THIRTY-NINE
______
DANTE
Fourteen months later
The house had been built while we were away on tour. An enormous wall surrounded the entire property to ensure our privacy. A state-of-the-art recording studio was attached to the back of the house, so I wouldn’t go back to monopolising Phil’s retreat studio. By the time Sean and I returned to Brisbane, all we had to do was move in. That happened a month ago, and today we were finally getting the opportunity to put the large back deck to use—for Sean’s birthday celebration.
Two long tables had been set up, end-to-end, so we could seat all twenty guests in relative comfort. I’d roped Sean’s mother into helping me decorate. When it came to centrepieces and place settings, I didn’t have a clue where to start. Now, though, the tables were set and ready for the planned birthday feast.
I’d hired caterers to provide said feast. Cleaning up my act when it came to keeping dirty clothes off the bedroom floor may have been easy enough, but cooking for a large party was way beyond my still limited cooking skills. Sean had suffered through my cooking enough times now, he was more than happy for me to bring in food from the outside world.
The guests started to arrive shortly before lunch, including Sean’s parents and sister, and everyone from the pool party Sean had thrown for my own birthday so long ago. Connor still laughingly referred to me asthe other man.In return, Sean would wink and assure him I was nowthe only manhe would ever need.
My new manager was also there. I’d found him backstage at a local gig, ordering the talent around with a calm politeness that defied the suppressed energy emanating from his body. After luring him back to the rental Sean and I had been living in at the time, I’d played the new album for him. He’d all but launched off the couch with cries of ‘Fuck, yes!’ and began making plans for the release of the album, the associated merchandise, and the promotional tour. I don’t think I ever did get around to offering him the job, he just kind of took it and ran with it, stopping now and then to check we were on track with myartistic genius, as he liked to put it. The first time he did that check, I knew I had the right man for the job.
The album had been a huge success, with sales surpassing all my other albums combined. There had been some blowback, of course, but for the most part I’d been overwhelmed with support from fans all around the world. My prediction that Sean and I would be hounded by the media every time we left the house was spot-on, but we’d managed to get through it the same way we got through all life’s up and downs now—together. Eventually the media had grown bored with us and moved on.
“Thank you all for coming today,” I said to the gathered crowd as everyone finished up the main meal. “Last year for Sean’s birthday, I took him to the largest camera store I could find and told him to go nuts. He bought a couple of lenses to use on the tour,” I added with a wry grin. “Not exactly the shopping bonanza I had in mind, but,” I held up a hand in acknowledgment, “one of those lenses did come in handy when it came to taking the photo that made it onto the front cover of a certain international music magazine.”
A deafening cheer went up around the table and Sean rose from his chair beside me to give a laughing bow. His own success as a music photographer had gone from strength to strength, outstripping every fantasy his teenage self ever had. Now my tour was over, it would be my turn to follow Sean around as he furthered his career. After all, I could begin writing my next album anywhere.
“This year,” I continued, when the noise died down, “I decided to give him something a little different.” I crossed to a nearby couch to pluck out the guitar hidden behind it. Another cheer followed, complete with hands pounding on the table. Grabbing a bar stool, I perched on the edge and lifted the guitar, my male guitar of course, onto my lap. “This isn’t the first song I’ve written as a gift for Sean. You may all know the other one, ‘Found in You’.”
“That’s right, baby!” Sean’s shout could be heard over the whistles and catcalls that erupted. He turned to Gabi, who sat beside him at the table. “I told you he wrote that song for me, didn’t I?”
Gabi nodded. “I never doubted it for a second, honey,” she assured him.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders before turning back to me, his grin wide and eyes filled with excitement. “Okay, I’m ready. Lay it on me.”
I winked at him as I began to play.
The song had come to me one morning in London. We’d been halfway through the tour and, although I was exhausted, I’d been unable to sleep. Phrases for another song had played through my head, arranging and rearranging themselves until each fell into its rightful place. I knew if I didn’t get the words down on paper, I could lose them.
Climbing out of the bed, I’d gone out to the living area of the suite we were in that night. I’d spent the next half-hour writing bits of verse and chorus on a notebook, the end of my pen tapping out various rhythms on my thigh. A shuffling noise made me glance up as Sean came into the room rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Missed you,” he’d muttered before crawling onto the couch beside me. He promptly went back to sleep with his bare feet tucked into my lap. Not only had I finished the song that had kept me awake, but another entirely new song fell out of me and onto the page. My hand had rushed across the paper so fast I’d been concerned about being able to read it later.
After I finished, I’d roused Sean enough to lead him back to bed, where I’d made love to him for over an hour before finally giving in to the then-desperate need for completion. In that one night, I had everything I would ever need right there in the room with me. My music, my grey-eyed boy and Sean.
That second song, written from the heart in the middle of the night, was my gift now to the only man I had ever loved.
By the time the final notes faded, there were several sets of glassy eyes there on the verandah, but also plenty of smiles and an enthusiastic round of applause. I’d been hoping for such a reaction but, of course, one person’s reaction mattered most.
In the next instant, Sean threw his arms tight around my neck. “It’s so beautiful.”
He’d buried his face in my neck, so I barely understood the words, but it was good enough for me—except for one thing. “Babe, you’re choking me.”
“Sorry.” His arms loosened a fraction as he lifted his head to kiss my cheek. “I love my song. Thank you.”
“Happy birthday, Grey,” I said with a smile.
“Best birthday ever,” he replied.
* * *
The final birthday traditions had been fulfilled, all the way down to the off-key singing and the devouring of cake. Everyone was full and lazy as we relaxed on the deck finishing the last of the wine and pondering the restorative effects of coffee. It was the perfect moment—until my father arrived.
