And unfortunately ithadbeen necessary over the years, since Sibila was as stubborn as she was beautiful. They’d both been eighteen when they’d hooked up, young and horny and, in retrospect, probably stupid as well. It had been lust, not love, and in Andre’s case, he’d known it probably wasn’t sustainable. Even though he was bi, he was far more attracted to men than to women, but Sibila had been so beautiful, he’d not been able to resist the attraction.
They’d met through mutual friends, spent only a weekend together at a house party someone had thrown at a relative’s beach house. Andre had been trying to fit in with his improved circumstances after moving to San Diego, and he was giddy when his new, far more affluent friends had invited him to the post-graduation celebration. He’d seen Sibila at his new school, but they’d had no classes together during the two years he’d attended. She’d been one of the popular girls, and he couldn’t deny it had been flattering when she’d singled him out for her attention at the party.
He had been a band geek, counting himself lucky to finally have the resources at his disposal to indulge his passion for percussion, and his band director had claimed he was a natural on the drums. Andre had spent his junior and senior years playing as much as possible, even planning on attending college if he could manage to get a scholarship. He had done so, a partial one to a local state school, and he’d been looking forward to getting even better at his chosen craft.
So it had been a shock to him when she’d contacted him two months later to tell him she was pregnant, but he’d never questioned his responsibility in the matter. He might have had a rough upbringing, but his mother had made it clear she expected him to be better than his circumstances. The lesson hadn’t always stuck when he’d been in his early teens, but he’d paid for those youthful mistakes and learned from them.
Sibila’s parents had disowned her, and she was Catholic enough that she refused to terminate her pregnancy. For his part, Andre had never tried to convince her otherwise. Instead, he’d stepped up, dropping out of college to accept a job with his uncle’s roofing company, which paid far better than he could have made otherwise. He supported her throughout her pregnancy while they lived with his mother and sisters. But she’d never bonded with them, and once Miguel had been born,she’d insisted that he rent them an apartment so they could be independent. Andre had wanted to wait, to save more money to give them a cushion against emergencies, and she resented his hesitation.
That had been their first disagreement, and it was also the beginning of the end for their relationship. Andre had been working as many hours as possible to support his small family, even though he hated the job. But it had been obvious almost from the beginning that he and Sibila simply weren’t compatible as a couple. They were too different, and Sibila resented every moment Andre took for performing with local bands when he could have been working.
But he couldn’t completely give up music; along with his son, it was what gave him happiness, as well as hope that things would improve for them all. The acceptance of Luka’s offer to join the F-Holes, which he’d considered a triumph, had been the final straw. Even after he capitulated and started renting an apartment for her and Miguel, it hadn’t been enough to save their relationship. They’d split up, and Andre had moved to LA. He still came back as often as he could to see his son. He tried to be a good father and justified his time away building his career as an investment in not only his future but also Miguel’s. He could do far more for his child with the money and health benefits in his contract, even if the price was missing out on moments of watching his son grow up.
Andre inclined his head at the compliment. “Thanks,” he said, then looked at his watch. “I need to get going, since I haven’t packed yet.” He made himself look at Sibila. “I’ll call every day.”
“Fine,” she replied, unappeased, then pointedly looked away. He gave an internal sigh, then walked to the door, Derek following him.
When they reached the foyer, Derek stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll talk to her again,” he said quietly. “I know she’s hard on you, but I’m also quite aware that you love Miguel deeply and want what’s best for him. I think… I think she just had this dream of how her life would go, and it frustrates her that it hasn’t. I think seeing you now living your own dream is what gets to her most.”
Andre’s own frustration faded a bit at Derek’s words, and he sighed. “Sometimes dreams have to change,” he said. He had some sympathy for Sibila, but he’d also made sacrifices, although maybe not as much for her, but for Miguel.
“Yes, they do,” Derek agreed. He seemed about to say more, but then he just shook his head. “Drive safely, and I’ll make sure you speak to Miguel as much as you’d like while you’re away.”
“Thanks.” Andre held out his hand, and Derek shook it. Andre really appreciated Derek’s words, especially since Sibila had been so angry when Andre had last been on tour that she’d limited his calls to the then four-year-old Miguel to only twice per week. It had killed him, but there hadn’t been anything he could do short of legal action, which he was hesitant to take for many reasons. At least she never denied him in-person access.
He reflected on things the entire drive back to LA. He did not want to give up custody of his son, but he sometimes wondered if it was selfish of him to insist on being part of Miguel’s life when his job kept him away so much. Was it fair to Miguel to deny him a “nuclear family,” as Sibila claimed? Miguel genuinely loved him; of that, Andre had no doubt, but was it fair for him to take the love that could be given to Derek, who was there every day of Miguel’s life in a way Andre couldn’t be?
Added to that was the fact that Sibila was vehemently opposed to the media learning that Miguel was Andre’s son, which was the reason he kept his family life so completely separated from his professional one. He hadn’t understood herdesire at first, back before the F-Holes’ first album, but he wondered now if she’d had a premonition that Andre’s talent could help propel a group to stardom. In retrospect, he could even thank her for the foresight, even if at the time, he’d resented her threat to go for full custody with no visitation if he allowed his son’s existence to become public knowledge. She’d never relent on that demand either, though now he even agreed with it, if grudgingly. As complex as their relationship was, at least it wasn’t in the public eye, and Sibila and Miguel weren’t subjected to being chased down by sensationalist paparazzi and made the object of speculation and possibly even ridicule. He’d seen how Luka and Kit had been treated by some parts of the media once their relationship, both current and prior, had come to light. While they, as adults, could shrug it off, Miguel was only five years old and would have absolutely no idea what was going on.
Not for the first time, he tried to picture what life would be like if he left the F-Holes, got an apartment in San Diego, and sued for 50/50 custody. In his and Sibilia’s current private arrangement, Andre stayed with his mother when in San Diego and had his custody time at her house, trying to do so at least two weekends every month when he wasn’t on tour. This meant that Miguel looked forward to these times with excitement, seeming to consider them special treats, which had caused Sibila, not without some bitterness, to label him a “Disney dad” rather than a true father. There was enough truth in the words that it had stung.
If he left the band and got a “normal” job, he would see his son more, which was a definite positive. But would he also come to resent Miguel for not being able to do the one job that truly fulfilled him? Maybe it was selfish, but performing with the F-Holes made him feel likesomebody, not just another beater who had made it out of Skid Row, only to become a faceless dronein a corporate machine that benefited the rich. Making music took him beyond himself somehow, making him a part of the audience, of the total experience. Their music touched people and brought them joy while bringinghimfulfillment he’d never dreamed of. Sure, the money was great and also useful for him to give his son the things he’d never had, but performing, for him, was more than that. Music was in his soul, and he had to let it out in the same way he had to breathe. In his own way, he was as driven to and by the music as Luka or Kris or Dmitri.
The thought of Dmitri gave him pause, and he had a sudden, vivid recollection of Dmitri at his cello during their concert stint in Las Vegas. Dmitri had glanced over his shoulder at Andre as they waited while Luka played the last few bars ofDu Hast, and the brief moment their eyes had met had been almost as direct as a touch. Dmitri had looked like an angel, his golden hair shimmering under the lights, so beautiful as they shared the music that he’d taken Andre’s breath away.
There was something between them, shimmering and unspoken. In the privacy of his mind, Andre could admit that it was more than lust. Lust is what had fueled his time with Sibila, and while he acknowledged that he wanted Dmitri, there was more. Dmitri made him happy just by existing, by allowing Andre to bask in his warmth and humor. The idea of leaving the band and of not getting to spend time with Dmitri made his chest tighten and his heart pound in denial. Even if he couldn’t pull Dmitri into the chaos of his life or give in to the desire that drew him like a magnet, the thought of not being near him was like a physical pain.
He felt caught between two conflicting pulls: Miguel and Dmitri. The reality that there wasn’t a way to have them both in his life at the same time tormented him. He didn’t even know if Dmitri liked kids. It seemed like he would, but it was just idle speculation on Andre’s part.
He finally reached his apartment, having no more answers than he’d had on leaving San Diego. After parking his car, he headed into his apartment building, stopping briefly at his mailbox to extract two weeks’ worth of flyers, notices, and assorted envelopes. He groaned, realizing he needed to remember to have his mail held while on the tour, since he’d forgotten about it before leaving for San Diego.
Juggling his suitcase and the wad of mail, he rang for the elevator, riding it up to his fifth-floor apartment. Once inside, he abandoned the suitcase in the foyer and dumped the mail, along with his keys, on the table next to the front door. He really needed a beer and a few minutes to recuperate before having to dive into his packing for the tour. Fortunately, it was something he’d done before, and this time, he had sufficient funds to just buy anything he forgot to bring with him. It still surprised him sometimes to think about how far he had come and that he had enough money now that he didn’t have to wear his clothes until they fell apart.
The fridge yielded a nicely chilled beer, and he popped off the bottle cap before making his way to the sofa, settling down with a sigh. As he did so, the phone in his pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out. He hadn’t been able to check messages while driving, of course, and he saw he had received two from Dmitri.
Hey, did you make it home yet? Hope you had a good vacay.
Followed by:
In case you didn’t see, our original flight was cancelled, so Greg had to change us to an earlier one.
“Shit.” It was annoying to have flights changed at the last minute, but it wasn’t uncommon. As organized as Greg always was about their travel arrangements, there were things beyond his control.
He replied quickly, acknowledging that he was home and that he’d check on his ticket. He hesitated for a moment, then, before he could chicken out, he sent another text.
It was good to see my family, but for some reason, I missed your stupid face. :)
There was a momentary pause after the message was marked as delivered, and then Dmitri replied.
