by Eden Winters
The house phone rang and Seth darted down the stairs, soon losing himself in details while speaking with a realtor. He forgot about his mother’s novel.
“He may be an asshole, but he’s not disgusting or anything. Why didn’t you go for it?”
Sometimes Dustin wished Monica wasn’t quite so outspoken. If she’d have hinted around, made nice, he’d simply have sidestepped the question. He’d never learned how to flat out lie to her direct approach. “Because he’s leaving in a few days, will never look back, and I don’t want to be remembered as a ten-minute roll in the hay.”
“Ten minutes? Damn, been a while, huh?”
Dustin narrowed his eyes. Monica batted hers. “I’ve got all the complications I need right now, thank you very much. Like, where the hell I’m going to come up with a… with a….”
“Sucker?”
Dustin shot his assistant a meaningful glower. She exaggerated a yawn. “I was going to say ‘viable candidate.’”
“Face it”—Monica rested a hand on Dustin’s shoulder—“we only have three logical choices. You, Widow Pickens, who’s too old, and Junior Timmerman, who suffers from a bad case of heartless asshole. No need to guess what’ll happen if Junior takes over: bye-bye, secrecy.”
Walking on eggshells his whole life not to slip up and say the wrong thing to the wrong person took a toll on a man. “Living out in the open might not be so bad.”
Monica thwacked the back of Dustin’s head. “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea what would happen if we suddenly announced, ‘Oh, yeah, there’s a colony of shape-shifters living in North Georgia. Oh no, we’re not cool like werewolves. We’re fucking possums!’ How long do you reckon it’d take for every predator shifter in the country to beat a path to our door? Or gun-toting lunatics, out to bag the ultimate prize? Or how long before we’re denied equal rights? You think marriage equality was a hot topic? You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Visions of a happy world where everyone got along vanished in a poof of mental smoke. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point. But Junior does have his supporters.”
“Every crowd has a few dickheads. Because a few morons believe his bullshit doesn’t make him right.”
Dustin took a deep breath and took a step back, ready to pivot and run. “You could do it.”
Both of Monica’s eyebrows reached for her hairline. “Ain’t no way in hell. They wouldn’t accept a half-blood whose father was a first-generation possum, and I don’t want the headache. It’s not in me to play nice.”
True enough. From anyone else Dustin would suspect false modesty. Both beginning with “M” was the only thing “Monica” and “modesty” had in common. Dustin sagged down into his office chair while Monica parked herself on his desk, drumming her nails against the wooden surface and attempting to run his life. “Anyhoo, getting back to the original subject, the guy who isn’t a troll didn’t run when you kissed him, and offered free nookie. If you talk him into staying, and groom some of the insensitive prick out of him, it might sway some of Junior’s supporters your way. Old habits are hard to break, and a McDaniel has led the passel since the day they arrived in the area. If folks spotted the last member of a once great family hanging on your arm—”
Dustin’s mouth dropped open. “Are you suggesting I use him?”
“What you want, what I want, what Junior wants, doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Someone’s got to lead or we’ll have chaos. Regardless of how cleverly she lassoed you into the number two spot, Irene was right in giving you the job. You need every tool at your disposal to ensure that her wishes are carried out. Imagine Seth McDaniel as a hammer to build your barn, because, damn it, winter’s coming, and we better be ready.”
No point denying the truth. Ever since accepting Irene’s inevitable end, Dustin had studied each member of the passel without finding a suitable successor.
He blew out a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “I have three full moons to make a choice, and I won’t announce a decision one moment before I have to.”
“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” A wicked gleam appeared in Monica’s eyes.
Ah, but if Dustin was going down, he’d take Monica with him. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“You be my second.”
“Bastard!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, resting his chin primly in his hands. “I’ll need every ounce of ‘bastard’ I can get to pull this off. But I won’t, I repeat, I won’t exploit Seth McDaniel. However, I did promise I’d go out to dinner.”
“Nookie!” Monica chortled.
Dustin snorted. “Catching up on old times.”
“Call it what you want. Just go get some. You’re turning into a grouch.”
Determined to do the right thing, Dustin dialed Irene’s number. Seth answered the phone on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Look, Seth, I want to apologize for running off.” Yeah, apologize, a good place to start. Dustin swore he heard Seth blushing on the other end of the phone line.
“Umm… about that.”
Dustin’s heart fell, his carefully rehearsed words curling up and dying a slow, agonizing death on his tongue.
“I have no idea what came over me, Dusty. I truly don’t. I’m not one of those guys who goes around hitting on anything that moves.” The use of Dustin’s nickname offered some reassurance of no hard feelings. Seth attempted some levity, as he’d done in his younger days to relieve awkwardness. “I usually make a guy wine me and dine me first.”
A knife twisted in Dustin’s belly, but he made his offer anyway. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m calling to take you up on your previous suggestion of dinner. Yes, I’d like to wine you and dine you, umm… no strings attached.”
An odd sound emerged from the phone’s tiny speaker, half laughing, half choking. “But I like strings! Sorry, I’m not helping. You’d like to take me to dinner?”
“Yeah. Possum Kingdom may be a small town, but we have some of the best barbeque you’ll find anywhere. What do you say?” Dustin held his breath. Was it his imagination, or did he age four years while waiting for Seth to answer?
Finally, Seth let Dustin off the hook. “I can be ready in a half hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
Dustin hung up the phone to find Monica watching him with amusement in her eyes, and he couldn’t fight a grin. “Don’t wait up,” he chided.
She knitted her brows together, a line forming between her narrowed eyes, and leaned down, nose mere inches from Dustin’s. “Remember, if you’re not in by ten”—she pulled her lips back from her pearly whites in a somewhat feral grin—“then take him home and find another date that puts out.
“Speaking of….” She hopped off the desk. “I’d better get going. Even if you can only manage lukewarm, I’ve got a hottie waiting for me.” She spun on her heel and flounced from the room before Dustin managed to stop gaping.
Chapter 8
Seth would never have found the quaint little restaurant without Dustin’s help. Way off the beaten path, The Pitted Pig managed to attract a lively dinner crowd, despite its remote location. Where had all these people come from?
“Where would you like to sit?” Dustin asked, a plateful of steaming pulled pork in his hands.
“Wherever there’s a table.” Seth’s stomach growled, taunted by the rich scent of hickory-smoked meat, the tangy notes of barbeque sauce making his mouth water. He did love good barbeque.
“Do you mind sitting outside?”
“No. Lead on.” Seth admired the view on his trip through the crowded establishment, and if forced under duress to find his way back to the entrance, would have failed miserably. His vision honed in on slender shoulders, a narrow waist, and a well-made backside as he and Dustin navigated tables and tray-laden restaurant staff on the way to the door at the back of the dining room.
They passed table after table of couples and fa
milies, many nodding, murmuring, “Jack” at Dustin’s passing.
If that was how the town rolled, Seth was not to question.
Finally, Dustin opened the door onto a covered porch holding roughly a dozen tables, mostly empty. “It’s getting close to sundown, when the mosquitoes come out,” Dustin explained. “During lunch rush it’s hard to find room out here to sit.”
They settled at a table away from the other occupied ones. From his vantage point, Seth glimpsed the distant mountain peaks. No matter what one might say about Possum Kingdom, it offered spectacular views. The old cane-backed chairs and plastic tablecloths brought back memories of long ago, dining with his family at Aunt Irene’s kitchen table. Above their heads, the paddles of a ceiling fan circled in lazy rotation, stirring a slight breeze.
Their server appeared, bearing a tray full of bottles in a wire-bound carrier: one red, one white, and one blue, and two glasses of sweet tea. “Evenin’, Jack,” the young man said, placing his burdens on the table. “Rolls, Texas toast, or buns?”
Dustin asked, “Can we get some of each?”
“Sure.” The pimply-faced teen wandered off, leaving Seth with Dustin and a healthy dose of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” Might as well get the humiliating crash and burn out of the way in order to enjoy dinner. Before Seth opened his mouth and inserted his foot, they’d been doing beautifully down by the creek.
“Forget it. To be honest, I’m flattered. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s not often someone makes an offer here in town. We don’t exactly have a chapter of PFLAG yet.” Dustin smile.
Damn, but that smile induced one hell of a lot of spine-tingles.
Seth truly hadn’t considered small-town scruples when he’d arrived, since staying hadn’t been in the cards. But the answer did offer reassurances that he hadn’t corrupted what well might have been the town’s sole marital prospect for any single ladies. Back home in Chicago, acceptance of who he was wasn’t much of an issue. At least, not after his grandmother’s passing. He’d never gotten over his guilt at not telling her about being gay, but she hadn’t been the most open-minded of souls. Thoughts of her pursed lips and righteous rebukes had stopped him every time he’d considered disclosing his orientation. All three times. “Is it hard for you here?”
Dustin rested his elbows on the table, the freckles across his nose so much lighter than they’d been when he’d been ten—but Seth could misremember. “It’s not too bad. I’m pretty well-respected, and your aunt tended to put people in their places fast if they dared say anything.”
Irene. The mysterious aunt of his who’d apparently won, not only Dustin’s respect, but hard-nosed Monica’s. Monica gave the impression of not granting undeserved loyalty.
The waiter brought bread, disappearing again directly after depositing the basket on the table. Dustin tore a roll in half and piled the inside high with roast pork. “The Southern Sweet is my favorite,” he said, nodding toward the white bottle in the carrier. “It’s got a molasses base, sweet and smoky. But try the other two also. They’re all good.”
Seth heeded the advice, tuning out the pleasured moans coming from the other side of the table that added fuel to the fire of his raging libido. Gulping down ice-cold tea didn’t extinguish the blaze. He wanted Dustin. Wanted to lie back, squirt tangy sauce on his skin, and have his dinner companion lick it off, much the way Dustin currently licked a dollop off a thumb. Seth’s cock swelled, pressing against the unyielding barrier of his jeans. Wriggling as unobtrusively as possible, he attempted a discreet anatomical adjustment. If Dustin noticed, he gave no sign.
“What have you been doing with yourself all these years, Seth?”
Seth swallowed a bite of mesquite-flavored meat. “Nothing much to tell. I went to school, graduated, started college, changing my major a few times when I couldn’t figure out what to do with my life. Nana bought me a camera one year for Christmas, and I found I liked to take pictures. I entered a few contests, won often enough to swell my head and convince me to try making a living out of it. When the money started trickling in, I dropped out of college and started my own business.” He bowed his head, heat trailing up his cheeks to his ears. He was bragging about dropping out of school to become a photographer? To a doctor?
“Sounds like you’re doing exactly what you want to do.”
Well, yeah, true enough. “I am, for the most part. There’s always the screaming tantrums to put up with, subjects who won’t listen to what you say and afterward blame you for the less than perfect end results.”
Sympathy flashed across Dustin’s face. “I guess you work with a lot of kids.”
“What kids? I’m talking about fashion models!”
Seth spent the next few minutes mimicking some of the more demanding subjects he’d worked with. “No, not my bad side!” he shrilled in a high falsetto. “That’s my bad side too! What the hell did you do to my picture? My nose does not look like that!” They both laughed, the tension effectively broken. “How about you? What’s it like to be a small-town doctor?”
“I’m not sure how to describe it. It’s my life; I’ve nothing else to compare it to. Born and raised here, left long enough to go to college, and came back. Jobwise, I’m there the moment a child is born, if not before, and I watch them grow. Teens mature, get married, and start a new generation. Occasionally, I’m there at the end.”
An invisible fist squeezed Seth’s heart. “Were you… were you there for my aunt?”
A furrow formed on Dustin forehead, and he pursed his lips briefly. “Not at the precise moment, but yes, I was at the house with her. We all were.”
Thank God she hadn’t been alone. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Her friends, those she considered family.” Dustin grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
Seth swallowed hard, once more reminded of his prolonged absence. But what choice had he had? His aunt hadn’t reached out to him either.
Dustin changed the subject. “Did Monica tell you how she met your aunt?”
“No. She seems to hate me for being a bad nephew.”
Dustin wafted out a sigh, pausing for a draught of tea before continuing. “Monica doesn’t hate you. She’s jealous of you.”
“Of me? Why?” Seth often found himself the object of pity, but never envy.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about her behind her back, but I did promise to tell you about your aunt, and Monica’s story is a classic example of Ms. Irene McDaniel at her best. You see, Monica’s father died when she was about four years old, and her mother moved back to Jacksonville to be with family. She remarried and had two more children.
“When Monica grew older….” Dustin paused, a wrinkle forming between his copper-colored eyebrows. “Let’s say she didn’t quite fit in. She came to stay with your aunt when she was fifteen, after being rejected by her family.”
Fuck! Kicked out? What had the woman done? Likely nothing. Fifteen? Tough age. A load of guilt heaped itself on Seth’s shoulders for his rather unkind earlier assessment of The Valkyrie. An image popped into his head a scared and lonely teen, similar to himself. Had her mom kicked her out for being gay? Rebellious? Not eating her peas? In his younger days, Seth had worried about the same thing happening to him if his grandmother ever found out he’d rather have a Sam than a Sue, or if he disobeyed.
“Anyway, Monica grew attached to Irene, wishing they were kin in truth, and she never quite grasped why you didn’t come around when you’d been blessed with such a fantastic aunt.”
Old remorse slithered awake in Seth’s gut. “I would have loved to have spent time down here, but Aunt Irene never once tried to contact me. She didn’t even call me on my birthday.” Seth hated how childish he sounded, but year after year, he’d hoped for something, and each year he’d eaten birthday cake with his grandmother and gone to bed disillusioned. No party, no gifts except from Nana, and no cards bearing a Georgia return address. Years of disappointment
ate at him, leaving him feeling unloved and unwanted. And now, to find out she took in another kid when she didn’t even have time for Seth?
“The old harpy never ’fessed up, huh?”
“What?”
Dustin patted his mouth with a napkin and dropped the bandana-print cotton square to the tablecloth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but, Seth, the only reason Irene didn’t contact you was because your grandmother forbade it.”
Nana forbade it? Why? “She what? She told me that after my father died, Aunt Irene had no further use for me.” A vise grip squeezed Seth’s insides. He pictured his grandmother, lower lip quivering when she’d told him the news.
The friend Seth never forgot reached across the table and took his hand. “No, Seth. I’m not sure precisely what she told you or why, but the truth is she threatened Irene.”
“Threatened? With what?”
A scarlet flush tinged Dustin’s cheeks, revealing more anger than embarrassment. “Irene never told me the exact words, she only said your grandmother wouldn’t permit her to see you or talk to you. Irene wrote you letters; I mailed them for her myself. And yes, she did send birthday cards, usually with money enclosed. I take it you never received them.”
Do what? All those years of feeling rejected were a lie? The hand holding Seth’s burned against his skin, but he didn’t pull away. There hadn’t been nearly enough human contact in his life. He’d not refuse comfort freely given. “No, I didn’t.” Seth had witnessed his grandmother’s controlling side on many occasions, and yes, she’d resorted to manipulation to get her way. But to keep Seth from his only other living relative?
“Monica saw the situation from the other side, how you received gifts and never sent thank-you cards. She only witnessed how much it hurt Irene not to have you in her life. And Monica, pretty much thrown away by her family, envied you your wonderful aunt. She’s not the only one. Over the years, Irene took in many kids in similar situations, some for a short time while she sorted things out with their parents, others on a more permanent basis, like Monica.”