“Was she still fussy?” Walking over to Jewel, Shane crouched in front of her to make a silly face.
“A little, but she’s a lot better. Still hates the medicine, though.” Brandt couldn’t put words to the relief he’d felt that her illness had been very short-lived. He carried the cake to the table as Shane whipped out his phone. “What are you doing? Cake’s not that pretty.”
“It’s for Jewel.” Shane ignored Brandt’s protest and snapped a few pictures of the cake and then baby in her swing. “So she knows we remembered when she turned three months.”
“Good idea.” Not that Brandt was likely to forget Shane’s tender expression or the baby’s gummy grin, but he liked knowing there would be pictures for Jewel to pore over later. After Shane got his pictures, Brandt served them both generous slices and took a seat at the table.
“How was practice?” he asked to distract himself from how hot Shane managed to look eating cake. Him licking the frosting off his fork made Brandt’s dick take notice, but more than that, seeing him enjoy himself with Brandt’s creation made his chest warm and light.
“It was okay.” Shane shrugged and took another bite of the cake.
“Do you think this gig could turn into a regular thing?”
“Maybe.” Shane stuck to the cryptic tone. Something had been going on with him ever since that phone call at the clinic, something that made his mouth tense whenever mention of his music came up. “Cake is good.”
“I couldn’t find candles. And I know better than to try to sing to a professional like yourself, but there’s this.” He slid a box closer to Shane.
“A present?” Shane’s eyebrows went up. It wasn’t a fancy wrapping job by any means. Brandt had marked “gift” on the online order form, and it had arrived in a slim blue box with a silver elastic band, which Shane fingered like it might be a detonator cord.
“You don’t have to look like it might explode.” And there Brandt was, getting antsy again.
“I’m not.” Shane held up his hands. “I’m just surprised. In a good way. Thank you.” Biting his lip, Shane lowered his gaze back down to the present, the color in his cheeks making Brandt wish he had done more.
“Might want to open it before you say that. It’s not much.”
Shane opened the box to lift out the slip of paper Brandt had slid in instead of a greeting card. “A get out of diaper duty coupon? I’ll take that. And what’s this?”
“Like I said. It’s not much.” Brandt gestured at the slim book Shane was turning over in his hands. He opened it to reveal the blank sheet music pages. “But I figured maybe you could use something better than those stacks of legal pads. I did a search on songwriter notebooks and that’s what came up.”
“It’s awesome. Thank you.” Blush deepening, Shane set the book aside and came around the table to kiss Brandt lightly. “I’ll save it for my almost-done tunes that might be worth saving. First song I add is gonna be the one about your friend.”
“Can’t wait to hear it.” Brandt pulled him in close for another kiss, this one longer. Shane tasted sweet but his hold on Brandt’s shoulder was firm, like he too was trying to hold on to this moment for all it was worth.
“Now?” Shane asked as he broke away, glancing down at his guitar case. “I’m still working on parts of the refrain, but I could show you what I’ve got...”
“Yeah.” Brandt reached over and plucked Jewel out of her swing. She’d been about to fuss, and no way did he want to miss this. “Sing us a song.”
Shane sat back down, this time with his guitar and a folded piece of yellow paper, and he strummed idly while Brandt tried to settle the baby.
Humming softly, Shane turned slightly, so Brandt couldn’t see his full face. Then he started singing, and Brandt was back in freefall, that instant when his chute hadn’t deployed and the world had seemed to rush up with startling clarity. Every hundredth of a second had mattered.
Listening to Shane was like that. Riveting. Life changing. Every note mattered. And Shane had only jumped once, had never met Roger outside of Brandt’s memories, and yet he understood on a level Brandt wasn’t sure he himself had until Shane hit a low plaintive note.
A love song.
Shane had written a love song.
Not an ode to heroism as Brandt had ordered. Sure, it had the boy, his dream, and a terrain bigger than both, but it also had the singer who pined with a beauty Brandt wasn’t sure he’d ever heard. Shane drew out the word timber until Brandt felt the note everywhere—behind his eyes, in his thighs and ass, down to his toes. Jewel’s warm weight grounded him, kept him from melting to the rug as Shane finished his song with a little shrug, like maybe he’d surprised even himself.