Small Town Sonata

by Jamie Fessenden

  There was a long silence between them, until Aiden finally sighed and said, “Maybe.”

  “You know I’m right, sweetie. Just talk to him. You won’t regret it.”

  Aiden wished he could be sure of that.

  Chapter Ten

  ONE thing about Lonnie Tuttle—the man never stood on formality. Sure, he was kind of a pig, but as a result, he didn’t care if others were a little uncouth around him. After Dean had finished with the driveway and was pretty much drenched with sweat, Lonnie offered him the use of his shower. Alone, of course. Lonnie had no interest in men, for which Dean was very grateful. The shower wasn’t exactly the cleanest one in town, but it worked. Dean came out of it reeking slightly less of underarm and asphalt.

  He had to put the same clothes on again, and they didn’t smell wonderful. The old jeans were spattered with sealant, and they’d have to be tossed. No detergent in the world would get that shit out. But at least he’d taken his shirt off before it got drenched with sweat, and by now it was dry. So he accepted a check from Lonnie, warned the guy not to walk or drive over the sealant for at least two days, and then drove to the bank. He made a habit of depositing checks right away. Otherwise he’d probably lose them under the couch cushions or something stupid like that.

  Then he bought a strong cup of coffee at Townsend’s—Springhaven didn’t have anything resembling a Starbucks—and went to see Rick Wallace. This time around, the drink wasn’t for the person he was visiting. Dean needed something strong before he could face Rick, and coffee was the best he could manage while driving.

  Still, even strong coffee didn’t prepare him for being shot at. The moment he opened his door to step out into Rick’s driveway, a shot rang out and a dandelion next to his foot lost its head. Swearing, Dean pulled his leg back into the truck and slammed the door.

  “What the fuck?”

  Rick stood on the front porch of his pale green ranch house, aiming a rifle at him. “You put one foot on my land, you motherfucker, and I can legally shoot you for trespassing.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? I just came over to talk.”

  “I got nothing to say to you.”

  Dean growled low in his throat. He and Rick had once been good friends—before the whole mess with Sarah. Maybe he was an idiot, but he couldn’t believe the guy would really shoot him. Rick was just being a dick.

  Dean threw his door open and jumped down onto the driveway. He held his hands out to either side. “Well, here I am, trespassing all over the fuckin’ place. Go ahead and shoot me.”

  “Fuck you, Cooper!” Rick spat out. But he didn’t shoot. He set the gun down on the table beside him. “What the fuck are you botherin’ me for?”

  Dean let out the breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding and took a tentative step forward. “I came to talk to you about the band—the Springhaven Septet. They want us to perform on July Fourth.”

  “Oh, fuckin’ hell!” Rick flopped down in the plastic chair beside the table and rubbed his eyes with his hands as if he were exhausted.

  Dean steeled himself and walked up the driveway to the porch steps. When Rick didn’t stop him, he climbed the steps and stood beside the table.

  “You were gonna shoot me with a BB gun?” he said contemptuously, looking down at the air rifle.

  “It still woulda taken your eye out, jackass.”

  It might have. But Dean considered it safe to sit down, now that Rick had calmed down.

  “Has anyone talked to Sarah about this band shit?” Rick asked.

  “I was gonna go see her,” Dean said. “But I wanted to get your reaction first. You’re the one I figured would flip out on me.” He glanced at the BB rifle beside him.

  “Don’t think that, just because I haven’t shot you, I’m all happy chattin’ with you. I’ll give you a minute to say your piece, and then I want you off my property or I’ll see how far up your ass I can shove that rifle.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  Rick rolled his eyes at him.

  “Look,” Dean said, getting down to business, “I promised I’d get the septet together—or as much of it as possible, considering we’re permanently down two members—”

  “Which kind of makes it a quintet, doesn’t it?”

  Dean shrugged. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked Rick directly in the eye. At one time, he’d thought the man was cute. He had soft green eyes and perfect teeth. But living alone hadn’t suited him. He looked haggard, and the scraggly beard didn’t suit him. “Rick… there’s gotta be some way we can get past this….”

  “So you can look good in front of… who? The town council?” Rick asked with a sneer.

  “I mean,” Dean said slowly, “so we can get past this.”

  Rick met his gaze, and Dean could see the pain behind his eyes. He knew Rick wanted his life back, wanted things the way they’d been before he fucked it all up. But Rick said, “It’s not gonna happen.”

  In frustration Dean said the one thing he knew he shouldn’t. “Rick, I didn’t make you fuck around on your wife.”

  Rick grabbed the rifle, his jaw set and the pain in his eyes instantly replaced by rage. For a second, Dean thought Rick just might try to shove that gun up his ass. But Rick simply stood and said, “This conversation’s over, asshole.”

  Then he went inside and slammed the door.

  AFTER soaking his hands in paraffin for a while, Aiden had attempted the Grieg concerto. He knew it by heart. But though he was able to get through it, his attempt was clunky and awkward, and by the time he’d finished, his fingers felt as if they were going to seize up and never move again.

  He tried the paraffin bath again, and it helped. But he knew he’d overdone it. He just prayed he hadn’t done any further damage.

  His GP had given him a prescription for Ultram, though he rarely took any. Now, with his hands throbbing, he was seriously considering it. But he knew he’d be fuzzy-headed if he did. He might be able to hang around the house, watching TV with his folks, but what he really wanted was to get out of the house. Though with his hands like this, he wouldn’t be able to drive, with or without the pill.

  A thought occurred to him. It was, perhaps, unwise. Especially considering the way Dean had half stormed off the night before. But maybe it would give Aiden a chance to clear the air a bit.

  “Dad,” he asked, “do you have Dean’s number?”

  His father looked up from his book and gestured toward the kitchen. “He should be on the list your mother tacked up over the phone.”

  Aiden found the list and dialed on the house phone, his stomach jittery.

  Dean picked up right away. “This is Dean.”

  “Hey. It’s Aiden.”

  A long pause. Then a subdued, “Hey. What do you need?”

  It was clear he wasn’t thrilled to hear Aiden’s voice. The temptation to say “oh, nothing” and hang up was strong, but Aiden pushed forward. “Are you busy?”

  Another long pause. “I guess not.”

  “I was hoping we could get together. I… kind of feel like I owe you—”

  “You don’t owe me nothing. So you don’t want to play in the band. No big—”

  “Dean! Will you—?” Aiden reined in his frustration. He took a breath and said, “This isn’t about that. I want to talk to you.”

  Another long pause, but at least Dean didn’t hang up. God, this is painful. Finally, Dean said, “About what?”

  “About… a lot of things. Look, can we talk in person? Please?”

  “Fine. I’m not busy, if you want to come over.”

  “I was kind of hoping you’d come get me. I can’t really drive that well right now.”

  “Why? Are you drunk?”

  “No. But I’m seriously considering taking a painkiller. Either way, I can’t really drive right now. I’ll explain what’s going on when I see you.”

  “Okay, fine. I just got out of the shower, but I can be at your p
lace in twenty minutes or so.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Aiden finally gave in and took the Ultram, hoping it wouldn’t make him too fuzzy for the conversation. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with his hands aching like they were. The evening was a bit cool, so he threw on a sweater with a maroon and rust pattern he liked. Then he told his parents he was heading out for a while and went to wait for Dean out on the porch rather than endure his mother’s persistent questions about what his and Dean’s plans were for the evening. He had no idea what the plan was. He’d count himself lucky if Dean listened to him and agreed they could be friends.

  When Dean’s pickup truck pulled into the driveway, Aiden went to meet him.

  “Did you… want to go somewhere?” Dean asked from the driver seat, his tattooed arm resting on the doorframe. He seemed baffled.

  “I was hoping we could go for a drive, or maybe to your place,” Aiden said. “Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Hop in.”

  As soon as he’d slipped into the passenger seat and buckled himself in, Dean backed out of the driveway. “So… you’re stoned?”

  Aiden laughed. Then he stopped, afraid that might reinforce Dean’s impression. “Uh… no. But I took an Ultram for pain, and it makes me a little… fuzzy.”

  “What pain?” Dean put the truck in gear and pulled off down Birch Street.

  Aiden held his hands up in front of himself and flexed his fingers. But before he could say anything, Dean gasped and said, “Shit! What’s wrong with your hands?”

  “It’s….” He almost said “nothing.” The distress in Dean’s voice was clear, and Aiden wanted to reassure him. But that wasn’t what needed to be said right now. “I was in an accident a couple of years ago. It was so stupid. I stepped off the curb without looking and a bicycle courier ran into me. He could have been killed—his bike flipped over both of us, and he went sprawling—but fortunately he had a helmet. He wasn’t too badly hurt. I got some cracked ribs where he hit me, and I smashed my right knee up pretty badly. But my hands… I fell hard and caught myself on the pavement, breaking both wrists and pulling a bunch of tendons. It was so stupid!”

  “Jesus.” Dean glanced at him, his brow furrowed in concern, before he turned his attention back to the road. “So this is why you can’t play with us.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “But you’ve been playing. I’ve heard you.”

  Aiden sighed. It was so hard to explain to someone who wasn’t a professional. “Yes, I can play. But it’s all wrong. My timing is off, I miss notes. And I had to take a pill because playing through a concerto I’ve performed a million times put me in agony.”

  “Did it help?”

  “What?”

  “The pill?” Dean asked. “Did it help?”

  “Well… I still feel the pain, but it kind of bothers me less, if that makes any sense.”

  Dean chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not a druggie.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Aiden was surprised when Dean put a hand on his knee, stroking it gently. It wasn’t too far up the leg, and not overtly sexual, but it was still pretty intimate for two adult men. “I’m just teasing you, bud,” Dean said. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

  He pulled his hand away and placed it on the wheel. Aiden immediately missed the warmth of it.

  “I just wanted you to understand why I couldn’t play,” Aiden told him. “It wasn’t because I felt I was too good for you.”

  “I understand.”

  Aiden shook his head. “I’m not sure you do.” Dean frowned at him, but the road demanded his attention as he took a turn. “I think you’re convinced I’ve always thought I was better than you.”

  “Bullshit!” Dean growled. “I never thought that!”

  Aiden didn’t believe that. Dean had made a lot of comments when they were young that implied he thought Aiden was wealthy and stuck-up. Mostly teasing, but Aiden had always sensed there was something to the wisecracks. Still, there was little point in arguing about it.

  He turned to look out the window at the fields that seemed to be scrolling by in the golden glow of the late afternoon sunlight. He recognized the road. They were heading to Dean’s house. “Maybe, when I was sixteen, I did think I was better than this town. I was so frustrated. I knew I had talent. I know that’s egotistical, but it’s true. I had talent. And I couldn’t develop that talent here.”

  Dean pulled the truck over onto the side of the road and shut the engine off. “I knew that. That’s why I never tried to stop you from leaving. I knew you had to.” He couldn’t meet Aiden’s gaze, when he added, “Though I thought… I thought you’d at least come back to see me.”

  There was so much raw pain in that simple statement, they both fell silent a moment, too embarrassed to look at each other.

  “I didn’t come back, because… I guess I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid I’d find out what I’d been feeling… that it hadn’t been a big deal to you. I mean, you always acted like nothing fazed you. I didn’t think….” Aiden swallowed to get past the lump forming in his throat. “The guys in my dorm talked about making out with girls all the time. Some of them had had sex. But it didn’t mean anything. They laughed about it. They joked about what they’d had to do to trick the girls into it. I was afraid, if I came back… I’d find out you were just like them….”

  “You fucking idiot!” Dean snarled.

  Then he grabbed the back of Aiden’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

  Chapter Eleven

  DEAN half expected Aiden to shove him away and tell him to fuck off. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Aiden tried to grab the back of Dean’s head and pull him in tighter. But when he dug his fingers into Dean’s hair, he grunted in pain.

  Dean broke the kiss and told him, “Don’t use your hands, dimwit. I’ll take care of everything. Unless you want me to stop.”

  “God, no! Don’t stop!”

  “That’s not just the drugs talking, is it?”

  Aiden cocked an eyebrow at him. “I took one Ultram. I didn’t shoot up heroin. I’m perfectly lucid. And I want you to keep going.”

  Those words sent a thrill throughout Dean’s entire body, causing his cock to stir in his jeans. “Okay, then.”

  Dean claimed his mouth again. When Aiden opened to him, Dean growled and delved deep inside with his tongue. He wanted to taste every part of Aiden. He hadn’t exactly been waiting seventeen years for this moment, since he’d never expected it to happen, but now that it was happening, it was like a fire had been lit inside him. And the flames wanted to consume both of them at once.

  Aiden shifted underneath him until they were stretched out on the seat of the truck, Dean lying between Aiden’s spread legs, grinding his hard cock into Aiden’s, frustrated by the layers of blue jeans and slacks that separate them. The kiss seemed to expand and fill him until Dean lost all awareness of anything but the feel of Aiden’s lips and tongue against his, the firmness of Aiden’s lean torso under his hands, and the driving need to merge their bodies into one.

  Then Aiden whimpered and his body stiffened, and Dean realized he was coming. The thought of it sent a thrill of excitement straight to Dean’s balls, and suddenly he was jerking his hips, thrusting hard against Aiden and releasing into his underwear. When it was over, they lay still for a long time, their cheeks pressed together as they panted into each other’s ears while their hands moved over each other in slow, languid caresses.

  At last Aiden chuckled and said, “That was fast.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dean kissed his cheek lightly. “I don’t usually go off so quick. I was just… really, really turned on.”

  Aiden nuzzled him and brushed his lips against Dean’s cheek. “Oh, yeah. That was hot. Even if I’m going to have to sneak my pants and underwear into the wash like a guilty teenager to keep Mom from finding out.”

  “You could wash your clot
hes at my place,” Dean suggested.

  AIDEN thought about it. It was incredibly tempting to go on to Dean’s and spend a long night making love to him. But part of him felt uneasy. This was all happening way too fast.

  “I’d like to,” he said at last. “But I’ve only been in town for a week. We just started hanging out again three days ago.”

  Dean sighed and rolled slightly to wedge himself between Aiden and the back of the car seat. Aiden had a strong desire to pull Dean back on top of his body, but it was nice to be able to breathe without a man lying on his chest. And he could still feel Dean’s warmth snuggled against him.

  “Yeah,” Dean admitted. “We did just kind of leap into that.”

  “I do want more of it….”

  Dean caressed his chest and abdomen gently. “Just take it a little slower?”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. You don’t want it to feel cheap and sleazy. I get it.”

  “It would never feel ‘cheap and sleazy’ with you,” Aiden said seriously. He brought a hand up to stroke the side of Dean’s face. “But it can feel like it’s moving so fast I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “I guess it feels a little like that to me too,” Dean admitted. He kissed Aiden one last time, then sat up and slid back to the driver side. “Why don’t I take you home? If you want, we can get together tomorrow.”

  Aiden extricated his legs from Dean’s lap and sat up. “I’d like that.”

  Dean drove him back to Birch Street and stopped in the driveway, but he left the truck idling. Aiden climbed down from the passenger side and closed the door. Then he walked around to the driver side, where Dean was leaning out the open window.

  “Is it crass to say ‘I had fun,’ when we both know there’s come dripping down my leg?” Aiden asked.

  Dean snorted. “Well, it might not have been, but it is now, you pig.” He leaned out a bit farther so Aiden could kiss him. When he pulled back, he smiled warmly and said, “But that’s okay. You were way too shy when we were young. It turns me on when you’re crude.”