Ryder's Boys

by Cody Ryder

  “I don’t know,” he said weakly.

  Julia hesitantly pulled her cell phone out from her bag. “We can find out, right now,” she said. “I can Google him. Do you want me to?”

  Bruce looked at her, and then shook his head. “No. He’ll be back. I’ll find out then.”

  She touched his hand. “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you.”

  He quickly brushed away a tear that was rolling down his cheek, and stared out the big front windows of the café. Part of him expected to see some stranger walk up to the store at that very moment, and Julia would point at say “it’s him.” He’d look, and realize that he was wrong, at that Joseph Jordan was not his Joe, and everything would be fine. He could deal with things if that happened.

  Another part of him saw the same events happening, but it was Joe, and he didn’t know what he would do.

  “Before my mom died, she told something, Julia,” he said. “She told me…that when she was gone, she wanted me to shut down the café.”

  Julia looked at him, surprised. “Why?”

  “She told me she wanted me to find a partner. She said that I hadn’t lived my life. She thought I was giving up my life for the shop. I didn’t understand her at all back then, I thought that the medication was messing with her mind or something. I understand now, though. I get it.”

  Julia took his hand. “Your mom was the most caring woman I’d ever known. She looked after me like I was her daughter. That’s why Marcos and I are so loyal to this place. You know that. She wanted what was best for you. Look, I want you to know that whatever happens, whatever you decide, I’m behind you. And I’ll always be your friend. We’ll figure it all out, okay?”

  They hugged each other, and this time neither of them could hold back the tears that had been straining at the surface—but what had pushed them over the edge wasn’t from the shock of Joseph Jordan, or from the reality that LeFlorette’s was seeing its final days…it was their memories of Callie LeFlorette, Bruce’s mother.

  Sixteen

  That evening, Lyle came up to Joe’s office and found him there with his feet up on the desk, a rubber stress ball in his hand and his gaze lost in the distance. Lyle knocked once on the frame of the door, and Joe quickly kicked his legs down and sat up straight.

  “Lyle,” he said, with a distracted smile. “What’s up?”

  “How’d it go?” Lyle asked.

  “Oh…he wasn’t there.”

  “Mm. Seems like the guy never works, huh?”

  Joe laughed distantly.

  “Everything cool?” Lyle came in and sat down in the leather chair that faced Joe’s desk.

  “I kinda got ran out of the place,” Joe admitted.

  “Yeah, seems about right. So, what now?”

  “I’ll go back. Eventually.”

  Lyle nodded. “Then maybe this decision was pre-mature, but fuck it, I don’t want to overthink things. I’m in.”

  Joe looked at him, surprised. “That was fast.”

  “I didn’t want to overthink it. But, you know what, bro? I hate to admit it, but you were right.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. I need to stop being so complacent. Go for a real challenge. So…thank you, Joe. Thank you for believing in me.”

  Joe smiled. “We wouldn’t be here sitting in this office if it weren’t you. You should’ve always been CFO.”

  They stood and shook hands, and then embraced. “Love you, bro,” Lyle said, clapping Joe on the back.

  “Shh,” Joe laughed. “Someone might hear.”

  “So. When this thing really happens, who’s gonna manage this place?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said. “Haven’t thought that far ahead, but I’m sure we’ll find someone.”

  After Lyle went back downstairs to the shop, Joe sat in his office and started to draft some documents outlining his new plan for the company, including a general proposal for what he would offer LeFlorette’s Coffee Shop in return for use of their recipes. He felt it was a generous offer, and while it wouldn’t help them stay in business it would at least bestow more than fair royalties to the family, and include them as shareholders. It was a deal that Paul Whedon never would’ve made, but Joe was certain that it was not only the right thing to do, it would also pay off big time in the long run. Their sandwiches were heaven. They deserved recognition for them.

  He left the office in much better spirits. Productivity always had a way of putting things right, and things seemed like they might end up going his way after all. He’d been pretty certain about Lyle’s commitment, but he hadn’t expected to receive it the same day. The ball had started to roll.

  As Joe drove for home, a nagging thought tugged at him. He looked at the clock—it was only five in the evening. He had time to do one last thing…

  He turned the car around just as he had reached his condo’s driveway, and headed back towards work. He passed by The Standard, and kept going until he’d reached the front of LeFlorette’s Coffee Shop. He pulled over to the curb on the opposite side of the street and looked over. The lights were still on inside, and the OPEN sign hung plainly in the window. He could see some of the chairs flipped up onto the table, and someone was making their rounds with a broom.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, got out of the car, and then hurried across the street.

  When he reached the entrance door, his hand froze on the handle, and it seemed to take all of his willpower just to push it open. Those little bells rang as the heavy green door swung open, and the rich aroma of coffee grinds and toasted bread greeted him. He realized that his palms were sweating, and he wiped them on the sides of his slacks.

  There was a man hunched over, sweeping some dirt into a dustpan. Joe couldn’t see his face. The door shut behind him, ringing the bells again.

  “Welcome,” the man called, standing up. When he turned around, Joe’s heart nearly stopped.

  Those blue eyes met his, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Confusion swept over Joe as he tried to process this new piece of information. “Bruce?” he asked. “You…”

  Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no.

  Bruce stared back, and Joe only saw the briefest flicker of surprise behind those blue eyes before it faded away to blankness. “Joe,” he said. “Tell me you’re here because you wanted a coffee on the way home from work. Please.” It sounded like he was pleading with him.

  Joe stood silently for a moment as the shattered pieces of his mind slowly came back together. “Bruce, I…”

  “Is your full name Joseph Jordan?”

  “…I had no idea…”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bruce rubbed his face and went to the front counter. He dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash, and then started to wipe down the wooden counter with a rag.

  Jesus, how did this never occur to me? Joe thought. It all seems so obvious now. God, I’m a fucking idiot. So much for my intuition.

  It seemed like ages were ticking by as they stood there in silence as Bruce continued to wipe circles on one spot of the counter. “Julia told me you came by earlier,” he finally said. “When she told me what you’d come for, it didn’t take me long to put it together. I didn’t want to believe it. I was praying for it, Joe. Praying that you were another Joe and that it was just a big coincidence. But in the back of my mind, I somehow knew.”

  The lump had returned to Joe’s throat, triple sized. With the way Bruce was wiping the counter, he thought it might turn transparent. He didn’t see how Bruce’s hands were shaking.

  “I promise you, Bruce, that I didn’t know who you were. Not until the moment I stepped into that door just now.”

  “I don’t know if that changes anything,” Bruce said, his voice low. “You’re still…Joseph Jordan.”

  The tone that was in Bruce’s voice as he said those words was like a jab to Joe’s heart. He felt helpless.

  “Do you know what you’ve done here?�
�� Bruce asked. “What your company has done?”

  “I do,” Joe said. “And…I’m trying to make things right.”

  Bruce slammed his hand onto the counter. “Make things right?!” he yelled. “I had to fire all my employees. My business is going to close. How are you going to make things right?”

  “Bruce…” Joe said softly. He moved towards him, his palms out, cautious. “Please. Let me just explain. I want to protect what you have here. I can’t undo my company has done, but I can still help—”

  “Yes, you can. You can leave. You can fucking leave. Take your company, and get out of my neighborhood.”

  Joe flinched, but he kept walking slowly forward. “Please, Bruce. Please.”

  “Get out of here, Joe. I never want to see you again.”

  “Bruce…” An unfamiliar panic had replaced Joe’s always-confident calm. Any control he’d thought he’d be able to have had vanished entirely the moment he’d set eyes on Bruce, and now it seemed like the one person that had become most important to him was slipping away as quickly as he had come into his life. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. “Please, don’t…”

  He was just a reach away from Bruce, and he opened his arms to embrace him. He just wanted this to go away, to vanish so that they could be happy and together, and he could feel him in his arms, just like he’d been the day before… Let’s go back to our weekend together...please… “Bruce, I love y—”

  Bruce turned. His blue eyes burned with anger, and his fist connected solidly against Joe’s jaw.

  Joe stumbled back, grabbed one of the tables as he fell, the chairs crashing over him. White flowers. There they are again.

  “Oh…” he groaned, shaking his head.

  “Bruce!” Julia screamed, running into the room. She’d been watching from the kitchen, unwilling to intervene in their argument.

  Joe pushed away the chair and managed to get to his feet. The spiral of star-like petals continued to swirl around his eyes, and slowly faded. He saw Bruce there looking at him, his expression both shocked and angry. He was holding his fist. Julia was holding him back.

  “Ah,” Joe said, touching his chin. He looked down and saw blood on his fingers. “I deserved that. I did.” He turned and nearly tripped over his own feet. Blood dripped down onto his oxford shirt. He didn’t bother saying anything else. He pushed open the front door, the bells jingling twice as it shut again behind him. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, and he soon couldn’t tell the difference between them and the blood. It didn’t matter.

  Seventeen

  A bottle of whiskey, no visitors.

  Julia had volunteered to take over Bruce’s shifts at the café for the next few days, and though he knew it would be a lot of work for her to tackle on her own, even with the reduced traffic, he couldn’t bring himself to go in. He couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything, except drink.

  “At least it’s good shit,” he muttered to himself as he poured another glass of the expensive Japanese whiskey. He swirled the bottle and eyed the three inches he had left, and then plonked himself down on the couch.

  The tears had dried up a day ago. He literally could not cry anymore. His insides were churning, and not because of the whiskey.

  He’d fallen for the man who’d destroyed his livelihood. He’d fallen for a man who he’d hated nearly as much as the one he’d loved, and the merging of the two was tearing him apart. Of course he still loved him, but that was what really hurt.

  Hating Joe would’ve made things so much easier, but no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t. He remembered their days together, and more than that, he remembered the earnest conversation that they’d had that Sunday evening about Joe’s plans.

  He took a heavy swallow of whiskey, and nearly dropped the glass onto the floor at the sound of a loud knock on the front door.

  His mind raced. Could it be him?

  He didn’t know what he’d do. He had run through the scenario a dozen times or more, each time certain that he’d slam the door in his face, but if it were actually him?

  He turned the deadbolt and pulled open the door. A strange wave of relief, disappointment and then surprise washed over him.

  “Marcos. What are you doing here?” He tried his best to keep his words straight, but he was drunker than he thought.

  “Julia told me what happened. Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, okay. Be my guest.”

  “Jesus. You stink, man. How much have had to drink?”

  “Just a…bottle of whiskey.”

  Marcos came inside and picked up the nearly empty bottle. “It is a lot for you, ain’t it? You never were a big drinker. Can I have some?”

  “I said, be my guest.”

  Marcos went to the kitchen and fetched a glass, and then poured himself a splash of the amber liquid. He drank.

  “Listen, Marcos,” Bruce said. “I wanna say I’m sorry for what happened the other day.”

  Marcos laughed. “You’re sorry? Why the hell are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Bullshit. I was insensitive and hasty. You were right; I was acting on my emotions at the time.”

  Marcos sat down next to Bruce. He stared ahead obviously having some difficulty getting his words out. “No, Bruce,” he said, shaking his head. “I was wrong. I came here to apologize to you. Look, uh, Julia told me about what Callie had told you before she passed. I don’t know if it was something I was supposed to know, but I’m glad I heard it. That’s your mom. She wanted what was best for you. I’m just a dumb old man stuck in a dead-end job—no offence—at the tail end of my life. I thought I could justify being angry because I’d convinced myself you weren’t looking out for your own interests. But really, I was just being was selfish. Stubborn. Probably scared, you know? Your mom was right. You’re still young. Julia too. It’s time to move on.”

  Bruce looked at him, awestruck. He hadn’t expected that.

  “And actually,” Marcos went on, “I wanted to ask you if I could come back to work. To help you till the end. Or at least help Julia until you pick yourself back up.”

  A smile slowly spread on Bruce’s face, and it felt good. “Of course you can,” he said. “But I don’t intend on closing anytime soon. Not until the bitter end.”

  Marcos eyed him. “Bruce, don’t be stubborn like me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and your man…”

  “Marcos. He’s the CEO of The Standard. Julia told you that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. It sucks, man. I was angry when I heard too. I can only imagine how you feel. And Julia…” He whistled. “Fuckin’ aye, she’s pissed. But listen, take some advice from someone who’s been around the block for a while. Something about him caused you to fall in love with him, right?”

  Bruce only stared at him. Marcos patted his thigh. “And I’ve known you since you were a kid. Just a kid. I’ve never known you to be a bad judge of character. That’s your dad, you know? He was like that too. When you find someone special like that, sometimes you gotta learn to forgive certain things you don’t like about them. If you don’t, and let them go…man, you’ll regret that shit.” Marcos stood up and drained the rest of the whiskey. “Just think about it, okay?”

  “Sure,” Bruce said. He couldn’t find words to say anything else, he was too shocked. Of all the things Marcos had said to him since walking into the door, that was the least expected.

  “Call me if you need anything. Hopefully you’ll be back on your feet soon, yeah? Otherwise, one of us will be back to check on you. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  “I won’t,” Bruce said.

  Marcos patted him on the back, and then left.

  Eighteen

  Joe drove up the winding road into the La Jolla hills overlooking the shore. He passed the spot where he and Bruce had watched the sunset and then explored each other in the back of his car. His heart hurt when he thoug
ht about the memories from that weekend, which had been almost every moment. The memories just would not leave his mind, and neither would the pain.

  He’d fucked up, but at the same time, there was nothing that could’ve been done differently. Fate had played a cruel trick on the both of them.

  He pulled his car into the long driveway of a beautiful single story house nestled into a thick line of trees on a hill behind it. It wasn’t quite a mansion, but it was big—much bigger than anything he would’ve wanted to live in himself, but he’d purchased it not long after he’d made his fortune.