by Elle Keaton
If he didn’t catch up to her in the next few days, he would go out to her parents’ house. Not that he thought that would get him very far. Even as a child, Jessica’s relationship with her parents had been strained. By the time she and Shona hit their tween years, she had spent more time at the Ryans’ house than her own.
Eleven
ELEVEN
Adam ended up at a place called the Beaver the next night. He’d had every intention of going to the Loft, but as he’d been walking down the street he heard a voice calling out to him. It was the woman Jack had pointed out, Jennifer Verdugo. What Adam wanted was a stiff drink, not chat time with a woman he didn’t remember from high school, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to tell her no.
His inner twelve-year-old chortled at the name of the dive bar, one of the few in town that had resisted any kind of gentrification. Giggles aside, they offered the best beers in town and a great bar to brood at, and maybe he could brush off Jennifer and head to the Loft after.
The place had a cozy atmosphere with its worn wood flooring and old-timey black-and-white photos of Skagit from the 1950s and ’60s. It was long and narrow, with the bar crammed against one wall and booths on the other. In the back room, an antique shuffleboard with wax beads strewn across it listed slightly under a blackboard displaying the names of people waiting to play next. The chunking sound of the pucks hitting the board reverberated in the quiet of a Wednesday evening.
A couple of guys were hanging out in the way back, gossiping and throwing darts with extremely poor aim at a newish-looking dartboard.
He and Jennifer sat in a corner booth, the faux-leather seats creaking under their weight. The jukebox hadn’t been updated since the mid-’80s, if the classic collection of Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen was any indication.
Ashley or some other similarly named server brought them menus and water, greeting both of them with a familiarity Adam did not share. He’d probably gone to high school with her, too. When she came back, he ordered a pint and a side of fries. The smell of food hit him hard; he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Except, yeah, cold leftovers from the Mexican place, in his room, around lunchtime. Jennifer ordered a glass of chardonnay. She seemed determined to chat and relive old times. Adam mostly nodded, reminding himself he needed to be polite.
Service was slow. He checked his phone discreetly for the time. The conversation was excruciating, and Adam couldn’t recall what his motivation had been for accepting her invitation.
Finally, Jennifer left, excusing herself with a cheery goodbye. The entire time she had sat there, he had been unable to remember her from high school. At all. Not one mention of “that kegger at the beach” or “the time we partied out in the county” had rung any bells. Adam was starting to think they had gone to different schools or graduated at wildly different times.
He was working on his second beer when the front door opened, bringing in another bunch of gigglers along with a blast of cold air. Great: happy people.
That was the crux, wasn’t it? Coming back to Skagit made him acknowledge he was alone. Maybe even lonely. Gorgeous Micah made it worse. Less like an ache, more like an open wound.
Meeting up with Ed again, learning he had found his daughter and restarted his life, had rattled Adam more than he liked to admit. The other old farts as well, Don and Tim. Adam didn’t have old friends in L.A.; Mohammad was the only person he would consider a friend, and Ida. Weir, maybe, until Adam insulted him so many times the kid asked to be transferred. He saw the people around him accepting life on their terms, moving forward, while Adam was left with painful memories and a job he was very good at but knew he didn’t love anymore.
He had issues with intimacy. It probably came from being abandoned by his mother and raised by a bunch of drunken artists and their girlfriends who had never understood the term over-sharing. More than one potential boyfriend had complained that he was closed off. Part of that was his job. He couldn’t share details, or even what he was working on most of the time. But that wasn’t what they had meant. They meant he didn’t share when he was tired, upset, worried. They couldn’t judge his moods.
He had tried. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be alone. He wanted what Mohammad and Ida had. He just … had no idea how to find that person. Was that even something you looked for? How did you look?
Adam was so used to being alone and taking care of things himself, he forgot to ask for help. He forgot that other people, normal people, like to be included in their partner’s daily life.
His thoughts were still circling the drain when someone slid onto the bench across from him. It was a slightly out-of-body experience to have the person he was obsessing about appear across the table.
“Hey, uh, Adam,” Micah said, smiling.
Ashley, the traitor, chose that moment to interrupt and take Micah’s order before Adam could respond.
“Another IPA,” Adam grumbled. Micah ordered a local cider.
“Oh my God—I totally forgot to put in your fry order! I’ll do it right now.” Ashley zipped off to the bar, where Adam could see her in conversation with the bartender. He made a silent bet with himself over whether or not she would remember to place his order.
“Have you got something in your eye?” Micah asked. “Because you keep kind of squinting.”
“What? No,” Adam sputtered.
Micah laughed a little nervously. He was a beautiful man.
“Why are you here? Not to be rude. Well, it is rude, but why are you here?”
Seriously, what was wrong with him? No wonder he was a lonely SOB. The one person in Skagit he wanted to interact with, and he had to come off like a complete fuck. “Hey, you look like Matthew Gubler, anyone ever told you that?” And . . . a Criminal Minds reference? He should just put himself out of his misery now.
“Um, no.” Micah looked confused.
So charming. Adam was going straight to hell. Deeper, farther, a worse circle of punishment than whatever he had been headed for before.
“Sara and Ed told me to tell you they’d be having Thanksgiving dinner at Sara’s. Um, that you could come in the morning if you want and watch football?” Micah rushed the words out. He was quiet for a minute while Adam tried to process the nonsense. He had zero Thanksgiving plans. Just like always.
“Are you going?” Adam asked, because his mouth and brain were not communicating.
Ashley came and dropped off their drinks. Micah took a healthy sip before answering. “I usually stay home. It’s a difficult holiday for me.” His expressive eyes shuttered.
“I’ll go if you do.” Because what? Was he in the fifth grade now? He grabbed Micah’s cider and took a sip. Gross.
“Matthew who?” Micah asked
“Never mind.”
“I’ll be there. Sara made me promise already anyway. She said to tell you they’ll start eating at two. Pretty sure she’s going to come get you, but since you already said you’d go . . .” He smiled wickedly, taking his cider back. Adam watched his throat as he swallowed. The arousal he felt shocked him.
Adam had always felt like he lived behind clear glass; he could look but not touch. He interacted, but a wall existed between himself and the world. Micah shattered it, or maybe just fucking ignored it. Wall, what wall? Apparently, Adam’s wall had a Micah Ryan–sized hole in it.
Micah seemed to be unaware of how beautiful he was. Adam knew other people saw it, because he’d seen them looking. Ashley, for instance, and he wanted to strangle her. Not that he had a right.
Normally, when he felt the urge, he went to a club and found a guy who met his parameters, and that was that. It had been a long time since he had done that. He’d felt worse having meaningless sex than having none at all.
Thanksgiving was next week.
He was so screwed.
They chatted for a while. Micah told him about designing websites and what had changed in Skagit over the years. He talked with his hands, which fascinated Adam. He enjoyed the way
Micah used them to accentuate a point. His fingers were long and slender, almost delicate. Adam suspected that, regardless of what other people thought, Micah was not a fragile man. He wouldn’t be alive today if that were true. His people needed to stop treating him with kid gloves.
Micah told Adam about his friend Brandon, whom he had known at school before Micah’s folks started homeschooling him. Looked like Adam was going to meet Brandon and “his brood” on Thanksgiving. Jesus fuck.
Brandon’s wife, Stephanie, was heir to one of the last surviving small farms in the area. Her dad had seen the writing on the wall early and converted to organic. Now their produce was in high demand in the fancy restaurants in Skagit and southward.
“And then earlier today I thought I was going to get a ticket on my way back into town. I haven’t gotten a ticket in years! It was just Jack Summers, who’s at least two bricks short of a full load, being funny and pulling me over.”
When had Micah ordered another drink? The fries they had ended up splitting had soaked up most of Adam’s beer, but Micah was clearly buzzed.
Micah was both belligerent and pliable after one more cider. They left his car in the parking lot and walked the few blocks to his home, their shoulders brushing companionably.
Adam had no idea what he thought he was doing.
A lovely 1920s-style Tudor, two stories and a wraparound porch, was their stopping spot. Micah also pointed out the bane of his existence, a maple tree at least fifty feet tall, which was still dumping tons of leaves onto his lawn every day. The porch stairs creaked under their weight while a pair of glowing eyes peered out from behind a sheer curtain covering a living-room window. The house was quiet and warm, the furnace already rumbling on while the cat tried to Kato them as they came in the front door. Micah went straight for the bag of dry cat food on top of his fridge.
“Frankie, knock it off,” Micah laughed.
“Frankie?”
“Technically Frankenstein. He came with the name. He’s a rescue. He was attacked, probably by a coyote or raccoon—those guys are mean—I found him over by the park. The vet had to stitch him together again; they weren’t sure if he’d live. The vet named him, even though I told him Frankenstein was the doctor’s name, not the monster’s. It suits him.”
Adam eyed the huge orange tabby. The cat gave him a disdainful glare, then turned his back, his tail swishing left and right while he crunched his dinner.
“You’ve been told,” Micah said, but he was smiling when he said it. “Are you thirsty? I’ve got more cider here.”
He was leaning back against the kitchen counter, his hands behind him. Adam couldn’t help but confirm how gorgeous Micah was. His worn Levi’s slipped a bit lower down his slim hips, showcasing his flat stomach. The navy T-shirt he was wearing had ridden up a few inches as he leaned back, and a dark line of hair teased down toward his groin. Yes, Adam was thirsty. Very thirsty. He swallowed.
Unfortunately, Micah’s body had a different game plan. His beautiful eyes kept shutting while he was waiting for Adam to stop staring and answer his question. He began to list to the left. Adam stopped him before he slipped further, Micah’s body warm against his hand. Adam wanted, so badly, to take him into his bedroom and strip him naked, to feel their bodies against each other, the quiet hum of skin on skin. He knew it would be heaven.
The couch and fully clothed would have to do. At least for tonight.
“I didn’t realize how tired I was; I couldn’t sleep last night,” Micah whispered and then blushed. “Or the night before. I’m sorry.”
The bedroom on the main floor was obviously Micah’s. There were clothes strewn about, and the bed was unmade. Adam grabbed the pretty patchwork quilt folded at the foot of the bed, as well as a couple of pillows. He patted himself the back for being such a gentleman.
When he got back to the living room, Micah was asleep sitting up, his head at an uncomfortable angle against the back of the couch. He still had his shoes on. Adam eased off Micah’s shoes and socks and laid him down, the pillow under his head and the quilt tucked around him. He sat for a while with Micah’s feet in his lap, massaging them gently, thinking about this beautiful, trusting man who had appeared in his life. He so didn’t want to go back to his empty motel room.
At one point hours later, Micah woke for a moment disoriented and breathing hard. Adam caressed the soft skin of his cheek and held his hand for a moment until Micah slipped back under. Adam wondered if it was nightmares that had disturbed Micah’s sleep for the last few nights. At some point Adam knew he’d fallen asleep as well, but he was awake again before dawn and Micah was still deep, his chest rising and falling hypnotically. Adam left before he did anything stupid, like kiss him.
Twelve
TWELVE
The invitation Sara had asked him to pass along to Adam nagged Micah like a tiny piece of gravel in his shoe, big enough to cause discomfort but small enough to ignore for short periods. He’d seen Adam walking along before going into the Beaver. Adam was easy to spot; he walked with confidence and an arrogant catlike grace. Micah purposely continued driving in the other direction. He stopped at the local pet store for cat food, even though they weren’t out yet and he usually had it delivered. An older woman behind the counter whose name tag declared her to be Gwen paid far too much attention to him. Micah thought she might have known his mother, but he couldn’t remember.
The “Oh, you poor boy” and “Such a shame” comments had Micah about ready to fling himself off the nearest available cliff. People like Gwen were one of the biggest reasons he didn’t get out much. Passing by the Beaver a second time without stopping proved impossible. He would just see if Adam was still there, maybe let him know about Thanksgiving. If it came up.
He’d long since learned how dangerous drinking could be, so why he’d thought having a couple of ciders was a good idea would be a question to answer another day. One he was not hungover on.
Which was how he found himself tucked up in a quilt on his couch the next morning. He waited for the onslaught of agonizing embarrassment to hit him. Instead, all he felt was a pleasant lassitude and a faintly aching head. The walk home with Adam had been companionable; their conversation had flowed easily. There had been no awkward pauses. There had been plenty of silence, but it seemed Adam was a quiet man himself and silence was something he could handle. Then Micah had gone and fallen asleep on him. He didn’t feel too badly about that, either, because he had a difficult time sleeping this time of year. Last night? Last night had been the best night of sleep he’d had in a decade.
And Adam had said yes to Thanksgiving.
Thirteen
THIRTEEN
Adam spent the entire day going over the stack of paperwork and letters Gerald had left behind with his lawyers. Said lawyers had finally caught up with him at his motel, leaving the papers with the front-desk clerk for Adam to pick up. So, basically, he was in hell. He couldn’t un-know the words on those sheets of paper. As soon as he could claim he wasn’t actually day drinking, he had packed the words away and escaped his dreary motel room.
The Loft had aspirations; that’s about all Adam could say for it. And aspirations was probably pushing it a bit. Maybe intentions was better? He didn’t know why he’d returned after the other night, but it was the first place he’d driven by, and it fit the bill: dark and served alcohol. A tiny rainbow flag displayed on the corner of the back bar provided some evidence of a gay population in Skagit. The bartender was busy with a loud group of college kids at the other end of the bar.
Adam wanted a decent beer, but his gay brethren seemed to think that would make them fat. The Loft didn’t appear to have a single local beer on tap, despite Skagit claiming several excellent breweries—two within walking distance. He settled for a top-shelf whiskey, neat. Double, because it had been that kind of day. Ten minutes later he ordered another one. Finally, his neck and shoulders began to relax. Thanksgiving was in a few days, and he had agreed to go to what was basically a
family dinner. He deserved a drink or two.
An hour and another double later, Adam’s stomach reminded him it existed. For several moments he pondered what he had eaten that day, before concluding he had left the Booking Room that morning without any food, just a stern reminder from Sara that Thanksgiving was not to be missed. Huh.
Someone sat down next to him. Right fucking next to him. Like there weren’t several other empty stools at intervals along the bar. He shifted slightly to give whoever it was more of his shoulder. The person continued to sit there. Eventually the flirty bartender drifted over.
“Micah, whatcha want?”
Adam turned so quickly he about sprained his neck. The bartender did not lie; the object of Adam’s fascination sat right next to him in the only gay bar in Skagit. Micah ordered a beer off a list Adam hadn’t noticed earlier. He hadn’t seen Micah since the awkward couch incident a couple of days earlier. Adam had been a cowardly asshole and left before Micah woke up.
“Hey, where was that list before?” Adam complained. Micah turned his full attention on Adam, and he was done.
“Hi,” was all Micah had to say. His voice was deep and rocked Adam’s world. Rocked it more. “I saw you earlier at the Booking Room, but you left before I could thank you for putting me to bed the other night. What have you been up to?” His gaze shifted, and Adam could tell he was embarrassed about falling asleep.
Adam grunted, motioning to the bartender for water. He did not want to be drunk right now. A glass appeared in front of him, and he gulped it down. The desert was more hydrated than he was at the moment. The bartender—bless him, Adam took back all his bad thoughts from earlier—brought a full pitcher of water over and left it by Adam’s glass.
Micah was watching him. Adam realized he was supposed to respond. Question, answer; that’s how this worked. Shit. He cleared his throat. “Not much. Ed’s been helping me try to figure out my dad’s place. What an unholy mess. Kinda stuck right now, waiting for some machinery Ed wants, I guess.”