Page 14 of Beyond the Stix

A good fifty minutes later, the dusky sky turns dark, which leaves me driving in an unfamiliar city at night. Luckily, I find a spot a block and a half down from Stewie’s, and parallel park. I can’t be too sure if Connor’s asshole uncle will try to follow me, so I don’t take a chance on parking any closer. As I walk to the bar, I keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

I stop just outside the door, and I can hear country music seeping out of the place. Jesus, it’s been ages since I last set foot in a bar—in a gay bar no less. There hasn’t been any down time for me to go. I’m always on a job, or heading into one.

Two men, holding hands, push pass me and enter the bar. I follow right behind them, noting the country music getting louder the further I go in.

Scanning the dimly lit interior, I’m surprised to see there’s not a great amount of people inside for a Saturday night. I make my way through the thin crowd, not seeing Connor anywhere. When I reach the bar, I scan the row of patrons before spottinghimin the back, at a pool table.

He’s playing with two gorgeous guys, one beefcake with more muscles than me, and a blonde twink who’s head barely reaches the beefy guy’s shoulders. But what drives my jealousy to rear its ugly head is that both men are eyeing Connor with absolute lustful appreciation.

Not having it, I stride over to them and block their view of Connor’s ass, as he’s bent over the pool table, taking a shot.

Connor straightens, eyes full of surprise at seeing me. “How…” he pauses a second, then shakes his head. “Danny told you.”

“Yes,” I confirm, folding my arms across my chest. “Now I’m here to take you back.”

“Con, you can’t go,” the smaller guy says with a slight slur. He walks to Connor and leans into him. “You promised us a fun night.” He skims a hand down Connor’s chest, but I quickly put a stop to that shit, and wedge myself between them.

“You can step back or lose your hand,” I growl, as a potent mix of beer and marijuana wafts toward me from the guy’s breath.

“Chill, He-man.” Connor backs up, smirking at me as though he sees right through my bluster, before turning to the blonde. “Sorry, Brian. But my jailer’s here and I have to go.” He then places the pool stick back on the rack.

“Come on Mister Jailer, can you let Con have fun with us? You can come too and watch.” Brian waggles his thin, perfectly-shaped eyebrows at me. “Or come play with us, too.”

“Sorry, but that’s a no,” I say firmly.

“Maybe next time,” the beefy guy says with a wink to Connor, before grabbing his partner’s hand and leading him to the dance floor. “Come on, sweetheart, dance with me.”

Not a moment after they are out of earshot, Connor turns and growls, “You know this is bullshit, right?”

“You can pout some other time. Your mother needs you now.”

“That’s a low fucking blow, man,” Connor huffs out.

“But I got your attention, didn’t I?” I eye the drummer with a stern determination.

Connor rolls his eyes, before he picks a shot up from a small, high-top table, shoots it back, then places the glass back down. “Whatever. Let’s go.” He then strides out of the bar.

I want to argue that he doesn’t need the alcohol, but it’s pointless now, and follow him out.

Connor looks up and down the street, surveying the parked vehicles. “Where’s the limo?”

“Over there.” He follows me until we are standing next to the BMW. Connor ogles the car as though it’s a death trap, while I unlock it with the key fob. He might be focused on the vehicle, but I’m constantly scanning the area. “Get in.”

Connor grunts, but gets in. I slide into the driver’s seat, and then take off. The ride back to the suburbs is dead quiet. The air in the car is infused with alcohol, some weed, and a heavy dose of sorrow.

“Whose BMW is this?” Connor finally asks, as he slides his hand across the dash.

“Callum’s dad,” I say, glancing at him before returning my eyes to the road.

“Figures,” he retorts in a grumble.

What I really want to ask is what Jessup had done to him, but I go with, “What does that mean?” just to keep Connor talking. I glance over at the drummer, who’s now searching the glove compartment. “What are you looking for?”

“Any evidence of Callum Senior’s adulterous behavior.” Connor glances at me, and I’m taken aback by the thin, but warring smile on the drummer’s face.

As much as I don’t care or need to know the private life of the bassist’s father, I ask anyway. “I’m guessing he’s been caught?”

“Several times,” Connor confesses with resignation.