His voice had great range, and he handled the higher notes almost as well as my brother did.
As soon as the choir filled in and flooded the small church with their harmonies, it became abundantly clear that this was exactly what I needed tonight. And even more so when I gazed out over the pews and spotted my grandmother. I smiled at her, and she waved enthusiastically and sat down somewhere in the middle.
After two glasses of brandy, Nonna liked to brag about our music abilities and how they came from her. She’d once been a singer herself, and she’d bought Anthony his first guitar.
We ran through a handful of songs with the choir, most of which would be performed at the church’s fall concerts, and then we started going through the program for the event we were gonna participate in. It was an annual outdoor event that took place in an abandoned church that was more ruins than church. The lot sat on the edge of the neighborhood, and people tended to walk past it a little faster at night. But for one day of the year, the area was packed. The ruins of the church were lit up with bistro lights and spotlights and candles, people brought their own chairs and blankets, and a few members of the community sold hot beverages, cookies, hot dogs, and candied almonds.
As Anthony walked up to the choir and discussed harmonies of his new song, I sat back and listened on one ear while my gaze scanned the visitors. I exchanged another smile with Nonna, but she was busy chatting to some woman I didn’t know but recognized. Probably a neighbor. Judging by Nonna’s gesturing and the way she patted the woman’s arm, Nonna was giving unsolicited advice about something. She was fantastic at that.
Damn, Mr. Colinetti was here with his wife. He was my old math teacher in high school, and more importantly, Anthony’s first crush.
That was another thing that didn’t make sense about Anthony’s relationship with Shawn. My brother usually preferred older men. He’d spent his twenties chasing silver foxes, and now that he was one himself, he acted as if the roles suddenly had to be reversed. Shawn was young. Twenty-four or something.
Come to think of it, Anthony had brought Shawn home for Sunday dinner about a year ago, after my brother had bitched about getting old. He’d even dyed his hair for a few months before giving that shit up.
Maybe I should plant sexy silver foxes in Anthony’s path.
He needed someone sweet who was as nurturing as he was, someone who didn’t use him as a place to crash or source of income when “money’s short.” Because Anthony would never stop helping those who asked. Hell, I’d stayed in his guest room for almost two years, and not only did he not expect any rent, he said I could stay for as long as I needed. Obviously, I paid my way and pulled my weight around the house, but Shawn sure as hell didn’t.
Cazzo, the dude bothered me. For some reason, I’d always felt protective of Anthony, even when it should be the other way around. I guess it was because, unlike him, I wouldn’t be taken for a ride.
Yet, he said I had issues with a bleeding heart?
Fuck that nonsense.
I shook my head to myself and glanced—huh. I didn’t recognize the man in the back of the church, and he didn’t belong here. That was one fancy-ass suit. He didn’t sit down like the other dozen folks either; he stood near the exit and just looked out of place.
“Nicky!”
“What?” I whipped my head toward Anthony and realized I’d zoned out. “Sorry.”
He smirked faintly. “You ready to switch places?”
“Yes, boss.” I rose from the piano and met him halfway where he handed me the sheet music for the guitar, though he knew I’d improvise a bit. Music was like cooking. If you followed the recipe religiously, you weren’t using your heart.
We took a couple minutes to get ready; I plugged in my electric guitar and made sure I didn’t have to tune it again, and Anthony warmed up his fingers on the keys of the piano. In the meantime, the choir practiced their cues, and Maria and three other women positioned themselves closer to the microphone.
It was a hauntingly beautiful song, but it wasn’t the most challenging one. Focus would be on Anthony’s singing and the choir.
“We’ll run through it without stopping a few times,” Anthony instructed. “If you miss a cue, just jump in again.”
There was a murmur of acknowledgment, and I exchanged a nod with him before I took the first few notes and eased us into the song.
It was up to Nonna now. She’d hear Anthony sing about feeling trapped, about trying to find a way to settle for second best, about…well, giving up, essentially.