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“Alright, monster, I have to take a shower now. If you’re a good dog, I’ll give you a treat when I’m done.So sit.”
Klinger sat immediately, cocking his head to the side ininquiry.
“Good dog!Now stay!”
Klinger lay down, his head on his paws, and prepared himself to wait. It never ceased to amaze Noah how much the animal seemed to understand. He walked into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and set the water temperature while he brushed his teeth. Then he stepped into the shower and ran his hands all over his sweaty body, rinsing off the dog hairs before lathering a washrag and scrubbing his body. He squirted shampoo into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and reached up to wash his hair. From nowhere, the memory of Jax standing before him, eyes closed while Noah washed his hair, made him instantly hard.
He and Jax had only ever showered together a few times after they made love. He’d slept over at Jax’s place on a couple of those occasions once they’d finally gone all the way. It was a revelation to Noah, and he had loved opening himself to Jax in that way. And when, just before dawn that last time, Jax had let him top, Noah had fallen all the way in love with the man who had begun to steal his heart from the very first moment of their meeting.
Inhaling sharply, he finished washing his hair and stepped out of the shower, drying off hurriedly and stepping back into the hallway with the towel wrapped around his middle. There was no way he was rehashing any of his past with the sexy professor. It wouldn’t make a difference. They hadn’t seen each other in ten years, and both had moved on. Jax must surely have found someone else to love by now, someone to replace him. That thought made Noah gasp, as though he’d been punched in the gut. Klinger heard the sound and stood up, bumping him in the leg and looking up intohis face.
“I’m fine, boy, don’t you worry!”
He dragged on a pair of shorts and a tank top, fed Klinger a treat from the not-so-secret stash he kept in his bedside table drawer, and threw himself across his bed, suddenly unable to form a coherent thought. Reaching for the remote, he switched on the television and scrolled through the channels, looking for something to distract him until he fell asleep. Reality shows and animal antics couldn’t hold him, and even BBC America’s documentary series on Earth’s habitats and life forms, which normally he loved, left him cold. He wasn’t in the mood for police procedurals, or vintage comedy, and the pseudo-porn on Cinemax and HBO made his skin crawl. His mind just would not settle.
Finally, he got up and went for a bottle of water, chugging it on his way back to his bedroom. Why wouldn’t Jax leave his head space? He needed to do something, or he’d be a wreck in the morning, and he had scheduled his first private lesson for ten o’clock. He grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to teaching anyone to play an instrument he no longer could play for more than half an hour at a stretch without suffering for it. Maybe he should have offered piano instead of violin lessons. He could play enough for kids to take their exams and enter college with more than enough expertise to study it. He was no classical pianist, nor a virtuoso, but he could holdhis own.
Turning back in the doorway of his bedroom, he went back to the small living room where his instruments lived and sat before the upright piano. His grand piano was in storage until he decided what he was going to do with his life. And the violin leaning against the wall in its case was not the one he used for performances. He let his fingers trail over the keyboard, trying to lose himself the way he used to be able to do, back when he was principal violinist understudy in one of Broadway’s finest orchestras, before his work with the Barrington String Quartet took off. Back before the accident, before he wascrippled.
Hot tears stung his eyelids as the memories rose up like ghouls to shout at him in impotent fury. He swallowed them. Tears were for the weak. He was strong. He had survived a horrible crash and debilitating rehab. He would survive this pain as well. He struck a chord and let that guide him in what to play. But the music was all wrong, the notes jangling like broken wind chimes inhis ears.
“Let go, Noah. Feel the notes. Feel the rhythm. Feel them like rain on your skin, like fingers in your hair, like kisses on your lips. Let them touch you where you want to be touched in this moment. Let go and let them be in you. Let thembeyou.”
Jax’s voice spoke quietly into his tortured mind, his presence almost as real as the stool on which Noah sat, as powerful as the tears that slid unbidden down his cheeks, as seductive as the man who still had his heart. Noah relaxed and wept as he played through the pain in his hands and in his heart. When the piece ended, he closed the piano quietly and curled up on the big old leather couch, dragging the soft throw over himself. He didn’t know when he fell asleep.
Mr. Pyle’s rooster’s morning refrain, followed closely by Klinger’s wet tongue on his face, woke Noah much earlier than he might have been awake on a regular day, but he felt no ill effects from less sleep than usual. In fact, he felt almost energized. His hands were sore, his forearms aching, his fingertips still a bit numb, but the weight of the night before seemed to be lifted. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He needed to meet his new, and so far only, pupil with a fresh face and bright smile. Whatever had caused the change in that last hour before bed, he was grateful. Rising slowly, as his body still needed time to adjust after a night spent curled up on his couch, he did all his stretches, and went to relieve himself in the half bath reserved for guests. Then he made some coffee and let Klinger out while it perked.
By the time he had showered and changed, the sun was bright in the sky, and he was ready to take Klinger for his morning walk, knowing he wouldn’t need to scoop any poop. He was grateful that his dog knew to keep the solid stuff to their yard. He didn’t know how he would manage to clean up after his pet with his clumsy hand in public without drawing attention to himself. And the last thing he wanted was anyone’s attention. That always came with a hefty side of pity, and he wasn’t infor that.
The path he ran at night was the one he took by day to walk the dog. It was long enough that Klinger would get enough exercise, and short enough that he wouldn’t be exhausted when they got back. The dog was fourteen years old, and though he was in good health, he had already exceeded his life expectancy by a year. Noah was grateful for the animal’s presence, especially since his dad was away and wouldn’t be coming up for the holidays for another two weeks.
“Morning,Noah lad!”
Mrs. Pyle’s cheerful greeting pulled a reluctant smile from Noah. She was probably the cheeriest person he knew, always humming and smiling, and had been so since he was asmall boy.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pyle!”
Noah waved as he walked away, glad that she was not much of a talker before noon. The streets were beginning to come alive with locals on their way to work as well as vacationers. Noah let Klinger lead the way and followed the dog slowly, letting the peace of the morning enfold him. In the light of day, his encounter with Jax became less threatening, though he was still unsettled by it. Would they meet again? Where was Jax staying? His thoughts wandered as aimlessly as his dog did, and before he knew it, they were standing together on the end of the pier, looking out over thewide lake.
“Good to see you out and about, Noah! How’s your father doing?”
Another cheerful voice broke into his thoughts, and Noah turned to see his dad’s drinking buddy, Herbert James, walking his little Pomeranian.
“Dad’s fine, thank you, Mr. James. He’ll be up in a coupleof weeks.”
“About damned time, too,” the older man retorted. “How am I supposed to win at poker if he’s not aroundto beat?”
Noah laughed. The men played for beer, and one or the other of them always ended up paying the tab on their nights out. Noah wished he had even one friend like that. Mr. James and his dad had been friends forever, it seemed like, and nothing but death was likely to break them apart.
“How long are you staying this time, son?”
Noah winced. In the last eight years, his summer stays had been shortened by his hectic performance schedules, and he had barely had enough time to spend the odd weekend with his dad. Now, he’d be there for the foreseeable future. He had never spent a winter in the cottage, but no one else needed to know that he was thinking hard about doing so for the first time. Swallowing the ache in his chest, he said, “All summer this year, Mr. James.”
The older man smiled. “I’ll bet your dad will bethrilled.”
Noah smiled, not knowing how to answer that comment. His father didn’t know that he was no longer with the orchestra. That was a bit of news that he had not felt ready to share in an email or over the phone. He didn’t know how his news would be received, and he admitted that part of his anxiety was dread at having to tell his father, who had worked and sacrificed to get Noah to where he had once been, that his son had failed, and that he would no longer be the concert violinist his dad had been so proud to show off to his friends.
“I’d better get going, Mr. James,” he said, suddenly unable to be in anyone’s company. “Have a real niceday, sir.”
