Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (15 page)

“A gazebo. Amazing. Thanks. Now, let’s get back to Brown Gargle. Maybe Jax still has those maple-ginger doughnuts I didn’t try this morning and I could ask him about Jenny, see how much access he’s been granted to her hospital room.” He slaps his gloved palms together, greedy for the distraction of gossip.

“No, dummy. Not the gazebo.” Will takes hold of Patrick’s hand again and walks him across the garden area and toward the round wooden structure. As Patrick climbs the stairs behind him, he sees it: an old upright piano, painted purple and gold.

“It’s decorated in Healing High’s colors.”

It sits in the middle of the octagon-shaped floor.
Tickle Me and I’ll Sing for You
is painted across the front in sparkling paint, and the matching wooden bench is nailed down to the floor.

“So you brought me to see a previously perfectly good instrument that’s been violated by obscene colors and is currently being destroyed by the elements. Touching.”

“No, I brought you here to play it.”

“Excuse me?”

Will tugs him closer. “It’s just me and you here. Why not?”

“You know damn well why not.”

Will bites his lower lip, gazing away from Patrick out to where the woods touch the boundary to the school. “I know what you told me, but I know you loved music once.”

“Past tense.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You could reclaim it.”

“Why?”

“Because you spent all day terrified about your job, worrying about things you
can’t
control, thinking you don’t have anything else to offer yourself or the world. But there is something else you used to be good at, something you could learn to love for your own reasons.”

Patrick taps his thigh.

“You used to love the piano. You used to be good at it. Don’t you think you could love it again?”

“No.”

“Okay. Fine. Be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn.”

“Whatever. I’ll play it.” Will shrugs and takes off his gloves.

“Not ‘This Old Man’ again.”

“I’ll compose my own piece.” Will sits down and cracks his knuckles. “Okay, so hmm. It’ll go something like this.” His fingers plunk down on the keys and mildly out of tune notes rise up. 

Patrick sighs and studies Will’s profile. He’s backlit by the streetlight and his eyes fall closed as he feels his way through whatever is passing for music to him right now.

Patrick’s heart squeezes. “Scoot over. Hands off.”

Will’s smile hits him brighter than the sun setting behind the school. “Yes. You’ve got this.”

Patrick doesn’t speak, pressing his thigh against Will’s as he removes his gloves and haltingly begins to play.

He’s rusty and he isn’t playing any song in particular, just out-of-tune chords and notes that float away in the cold air. Will’s right up next to him, solid and real, and he focuses on it as he lets his fingers move over the keys. He doesn’t know what he’s playing and it doesn’t matter. The music is birdlike. It rises up and takes flight. It’s sharp at times, and a little angry, but he’s not panicking yet. So he shifts closer and hits the keys harder.

He presses his thigh against Will’s again. It’s just the two of them. There’s no rent money riding on his performance, no father there with beer breath to threaten him if he screws up. It’s just music that he’s making, and it’s not good, but it’s not bad. It’s harmless. Because Gerry’s gone. Because Will is here. And that’s what matters now.

Will is here.

When he pulls his fingers off the keys, Will wraps him up in his arms and holds him tight. They don’t speak and Patrick’s happy about that. He relaxes, breathing in Will’s warmth and skin scent.

“Want to get that decaf coffee now?” Will asks.

As they stand to leave, Patrick leans over and plays the opening bars of Dan Hill’s “Sometimes When We Touch.” He doubts Will recognizes the song. It’s older than Patrick, but it was a staple in his father’s bar scene. He’d heard it on the radio by the nurses’ station earlier in the week and he’d lingered like an idiot
relating
to the lyrics like some lovesick fool.

Will waits at the bottom of the gazebo steps, eyes warm and soft with affection as Patrick plays through the first chorus.

It’s an admission to himself that his world has permanently shifted. Like stepping foot into the Child Protection Agency all those years ago, this is a declaration of his truth. And that truth’s a game changer.
 

Will’s a little smug as they walk back to the hotel with Brown Gargle coffee and maple ginger doughnuts for Patrick. He slings his arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “Do you feel better?”

Patrick holds up the doughnut. “This could be the key to world peace. Maybe we should send Missy Hammond a dozen or three.”

Will isn’t going to let him avoid talking about the piano. He’d witnessed Patrick’s talent—felt the way his body released into the music—and he’d been pleased Patrick hadn’t fallen apart. Maybe this is a part of Patrick he can help to heal. After all Patrick’s given him, he wants to give him the piano back in return.

“I’ve been wondering, when’s your birthday?”

Patrick’s brows lower suspiciously. “Why?”

“Maybe I’ll have an electric piano delivered to the Tallgrass to keep in our room. They take up less space and—”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

Will doesn’t care. He pushes things. That’s what he does. And he happens to know Patrick likes that about him. “You’re an Aries, right? So, that means…what? April? March?”

“I don’t want an electric piano, idiot. I just want to work at the hospital, eat doughnuts, and screw you. That’s my perfect life.”

Will gazes at him admiringly. “All said and done, you’re really a simple man, aren’t you?”

“I’m simply going to murder you if you buy me a piano, yes.”

Will laughs and Patrick grins. It makes his heart float and he kisses Patrick’s cheek.

The footsteps and voices explode into the night. Will’s grabbed from behind—jerked away from Patrick and wrestled into a chokehold. He strains against the arms holding him, the night sky filling his vision and his lungs burning, and he gets nowhere against the beefy man holding him. He hears Patrick cry out but doesn’t see him until he’s jerked back around.

Will shouts, “No!”

Patrick’s on his knees with a revolver to his head. A tall, dark-haired man in a black suit and a white fedora pulled low over his eyes stands directly behind him. The man looks up, meets Will’s eye and smiles.

“Hello, Guglielmo.”

Will’s released with a small shove. His hand goes to his throat as he falls to his knees next to Patrick. “It’s okay.” Patrick stares at him wide-eyed and shockingly silent. “Stay still and calm. It’s going to be okay.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, son.”

Will looks up to meet his father’s shadowed gaze. “Let him go, Dad! Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.” Tony grins and cocks the hammer.

Tune in March 2016 for the continuation of the
Wake Up Married
serial with
Will & Patrick Meet the Mob
!

(Pre-order available now by clicking
HERE
!)

Author of the bestselling book Smoky Mountain Dreams and the fan favorite Training Season, Leta Blake's educational and professional background is in psychology and finance, respectively. However, her passion has always been for writing. She enjoys crafting romance stories and exploring the psyches of made up people. At home in the Southern U.S., Leta works hard at achieving balance between her day job, her writing, and her family.
You can find out more about her by following her online:
On the web:
http://letablake.wordpress.com
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Be sure to check these other novels by Leta Blake!

The River Leith

Smoky Mountain Dreams

The Training Season Series

Training Season

Training Complex

Co-Authored with Indra Vaughn

Vespertine

Gay Fairy Tales

Co-Authored with Keira Andrews

Flight

Levity

Rise

Free Read

Stalking Dreams

Discover more about the authors online:

Leta Blake

Alice Griffiths