Aiden hated to burst his bubble, but it was most likely true. “Perhaps. I did perform with him a few times in the past, and Julie may have let him know I’d be here tonight.”
Martel’s enthusiasm returned in an instant. He clapped his hands together excitedly. “But you know him! You’ll just have to introduce us. I insist!”
“Of course.”
Martel made the mistake of anxiously flitting among the others in the break room, warning them that a “big name” was in the audience and they needed to really give it their all. If they hadn’t already been nervous about performing with an unpredictable pianist—on top of the usual performance jitters—they certainly were now. But Aiden did his best to calm himself and focus. He unconsciously began to go through his finger exercises again, but he caught himself and stopped. He’d warmed up earlier. That would have to be enough. The last thing he needed was to wear out his fingers now, before he’d even stepped on the stage.
By the time the orchestra returned to the stage, Martel had worked himself into a nervous frenzy, but Aiden was calm. He took the stage after the orchestra to a wave of applause, glancing unconsciously up at the balcony. But it was impossible to see Dean or anyone else with the house lights dimmed and spotlights illuminating the stage. He took his seat at the piano, and a moment later, Martel came out and bowed to the audience.
To Aiden’s dismay, Martel insisted upon an introduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a rare treat for you tonight. As you can see in the program, our guest pianist is none other than Aiden Scott, who has performed in New York City, London, Paris, and recently in Moscow. We are thrilled to have him join us tonight, as I’m sure you all will be.”
Martel swept out his arm, and the spot on the piano brightened momentarily, so Aiden had little choice but to stand and bow. He couldn’t exactly claim he didn’t have a big ego, but he preferred to let his music impress audiences, rather than his name.
When the concert finally began, his thoughts about Martel and Harrison and even Dean disappeared from his mind. He was lost in a world of beauty and perfection, where the piano blended seamlessly with the other instruments of the orchestra to produce something bordering on religious ecstasy. If gods existed, this was perhaps the closest Aiden would ever come to gazing upon them.
Only after the final notes faded did he become aware of the crescendo of applause coming from the audience and the throbbing in his fingers. He was going to be in pain that evening, he knew, but his hands hadn’t given out on him. He’d pushed through to the end, and he knew his performance had been as good as anything he’d done before the accident. Harrison would be pleased.
The question was… what would he do now?
Chapter Thirty
DEAN fidgeted in his seat, waiting as patiently as he could for everyone to file out so he wouldn’t have to shove them out of his way. At last he was able to get up, but then he was frustrated by the line. By the time he reached the lobby, he was ready to scream and thrash his arms around to clear some space.
God, how do people live like this? He’d never understand the attraction to life in the city, if he lived to be a thousand. A line in Springhaven was ten people at most. And even that made Dean think about coming back when the rush died down.
“I need to get backstage,” he told the Scotts.
“Why?” Mr. Scott asked. “Don’t you think they’ll be busy right now? We can wait until Aiden comes out.”
“I need to see him now,” Dean replied, fully aware that he sounded like a whiny child.
Mr. Scott chuckled and shook his head indulgently. “Well, I can’t stop you. Tell Aiden his mother and I are out in the lobby when he’s ready to come out.”
Eventually the wave of people heading up the aisles lessened, so Dean was able to more or less swim upstream—he forced himself not to think about spawning—until he reached the break room backstage. This was packed with everyone from the orchestra, so he had to wedge himself in between the timpani player and one of the cellists. Dean had no idea what their names were, but every time he’d accompanied Aiden to rehearsal, those two had been flirting with each other during breaks.
He spotted Aiden cornered near the coffee maker by an exuberant Martel. Dean could tell Martel was excited by the way he waved his arms like a runway attendant flagging down an aircraft. Aiden, on the other hand, seemed completely calm. He was wearing that same damned aloof expression he always put on like a mask when he performed. Dean couldn’t tell if he was happy or miserable. Had the performance gone well? Dean thought it had, but what did he know?
As he drew near, he could pick out Martel’s words over the general commotion in the room. “That was amazing! They loved us! I have so many ideas for what I’d love to do next. Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto! Can you imagine? Though I was always more partial to Brahms. His music is so—”
Dean lost track of what he was saying, not that he was particularly interested, beyond the general impression that Martel agreed with him. The performance had gone well. Maybe better than “well.”
He pushed his way past Jacob, and suddenly he was right there. Aiden didn’t see him immediately, and in that moment, Dean glimpsed something he was certain nobody else saw: Aiden’s hands curled into claws at his side, as if every tendon were in pain. Then Aiden turned to him. The professional mask dropped from Aiden’s features in an instant, the claws became hands once more, and his face lit up in delight. “Dean!”
Dean pulled him into a strong embrace. Aiden was damp with sweat, as if he’d run a marathon. In a way he had. Dean put his mouth close to Aiden’s ear and whispered anxiously, “It was good, right?”
“Yes,” Aiden said, laughing. “It was good.”
“Am I allowed to kiss you?”
“You’d better.” Aiden pulled away just enough to bring their mouths together in a kiss. His lips were hot against Dean’s, and he exhaled heavily into Dean’s mouth. Dean relaxed against his body. Aiden was happy. He could feel it. That was all that mattered.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Aiden Scott.”
The unfamiliar voice cut through the noise, though the man hadn’t spoken loudly. There was an air of authority to it that instantly made Dean wonder if they were in trouble for something—perhaps holding a concert without a permit or causing a public disturbance by smooching in a designated coffee area.
“Oh my! Mr. Harrison!” Martel sounded as flustered as if the Queen of England were visiting. “Let him through, people! Let him through! Make out later, you two.”
Dean and Aiden separated, and the damnable mask went up again on Aiden’s handsome face. He smiled warmly as an elderly man with unnaturally red hair stepped through the crowd. The man returned the smile and held out his arms for an embrace. It was a theatrical hug, devoid of passion but still warm. The kind of hug people gave their grandparents. Had they performed together? That seemed likely.
“You were magnificent, darling!” the man gushed. “Absolutely magnificent!”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Julie called me and told me you’d be performing again after so long.” The man punctuated nearly every other word and waved his hands for emphasis. He made Martel seem restrained. “I just had to come. And I’m so glad I did!” He paused to gaze into the distance, as if he were recalling a beautiful dream he’d once had. “I heard the old Aiden Scott, back from the dead!” He gave a fluttering laugh and placed a hand on Aiden’s arm. “In a manner of speaking. You know what I mean. It’s been ages, darling!”
Dean realized his mouth was gaping open after witnessing this performance, so he snapped it shut. Is this guy for real?
“Robert Harrison, this is my boyfriend, Dean Cooper. And of course you’ve seen our wonderful conductor, Gregory Martel. Robert is a conductor I worked with in New York on a few occasions.”
Judging by the way Martel nearly swooned when Robert shook his hand and offered some praise of the concert as a whole, Dean figured Harrison had
to be a bigwig in the music world. Dean, of course, had never heard of him.
A second later Harrison said something that drove home just how big a deal this was. Not to Martel, but to Aiden—and Dean too. “Aiden, darling, you must come to New York as soon as possible. It’s too late for this season, of course, but I could use you next spring. I want to do Bartok, and you know how insane that can be!”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Aiden said diplomatically.
Dean felt a chill crawling up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He’d done it. Aiden had found a way back to his old life.
A way out of Springhaven.
THOUGH Aiden’s parents suggested taking everyone out to dinner after the concert, Aiden declined. He was wiped. Worse, Dean’s excitement in the back room had vaporized the moment he’d been introduced to Robert. Oh, he was trying to look cheerful, and whenever Aiden spoke to him, he plastered on a fake smile, but he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings. Robert’s suggestion that Aiden go back to New York had shaken him.
Dean hardly spoke a word, while Aiden put on his own phony expression of delight—one honed to perfection over decades—and navigated through concertgoers offering praise and orchestra members enthusing about the reception. Aiden waited until they were alone in the car and back on the highway heading north before he broke the silence. “I don’t have to leave, you know.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” Dean seemed to realize how harsh that sounded, because he moderated his tone a bit. “I mean… this is huge for you. You got up on stage and performed and you were terrific! Not only that, some bigwig from New York heard you, and he agrees: you were amazing.” Dean stared out at the road for a long time, before he added quietly, “You have to go.”
“Dean….”
“You’re going,” Dean snapped. “I won’t have you passing up a chance to get back to what you love doing—not for… anything.”
Not for me. That’s what he’d been about to say. Aiden knew that. The problem was, as much as Aiden wanted to stay with Dean, he couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t excited about the prospect of going back to New York, having a career again, being adored by an audience….
On the other hand, his hands were killing him. He’d taken some ibuprofen when they got into the car, but it was barely taking the edge off. They hadn’t failed him. They’d performed beautifully. But he knew he’d pay for it tonight, and possibly tomorrow. Would he be able to give Robert the performances he needed?
Aiden needed time to think, so he let Dean have the last word. They rode the rest of the way home in silence.
They had to drop off Aiden’s father’s car, since they were still using it to go back and forth to the music hall, but this time, when Dean parked in the Scotts’ driveway, he said, “Maybe you should stay here tonight.”
“Are you pissed at me?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No!” He cupped the back of Aiden’s neck, sliding his fingers through the short hair there. “No. You were wonderful tonight, and I’m glad. I would have been miserable if you’d… if things hadn’t gone well.”
“But now you’re convinced I’m leaving you.”
“Maybe. And I won’t lie. That kills me.”
“Dean—”
Dean held up a hand to silence him. “Aiden… I know you want to tell me you’ll never leave, and all that. But you need to think about it. You’ve been wanting this opportunity since you came back to Springhaven—you just never thought you’d get it.” He smiled ruefully. “Well, buddy… you got it. Don’t pass it up for my sake. I don’t want that.”
Aiden sighed and shook his head. Dean was right. He needed time to think. But he hated leaving things like this. “So… you’re breaking things off?”
“No!” Dean undid his seat belt and shifted to face him. “Dude… I just need some time alone tonight, okay? Your parents will be back soon. Hang out with them. They haven’t had enough chances to bask in their son’s glory.”
Aiden groaned, but he was smirking. There was truth in that. His mother, in particular, was going to be bouncing off the walls with excitement.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dean added. Then he handed Aiden the keys and got out of the car.
As Aiden climbed out of the passenger side and locked the Tesla, Dean got in his truck and drove off. Christ. Aiden wasn’t sure if he should be angry with him or not.
He let himself into the house and made himself some coffee. Then he took it into the music studio. He left the room mostly dark, but clicked on the long LED lamp over the sheet music stand, creating a splash of white light in the center of the keyboard. It was beautiful. He’d always loved the look of a well-made piano. The polished gleam of the veneer, the rows of gold strings, the perfection of the ebony and ivory keys—though of course, these days, the “ivory” was now plastic. It was a work of art, and it could produce music of indescribable beauty.
Aiden sipped his coffee, then set it on the filing cabinet. He returned to the piano and sat on the bench, but when he placed his hands on the keyboard, they were curled into claws. He could flex his fingers, but these hands were incapable of producing anything beautiful from the instrument they rested on. Not now. Perhaps in a day or two, when the muscles had rested and their flexibility had been restored….
But not now.
Chapter Thirty-One
DEAN didn’t speak to Aiden about New York for the rest of the week. It wasn’t as if they weren’t talking at all. They saw each other, they shared his bed most nights, they made love… but neither wanted to bring up the subject of New York.
They were too busy with preparations for the Fourth, anyway. It was that week—all week, at least as far as the accompanying fair was concerned—and the misnamed septet was scheduled to play Thursday evening, just before the fireworks. So they were rehearsing every night. Not that they really needed to. To Dean’s ear, they sounded great. Though he’d never say so in public, out of respect for Bart, he thought they sounded better than they ever had, largely because of Aiden.
Aiden might never be as good at improvising as Bart had been, but he also didn’t forget the melody or lose track of what key he was playing in. Bart had been a little sloppy on those points. Plus Aiden was loosening up on the keyboard, and when he did improvise, it was technically perfect—no clunky notes, no dropping the beat. That was a little weird, from a jazz perspective, and probably he’d never be a great jazz pianist, but it had the effect of raising the whole group up a notch. They sounded professional now.
And Dean loved it.
What he didn’t love was knowing it would all be over after Thursday. The septet would split up again, since they’d only ever performed this one gig a year, and by the time people started talking about the next celebration, Aiden would be gone.
As it should be. Dean had to keep reminding himself of that. Aiden was too big for a small town like Springhaven. He didn’t act too big for it, which would really have pissed Dean off, but they both knew Aiden needed to spread his wings and fly. He couldn’t do that here. On the other hand, Dean was perfectly suited to life in a small town. He loved the warm coziness of it, and he never wanted to leave.
They were like the ground and the sky—touching, but never really together.
THAT Wednesday night, Dean wandered around the fair with Aiden, trying not to fret about the Big Performance on Thursday. It wasn’t as if he’d never stood on the bandstand in front of the whole town, squeaking out bad jazz for everyone to hear, but he doubted he’d ever be comfortable with all eyes focused on him. Even in high school, Dean preferred to stay in the background.
“I like to stay in the shadows,” he’d told Aiden one night as they sat together in the garden gazebo, listening to peepers on a warm, spring night.
Aiden nodded seriously. “Like a ninja.”
“Exactly.” Dean struck a martial-arts pose—or at least as close as he could manage—and said, “Like Jet Li in The One.”
“The good Jet Li or the evil Jet Li?”
“Duh! The evil one!” He followed this with a noise somewhere between a Bruce Lee kiai and a monkey choking on his own spit.
Aiden snickered. “Keep it down, Grasshopper. You’ll wake my parents.”
All the sneaking around they’d had to do, just to steal a few moments together and an occasional kiss! Or maybe they’d just thought they had to sneak around. Dean doubted Aiden’s parents would really have given them a hard time for dating, now that he’d gotten to know them. Of course things were different seventeen years ago. The thought of marrying and having their relationships recognized legally at work and in doctors’ offices had been a distant dream for LGBT Americans. But Aiden had come out to his parents in his early teens, and they’d been fine. The biggest obstacle would have been Dean’s reputation as a troublemaker.
Yet here he was walking through the town park, surrounded by most of Springhaven… and holding hands with his boyfriend! Not that nobody noticed, but those who did smiled at them as if they were adorable, rather than acting shocked.
I’ve gone from being “tough” to being “cute.” It was kind of humiliating. But now that he looked back on himself, he’d never been all that tough to begin with. Just a dorky kid trying to act big.
“What are you thinking?”
He glanced up to find Aiden watching him with an affectionate smile. Even now, that smile made Dean’s heart flutter. “Just thinking about what an idiot I used to be.”
Aiden looked away, his smile faltering. “Yeah… well, maybe we both were.” Then he caught sight of something and laughed in delight. “The Octopus! I haven’t been on that contraption since you dragged me onto it, kicking and screaming.”
“It probably isn’t the exact same one,” Dean said matter-of-factly.
“I’ll bet it is. That one’s been seeking vengeance ever since I survived its first attempt at killing me.”
Small Town Sonata Page 18
