Straight to the Heart

by S. J. Coles

  He was about to move to get a better look at the view when his eye was caught by a turntable in the corner. It sat on a table next to a set of shelves stuffed to bursting with vinyl records. More were stacked on the floor and leaning against the table legs. James flipped through them, quietly amazed. Black Sabbath, Motorhead and Iron Maiden sat on the same shelf as did an album of Elton John’s greatest hits, Bob Dylan and the Beatles. They were lovingly cared for, each in its own protective plastic wallet. He stopped at a slightly battered copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. He stared at the cream cover in amazement.

  “Ah, you like that one, huh?” Hannah had appeared at his elbow, beaming at the record with something like paternal pride.

  “Is this…?”

  “An original 1977 pressing? Sure is,” he said, taking the record from James’ hands and slipping it out of the sleeve with practiced ease. “Picked it up at a yard sale for ninety-nine cents, if you can believe it.” He lifted the lid of the record player, placed the vinyl disk on the platter, switched it on and touched the needle to the record. Lindsey Buckingham’s upbeat tones filled the room from a number of well-positioned speakers, and James’ heart skipped about.

  “You like this album?” Hannah ventured.

  James hurriedly schooled his expression. He cleared his throat with a swallow of beer. “Mum used to play it a lot.”

  “She has good taste,” Hannah smiled, turning his green eyes the color of sun-warmed grass. He raised his beer. “Cheers.”

  James nodded. “Cheers.”

  “Have a seat. Enjoy the tunes. You hungry? Cops are always hungry, right?”

  James winced, the word reminding him that he really shouldn’t be there, but Hannah had already returned to the kitchen. His voice was raised as he sang along, with no small amount of skill, to Second Hand News. James sat. The couch was as comfortable as it looked. The room was warm, the beer cold and the familiar music was filling him with something pleasant and comforting that he found increasingly hard to fight.

  The smell of frying steak soon filtered through from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled. He swallowed more beer then jumped as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He swore, pulled it out and saw Angelina’s number on the screen. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glanced toward the kitchen and put the phone back in his pocket.

  He leaned into the cushions, reading the Rumours album sleeve as he sipped his drink and quietly decided to let himself not think about anything—just for once, just today…especially today.

  “Ta-da,” announced Hannah a little while later, coming into the living room brandishing trays of mismatched plates piled with steak, mashed potatoes and mushroom sauce and two tumblers of wine. “Not exactly an English Sunday roast but close enough.”

  “It looks great, thanks. This is really…great.” James smiled as he took the plate Hannah offered him.

  “My pleasure, dude. Believe me, eating and drinking alone is fine, but when that’s all you do the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year, it’s nice to have a change.”

  “You live alone then?” James asked, somewhat redundantly, glancing around the tiny apartment.

  “Since Evelyn died, yeah.”

  “Evelyn?”

  He grinned around a mouthful of food. “My goldfish. Won her at the carnival.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Hannah laughed, then coughed and cleared his throat with wine. “You bastard. I loved that fish.”

  They ate their food with more small talk that James found alarmingly easy. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the music or just the day, but he finally couldn’t stop himself admitting that he was entranced with Leo Hannah. Even the way he moved when pouring more wine held James spellbound. He was so easy in his own skin. He had what James could only call grace, moving his body like a musician playing a favored instrument. His humor seemed always ready and his cynicism was shot through with sincerity, taking out the sting from his many barbed comments.

  To his surprise, James found himself laughing along, giving almost as good as he got and warming to the exchanges as they finished the last of the wine and he moved back onto beer.

  “I knew you were funny,” Hannah said with a wide grin as he scraped the last of the potato from his plate. “I knew it. I could see it in your face.”

  “Is that right?”

  He nodded. “I said to myself, ‘There’s a funny guy buried under all those layers of repression’.”

  “You did, huh?”

  “Sure. There’s a glint you see, right in the eyes—mischief, adventure, humor. It’s buried deep, but it’s there.”

  “I think I must be funnier than I mean to be.”

  “You can’t tell me there’s not a single aspect of yourself you don’t have under rigid control, Agent James Solomon.”

  James opened his mouth to form an answer when his phone buzzed again. Hannah watched him ignoring it with a wry expression. The album played out and scratched softly as the needle swayed around the center of the record.

  “You should answer it,” Hannah said in a different voice. James pulled out his phone. Angelina had hung up, but her two missed calls glowed on the screen under the more-than-usually obvious date. “Family, right? Go on,” he urged. “Ring them back.” James stared at the phone screen, twirling the beer bottle in his other hand. “What’s the problem? You don’t like them?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just Dad and I…we…”

  “You don’t get on?”

  James raised his eyes to find Hannah watching him intently. “We do. There’s just been some…tension, recently.”

  “Why?”

  James took a breath. “Because of my ex.”

  Hannah nodded understandingly. “Did your pop reckon he was too good for you? Or not good enough?”

  James smothered his reaction to the realization that Hannah knew he was gay and quickly clamped down on worrying about what that implied. “Not good enough.”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  “I don’t know,” James admitted. “My ex, he…he was everything to me. For a long time. I loved him.”

  “You broke up,” Hannah pointed out after a long moment. “Something wasn’t right. Right?”

  “I guess,” he admitted.

  “So?”

  James let out a noisy sigh. “It just…breaking up ruined everything—and I mean everything.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, hanging his head. It was like something inside him had been lanced and now that he’d started he couldn’t stop. “Ever since we split, it’s been hard just to be around anyone that knew us as a couple. And that’s basically everyone. I can see it’s all they’re thinking about when they look at me, all they want to ask about. Even my family.” He closed his eyes. “Between my sister being so sure we would make it and Dad being so sure we wouldn’t…” He shook his head. “It’s hard. That’s all, especially at this time of year.”

  “What’s this time of year?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Hannah leaned closer, making James’ heart skip, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Call your family, James. They just wanna know you’re okay.”

  “You’re very confident in your advice for someone who doesn’t know them—or me, for that matter.”

  Hannah chuckled softly. “All families are messed up, right? I just know nice guys like you usually have nice families, even if they are messed up at the same time.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Sure it’s so,” he replied, gesturing at the balcony. “Go on. Call them. I’ll find more music.”

  James hesitated a fraught moment longer, then moved out onto the balcony, shivering in the early spring chill, and rang Angelina.

  “James! About time too,” she scolded, but her tone was light. “We’re just about to sit down to breakfast.”

  “Hi, Angelina. How is everyone?”

  “Good,” she piped, and James could hear high-pitched laughter in the background. �
��The boys are making sure Dad’s entertained. And I’m making his favorite dinner later.”

  “You’re making mac and cheese for their anniversary?”

  “All right, funny guy. His other favorite. Beef Wellington and roast veggies, just like Mum made it. Well,” she added, her voice a little strained, “almost like Mum made it. She never did give me her secret ingredient. How’s your day?”

  “Fine,” he replied. He chewed on his thoughts a long moment as his sister warned her sons about using water pistols in the house. “Is Dad there?” he asked in the next available lull.

  “Yeah, yeah he is,” she said, her voice warm with approval. “I’ll pass you on. But first, tell me you’re all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Working?”

  “No, I’m done for the day.”

  “You on your own?”

  James looked back over his shoulder to where he could see Hannah flicking through records and humming. “No, I’m with a friend.”

  “A friend? Who?”

  “No one you know.”

  “You don’t know anyone out there either.”

  “I am capable of making friends, Angelina.”

  “I know that,” she returned. “Just…man or woman?”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You know why it matters,” she replied in a lowered voice. When he didn’t reply straight away, she added, “I’m just watching out for you, James.”

  “A man,” James replied. “But relax. He’s local and…I just think he’s lonely. Besides, he’s probably straight.”

  “Probably?”

  “I haven’t asked. It’s not important. We’re just having a meal.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Anything else?”

  “You’re an adult, James. You can do what you want. It’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  She sighed. “I know it’s been over a year, but I still think you’re in a vulnerable place right now. Especially after losing Mum as well.”

  James swallowed the flare of annoyance with an effort. “I had a break-up, Angelina, not open-heart surgery.”

  “I know, I know,” she said. “But it was hard. I know that.”

  “Yes. Yes, it was. Is. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look out for myself.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I trust you to know what you’re doing.”

  He wished she didn’t sound quite so much like she was trying to convince herself. “Is Dad there?”

  “Sure,” she said and she sounded like she was smiling again. “Here. Dad? Dad, it’s James.”

  James scuffed his feet on the salt-stained boards of the balcony as his dad came on the line. The familiar deep voice had its lately just-as-familiar stiffness to it. James made himself be patient, for Angelina’s sake, if nothing else. They exchanged pleasantries. He kept his voice and comments neutral and was rewarded with a softening in his father’s tone as he asked after his work.

  “It’s going as well as it can in a small town like this.”

  His father grunted. “Yeah, I remember small-town operations all too well. Almost everything shuts for the weekend, right? Absolute ball ache. But just let them know who’s boss and they’ll soon fall into line.” A moment of silence. “And you? You…okay?”

  “I’m good,” he replied, turning to see Hannah watching him with a smile.

  “Good. See? What did I tell you, boy?” his father went on, his voice hardening. “You’re better off without that Glen character. He was no good. I said so to your mother. Messed you around from the start, that one. If a man don’t understand himself, ain’t no way he’s gonna understand anyone else.”

  The familiar heat rose in James’ chest, but he took a breath and damped it down. “Sure, Dad. But…let’s not talk about it today, huh?”

  A pause. “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

  “How are you, Dad?”

  “Oh, you know. Same old, same old. You eating properly?”

  James smiled as he recognized his father sidestepping and repressed a sigh. “Yeah. Steak and potatoes for lunch today.”

  “Good. You need to keep some meat on your bones in that line of work.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I know you know, son.” Another pause. “Good luck with the investigation. Be safe, yeah?”

  “Sure, Dad,” James replied. “I’m thinking of you, you know? And Mum.”

  “I know you are, Jimmy. Bye.”

  “See?” Hannah said as stepped back into the welcome warmth of the living room. “What did I tell ya? You feel good now, right? And the sky didn’t fall and the sea didn’t boil.”

  “Yes, you made your point.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Hannah dropped himself on the couch, opening two more beers that stood on the coffee table. Some soft, low music threaded in the air. A crooner…Elvis, maybe. James closed the sliding door on the cold outdoors and gingerly took his seat on the couch, trying to untangle the feelings swirling with the alcohol in his veins.

  “You’re thinking too much again. You get this little line”—Hannah pointed between his eyebrows—“just there.”

  “I’m just wondering what’s happening here.” James spoke carefully but he still regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

  Hannah’s face was unreadable. “Lunch.”

  “That’s it?”

  Hannah put his head on one side. “That’s not enough?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Relax, James. We’re just two people keeping each other company for the day.”

  “I’m not used to people enjoying my company lately.”

  “Their loss.” Hannah’s smile was warm. Maybe too warm.

  “Do you see much of your own family?” James ventured cautiously.

  “Uh…” Hannah’s smile lost some of its humor. “I don’t exactly have any.”

  “‘Don’t exactly’?”

  “Well,” he shrugged, looking awkward for the first time since James had met him. “I’ve got a half-brother somewhere upstate, from my dad’s first marriage. I only met him once.”

  “And your dad?”

  “My folks were killed in a car crash when I was fifteen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” he replied, grabbing his cigarettes from the coffee table. “It was a long time ago.”

  James watched him light a cigarette in silence, groping for a way to fix whatever it was he’d broken. “Tell me about them.”

  Hannah raised his eyebrows. “My folks?”

  “Sure. Were you close?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess,” Hannah said, guardedly. “They were my folks.”

  “No one’s ever asked you about them before?” James guessed, watching the younger man’s face.

  Hannah blinked. Smoke drifted in slow tendrils from his nose. “No.”

  “What were their names?”

  His mouth twitched. “Jack and Jill.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He grinned. “No, really. Jack and Jill Hannah. They got hell for it all the time.”

  “I can guess. They liked music, right?”

  The green eyes narrowed. “You psychoanalyzing me now, Agent Solomon?”

  “No. Just interested.”

  Hannah blew out a long puff of smoke. “Yeah, they liked music. Half my collection was theirs. Dad was always in some band or other, trying to make it big. Mom sang in the church choir and did session work to pay the bills. What about your mom? She like music in general or just Fleetwood Mac?”

  James breathed in through the painful jerk of emotion. “She liked a lot of seventies stuff—ELO, Queen, that sort of thing.”

  “‘Liked’?”

  “She died last year. Cancer.”

  “Oh shit. Sorry.”

  “Thanks,” James said, peeling the label off his beer bottle.

  “You miss her?”

  “Yeah, I do. You miss your
parents too, right? That’s how it works.”

  Hannah’s smile was wistful as he gazed at the record spinning on the turntable. He blew out the smoke, reached over and stubbed the cigarette in an overfilled ashtray on the coffee table. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment, drinking, listening to the music and watching each other.

  “You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” James heard himself say.

  “I do lots of things I shouldn’t,” Hannah replied. Without breaking eye contact, he removed his glasses, folded them and laid them on the table. James swallowed. His heart fluttered behind his ribs like a caged bird. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hannah’s mouth. The alcohol thrummed in his veins as the soft music wreathed in the air with smell of Hannah’s cigarette.

  James put his beer down and shifted closer. Something flickered in the ocean-green depths of Hannah’s eyes. They sat, their faces close together, breathing hard. James could feel the warmth of their mingled body heat in the air between them.

  James honestly believed nothing would have happened until the very moment Hannah glanced at his lips. That was all it took for his resolve to whisk away like smoke in the wind.

  He leaned over and captured Leo’s mouth with his own. He tasted like beer and cigarettes. His mouth was warm and eager. He made a sound deep in his throat that had James’s blood racing to his head and groin all at once. The kiss deepened. Hannah leaned back into the cushions, shifting to pull James on top of him.

  James seized up. He pulled away, panting. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered.

  “I’m not,” Hannah returned, his cheeks flushed, eyes dark with arousal.

  “I can’t,” James stuttered, standing and trying to adjust his suddenly restrictive jeans. “I really can’t. I gotta go.”

  “James…James.”

  He stumbled to the kitchen, grabbed his coat and rattled the locked apartment door. He cursed, looking around for the key. Hannah was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching him with something between amusement and exasperation on his face.