Beats of the Heart - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

••••••12 Years ago••••••
"Why would you bother calling him, mom?" Miles asked in an exasperated voice. The deep timbre was something that didn't match his age.
Nina sighed heavily. She was frail and thin, lying on the hospital bed. Her once thick black hair was gone, and her bright green eyes dulled. The shadows under her eyes reflected the exhaustion of her fight. She had been battling her monsters for ten years now.
Although she was tenacious, cancer was a stubborn beast, and a year ago, she was told that she had eight months to live. Now, she was living off borrowed time.
Miles struggled for most of those ten years. He worked multiple jobs and juggled school so she could get the care she needed. Now all Miles had was a mountain of debt, a useless scholarship to a college he didn't want to attend, and a dying mother.
"Miles, he's your father."
Miles scoffed. "The first thing that asshole said to me was, 'Are you sure you're my son?' and then made a big deal about a paternity test."
"I know, but—"
"I was nine."
He could remember the venomous look his 'father' had when they received the paternity test results. He sneered and hissed out some comment about how he will cut them a check. Nina refused and asked him to leave. He complied and stayed out of their lives.
Larry Anderson—a stereotypical nouveau riche douche.
She pursed her lips, "I didn't say he was a good father."
Miles sat down by her bed and held her hand. "He only shares some blood with me, a donor of sorts. You have been both my mom and dad this entire time. I don't need some rich dick to claim that parental title when he had no hand in my upbringing."
"Darling... I just don't want you to be alone."
"I have you."
"Not for long," she said as she turned her head away. She obviously felt more pain saying this than what the cancer was doing to her body.
Miles released a sobering breath and kissed her hand softly. He was 18, just barely an adult, and he couldn't bear to part with his mother—his best friend. He had spent so much time devoted to her and had no idea what to do without her. He would be completely alone when she left. However, he couldn't show her that pain.
"If the worse happens, mom, I will still have you," Miles said quietly. "Even if all I have are memories... I will still have you."
Tears streamed from her eyes, and her shaky hand wiped them away. "I have had a good life, Miles. Do you believe that?"
He choked down a sob with a laugh. "Of course I do. You have the best son in the world."
She chuckled. It was weak and raspy, just a remnant of her previously hearty laugh. "I really do."
Their life was hard, struggling in the worse of neighborhoods. They felt the chill in the air when their heater didn't work. They felt the gnaw in their stomachs when they couldn't eat. They have seen friends die around them, but they never gave up because they had each other.
They would comfort each other and then use music to help heal the pain of poverty they endured.
When Nina was first diagnosed with cancer, Miles was too young to work legally. So he hustled around in underground clubs, getting paid under the table. He was introduced to DJing in those clubs and found a new love of music. He would spend most of his nights cutting up records and his days caring for his mom and studying.
When he could work above board, he still chose jobs where he didn't have to feel the sting of taxes. He dealt with the shadiest of people but made decent enough money to stay somewhat afloat.
He helped put food on the table and kept the heat on during the winter. Hell, he even bought a beat-up piano in the corner of their small one-bedroom apartment.
He also did well in school, so she could have one less thing to worry about. They thought they had this cancer beat. But a year ago, it came back with a vengeance.
He needed a father years ago. He needed help years ago. He didn't need him now.
"Maybe things will be different," she said softly. "Better, even. Just promise me you'll try."
"He doesn't deserve it. He should have stepped up to the plate long ago." He argued.
"I always taught you to look at the good in people." She smiled sadly. "There may be something good in him yet."
Miles released a heavy breath, resigning himself to her request. She wouldn't have asked him this if she wasn't worried. He knew that she wasn't scared of dying. She was frightened that he would be alone.
"I'll try, mom." He promised.
She smiled and relaxed the best she could in the hospital bed. "There's magic in this world, Miles. I found it in music, and most importantly, I find it in you. Never forget that."
"I won't." His voice cracked and but he kept the tears at bay.
"How about a song for your old lady?"
Never able to refuse her, he quietly sang her favorite Etta James song. He stayed with her a little longer when she fell asleep and watched how her breaths slowed and finally stopped.
He didn't seem to hear the hospital alarms or care to move out of the way as the doctors rushed in. He knew that she was gone. Her painful struggle was over.
Months passed since he held her funeral. The local church was filled with people who loved Nina nearly as much as he did but were all faceless strangers to him. They sang and celebrated her life, but Miles couldn't find the strength to join. He remained silent and still, drowning the darkness that was consuming him.
His father never showed up, either. It was unsurprising. He never expected any support from a deadbeat.
Still, out of rage, he searched for Larry and finally confronted him in front of his high-rise condo. He was going to keep the confrontation civil, but he was enraged when he saw Larry happy with his own family. They lived without care all their lives while Miles was tormented by loneliness.
He couldn't recall half of what he said to Larry, but he did remember how he was arrested and detained. Larry thought it was a mercy not to press charges, but it only made Miles resent him more. When Larry made his arrest record completely disappear, Miles felt the bitterness of his situation even more.
Larry Anderson had so much financial strength, but Miles had poverty. Larry had connections, but Nina Mendez still had to die painfully.
So now, Miles was sitting at some club called The Lunar. His fake ID was on the counter, which no one suspected, mainly because he sounded and looked much older than he was. He didn't have to worry about his drinks because, according to the ID in the wallet he pickpocketed, they were paid for by a Jared Simons.
He sipped on his fourth or fifth whiskey, savoring how the alcohol muted the turmoil inside of him. He placed the glass on the counter, and his fingers brushed against the bandages around his wrist. His ratty sweatshirt may have obscured the gauze, but he couldn't forget that the wound was there.
His attempt to rid himself of this loneliness failed. He didn't realize how closely his neighbors were watching him, and they called for help before he lost too much blood.
The doctors said it was a cry for help, held him for 72 hours, and then chucked him out to the first state-provided physiatrist they could find. Miles didn't bother going to his scheduled session. There was no point because he only felt relief when his consciousness was fading, and he wanted that release again.
He was done struggling on the streets. He was done facing the hunger pains. He was done with seeing people around him die. He was done looking at the overwhelming debt he faced when trying to save his mother. But most of all, he couldn't bear to be alone in the darkness.
This world was a scam. There wasn't a single shred of decency left, and he would rather watch it burn than be a part of it.
So he met a dealer around the corner and got a bottle of pills to do the job. He was ready to give the world a one-finger salute before he parted.
Fuck it all.
However, what paused his steps was a sign outside of The Lunar. The words 'Jazz Night' flashed like a beacon. He figured that it would be okay to listen to his mother's favorite type of music one last time. She always believed there was magic in music, so maybe he could touch upon the divine for an hour or two.
He lifted the glass again and took a sip while humming along to the familiar song.
"Hey, Francis. A whiskey for me and a club soda for him," a captivating voice sounded next to him. Miles closed his eyes, entranced by the sound.
However, when he heard a glass placed in front of him, Miles opened his eyes and stared at the bubbling liquid. "What the hell?"
He turned a sharp gaze toward the man next to him and was instantly stunned. The older man was soul-stirringly handsome and charismatically confident. He hid a strong and muscular build beneath a blue suit. And, goddamn, that face—high cheekbones, dark eyes, and an enticing sharp jawline. His black hair was styled meticulously, and Miles was tempted to run his fingers through it.
"You may want to slow down," the man said quietly and nodded toward the drink.
Miles clenched his jaw, forcing himself out of his daze. "I'm fine."
"I'm just saying—"
"I don't need some daddy figure trying to take care of me. I'm fine." Miles snapped.
"Daddy?" The man laughed. "Believe me, I wasn't trying to go for that. But if that's your kink, I won't judge."
Miles groaned and placed his whiskey on the counter of the bar. He picked up the club soda and started to nurse that instead.
The man smiled and leaned in. "Should I call you a good boy now?"
"You can go fuck yourself," Miles sniped back.
The man only laughed a little, unperturbed by the bite in Miles' words. He rested his elbows on the bar and tilted his head toward Miles. "What brings you here?"
Miles scoffed. "To drink and to listen to music. Not to deal with an asshole who can't read signals."
The man continued to smile and then nodded. "Fair enough. But still, that whiskey's going to hurt like a motherfucker in the morning."
Miles released a long breath, his eyes reddened, and his shoulders slumped. "Doesn't matter. At least I'm a little numb now."
Miles' voice was soft, vulnerable. The man was astute and was able to hear it over the music and chatter in the club. He adjusted the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. His eyes held an unfathomable look. "I'm sorry."
Miles snapped his eyes back up. "For what?"
"For whatever shit is railroading you right now. It's obvious you didn't need my bullshit on top of whatever is going on," he said as quietly as possible in a club, and it sounded sincere. He held out a hand. "How about a do-over? My name is Shawn."
Miles gave his hand a skeptical look but reluctantly shook it. "Miles."
"I would offer to buy you a late dinner, but I have a feeling that you'll refuse."
Miles sighed. "You would be right. I should be heading home."
He slid off the stool, but the alcohol hit him, and his legs almost gave out. However, Shawn's caught him and wrapped an arm around his waist.
"I got you," Shawn murmured in his ear. "How about I walk you out and make sure you get in a cab safely."
Miles nodded absentmindedly and let Shawn help him through the club and out the door. However, the crowd was overwhelming. Getting a cab would take a long time.
Shawn sighed when he saw the crowd of people waiting for a ride. "I can give you a ride home instead," he suggested.
Miles' eyes were glazed over. "Is this a clever way to get me into bed with you?"
"I don't typically need schemes to get laid. But if you're offering..." He let his words trail off and flashed Miles a smirk.
Miles rolled his eyes. "I just need to get to the subway."
"It's the middle of the night," Shawn protested.
"And I'm a big boy."
Shawn studied him for a moment. "I would rather make sure you got home alright."
Miles raised an eyebrow. "I'm not looking for a hookup."
Shawn gave a wry laugh. "At this moment, neither am I."
Miles scrutinized him for a moment. "You're being nice."
Shawn shrugged. "Is that so bad?"
"It's suspicious," Miles muttered.
This was why he wanted to numb the pain. Make it stop. But now, he had some man being nice to him. What was worse, Miles felt like he could trust him. It was a strange notion. Miles breathed out a frustrated breath and ran his fingers through his curls.
"Fine." Miles gave in. "But let it be noted that this is seriously a bad idea."
"The worst." Shawn agreed and held out his hand so Miles could grab it.
Shawn led him around the back of the club, which did nothing to ease Miles' nerves. But when Miles saw the sleek black luxury car, his footsteps faltered. He looked over at Shawn and finally noticed how nice his clothes were, the hint of the Swedish logo on his watch, and how put together he was.
Rich.
Just like Larry fucking Anderson.
"No. I don't think this is a good idea." Miles suddenly said and pulled his hand away. His self-consciousness ate away at him.
Shawn gave him a concerned look. "I get it. If you're uncomfortable, we'll go back to the front and wait for a taxi."
Miles wanted to laugh. This mysterious Shawn was kind. He wanted to let go of his woes and leave with him, but he couldn't. Everything inside of him told him to stop for Shawn's sake. He didn't belong in Shawn's world, and there was no way Miles would allow his shit-stained life to mar Shawn's.
Miles rubbed his eyes in frustration. The alcohol was making his head spin. His words were becoming unfiltered. "I don't get it. I'm a fucking mess, and I'm obviously not putting out, so what's the point of being nice?"
"The world is not that bad. There are people in this city who actually want to help without getting anything in return."
Miles gave a bitter laugh. "Nah. That optimistic mindset is for the fuckers who have everything in their lives. Reality is filled with assholes who would gladly toss me in the river if I misstep."
"Miles—"
"No. Don't. If you think people can be nice just because, then we live in two separate worlds. You're in a place where I don't belong. Fuck. I don't belong here in the Upper East Side. I don't belong in that car of yours. Someone like me doesn't belong anywhere near you."
Shawn rubbed the bridge of his nose with frustration. "I can't make assumptions about what you have experienced, but to hell with your 'two separate worlds' bullshit. Where I live or what car I drive doesn't dictate who I spend time with. I should be the one to decide that."
Shawn stepped back to give Miles more space. "Quite frankly, I am insanely attracted to you, but I'm respectable enough to put my dick aside. So try to accept that I actually give a shit about your safety?"
Miles was confused. He had always grouped rich men in the same 'asshole club' as his father. Shawn was apparently rich and should have been looped in with Larry.  However, there was a noticeable difference between Shawn and his father. There was sincerity and kindness that lingered in Shawn's words and expression. It didn't matter that Miles was in second-hand clothes that didn't fit him right, shoes with worn soles, or that he was crumbling emotionally.
Nevertheless, Miles still shook his head. "It's best to wait for the taxi."
Shawn smiled, disappointment flickered in his eyes, but it was replaced quickly with understanding. He walked with Miles back to the main road, and they waited for a taxi together. Miles tried to assure him that he would be fine by himself, but Shawn was just as stubborn as he was and remained by his side.
As they waited for a cab, Shawn wrapped his arms around Miles' shoulders to keep him warm. Miles bit his lip as he contemplated his next words.
"This month...hell, this year, has been... unbearable. So thank you for being so understanding. It's not something I'm accustomed to." He sighed. "If it were any other time, I would have already been in bed with you."
Shawn laughed and rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out a business card and smiled warmly. "Keep this if you feel like giving me a second chance."
Miles looked at the slightly bent business card. An abstract swirl logo that looked like a flame was on one side of the card. The other side had the following in bolded lettering:
Aura Entertainment
CEO: Shawn Pierce
Followed by a phone number.
"CEO?" Miles asked as he turned toward Shawn.
Shawn smiled sheepishly. "It's nothing big right now, but it's my pride and joy. The number is my personal cell. You can call me if you want. The ball is in your court."
"My court?"
Shawn nodded. "I'm giving you full control on where this goes. No pressure or expectations. But to be honest, I hope you call—whether it be for a date, an opportunity to chat, or even if you need help, I'll answer."
Miles bristled. "Why do you think I need help?"
Shawn reached out and brushed Miles' curls back. "We all need help sometimes, and that's okay."
Miles tried to pull away from his touch. "I'm not some fucking charity case."
Shawn laughed lightly, almost to himself. "Miles, I saw you across the bar and couldn't look away. You shine so brilliantly that I was compelled to speak to you. So no, I don't see you as a charity case. You're someone I would like to know more about. You're like magic—one look, and I was hooked."
"What?" Miles' eyes widened. Shawn's words were too similar to his mother's.
Seeing that Miles stopped trying to pull away, Shawn's fingers brushed down his jawline. "Despite your brilliance, I can tell that there's something you're battling. Now is not the time for me to try to pursue something more. However, I may not be able to help with your burdens, but I can at least remind you that you are not alone. I don't have to be a stranger. I'm willing to be more; all you need to do is ask."
Miles felt the tears slipping down his cheeks. "Fuck," he murmured as he tried to wipe his tears away. "This would have been easier if you were an asshole."
Shawn chuckled. "I suppose it would have been." He tenderly kissed Miles' forehead. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
The valet alerted them that the taxi had arrived for Miles.
The tears were still pooling in Miles' eyes, but he finally found the strength to smile—an actual genuine smile. He reached out and grabbed Shawn's collar, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against his and nearly melted from the touch.
Shawn was surprised at first but wasted no time wrapping his arms around Miles' waist. He returned the kiss like his soul's salvation depended on it.
It was a kiss that made the rest of the world disappear. For one fleeting moment, Miles wasn't in pain. He wasn't alone. He didn't feel the weight of the pills in his pocket. Shawn's passion consumed him.
He broke away with great effort. He needed it to end, or he would lose all sense of himself. Shawn gave him control over what happened next, and he needed to grasp that opportunity. He needed that one sliver of power.
Without looking back, he slipped into the cab and succumbed to his tears.
The cab driver didn't comment on his broken state. He simply drove him to his rough neighborhood and took the last of Miles' cash.
Shawn saw magic in him... perhaps there was still a little left in this world.
Miles entered his apartment while his hand was tightly clutched around the generic bottle of pills. With a shuddering breath, he tucked the bottle away in a drawer.
Maybe tomorrow will hurt less.