Walter’s knees sagged in relief. “Bootsie.”
“Walter, where are you, for fuck’s sake? It’s a hurricane! Everyone’s holed up at the bar.”
“It wasn’t supposed to make landfall! The last I saw it was going out to sea.”
“Yeah, well it went, and then it stalled and gathered force, and now here we are. I can’t believe you aren’t here.”
Guilt filled Walter as he flashed on how oblivious he’d been, wrapped up in Anthony’s body and riding the waves of pleasure to the exclusion of everything else.
“Have you pulled the hurricane shutters and unplugged everything?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you doing on emergency supplies?”
“Fine. Stop talking and get your butt here.”
“Okay, there should be enough booze, and the kitchen’s fully stocked. I—”
“Hold on.” He could hear Bootsie yelling, “Yo, Miles! Get over here. It’s Walter!”
Miles’s voice came on the line. “Walter? Tony’s with you, right? Sophia’s frantic! Patricia had to keep her from running out to look for him.”
“He’s with me.” Walter felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find a naked Anthony rubbing his neck and yawning. He couldn’t help raking a glance over Anthony. His. All his.
“What’s happening, dollface?” Anthony asked sleepily. Something crashed outside on the dock. “Oh my Lord, is it the hurricane? Why’d you tell me to go back to sleep?” Anthony stared out at the storm. “I need my underwear on for this.” He ran back around the curtain.
Walter said into the phone, “Miles, tell Bootsie to keep everyone at the bar. No one leaves, okay? Stay safe.”
“Are you and Tony at the houseboat?”
“Yes. I’m going to bring Anthony over, then go to Back Bay and secure the boats.”
“Now? You’ll never get there! They’re starting to close the roads. Just come to the bar.”
“I can’t.”
Miles started to protest, but the phone went dead.
Anthony came back with his shorts and T-shirt on. He suddenly looked dangerously underdressed. “So what’s the plan? What do we need to do?”
“You need to go to the bar until the danger’s passed. I’m going to Back Bay.”
“What? I don’t want to be there without you! I’ll come with you to help.”
“No!” Walter winced at the harshness of his voice, but no way was Anthony coming with him and putting himself in danger. Plus he’d be more hindrance than help. “Stay inside while I secure the houseboat. Then I’m taking you to the bar so you can be safe.”
Anthony paled. “What about you? You’re going out in this and trying to get to Back Bay? By yourself?”
Walter walked around the curtain to get his clothes, Anthony following. “I’ve lived through hurricanes.” He pulled on shorts, a T-shirt, and a windbreaker. “I know how to handle them.”
Anthony’s face was stricken, then panicked. “Wait! Where’s Sophia? Ohmigod, I can’t believe I forgot—”
“She’s at the bar with Patricia and the others. She’s okay. I’ll be back.” Walter pulled open the door and battled the wind. The rain and waves beat at him as he wrestled with the hurricane shutters. It was bad, but not so bad he couldn’t stand. Or walk. If he got blown off the dock, he deserved it for being so careless. But that would leave Anthony stranded, so he told himself to suck it up and get the job done.
Five minutes later he scooted inside, and Anthony grabbed him. “Oh my God, you’re soaked! I was afraid you’d be washed overboard. Are you sure we should even leave?”
“Yes.” Walter grabbed a backpack, which he loaded with water, flares, candles, flashlights, batteries, and protein bars, along with rope and gloves, while Anthony stood near basically wringing his hands as he kept up a litany of worried questions and concerns that Walter didn’t have room to address.
“It’ll all be fine,” Walter finally said. “We need to get you to Cap’n Otto’s. I wish we didn’t have to go out at all, but the houseboat is the least safe place.” He pulled a yellow slicker off a hook. “Here, put this on.” He grabbed some rain boots. “These too.”
Anthony made no comment, for once, on the hideousness of the boots or that this particular yellow was definitely not his color, and Walter perversely found himself missing Anthony’s flippancy as he put on his own slicker and boots.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
They slowly made their way to the parking lot, battling the wind and dodging flying debris. Holding Anthony tightly to his side so the wind wouldn’t fly away with him, Walter cursed himself again and again for his lapse in judgment, his carelessness that was putting Anthony—and the boats—into danger. Thank God Anthony hadn’t wanted to ride bikes last night. The Subaru should get them to Cap’n Otto’s with no problem, and once there, Anthony would be safe. The bar was several blocks away from the water and had sturdy hurricane shutters.
Fifteen harrowing minutes later, after a drive that usually took five, they made it to the bar. Walter pounded on the door, which had been locked as per hurricane procedure. It opened right away, and Miles and Sophia dragged them inside. A small crowd filled the candlelit room, listening to the battery-run radio while Bootsie poured drinks.
“Thank God!” Sophia cried. “Caro, thank God you’re safe!” She cupped Anthony’s cheeks. “Caro, caro, never leave me like that again!”
Walter thought it a bit overdramatic, but Anthony was acting the same way, hugging and crying and carrying on. At least he was safe.
Miles shook his head at Walter. “Don’t expect me to pinch your cheeks. Just tell me you’re not going back out in that insanity.”
“I have to.”
“You’ll never make it to Back Bay in this. There’s no way.”
“I’ll use the Subaru. The streets are still passable.”
That got Anthony and Sophia’s attention. Anthony broke away from Sophia and approached Walter, his eyes big. Walter’s stomach twisted.
“Let me come with you,” Anthony pleaded.
“No, Anthony! It’s dangerous out there! You need to stay here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Walter took a breath and tried for a calmer tone. “Please, love.”
Anthony’s bottom lip trembled. “Love? Now you call me love? Then go out and get yourself killed in a hurricane? Forget the boats! Stay here with us.”
“Love?” echoed Miles with a smile.
“I know!” Sophia said, her smile matching his.
Walter ignored them. “I can’t forget the boats. They’re my livelihood.”
Anthony put a hand on his arm. “You’re right. That was stupid of me to say. I just… isn’t it too late now?” As if in answer, the wind howled and the windows rattled.
“I have to try. It’s my fault they’re at risk. If I hadn’t been… if we….” His words died at the hurt on Anthony’s face. “Sorry,” he muttered. Then he walked past Anthony to grab his knapsack. “I gotta go.”
Bootsie stepped forward. “I’ll go with you, boss. You’re gonna need help with those boats. Miles can run things here.”
A knock on the door sent Miles to pull it open, and five more frightened and bedraggled people came inside.
“No, Bootsie. Stay here. You two have your hands full. It’s my fault I wasn’t monitoring the weather and things aren’t battened down. I don’t want to put you at risk. I’ve gotta go.”
“Maybe Patricia can help?” Sophia sounded scared at the prospect.
Walter bit back his automatic refusal, because of everyone, Patricia would be the most help right now. She knew the boats. “Where is she?”
“Shoot,” Bootsie said. “She ran out to pick up some stuff from Lado’s Market that they have waiting for us. She’ll be back, but no telling when.”
“Okay. I can’t wait for her.”
As Walter headed to the door, Anthony grabbed his arm and said in a low, urgent voice, “Tell me you don’t regret what we did. Tell
me, damn it, before you vanish into a freaking hurricane!”
He turned. “I… no, I don’t regret it.” It was only half-true, but he wasn’t going to talk about the guilt gnawing at him. Not right now.
Anthony flung himself into Walter’s arms, and Walter held him, inhaling his lemony scent. He felt so fragile, Walter’s heart lurched and his hands tightened on Anthony’s back. “Then you better fucking come back in one piece.” Anthony’s voice clogged with tears as he spoke against Walter’s shoulder. “Remember, your life is more important than any boats. And we just found each other! You can’t disappear on me again. Promise!”
“I’ll come back. I promise.” Walter pulled away and lifted Anthony’s chin. His wet eyes tore at Walter. “I’ve got to go.” He kissed him with everything he had, then gently disengaged from his clinging hands.
“Good luck, boss.” Bootsie’s face was impassive. “We’ll keep the candles on for ya. Call us with updates.”
Walter nodded grimly, opened the door, and launched himself into the storm.
Chapter FOURTEEN
I WAS going stark raving bonkers. Walter had been gone for days! Well, it seemed like it to me. No word since he’d run out to save the boats almost two hours ago. The phones were wonky—cell phones had stopped working, but some landlines were still connecting. Bless old-school Walter for keeping landlines at both the bar and the dive shop. We’d started calling every fifteen minutes after an hour passed and Walter hadn’t checked in, and nothing. Just that dratted answering machine message with Walter’s voice. Hearing it made me want to cry and vomit at the same time.
Then I’d remember how he’d started in on “if only we hadn’t…,” and I wanted to scream on top of the crying and vomiting. I swear to God, if he regrets us getting together, I’m going to kill him. I can’t go through that again. But then I’d forget about that in another wave of worry about what the fuck had happened to him.
Meanwhile the bar was hopping, noisy with people getting drunk and having a grand old time riding out the storm, while Walter was out there facing God knew what.
“Where is he?” I asked for the hundredth time as I paced around the empty dance floor and the period since he’d left reached two hours. “What’s taking so long?”
No one answered, probably because they were over giving me plausible scenarios and reassurances that even they didn’t sound certain of anymore.
I couldn’t check what was happening outside because of the storm-shuttered windows. A battery radio was droning on and on with dire shit. “Worse storm since blah blah blah.” “Everyone stay off the roads.”
“So really,” I said, to no one in particular as zero persons were paying attention, “I know it would take him a long time to get there, and time to secure the boats. But wouldn’t Walter have called back by now? Is it like him to ignore a ton of calls?”
To my surprise, Miles responded, “No. Or… sometimes. When he gets caught up in things, he tends to ignore the phone. But he knows we’re waiting for him and worried. So… no. I’d say it isn’t like him to not call.”
Finally! Someone else was being real that this wasn’t usual. That decided me.
“I’m going after him.” I pulled on the yellow rain slicker, dry now, and looked around for the rain boots Walter had made me wear.
“What?” Sophia’s voice pierced my ears with its intensity. “No, caro! It’s too dangerous!”
“I don’t care. Something’s happened to him.”
“How do you know?” That laconic question came from Bootsie, who seemed intent on acting cool—as though she hadn’t just wiped down the bar for the fiftieth time—and I was pretty sure her fingernails were now mere nubs.
“I just know. He’d have called by now.” I sat down and struggled with pulling on a boot, well aware that my quest was ridiculous and possibly futile. But what the fuck else was I gonna do? Sit around and fret? The fact that I was scared out of my gourd didn’t enter into it. Not with Walter out there alone in who knew what circumstances.
Please God, don’t let him drown. I pulled on the second boot. Or be electrocuted, I added when the radio voice started talking about downed power lines. I wished Marco were here. Jonny would be nice to have for moral support, but take-charge, can-do Marco was who we needed. He’d know exactly what to do. Well, he wasn’t here, so I’d just need to channel my inner Marco. Only problem was I had no idea how to do that, other than stick a rain hat on and plunge blindly into the elements. Jesus, Walter would never forgive me if I died on him now.
“How’re you going to get there?” That was Patricia, who’d made it back an hour and a half ago with supplies, her arm around a tearful Sophia.
“Um. I don’t know.” Fly? Walk? It didn’t matter. I was going.
“I’ll take you,” Miles said. “We’ll go in the sports car.”
Bootsie guffawed. “That pipsqueak tin can? You’ll get blown off the road.”
“Police car or ambulance? Could they help?” I asked, hope dying quickly.
“They’ve got their hands full rescuing people,” a guy piped up.
By this time, most of the crowd in the bar was paying attention. So I used the spotlight to plead my cause. I stood on a barstool and clapped my hands until the din lessened.
“Everyone! Walter, the owner of this fabulous bar and Back Bay Dive and Sail, has gone missing. I need someone with a sturdy vehicle to drive me over to Back Bay to check on his welfare.”
“And it needs to be big enough to carry me,” Miles said. “I’m going too.”
“And me,” Patricia added. “I know how to wrangle the boats if he’s still out there trying.”
“And—” Sophia started, but her voice wavered, and Patricia cut her right off.
“No, baby. You stay here and help Bootsie with the bar.”
If Sophia appeared relieved, I couldn’t blame her.
A butch gal with rad tattoos stepped forward. “I got a Ram 3500 parked right outside.”
Her girlfriend laughed. “At last you have a justification for buying that thing.”
Butch Gal gave one curt nod without cracking a smile. “So come on, whoever’s going. If anything’s gonna get us over to Back Bay, the Ram is. We can get three of us in the cab.”
“We need room for four,” Patricia said.
The gal eyed me and Miles. “Curly Head can sit on Skinny Guy’s lap.”
“How romantic,” I couldn’t help quipping, only able to joke because my heart had about exploded from the help being offered. “Let’s go.”
Sophia flew over and flung herself into my arms. “Be careful! Be careful! Jonny would never forgive me if anything happened, and neither would Marco. God, I wish he was here.”
“I will,” I promised, although I had no idea how to “be careful” in a raging storm. I’d been inside during every other raging storm I’d experienced, snug and warm, preferably with a hot man or at least a hot toddy. A rough cowboy loving to brave the elements, I was not. But Walter was worth it.
“Do we need to bring anything?” Truck Gal asked. “Rope or tools? The truck bed’s got a cover.”
She had a good point, which also pointed up how much I wasn’t a rescuer type. Supplies hadn’t even occurred to me.
“No.” Patricia was pulling on a wetsuit, I guess in case she needed to dive for… oh God, I was not going to think about it. “Walter’s got the dive shop fully supplied with everything we’d need.”
“Thank God for Walter being Walter,” Miles said fervently. He seemed close to tears, but why on earth not? Walter was his brother.
Sophia broke away from me after one last squeeze and ran to Patricia. “Be careful, cara!”
“I will, sweetheart.”
I looked away from their kiss because a wave of fear and longing was threatening to capsize me. Walter! “Let’s go!”
Miles, engulfed in a rain slicker much too big for his slender body, unlocked the front door, and we began to follow.
I stopped and
turned to Butch Trucker Gal, tired of calling her that in my head. “What’s your name, other than Sainted Rescuer?”
“Sam.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Anytime. Let’s get a move on.”
The drive to Back Bay was harrowing. The dive shop was only a mile or so from the bar, but it took ages to get there. Thank God for Sam—she was fearless and drove like a pro. It helped that she knew Key West intimately, including all the side streets and ways to get around when we came across roads blocked by trees or downed power lines. I couldn’t see much, having Miles squished on top of me as we jolted along—but that was good, given my tendency to emit high-pitched screams when my physical existence was in danger. We were crazy being out in the hurricane, but Sam’s truck was as close as we could get to a tank or a Humvee, so I kept my fingers crossed and my screams to myself.
I tried to concentrate on envisioning Walter safe and sound, but it was hopeless. I knew he wasn’t sound, and possibly not safe, because otherwise he’d have called. Miles and Patricia kept the faith, delivering a running commentary of all the possible scenarios in which Walter was fine but was busy or delayed or the landline broke—anything but the dark possibilities running through my mind of Walter unconscious or worse.
Finally we pulled into the parking lot of Back Bay. Walter’s Subaru was parked next to the entrance, the only vehicle in the lot. Sam pulled the Ram right behind it and cut the engine, and we all scrambled out. Treacherous wind threatened to blow us off our feet, and the rain lashed our faces.
Miles got to the door first. He pulled on it, then cursed. “Do you have a key?” he asked Patricia.
“Shoot. No, not on me. I thought you had them.”
“Damn it!” Miles rattled the door as if that would make it magically open.
“Well, come on, Miles, you should have thought of that!”
As Patricia and Miles stared daggers at each other, I helped out the situation by wringing my hands and muttering, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Sam, aka Sainted Rescuer, was a practical sort. She calmly surveyed the parking lot while we were falling apart, picked up a large decorative rock, and before anyone could ask what she was doing, heaved it through the glass pane next to the entrance. As we gaped, she whipped off her jacket, wrapped it around her arm to protect it from the glass, and reached in to unlock the door. She was fast becoming my most favorite person in the world, and I was going to send her three fruit baskets when this was over.
In Over Our Heads Page 15