

  On the way to my truck, I listened to Camden’s plans to watch a bunch of movies and get ready for his next work project. I lost him for a beat when the call was transferred to my truck as I started the engine, and by then, he’d changed the topic to August’s next book. He was beginning his research this weekend, I learned.

  Sometimes, the content of his conversation didn’t matter as much as the delivery. Camden could recite the phone book for all I cared; I just wanted to hear his voice.

  I’d thought the fog would lift once I came home. Instead, I missed them more for each second that passed.

  “Your turn!” Camden declared as I backed out of my parking spot. “Daddy wonders if you’re taking care of yourself properly. He thinks maybe you’re not eating well or sleeping enough.”

  Holy fuck, what if it was love? I was gonna turn into a miserable bastard.

  “Tell Daddy I’m on my way home right now to prepare a bunch of lunches,” I told him. “My brother and Gideon are stopping by with dinner too. Nicky makes a fantastic lasagna.”

  “And sleep?” Camden prodded. “Do you get your eight hours of sleep?”

  I chuckled and leaned forward, checking to see if any cars were coming around the bend. “Nobody gets eight hours, ragazzo.” No one who worked, anyway. “I go to bed around three and set the alarm for eight-thirty.”

  “Daddy!” Camden yelled, causing me to flinch at the volume. “You say I gotta get eight hours, but Anthony only sleeps…two, three, four—um, much less!”

  “Daddies and Littles have different sets of rules,” I heard August remind him in the background.

  “Oh. Right. Cuz the world’s not fair,” Camden huffed. “Anyway. I have the most important question in the galaxy, Sir. Are you still wearing the bracelet?”

  “Of course I am. I told you, it’s never coming off.” I stopped at a red light and checked the time. Perhaps I was a little behind. My last class had run late, and then I’d spoken to a parent whose daughter had bipolar and struggled to express herself in her mandatory journal-keeping. I’d suggested we incorporate her piano playing into it—anything, if it might help bridge the gap between the girl and her parents, who felt helpless when they couldn’t anticipate the daughter’s needs.

  It’d fueled my thinking on alternative ideas for the Initiative. When we couldn’t find our own words, chances were lyrics already existed that did it. Flash cards were used for communication on a daily basis too, though they were better suited for words. Music was, in my opinion, the best tool to translate emotions. If that parent’s daughter couldn’t communicate how she felt during her depressive periods, there were options.

  “Anthony!” Camden exclaimed, bringing me back to the present. “Did you hear a word of what I just said?”

  Fuck. I started driving before I could back up traffic. “Sorry, love. A lot of work on my mind. Work and missing you guys—it’s all I do.”

  My lunches would have to wait. I’d eat dinner with Nicky and Gideon, and then I had to work. I wouldn’t find the time during regular work hours.

  “Can I call you back later tonight, Camden? I’m almost home, and Nicky will be here any minute.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll go tell Daddy you’re working too hard. Bye!”

  “I—fuck.” I was met by the sound of a call disconnecting before I could tell him not to run his mouth like that. I wasn’t working too hard—right now. And the last thing August needed
was to worry about me.

  Gideon was giving me even more to consider. Dinner was awesome as always, but my head was ready to explode.

  We sat around the coffee table and scarfed down lasagna while Gideon presented his ideas, and he’d gone all out. He’d put together a proposal and everything.

  Without looking into our numbers, he knew where to cut costs, how to save, how to expand. And he was adamant about being involved as a financier.

  It wasn’t often I could tell that Gideon was autistic, but this was one of the occasions where it was clear. He was all business and spoke very frankly.

  “As for tuition,” he went on. “I suggest you raise it fifteen percent more than you normally would next year, and then we’ll start a fund in the Initiative’s name where underprivileged students can apply for aid to afford classes. Not only will it make it easier for those who are already struggling—you’ll make it possible for families who didn’t stand a chance even with an affordable price tag.”

  It was a lot to take in. I didn’t know how to express that I found his ideas brilliant, at the same time as the amount of money he would be forced to put down made me uncomfortable.

  I glanced at Nicky, who sat next to Gideon on the couch. “Are you going to say something?”

  Nicky shook his head and replied around a mouthful of food. “He already gave me the business at home. Pointed his finger at me and everythin’.”

  Gideon smirked wryly. “You’re exaggerating.”

  Nicky widened his eyes. “You literally dared me to label myself as stupid. You said that only people with two deep-fried brain cells would go against your proposal, and then you raised your eyebrow like you do—yeah, just like that! Madonn’, you’re merciless sometimes, papito.”

  I grinned at the two, finding them sweet as hell.

  Point taken too. I guess I wasn’t allowed to go against Gideon’s idea.

  “It’s not my fault you and your brother act irrationally around money,” Gideon said defensively. “No one would bat an eyelash if I donated five million to a children’s hospital or a foundation that funded research for cancer. But because this is you two, because you’re taking this so personally, it’s suddenly crazy for me to help out.” Then he faced me instead. “I might as well give you the rest of my speech,” he said. “I may have worked hard to earn my position with the corporation that my great-grandfather once started, but I didn’t personally accumulate more than a fraction of what I’m worth. And for the rest of my life, I will make money in my sleep. Is that something I should just let sit there? Or should I set money in motion and place it where it will do good? Rhetorical question, for your information.” He took a breath, and my mouth twitched. He could be damn cute when he was trying to pull off stern. “I implore you both to use your brains. Nicky, your strength clearly lies in teaching and being in charge of the faculty. And Anthony, you’re the creator. When you’re not teaching classes, you need time away from the academy to explore your options online. Expand to offer classes on the internet or music programs on DVD. I don’t know. What I do know is that I would like to fund your expansion. I also know that every role in a company can be hired. If you fear you’ll be trapped in a suit, as Nicky told me, just recruit someone else who will wear the suit.” He adjusted his tie. “This is where you agree with me.”