Aria (19 page)

A
IDEN spent half the afternoon tracking Cam down. The rain had begun to fall in earnest. Aiden flipped up the collar of his leather jacket and shivered.

“You’re a weather wuss,” Sam had said after he and Aiden went to the open-air market in the middle of a snowstorm.
“There’s a reason why all the smart people live in the South,” Aiden shot back. They’d warmed themselves by the fire later that morning, drinking coffee laced with Jack Daniel’s and making love on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Aiden figured it was a fair trade.
Aiden had first stopped by the house he used to share with Cam. It was stupid. He had Cam’s number. He was relieved the place had been empty, but he’d wanted to go there, anyhow. Seeing it again, he knew he couldn’t have handled going inside; he missed the place too much. He stood in front of the beautiful Edwardian as the rain made soft noises on his umbrella. He finally tapped his phone when he couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get this over with.
“Hello?”
Aiden took a deep breath. “Cam, we need to talk.”
“Aiden? Is that you?” There was a certain breathless quality in Cam’s voice.
Of course he’s happy to hear from me. It’s what he’s wanted. It’s why he’s doing this.
“Surprised?” Aiden asked.
“I… well, honestly yes. I hadn’t expect—”
“Cut the bullshit, Cam. Where can we meet?”
“Meet? You’re in London?” Cam had always been a consummate actor.
“Just tell me where to meet you.”
“How about Z?”
“The hotel?” Aiden had heard of it. Everyone had. It hadn’t existed when Aiden and Cam were together, but Aiden had heard David mention it. It wouldn’t have been Aiden’s choice—too trendy and far too expensive.
I’m only going to talk to him. Tell him to fuck off and be done with it.
“Fine. Nine o’clock.” He’d go back to the apartment, dry himself off, and change into something better than sweats. Maybe he’d get there a little on the early side and have a drink first. It’d be easier that way.
“I’m so glad you’re going to give me a—”
Aiden tapped the phone and shoved it into his pocket. His jaw hurt, he’d been clenching it so tightly.

T
HE bar at the Z was a study in modern design. Zyng, as the bar was aptly named, was far larger than Aiden had expected and took up nearly the entire sixth floor of the hotel. Textured glass dividers wove in and around mirrors and modern seating in shades of red, silver, and gold. It was still relatively early, right before nine o’clock, but the bar was already filling up with men and women, mostly young, well-dressed, and obviously affluent. Dolce & Gabbana, Missoni, Prada.

The place already vibrated with a steady techno beat. Aiden hated places like this, but he’d tolerated them for Cam’s sake. He knew his dark jeans and simple cotton shirt were stylish, trendy, even if they hadn’t cost him an entire gig’s pay. He’d gotten good at pretending he was something other than the backwoods kid from Buttfuck, Mississippi. David had given him the confidence to mingle with the rich and famous. Cam had shown him a lifestyle he hadn’t even understood existed. But underneath it all, he knew he’d never belong here.

He left his jacket and umbrella at the coat check and walked directly to the bar. “Bourbon. Straight up,” he told the bartender, an outrageously attractive brunette. He’d fantasized about women like her, growing up. Until he realized he’d never have a chance in hell with one. He dated a few women like that after he’d left Cam. He’d worn his bisexuality like an expensive suit, and he’d been the talk at parties: the rising American singer who’d dumped his billionaire boyfriend on the front page of the tabloids. Ironic, that he rarely slept with any of the men or women he’d made sure to be seen with. He’d only wanted to hurt Cam, but he’d ended up hurting himself.

Aiden regretted not telling Cam where they’d meet, but letting Cam take the lead had always been easier. He’d fallen into old habits far too easily, he told himself, and he made a promise not to let it happen again.
He’d
control this conversation.

The bartender put his drink on the counter and Aiden deposited a bill in return, nodding his thanks and leaving before she could get him his change. He didn’t know the place, but he knew Cam. He’d have found the perfect spot: isolated enough for them to talk, but where he’d still be visible. Aiden scanned the club as he drank deeply, ignoring the burn. A few more seconds and his chest warmed. His shoulders relaxed. From the bar, there were three separate seating areas and a dance floor that ran like the spokes of a wheel, each decorated in a slightly different scheme.

He ignored the first, with the long black benches running along its length. Too open. Too few places to sit and no privacy at all. The second was even longer than the first, with a series of S-shaped settees and small cylindrical tables that echoed the colors of the glass.
Not here.
He turned around, bypassing the dance floor for the last seating area, which was peppered with smaller groupings of upholstered chairs. Some were round, others square. Solid colors. Each grouping sat no more than four.

Bingo.
He spotted Cam toward the center of the room, standing and facing the window that looked down onto the street. Taking one more swallow, he walked toward Cam, then paused before drawing closer. Cam was exactly as he remembered him, with his slightly effeminate beauty and almost boyish stance. He wore a pale sweater—cashmere, no doubt—in the perfect shade of green to set off his hazel eyes. His jeans were fitted just enough to emphasize his pert little ass. He wore a single diamond stud in one ear. Aiden almost smiled—Cam only wore the earring when he was out to impress someone. It surprised Aiden to realize that someone was
him
.
Aiden walked past a group of women who were laughing as they passed an iPhone around, sharing photos of God knows what. One of them looked up and smiled at him. Aiden returned the smile mechanically.
“Cam.”
Cam turned around and smiled. “Aiden. So good to see you.” He moved to embrace Aiden, but Aiden stepped back. The result was an awkward peck on Aiden’s cheek, although Cam handled the rebuff like a pro, expertly maneuvering to Aiden’s side and guiding him to one of the chairs. Cam had clearly anticipated Aiden’s cool response. “You look fabulous. I like your hair a bit longer. I’m glad you finally took my advice. It’s really quite—”
“I’m not here to chat, Cam.”
Cam looked genuinely disappointed, and for an instant, Aiden hesitated. He was angry, angrier than he’d been when he’d walked in on Cam and Jarrod more than two years before. But he was also tired. Tired of the games, tired of worrying about things between him and Sam, tired of being angry. He’d loved Cam, enough that he’d thought they’d spend their lives together, and now….
“Please, Aiden”—Cam fiddled with the ear stud, obviously uncomfortable—“have a seat.”
“Thanks.” Aiden tried to gather his thoughts.
“So what can I do for you?” It was an odd thing to say, and Aiden wondered vaguely if he’d been wrong about Cam. Not that the man would gloat to his face, but still, if he’d been trying to sabotage Aiden’s career, would he look so… contrite?
This is Cam, remember? The man who cheated on me, then came home and made love to me without even batting an eye. King of the bullshitters.
“I know what you’re doing, Cam. Get a life. Leave mine alone.”
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Cam answered, frowning. “Other than the flowers, I—”
“Don’t mess with me. It’s over.
We’re
over. A long time ago. Let it be. Move on.” Aiden hadn’t meant to raise his voice—it was part of the reason he’d agreed to meet Cam in public. Here, he wouldn’t be tempted to punch the hell out of the little shit.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Aiden stood up abruptly and grabbed for the collar of Cam’s shirt, snagging one of the buttons, which popped off and landed unceremoniously on the floor.
Oh, that’s great. So much for not making a scene.
Cam put his hand on Aiden’s wrist, meeting his gaze with a look of surprise and… guilt?
No. Not guilt. He’s scared I’m going to beat the shit out of him.
For an instant, they both stood there. Then Aiden released his grip on Cam and stepped back as though he’d been burned. What the hell had he been ready to do to Cam? His lack of self-control scared the crap out of him. He was exhausted and worried about both his career and his relationship with Sam, but to come so close to hitting Cam? He felt physically ill and disgusted with himself.
“Leave me alone,” Aiden said, then turned and walked out of the bar.

A
IDEN arrived back at David’s place. It was empty. Dark.
Lonely.
David had left the night before to meet Alex in Rio. Aiden wished David were around; he could use an ear right about now. He thought briefly about Sam, but the last thing he wanted was to worry Sam, or worse, to involve him in his bullshit with Cam.
Bad enough that he has to put up with my traveling.

It was after midnight when he climbed into bed. He left the drapes open so he could look out at the sky. Patches of stars were visible between the lifting clouds. He thought of Sam again and his chest ached with need. He imagined how it felt when Sam held him, the smell of Sam, how it felt to run his fingers through Sam’s hair.

What the hell am I doing?
Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing to have a bit more time on his hands. He didn’t need the money. It wasn’t as if a few fewer gigs each year would have much of an impact on his reputation or his career. He’d talk to Sam. See what he thought about him spending more time at home in Philly.

S
AM yawned as he turned over yet another piece of paper in a foothigh stack on the conference table. Yvette rubbed her eyes and played with the remainder of a sandwich she’d picked to bits as they worked. They’d spent the past six hours looking for a single document in a sea of documents. Sam wished he’d had the presence of mind to get Peggy to scan them in. He’d thought it wouldn’t take them this long—he could swear he’d seen the document the witness had described in his deposition, and he was pretty damn sure it didn’t say what the man had sworn, under oath, that it said.

It also didn’t help that he was distracted. He’d expected Aiden to call him in the morning. But he’d checked his cell at least a dozen times, and Peggy said there’d been no calls on his office phone. He knew Aiden was probably preoccupied or that he’d plain forgotten he’d promised to call. But the conversation of the night before had left Sam edgy. Something was going on, and he was pretty sure Aiden didn’t want to burden him with it.

You could call him.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had this thought, but he figured he needed to learn that Aiden not calling didn’t signal the end of the world. Sam could handle it. He was a big boy.

His cell phone rang and he started. Becca. She’d been waiting to hear about the fellowship at Temple. Not that their parents couldn’t afford to send her to graduate school in Philly, but he knew she wanted a modicum of independence after being so dependent upon them for the past four years.

“I’ll be back,” he told Yvette as he tapped the phone. He stepped out of the conference room and into the hallway. “Hey Beck. Got some good news?”

“Just checking in. Nothing yet.” Her voice sounded a bit strained, and he wondered if she’d had another run-in with their parents about leaving Tennessee. “I should hear by Friday.”

“Great.” He decided not to ask why she’d called, figuring she’d get to the point soon enough.
“Sammy?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Everything okay with Aiden?”
He chuckled. “Everything’s fine, sweetie,” he answered with a sigh. “He’ll be home in about three weeks.”
“Oh.”
“Something up?”
“Why would you—”
“I know you too well. What’s going on?”
He heard her take a long breath. “You know I like Aiden, right?” Not an auspicious way to begin a conversation.
“Sure.”
Just not as much as Nicky.
“Well, I was surfing around. You know, checking out what he’s been up to. Mom said she hoped he might perform near Memphis sometime and… I don’t know….”
“Beck, just tell me. I don’t have time for—”
“Do you know this guy? Cameron something or other? British? Made of money?”
“Cameron Sherrington.” Sam hoped he didn’t sound as irritated as he thought he did. “Yeah. I know him. He and Aiden lived together a few years back.”
Little shit.
“There was this photo,” she blurted out. “I mean, it’s probably nothing, but I… I thought you should know.”
“What kind of a photo?”
“They were at some fancy club in London. Or at least, that’s what the article said. I can send you the link if you want.”
Shit.
He really didn’t want this crap with the press again. “Not interested,” he told her.
“Well, I kind of already sent it. You can delete it if you want. I only thought—”
“Thanks, Beck. Next time, don’t bother. Aiden gets this kind of thing all of the time. It’s better to ignore it.”
“Okay. No prob. Sorry. It’s only that I worry about you with him gone so much, and—”
“Don’t worry. And call me when you hear from Temple, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Take care, Beck.”
“You too, Sammy. I’ll talk to you soon. Keep your fingers crossed!”
“I will. Love you.”
“You too.”
He heard her hang up the phone and he slid his cell into his pocket. For a moment he considered going to his office and looking at his e-mail. Then he shook his head and let out a long breath.
Stop it. It’s all bullshit. They’re probably running stories from a year ago and making it look like it happened yesterday.
By the time Sam got home that night, however, Aiden still hadn’t phoned and Sam was having a hard time
not
thinking about Becca’s call. It was nearly eleven when he gave in and opened his laptop. He scanned through his e-mail, hoping there would be something from Aiden, but he found nothing. Finally, frustrated and trying to rationalize away his hurt at Aiden’s silence, he opened Becca’s e-mail and clicked on the link.
Shit.
The photo was grainy, taken without a flash and, Sam guessed, on a cell phone. Still, there was no mistaking Aiden and Cam. The caption under the photo was
Lord Sherrington’s Patience Rewarded?
In spite of himself, Sam read the short article.
World-renowned operatic sensation Aiden Lind was spotted Thursday night at Zyng. Sources close to Mr. Lind report that his sometime relationship with his handsome American barrister has been strained as of late. Lind reportedly met for a tête-à-tête with former lover and flatmate Lord Cameron Sherrington over drinks. Rumor has it….
Sam shut the laptop so hard the sound echoed in the living room. He tossed it unceremoniously onto the couch and strode over to the glass windows overlooking downtown. The night was clear, and the moon made the windows of a nearby high-rise glitter.