Staccato (Magnum Opus #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,61
change. It was time to shake things up.
It was time for…something.
Adam, his mind whispered, but he shoved that way. He longed to be like Nicolas and Cedric. He longed to be a name that fell down into the history books as one of the romantic greats. He wanted epic love, but he wasn’t the sort of man who had the spine for it.
Loving meant loss, and he was already so damned alone.
He wished he knew either of those two men. At least enough to ask if it was worth it. Nicolas had to have risked something—he had to have known what Nik felt like on some level. The man was notorious for being an ice-cold bastard before he resurfaced with a younger man on his arm. What was it about Cedric that made him change his mind?
He laughed at himself as the bus arrived—the way he thought of those people as his friends, like he’d known them his whole life rather than spent hours reading everything he could get his fingers on. Once upon a time, they might have traveled in the same circles, but Nik had given that up for his family and this small town.
The bus dropped him at the front of the mall, and he used his earbud and GPS to get him to the front doors. The familiar smells and sounds washed over him, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders as the slick tiles guided him to the shop. His cane hit the edge of the piano, the old, hollow sound like a ballast. His fingers itched as he put his cane aside, then he slid onto the bench and tapped out a few notes.
His music was there, just below the surface, but he couldn’t reach it. He breathed in, and he caught the scent of whatever tangy anesthetic came from the tattoo shop, and it hit him right in the center of his chest. Adam. Always fucking Adam.
His fingers touched the keys this time, and the music poured out of him. It was raw, it was ragged, it was dark and strong. It made his throat tight as he pulled these pieces of himself out and put them on display, and by the time he was finished with what little he had, his hands were shaking.
“That was new, son.”
He managed a wobbly smile as he turned on the bench and lifted his face toward Mitchell. “Just something I was trying out.”
“You still reeling from that concert?”
Nik dragged both hands down his face and groaned. “I’m reeling from the last few years of…feeling lost. Not like myself.” Nik’s hand found the edge of the piano key cover and lowered it with a soft thud. Leaning his elbow on it, he dropped his head to his palms and pressed fingers into his temples. “I found my spark, but…”
“That boy, right? From across the way there?” There was a scraping noise, then Mitchell grunted as he sat in the chair he’d dragged over. “He’s nice.”
“He’s…something,” Nik conceded. He wasn’t sure he’d go with nice, necessarily. It seemed too tidy a way to sum up who Adam was. “I like him.”
“I know. Both of you foolish boys are gone over each other.” Mitchell patted his knee. “Makes an old man’s heart happy.”
“No,” Nik breathed out. “No, we’re not…it isn’t like that.”
“You sayin’ that boy isn’t head over heels in love with you?”
Nik winced at the challenge in Mitchell’s voice, mostly because he couldn’t deny it. Just like he couldn’t deny his own feelings. “I’m an idiot.”
“You can be.”
Nik huffed. “Thanks for that.”
Mitchell’s dry, wheezing laugh was a small comfort in the moment of big pain. “You know I mean well, son. But you were always as stubborn as they came, and you always did let your fear get the best of you. Remember that first concert you played?”
Nik was young, but he’d never forget it. He stood with his dad’s hand clutching his own, right at the edge of where the curtains parted. His feet could feel the vibration every time someone crossed the wood, and he could hear the endless murmur of the crowd. Nik wasn’t the headliner in that concert—there were six other kids, but people had come to see the blind boy play like he was some sort of circus attraction. He knew it then, even at that tender age, and he hated it. He wanted to prove them wrong, but also, he was terrified it wouldn’t matter.