“Bastard,” he growled. “Seriously, who the fuck cares anyway?”
“The internet, apparently,” Sean said. “Liz too. She called, wondering where you’d gone.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and didn’t answer; he could feel the weight of her unanswered texts on his phone.
When they got home, Sean made him coffee and sat him down at the kitchen table, turning his own seat backwards and straddling it as he templed his fingers and waited. It took until Finn had finished his first cup of joe before he said, “Fuck, Sean, I’ve screwed up.”
“I figured. You gonna tell me how?”
He laughed. How could he? How could he even start?
Sean threw him a bone. “I take it this is about Liz?”
“Yeah...”
“She thinks there’s more between you than there is?” Sean sounded bemused, like he thought that was no big deal. He was right, of course. If only that was the real problem.
Finn cupped his hands around his mug, using the heat to focus his thoughts. He still felt drunk, but was lucid enough to know what he was saying. “It’s not just about Liz.” His voice sounded thin but he couldn’t seem to make it any louder. “There’s... There’s someone else.”
Sean let that sit for a beat and then cautiously said, “Okay...” In his peripheral vision, Finn saw him scratch a hand through his hair. “Uh, someone in New Milton?”
He nodded.
“Not—It’s not Lexa, is it?”
“Christ! Of course not.”
“Thank God.” Sean gave a nervous laugh. “But... Dude, you gotta let me in. What the hell’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird for...for weeks.”
He shouldn’t say anything. What was the point? He should just hop a flight back to LA and never come back. Never look back. But this thing in his chest, this ache, had been there for so damn long and he was sick of holding it inside. Sick of nobody knowing. And this was Sean. If he couldn’t tell his own brother, then who could he tell?
He glanced up, saw nothing but bemused concern in Sean’s eyes. “I—You remember that summer I spent here, right after Dad died?”
“Sure. Well, I was in LA, but—” Understanding dawned. “Wait. The girl? The girl who broke your heart that summer is still here?”
“Kinda.” He gave a nervous laugh, his stomach a snarl of tension. “It’s—You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Why don’t you try me?”
Finn pressed his fingertips to the table to steady himself. “Okay, so, uh, the thing is, it was Josh.”
Silence stretched between them, long and breathless. Finn kept his eyes on his hands.
“Josh was—?” Sean sounded like he was running to catch up. “Josh was the girl? Are you saying he’s trans—”
“No.” He looked up. “Josh wasn’t a girl, dude. I’m telling you I’m gay. Or bi, I guess. Whatever.”
Sean stared. “Okay, well, that’s... I mean, it’s cool. I just—” He frowned. “Really?”
“Really? Do you mean, am I sure?”
Sean spread his hands. “You’ve had a lot of girlfriends, man. And I’ve never seen a single boyfriend. Unless—” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been hiding your boyfriends from me? Why would you do that? You gotta know I’d be one-hundred percent cool. You’re my brother, Finn. I’ve always got your back.”
Finn rubbed a hand over his lips, the coffee making his mouth taste bitter. “It’s not like that. I mean, there haven’t been any other boyfriends. Not really.”
“Not really?”
“A couple of hookups.” His skin prickled under Sean’s gaze. “But I couldn’t—It’s easier with women; they don’t remind me of him. I couldn’t... I just couldn’t get involved with another guy.”
A long pause followed before Sean spoke again, and when he did his voice was painfully earnest. “But why didn’t you say something? You acted like you’d never met him when we got here.”
“I was—I was still pissed at him.”
“After eight years?”
Finn gave a helpless shrug.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. “And what about Josh? How does he feel about things?”
“He, uh—I dunno.”
Sean’s disapproval radiated like heat. “Because you haven’t talked to him about it, have you?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Damn it, Finn, you always do this!”
His fingers clenched. “You don’t get it, Sean.”
“Yeah, I do. You put these walls up, man. Someone hurts you once and you lock them out forever. Like Dad after he left, and—”
“This isn’t about Dad.”
Sean gave a bleak laugh. “Everything’s about Dad.”
“Yeah? Thanks, Dr. Phil.” Finn slumped back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, angry because Sean was right. “Look, I said I fucked up, okay? I should’ve talked to him, but I couldn’t because it still fucking hurt. And now...” An ache pierced his chest when he thought about the chance he’d lost for a second time. His eyes pricked and he squeezed them shut. “Fuck, I drank too much.”
Sean sighed. “You think this is why Josh left town?”
“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Maybe. He thinks I’m with Liz. The whole fucking world thinks I’m with Liz.”
“So tell him you’re not. Call him and tell him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because what if he says it’s too late? What if he thinks I’m an ass? “Because it’s my fault Liz got hurt, because she thinks I care about her more than I do, and what the fuck will it look like if I dump her and run after Josh?”
“Okay, first: who cares what it looks like? And second: who cares what it looks like?”
“Well, Liz, probably. Her kid. Her parents. The internet.”
“Screw the internet.”
He shoved to his feet. “It’s not that easy—you know it isn’t. I can’t just do what I want. I have to think about the consequences.”
“Finn, if you—Do you love him?” Sean skewered him with a long look and read the answer in his face. “Then you gotta tell him, man.”
“This isn’t a fairy tale.” Finn pushed his fingers into his hair. “Look—I used Liz, okay? I used her because I was too fucking scared to face Josh. I can’t just dump her. I have to at least... I have to respect her.”
“Lying to her isn’t respecting her.”
Fuck, but Sean could be a sanctimonious prick. Finn gritted his teeth. “I’m—I’m gonna go back to LA.” The plan formed in his mind as he spoke. “Put some distance between me and Liz, let things cool down.”
“And what about Josh? What are you going to tell him?”
What could he tell him? You broke my heart, you bastard. I loved you and you broke my heart, but I still fucking love you. And I still want you. I’ve never wanted anyone else. “I gotta get my head straight first. And I gotta get outa this mess with Liz.”
Sean gave him a long look and then got to his feet, walking around the table toward him. “C’mere,” he said, holding out his arms.
With a sigh, Finn went to him and let his brother wrap him in a tight embrace.
“I wish you’d told me,” Sean said against his ear. “I wish you’d told me everything back when it first happened. I wish you’d trusted me.”
“I just wanted to forget him. It hurt so bad.” The drink, and the sadness he’d carried for eight long years, was too potent: he could feel tears on his face, knotting in his chest and throat. “But I can’t forget him, Sean. I can’t.” A sob broke free and Sean held him tighter.
“I love you,” Sean said. “And I got your back, Finn. Whatever happens, I got your back.”
It felt so good, a
t last, to be understood—to be known. The relief opened something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was closed. He felt light and thought of that golden road he’d once imagined stretching out ahead of him and Josh. For the first time in eight years he could remember it without pain.
Chapter Thirteen
New York was exactly as Joshua remembered.
He hadn’t been to the city in years, mostly to avoid his father and brother, and he couldn’t say he’d missed it. Even high up in Ruth’s penthouse he could hear the endless hum of the city that never slept, nor rested, nor even took a breath.
Tonight, as always, his aunt was elegant and beautiful. She sparkled with the festive season as she welcomed guests to the select New Year’s Eve party—soiree, she called it—that she’d arranged for Joshua. Not that she’d admitted it was for him, but the fact that half the guests were powerful figures in the New York music scene was something of a giveaway. So was the grand piano in the corner.
Joshua, of course, was expected to perform.
He didn’t mind; it was a beautiful instrument and he wasn’t afraid of playing for these people. Besides, wasn’t that why he was here, to look for a new start? When he’d confessed as much to Ruth, she’d gone into overdrive trying to kick-start his career.
“I especially want you to meet Quinton Jones,” she’d told him as she’d fussed with his jacket earlier that evening. Joshua hadn’t dressed so fancy in years, but Ruth had insisted on taking him shopping for something “appropriate” for the evening. “Quinton is a music producer at Create Studios, and he’s always looking for talented session musicians. It’s a good place to start, Joshua.” She’d smiled, as if pleased. “He also happens to be a homosexual.”
“Ruth—”
Her smile dazzled. “I’m just mentioning it out of interest.”
She needn’t have bothered. As soon as Ruth brought Quinton over to meet him, it was obvious he was gay. Tall, slender and exquisitely dressed, he was entirely overt about his sexuality. “Joshua Newton,” he said in a crisp English accent, “Ruth’s been singing your praises forever and I can see that none of it has been exaggerated.” He held out a hand to shake and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite—unless invited.”
Joshua flushed as he shook the man’s hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Oh, why do I doubt that?” Quinton smiled with genuine sympathy. “Poor you. Ruth is a terrible enthusiast when she has a new project. And you, darling, are it.”
His aunt patted the man’s arm. “I can’t help being enthusiastic. Joshua has been hiding away for far too long—I’m keen for the world to see his light.” With that she sailed away to greet her other guests and left them alone.
Subtle, Ruth was not.
Quinton took a sip of champagne. “Well, shall we get down to business or stick to the small talk for a little longer?”
“Business?” What had Ruth said to this man?
“Of the musical variety,” Quinton said with an amused twist of his lips. “You’re a musician, I understand.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, that is I play. I don’t earn my living playing. I’m a music teacher, actually—piano.” He grimaced. “I also need to get better at selling myself.”
“You do.” Quinton’s gaze swept over him, head to toe. “Do you compose?”
“I try—” He started again. “I mean, yes. I’m a genius, actually.”
Quinton barked a laugh. “That’s better. Will you play tonight?”
“Of course.” He leaned closer and confided, “I think that’s the point of the evening.”
“Certainly.” Another smile lit the man’s eyes. “Well then, let’s hear you.”
And just like that, Joshua found himself ushered to the piano. He chose something simple and popular to begin with—his own arrangement of Cohen’s “Hallelujah”—and started in quiet and without fanfare. He didn’t sing, but as the music built he felt the room hush as people turned to listen. He’d missed this, the thrill of performance, and he smiled and felt his chest swell with the music. If only Finn were here, it would be perfect...
The melancholy of the music harmonized with his mood and he poured himself into it, losing himself until he reached the third stanza and sensed someone come to stand at his shoulder. Glancing up he found Quinton watching with an enigmatic look in his eyes.
And then Quinton began to sing. He smiled and Joshua smiled too, adapting to the other man’s performance, letting him take the melody. He guessed that Quinton was testing him, but this had always come easily to Joshua so he wasn’t concerned. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d accompanied someone singing this; Finn used to sing with him, back in the day. His yearning only added to the poignancy and, as he played the last notes, letting the music drift into silence, a sweet melancholy threatened to overwhelm him.
But then the room burst into applause and Quinton’s hand touched his shoulder. “Lovely,” he said. “Ruth wasn’t exaggerating your talents, Mr. Newton.”
Joshua played a little Zeppelin after that and then finished with the Chopin to demonstrate his range and technical ability. Quinton watched with keen attention and a smile, while Aunt Ruth beamed in elegant triumph from the far side of the room. Joshua supposed he should consider the performance a success.
At midnight they watched the ball drop on TV but they could see the fireworks from Ruth’s window. Joshua stepped outside onto the balcony, despite the cold, tugging on his new gloves—Finn’s gloves. The sound of the city rose up all around him, loud and brilliant with humanity. As the sky lit up and another year dawned he thought of Finn and Liz, of Sean and Tejana, of everyone back in New Milton. He missed them, missed the place, but knew he couldn’t go back. There was nothing there for him now and it was past time he got on with his life.
Behind him the door slid open and he glanced around to see Quinton Jones follow him outside. “Bloody freezing,” he said cheerfully, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Joshua said, although he’d been enjoying the brief solitude. “You’ve got quite the voice. Did you ever sing professionally?”
Quinton waved the comment aside as he lit a cigarette. “Not profitably.” He blew out a satisfied ribbon of smoke. “I’m rather better at production than performance. But you... Where have you been hiding, Joshua?”
“In the past, mostly.” He gave a rueful smile. “But no more. New year—new start.”
Quinton inclined his head. “It won’t make you famous,” he said, “but you could earn decent money as a studio musician. You’ve got talent, I can see that, and if you’re willing to work your bollocks off you’ll get to play with some of the greatest musicians alive.”
“It definitely sounds interesting.” If he could earn a living as a session musician he’d be doing something he enjoyed and earning enough to pay his own way in the city. He didn’t want to camp at Ruth’s forever, even if she’d let him. “How would I start?”
“Think of me as your knight in shining armor—or fairy godmother, if you prefer.” Quinton leaned in a little too close and said, “Stop by the studio sometime, we’ll do lunch and talk.”
Joshua didn’t miss the overt interest in Quinton’s eyes and he didn’t know what he thought about it. He definitely didn’t want a relationship, but he doubted Quinton was offering one. “Thanks,” he said with a smile. “I’ll do that.”
Time for something new, after all.
* * *
Two days after New Year’s Joshua found himself standing with Ruth on the street outside his father’s—now Michael’s—apartment building. His aunt put a hand on his back and said, “Come on, you’re going to run into him eventually. You might as well get it over with.”
He gave her a rebellious look. “Why?”
“Because you’re not a child. And because your mother would want it.�
�
That was a low blow, but it wasn’t one he could withstand. Taking a deep breath he said, “Okay, let’s do it.”
Naturally, the Newtons owned the penthouse. It had only escaped the court order because his father had transferred it into Michael’s name when he saw the prosecution coming down the line. Joshua had always despised the place, all silver and chrome and about as welcoming as an operating theater.
One of the maids opened the door, neat in her black dress and crisp white apron. Ruth smiled and Joshua cringed, swallowing the urge to apologize as he handed her his coat. He hated this ridiculous pretention. He’d hated it growing up and hated it even more now that he’d lived in the real world. From further inside the apartment he could hear his brother’s braying laughter, the general chatter of a dinner party.
He thought, if he ran, he might make it out before Ruth caught him. As if guessing his plan, her fingers closed over his arm. “In we go.”
As they stepped into the dining room, Michael’s gaze swept over Joshua with cool appraisal. “Ah,” he said, “the black sheep. How are you, Joshua? Enjoying the bright lights?”
“As much as always.”
Isabelle, Michael’s wife, came over and kissed the air next to both his cheeks. “Darling, it’s been an age,” she said and flashed her capped teeth at him. “You look wonderful.”
“So do you, as always.” In truth, she looked brittle and plasticized. Even if his taste had run to women, he doubted he’d have ever found Isabelle attractive.
Michael introduced him to some colleagues, men and women who worked for him, and they smiled with the curiosity of people thinking, So that’s Joshua Newton. He wondered what Michael had told them—the dropout, the teacher, the fag. He wasn’t sure which his brother would consider the most damning. He snagged a drink from the maid so he didn’t have to talk to anyone.
The conversation focused on work anyway, and he found himself glazing over, attention drifting out the window to the city lights below. At home, he’d be able to see the stars instead and hear the boom of the ocean instead of the city’s hum. God, he wished he could go back there. He’d have to at some point, of course, to hand in his notice and collect his stuff from the cottage. The thought brought both relief and regret, but he’d never be able to live there if Finn—
Perfect Day Page 15
