Just a Little Heartache (The Brotherhood #5) - Merry Farmer Page 0,1

done, he rolled his shoulders and tilted his chin up. “Perhaps we should ask Mr. Cristofori where he thinks I should deliver the outstanding solo he’s written expressly for me, which is custom tailored to satisfy the tastes of my adoring public?” He arched one eyebrow and glanced from Abrams to Niall.

Abrams crossed his arms and looked to Niall as well.

“How can you live with a man who believes the sun shines out of his arse?” Niall muttered to Patrick.

Patrick chuckled. “He knows that arse belongs to me.”

Niall laughed before he could stop himself. But at the same time, a pang of longing squeezed his chest. He’d had a love like that once. He’d been able to make ribald jokes and back them up with long, sleepless nights. He’d once had someone who looked at him the way Everett was looking at Patrick now, like nothing else mattered but him, and he’d been able to return those looks, those kisses, those touches.

All that was gone now. All he had left was the letter that practically screamed in his pocket, right over his aching heart.

He cleared his throat and pushed forward to the center of the stage. Once at Everett’s side, he turned to study the chorus, then pivoted forward to judge the distance to the audience. He walked down to the apron of the stage, glanced back at the chorus again, then gauged the distances to both of the wings. Finally, he strode back to where Everett stood, chin still tilted up, and motioned to three of the chorus girls.

“Cheat your way downstage,” he instructed them. “That way Everett can stand closer to the audience for the number without looking as though he’s ignoring the chorus entirely.”

The girls rushed to take up their new places. Everett preened as though he’d scored a victory. Abrams scowled from his platform in the house.

“Do you have a problem, Mr. Abrams?” Niall asked.

“Only that I thought you’d hired me to direct this production,” he answered.

Niall smiled reflexively. It was what he always did when faced with a confrontation where he knew he was right but didn’t want to offend anyone. “So I did, Mr. Abrams. Because you are the best there is. However, I do have directorial experience, and Everett is right, in part, when he says that the audience is coming to see him as well as my work.”

Everett crossed his arms and smirked at Abrams as if to say he’d told him so. At least, until Niall turned to him and murmured, “You’re not helping, and stop being such a pillock.”

Everett dropped his arms and sighed. Abrams shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking as though all he really wanted to do was get on with things.

“Can we finish the number?” Niall asked, glancing from Everett to Abrams and back. “We have to clear off the stage in a few minutes so that Gerald and the others can finish with the set anyhow.”

“Whatever you say, Niall,” Everett answered with a smile and a pointed look to Abrams. Niall suspected Everett had used his given name as proof that he was personal friends with Niall, whereas Abrams was hired help.

“Behave,” Niall told him in a low voice as he moved to leave the stage. “Or else I’ll have Patrick punish you later.”

“Ooh, yes please,” Everett cooed in a particularly fey manner, winking past Niall at Patrick.

Niall shook his head as he left the stage. “Make sure he doesn’t get arrested before opening night,” he told Patrick as he passed.

“If it hasn’t happened by now….” Patrick let the rest of the sentence fade.

Niall chuckled and moved on, heading back to the theater’s workshops to put out whatever other fires had started with his production before it was too late. His grin over Everett’s antics and Patrick’s understated adoration faded before he’d made it to the hall. The letter in his pocket demanded his attention once again, as if it were literally on fire. He thought about it every spare second of the day. Whenever the necessities of his production, on stage and off, or essentials, such as sleeping and eating, weren’t at the forefront of his mind, the letter was.

He’d read it so many times that he didn’t need to take it out of his pocket to remember the words.

“Dearest Niall. I will be blunt. Since seeing you again after such a long and bitter separation a fortnight ago, my life and my world have utterly fallen apart. I don’t know how to