by Elle Keaton
“Love,” Dom chortled.
Now that made sense. The vacant staring; inability to pay attention or retain information. Miguel felt a grin spreading across his face. Love he could deal with.
“Oh, man, Dom…” Kevin whined.
“Yeah, it must have happened last week sometime. He won’t tell me who or where, though.” Dom squinted at his brother. “I’ve narrowed down the places he could possibly have seen-slash-‘met’ someone. Possibly here at the shop—” He ticked a finger. “The Booking Room.” Another finger ticked. “The LGBTQ center where he volunteers, but those kids are underage, and Kevin doesn’t want to know what prison is like.” A third finger ticked. “Or online.” Dom looked over at Kevin, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Fuck off,” Kevin muttered. “I’m sorry, Miguel, I just spaced out.”
“We’re too busy and shorthanded with Buck gone for you to space out. Get your head in the game, kid. I don’t need to be making a trip to the ER while Buck is gone.” He thought for a second. “Or anytime.” He hated hospitals.
“Okay, okay, head in the game. I get it.”
Miguel sincerely hoped he did. “Do we need to talk safe sex? Are you a bottom or a top? Or vers? I can stop by Otto’s Erotica if you need some lube. Heck, we can go together.”
“Miguel,” Kevin ground out, his freckles standing out against the pale skin of his face. “I am not going to a sex store with you. Ever. Or talking about sex with you. Ever again.”
Dom had stopped all pretense of work and was howling with laughter. Tears streamed down his face as he tried, and failed, to get himself under control. He careened toward a late-model Chevy currently occupying the main bay, leaning against it and continuing to guffaw. Miguel started laughing too, and even Kevin dropped his fierce expression to chuckle along with the two of them.
A stranger came in through the open bay door.
“How can I help you?” Miguel asked while Dom finished wiping the tears from his face and Kevin returned to the computer.
“I’d like to speak with the owner or manager.” The man was looking at Dom, who’d managed to pull himself together, somewhat. The stranger was squirrely looking, wearing a rumpled wool suit even though the weather was currently hitting the low eighties. The three remaining hairs on his head were carefully swept across his shiny dome in an attempt to make him appear not bald. Why didn’t these guys just shave it off? The three-hair thing made him look extra skeevy, and the little hairs on the back of Miguel’s neck were uneasy.
“I’m the manager.” Miguel walked over, holding his hand out after wiping any grease off on the rag he was holding.
The man looked down at the offered hand and then up at Miguel. “Are you the owner?” he asked Dom.
It wasn’t often that Miguel felt truly angry. Or, especially since he had come to Skagit, particularly conscious of the skin he lived in. This guy, this jackass—who, even though he was too much of a coward to say it out loud, didn’t want to talk to him because he was not white—couldn’t believe he was the manager. It took a lot for him to feel angry, but Miguel felt his temper start to rise.
“No, I’m just a mechanic,” Dom answered. “Miguel is in charge while the owner is on vacation.”
“That is unfortunate,” the stranger said.
“Excuse me?” Kevin walked back over to where Miguel was standing. “What is wrong with you? You come in here, where we work, and disrespect like that? Next thing you’ll find out I’m a faggot and you’ll never be back. We don’t want your business. Whatever it is.” Kevin’s face was flushed bright red. Where in hell had that tirade come from?
Dom’s eyes widened. Miguel opened his mouth to say something; what, he wasn’t sure, because the situation had gone sideways so fast his head was spinning. In the year or so he had been working with Kevin and Dom, he had never seen either one of them fly off the handle. Neither brother had a temper that Miguel was aware of.
“What do you think, asshole, you wanna brown person or a faggot working on your car? Or my straight brother, who cries over those toilet paper commercials with the little bears?” Kevin continued.
“No,” replied the creep. “But,” he reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a thick envelope, “please see that the business owner receives this notice.” He handed the envelope to Dom, who extended a hand reluctantly to accept it, as if it might explode.
With that, the shitty little man turned and left. The three of them watched him get into a crappy older Saturn and drive off, gravel spitting from under his tires as he left the parking lot.
“What a piece of shit,” Dom said. Miguel wasn’t sure if he was referring to the car or the man. “I hope the timing belt gives out when he’s in the middle of traffic on I-5. On a Friday.” Okay, both.
And what was with Kevin’s rant? Not that he hadn’t said anything Miguel wasn’t thinking at the time.
“Really, Dom? You cry at toilet paper commercials?”
Dom huffed, opening his mouth to answer.
“What did he give you?” Kevin interrupted.
Dom turned the sealed envelope over in his hands. From where he was standing, Miguel could see block letters spelling out Swanfeldt’s Auto and Body—attention Mr. Buck Swanfeldt. Well, fuck.
Miguel stashed the envelope in Buck’s office and spent the rest of the day going in circles in his head about what was in the envelope and if he should contact Buck—who was three days into his three-week honeymoon, for fuck’s sake—right away or wait until the weekend so the guy could enjoy some of his honeymoon. Or just leave it until he returned.
Buck would be back in two weeks and a couple days. Surely that would be soon enough for Buck to tell whoever it was to fuck off. Of course, Buck wouldn’t say “Fuck off”; he would be much more polite.
The envelope taunted him. He kept walking by the door to the office, where it lurked on Buck’s desk like a monster under the bed, waiting for Miguel to turn his back. To open or not to open? Buck had been waiting for this moment forever, and Miguel wasn’t going to be the one to cut it short.
He kept trying to imagine what the smarmy skeeve-master could have dropped off. A summons? An eviction notice?
No, he was pretty sure Buck owned the building, or at least the business did. Could it be an offer to buy the building, one so good Buck wouldn’t be able to refuse? The thought made Miguel sick, and it reminded him that he needed to find a new place. He couldn’t drag his feet any longer. The thought of going back to Buck’s empty house brought him further down.
At six-thirty Dom flicked off the radio and the shop filled with silence. Great. The brothers gave him a quick wave before piling into Dom’s pickup and heading home. Miguel ignored the jealousy that sparked in his chest at the thought of the brothers hanging out together. It was wrong to be envious, especially when their parents had thrown Kevin out of the house when he had come out to them. Dom hadn’t been able to help him; he’d been struggling through tech school and looking for work. Buck, the quiet hero, had stepped in and offered both brothers jobs, saving the little family.
As he organized tools to keep from having to go home, Miguel wondered again what had caused Kevin’s outburst earlier. Miguel had grown up so inured to institutionalized racism he often didn’t pay attention when it occurred, and Skagit was, for the most part, an easy place to live. Kevin, though, he was a born-and-bred Skagit white boy; what had crawled up his butt? Miguel was going to have to do some poking around and see if he could figure out what was going on, if Kevin had had other run-ins lately, or if this behavior was as unusual as Miguel suspected. Finally he had no reason to stay, so he went home and binge-watched a true-crime show that left him huddled in bed later with nightmares and thoughts of the paperwork that had been dropped off.
By Friday, Miguel was convinced Dom was right. Kevin was infatuated with someone—he hadn’t figured out who yet, and whenever he broached the subject Kevin turned so red Miguel worried about his blood pressure. Kevin managed to tone down
his daydreaming, and by closing time on Friday they were looking at a half day Saturday with a normal closed Sunday; then only Monday and a half day Tuesday. The shop would be closed for the holiday.
What was he going to do with all that free time?
Sara had invited him to watch fireworks at her house, but something about spending the holiday with an ex and her new boyfriend felt weird. Even for him, and Buck constantly told him he had no boundaries. He could only watch so much TV before his eyes felt like portals to another world, and he’d picked over the dollar bin at the used bookstore. There were some things even he wouldn’t read.
By Sunday Miguel was going stir-crazy.
He’d cleaned his room, then moved on to the already-clean house. Cleaned it too. He went to the shop to tinker around on one of Buck’s side projects. Adam Klay had asked Buck to refurbish three vintage cars, and one of them was close to finished. It sat tucked away in the third bay, waiting only for a part that had to be specialty sourced.
The office phone rang over the shop intercom, interrupting his thoughts and scaring the crap out of him. He considered letting it go to voicemail; they weren’t open, after all, but maybe it was Buck with an emergency. Buck, who he needed to call and tell about the envelope.
“Swanfeldt’s Auto.”
A pleasant female voice chirped on the other end. “Hi, I’m calling for Miguel Ramirez?”
Cold dread washed through him. So many bad things in his life started with a phone call from a stranger.
“My name is Toni Choi; Miguel applied for an apartment in my building. I wanted to touch base with him and see if he was still interested?”
Miguel almost laughed out loud with relief. God, that sinking feeling, he hadn’t had it in so long. But obviously it hadn’t gone away, just lurked in his subconscious waiting to ambush him when he least expected it. But unlike those other times when he’d experienced that feeling, the news was good. Not someone telling him he had been let go. Again. That his lease was being broken. That his bank account had mysteriously been emptied. He felt a little light-headed and remembered to take a breath.
“This is Miguel.”
When he hung up he tentatively had his own apartment. He could move in immediately, if he wanted, after taking a look at it. She warned him it was small. Miguel was fine with small. He might feel less alone. For the first time in… years, he would have his own place. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Surely this was cause for celebration, so why did he have a different, weird, twisty feeling in his gut?
Inhaling again and letting the breath back out through his nose, he grabbed Sheila’s keys. If he liked what he saw, he’d move on Tuesday, and he couldn’t move his stuff by teleportation. Locking up the bays and shutting off all the lights, Miguel hopped in Sheila and headed home. At the last second he skipped the turn to Buck’s and headed for one of the only places in Skagit where a guy could let loose without judgment.
The Loft was surprisingly busy for the Sunday before the Fourth of July holiday. When Miguel made his way to the bar, he discovered that Sterling, the new owner, was running an amateur bartender night and drinks were half price—but you couldn’t complain about the quality. He ordered something easy, a Manhattan. He drank it quickly and ordered a second before he gave up his spot.
Dance music pulsed through the place, calling for Miguel to move to the beat. He loved dancing and didn’t generally care who with. Hell, he’d dance by himself if he couldn’t find anyone. Not that that happened very often.
Tonight, there were plenty of bodies on the dance floor to choose from. He tossed back his second drink and insinuated himself amongst the mass of people. It felt like coming home. The movement, random hands grabbing his hips and grinding with him. He danced away, tapping the guy in front of him, running his own hand suggestively down the man’s back before plastering himself behind him, letting whoever it was grind his ass into Miguel’s crotch.
The thrum of the music had him in a sort of thrall, and Miguel was able to forget that he was rootless and alone. These guys knew him and let him be, dancing and moving together. It was heavenly. If he hadn’t declared a personal vow of chastity while he got his head on straight (he snorted at his own joke), he would have accepted any one of the numerous overt and covert suggestions that he share some skin time.
After last call he made his way back to Sheila—having danced the alcohol out of his system—and headed back to Buck’s. He managed to stave off the looming sense of loneliness until he fell into bed and the memory of a handsome red-haired stranger pulling the covers up over him returned.
Chapter Four: Nate
“Hello?” Nate grimaced. As if he didn’t know who was on the other end of the line.
“Hello, Nathaniel.”
His father’s voice grated on Nate’s nerves. Every. Single. Time. Three thousand miles away… still grating. With those two words every failing, every fault, everything Nate had ever done wrong was remembered and recounted. Relived.
“Hi, Dad.”
“I called to wish you a happy birthday.” Nate briefly considered changing his phone number so he could cut that last tie between himself and his relatives.
“Thanks.” The line fell silent as Nate, at least, struggled with what to say. He and his father had never seen the world in the same way. Joining the Feds and subsequently moving to the “left” coast merely cemented what they both already knew. They were family by genetics only; they had nothing else in common. If he didn’t look so much like one uncle and a little like his sister Melody, he’d think he was adopted.
“How much longer is your assignment?” As if his father had known what Nate was thinking about.
“Dad,”—he tried patience—“this is a permanent assignment. I moved here, to Washington State, permanently.”
“You have a spot at the firm.” And now the conversation would take its traditional downturn. Yay. Happy birthday to him; Nate got to have the argument with his father.
Breathe in, breathe out. “Dad, I don’t want to have this conversation today.” Or any day. “I chose my career; I chose to move here to Skagit. I am not coming back or taking a place in the firm.”
His dad acted like the family firm was a thing to be proud of, and Nate supposed it had kept a roof over his and his sisters’ heads growing up, but an ambulance-chasing injury and liability law firm was not where Nate saw himself. Ever. And his dad just couldn’t understand why. The discussion was pointless. They had been over it so many times Nate was surprised they hadn’t worn holes in it.
“Money is money, boy.” Yeah, because the word “boy” didn’t send Nate into incendiary fury. “It’s not how you make it, it’s how you—”
“Dad, I’m hanging up now. Thank you for the birthday wishes.”
Nate stuffed his phone underneath the throw pillow so he wasn’t tempted to fling it across the living room and sagged wearily against the back of the couch. He’d woken up in a reasonably good mood, and now it was gone. Would these discussions never end? He’d stopped allowing the toxicity to interfere with his day-to-day life, but every once in a while it snuck back in, making him feel like complete shit.
He was pretty sure the real problem with his dad had started at birth, when Nate was born a day early instead of on Independence Day. Every day since, Nate had continued to disappoint his dad, and by extension his entire family. And, as the only boy, there were expectations, none of which he was going to fulfill.
The list of disappointments didn’t even cover the fact that Nate had never brought anyone home to meet the family. Probably they all thought he was such a loser that he would never meet anyone anyway, but as long as he joined the firm and acted respectable he would be forgiven for having zero social skills. Not to put too fine a point on it when he was supposed to be celebrating his birthday, but Nate and awkward were best friends. Plus, he was already married to his job and didn’t see that changing. He didn’t want a girlfriend or a wife.
In college he’
d once experimented by going to a gay club near campus. It had seemed logical; he should see if he was attracted to men. He’d gone by himself. Remembering the incident made him feel like hiding under the covers and never coming out. He’d sat alone at a table, somehow invisible even with his hair and freckles, while club goers laughed, talked, made out, or headed to the bathroom for quick sex. Not a single person approached him. He’d been so humiliated he hadn’t confirmed if he was attracted to men or not.
An online dating experiment had, if possible, been worse. When XXXDick80 wanted to send a picture of himself in exchange for one of Nate, he’d panicked and canceled his newborn subscription. Nope. Online was not how Nate would ever meet someone.
Gomez was no help. She’d tried to convince him to rejoin and let her act as him until there was a date set up. First of all, he figured she was way more knowledgeable about sex and relationships than he was, so when he showed up for said date he would look like an idiot. Second, no fucking way. She was already way too much in his business to be worrying about his love life, or lack thereof. He threatened to call her mother and tell her Natalia was seeing someone, and she agreed to leave him alone.
Geez. Ten a.m. on his birthday and he was already depressed. Clearly it was going to be a great day.
Nate stared out the big picture window in his living room, watching the neighborhood come awake. A lot of folks were gone for the midweek holiday, but some kids were racing bikes up and down the sidewalk. A couple was loading up their minivan with camping supplies, and another neighbor was hanging red-white-and-blue bunting on their front porch. How had Nate managed to move into the most family-friendly, patriotic neighborhood in all of Skagit?
It was tempting to draw the blinds and stay inside all day. The only thing he needed was to have his phone close in case Gomez contacted him. Adam Klay had invited him to a barbeque tomorrow, but he had the third all to himself. As usual.
He dragged himself off the couch and spent a couple hours doing chores: laundry, cleaning the bathroom, taking the trash out. Whoop. Fun birthday. Instead of moping, he decided to go on a run. The walls of his house were too close; he was restless and still out of sorts from his dad’s traditional phone call. A run would sweep all that negativity away. He hoped.