Page 13 of Key Change

“Hard to believe, but I was young once, and there were and are more exciting things to do than practice for hours at a time.”

“Who’s Anthony?”

Cillian pressed his lips together. She didn’t miss much. “A potential client.” A small lie because it was none of her business.

“Oh.” She dropped her books into her bag. “Mum will pitch a fit if I don’t spend at least an hour practicing.”

Cillian nodded. There’d been a point where he’d considered quitting because it had gotten hard. But he didn’t want to work on the farm, and he wanted out of the tiny town. In response, Nan took him to Sydney to see two shows, reminding him what was possible and what she’d been unable to do. Her husband had kept her on the farm and her playing had been limited to church and teaching—which was an absolute fucking waste of her talent. His funeral had been rather joyous.

“Tell her we’re working on musicality. I want your favorite part perfect, and I want you to play it with two different emotions.” He gave a quick demonstration. It wasn’t what Emily should work on, but if she didn’t find her love of music again, no amount of practice was going to help.

Emily held out a notebook labeled homework. She was well past needing a homework book, but her mother checked on what she was working on. Dutifully, he wrote in the book, hoping Emily’s mother got off her throat and let her breathe.

He handed the book back. “I look forward to discussing your choices next week.” And he hoped the mother wouldn’t call asking what the fuck he was thinking. With the prices he charged, she needed to shut up, back off, and trust him.

As soon as Emily shut the door of his apartment, he picked up his phone. He had twenty minutes before the next student—he’d learned the hard way that he needed a break between students—and he wasn’t going to waste them.

While Anthony had appeared reserved last night, from what he’d read online last night, that was a new thing. There were mentions of parties and drug possession had been one of the charges. It hadn’t only been Anthony, either. Two of his friends had also been found guilty. Would he slide back into old habits?

Anthony had left out the drug charges last night, but he must have expected Cillian to do some research—one news article suggested the real crime was getting caught and drawing attention to what plenty of others were doing. Anthony and his friends might have gotten away with a few years for the money crimes, but someone had wanted to stitch him and his friends up.

There were still a couple of articles waiting to be read on his phone. It was all rather fascinating and must have been hot gossip at the time. The wild parties and whispers of too much success too fast. Too soon. They had been too public. And somehow, he’d been oblivious, engrossed with the parties at uni and getting as many hands on him as possible.

Thinking about Anthony made his skin tighten with anticipation. Did he want to date him? Did he need to date him to pin him to his bed?

That was definitely where he wanted Anthony.

It was the omission that annoyed him. Cillian hadn’t judged him for his past, so why hadn’t Anthony told the whole truth?

Anthony was complicated, and there were easier men to have fun with. Easier, but no one had made his heartbeat faster like that in a while. Or made him behave so recklessly… Then there was the way Anthony might help him with his Hayden problem.

He listened to the message.

Dinner.

A very traditional and boring first date, if that’s what it was. Maybe it was a continuation of the getting to know each other they’d started last night. Only this time there’d be no crowd watching.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

Anthony put on the tie,then took it off again. This wasn’t a formal occasion. It was drinks, not even dinner. While the idea of dinner had been stressful, Cillian downgrading the evening to pizza and drinks wasn’t promising.

That Cillian was picking him up because he hadn’t sorted out his driver’s license, and didn’t have a car, did nothing for his already damaged pride. Meeting him at the place would’ve been better.

He ran his fingers through his hair again and stared at his reflection. He looked the part of a successful date, even if he was only playing the role. He’d set himself the goal of having his life back on track within six months. He hadn’t told his shrink that. She’d tell him he was pushing too hard and that his life was different now—she’d already said those things when they’d talked about goals and what he wanted to do over the next year.

He disagreed. If he didn’t push, then he’d wallow. And wallowing achieved nothing.

What he wanted was his old life back, or something close. Somehow. He made his way to the lounge room to wait, dropping on to the sofa.

Margot glanced up from her book. “I’m not coming to pick you up if you get stranded.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” He was still her baby brother, but he wasn’t a baby. He could look after himself.

She smiled. “Have fun. You need it.”

What he needed was a job. “I need to practice driving.”

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