Page 75 of Symphony of Salvation

“No,” I said. “Save them. You and your dad can open them when you wake up.”

She pouted, but I refused to back down. Throughout dinner, I’d lost confidence in the gift I’d bought for August. Initially thinking myself clever when I’d found it shopping earlier in the day, I no longer wanted to be present at its unveiling, sensing it might cause upset.

Submitting, Constance occupied herself with a book, reading under the lights of the Christmas tree, while August and I compared notes on the Christmas concert since we hadn’t had the chance before now. Before long, we were entrenched in a discussion about the spring concert and who deserved to play solos or duets.

Around nine, Constance announced in simple signs that she was going to bed. August wished her a good night.

We listened as she used the bathroom, wandered to the kitchen for a drink, and closed herself in her bedroom.

Finally alone, a shift occurred. Anticipation thrummed like a plucked string. I knew where the night was going and how it would end. The outcome lacked longevity and promise, but it was Christmas, and I loathed the idea of spending it alone.

We faced each other on the couch—had for most of the night—angled so we both rested an arm on the backrest. We both had a leg drawn up and one on the ground. A mirror image of one another. A reflection. But that was where the similarities ended. August’s poised and refined qualities clashed with my free-spirited ways. He was the real deal. I was a fake.

But August’s caution betrayed him. In the few short weeks of our acquaintance, I’d discovered his fatal flaw, the single character trait that would be responsible for our eventual demise. A profound fear of discovery. And because of it, we were doomed from the start.

Closeted men couldn’t give you their hearts. Not fully. Not honestly. They remained guarded and distant. They gave you enough sustenance to keep you coming back for more, but you remained perpetually unfulfilled. Hungry. Alone.

I shouldn’t have cared. Even if August was out and proud,Iwould ruin us the same. Fixating, overthinking, and comparison were my fatal flaws, and in August’s presence, they flared and burned, devouring any pride or confidence I’d managed to acquire.

For that reason and multitudes of others, I let August initiate contact. If he couldn’t do that much, I was out the door.

But he could, and he did.

It started with a simple touch. He moved his hand to my knee, caressing and watching.Questioning.“I would very much like to take you to bed, Niles.” His usually refined voice came out husky.

“Oh?”

His hand moved up and down my thigh, thumb pressing along the inseam of my pants, dark eyes full of need, lust, and longing.

Accepting August’s offer meant accepting his position and secrecy. I couldn’t get mad when it all turned to shit.

And it would. He was the wrong man. Protecting my heart would be the key to survival. Koa had broken it time and timeagain. Had I learned nothing? Loving a man who couldn’t love you back was hell. So I decided, then and there, that I would not, under any circumstance, fall in love with August Castellanos.

“Niles?”

I covered his hand with my own, steeling my resolve. “Lead the way.”

Behind the closed bedroom door, bravado fortified, August faced me. Tall, dark, and handsome. Like the living embodiment of a bloody Greek god. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry at the irony.

I took in the room, the queen-size bed, the dresser, and the covered window, noting the simple décor and neutral color tone. It didn’t scream glorified musician. Nothing about it shouted August’s wealth or superiority. In fact, it whispered,I’m a normal man with normal problems, same as you.

Yet I couldn’t stop comparing our lives.

August closed the distance. We stood about the same height, yet he always seemed taller. Was it the pedestal in my mind where I’d placed him on the day we met, or was it his sudden confidence now that we were safely hidden away from the world?

August knew what he wanted, and he didn’t hold back.

He removed the tie from my hair, dropping the elastic on the bedside table. Long, variegated golden strands tumbled over my shoulders, framing my face.

For a long time, he simply admired them with awe and wonder. “You are uniquely you, Niles, and I admire that.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He combed his fingers through my hair, tucking it gently behind my ear and caressing my jaw. “You don’t pretend to be anything more than you are. You don’t let others dictate what it means to be professional or steer you away from your passion. You follow your heart and stay true to yourself.”

And look where it’s gotten me,I wanted to say.Forty-four years old, single, and teaching high school music.

These weren’t admirable qualities. Not only had I failed my parents, but I’d failed myself. I’d reached too high and missed the mark. I’d had my eye on the biggest prize I could imagine. It was no wonder I’d lost.

---