Page 5

Chapter 5

Henry

Jack was sound asleep when I got back upstairs that first night, and it was likely for the best. He was clearly exhausted from whatever had brought him to Haven Grove, and hanging out without a place to stay hadn’t helped in any way.

Plus, I knew we needed to talk, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

Or maybe he’d bring it up.

Someone needed to bring it up.

The elephant in the room.

The big question.

But he’d been passed out when I snuck into the apartment, and I hadn’t even thought about waking him.

I felt like the biggest fool in the world for taking so long to put two and two together. It wasn’t until Jack was sleeping on my couch, and the food I put on the table outside the backdoor of the bar didn’t get eaten, that the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place .

Jack was my mystery guy.

Insert facepalm here.

Sure, looking back, there’d been clues I shouldn’t have missed. Maybe I didn’t really miss them, I just wasn’t in the right headspace to pick up on them.

But why hadn’t he said anything? At first, I’d been irritated. Was he playing me for a fool? Trying to pull one over on me? What was in it for him? It wasn’t like a crappy booth and leftover food was some big prize.

The realization came the morning after Jack moved in, but after a couple days of Jack sleeping on my couch, eating cereal as he watched baking shows, washing dishes, and gathering up the trash, I realized his reasons were all his own, and I couldn’t push him to tell me.

Sure, I could ask, but it didn’t feel right.

Jack needed to come to me on his own. It had to be in his timing and for his reasons. There were likely a hundred reasons Jack hadn’t told me he was the guy sleeping out back.

Honestly, it was killing me to not know, but I stubbornly refused to push the subject until Jack was ready. Until then, he had a safe space, and I was left wondering just how long I’d be able to keep my secret boarder from Hudson.

As if my family had a sixth sense and knew I was thinking of them, my dad came rip roarin’ into the bar before we opened, the backdoor slamming behind him. “Who the hell is sittin’ out back? You hire someone new?”

Casey Joe Riggs was a good man at heart. Hudson and I resembled each other because we each got bits and pieces of our dad. The three of us were similar heights. I was broader than the two of them, but Dad wasn’t far behind. Lance used to say if you merged Hudson and me together, we’d be the exact replica of Casey Joe.

But he wasn’t known for being soft or quiet.

“Huh?” Dad’s barreling in and launching questions startled me, I hadn’t been expecting anyone but maybe Jack to come through the backdoor. Sam and Kayla weren’t on the clock for another twenty minutes.

“Some damn kid out there, looking like a little lost lamb.” Dad flung himself onto a barstool as he muttered something about fleece of gold .

“Did you say something to him?” I demanded. Not waiting for an answer from my clearly-in-a-very-foul-mood father, I marched out the backdoor.

Jack sat on the old booth bench, phone in hand, staring off into space.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

He flinched, and I immediately wanted to punch anyone in the face who had ever made him so jumpy. “Sorry, what?”

“No need to be sorry. Just checking on you. Looks like my dad is in a mood, and I wanted to be sure he wasn’t an asshole.”

Jack’s eyes went wide as if he wasn’t accustomed to anyone calling their father an asshole.

Standing next to him as the last of the morning breeze did its best to hold off the warm, muggy air, I rested my hip against the table. “You know how dads can be.”

He shook his head. “Not really. Uncles maybe.” He glanced toward the door. “Does he know you call him an asshole? ”

I chuckled. “Sure, if he’s being one. I’ll leave you be. Come in when you feel like it. If not, I’ll see you for dinner tonight?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.” Still lost in whatever thoughts had him tied up.

The bright morning sun blasted the stained-glass windows reflecting soft, colored light onto tables and the dining room carpet as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the bar. Dad had moved to the corner to launch darts at the bullseye. Either he sucked at darts, or his anger had him so pissed off his aim wasn’t worth shit.

“What crawled up your ass?” I asked from behind the bar.

Dad jerked his attention to me, returned the darts to the board, and barreled his way back to his stool. “Fuckin’ Lance. God damn traitor if you ask me.”

Oh.

Shit.

Dad eyed me for a moment. “Fuckin’ hell, you knew? Does the whole god damn town know? No one thought to let me know? Same ol’ shit, different day.”

I set to work putting away glasses, wiping down menus, and opening the register for the day. “They’re adults, not really anyone’s place to spread their business.”

“My god damn best friend? With my fuckin’ son?” He choked out a sarcastic grunt. “ Fuckin’ with my son more like it.” Dad’s arms flailed as he bellowed, his country boy twang all the heavier when he got pissed. “And no one thought I needed to know?” He rubbed a hand over red, swollen knuckles.

Glad there was a bit of time before we opened, I figured I’d let him blow off some steam. “You want a drink?”

“Vodka.”

I snorted. “Nah, it’s too early.”

“Beer.”

He didn’t need beer. He needed healthier food, regular exercise, a therapist, and the conviction to get his life back on the right track before he ceased to exist. But I wasn’t gonna fight him. Not right then, and not on something as simple as a beer when he’d just found out what he’d found out.

Wincing inwardly at how he might have discovered Hudson and Lance were a thing, I grabbed an icy mug and filled it with Dad’s favorite draft before sliding it in front of him. “If it helps, I’m pretty sure they were planning on telling you soon.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dad grumbled before taking a long swallow of his beer. “God damn, fuckin’ hell. No, it doesn’t help. How long have you known?”

I shrugged, not wanting to get Hudson and Lance into deeper shit than they appeared to already be in. “Can’t say I’ve known anything official for all that long.”

“Official? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? They gettin’ hitched or somethin’?” Dad took another swig of beer.

Putting away a couple glasses, I made a noncommittal noise.

“Fuckin’ traitor, that’s what he is. God damn fuckin’ snake in the henhouse. Think I’d learn by now; everyone fucks ya over. Don’t go thinkin’ your god damn best friend won’t because just when you least expect it, he’ll go and weasel his way into your baby boy’s bed. Fuckin’ disgusting, that’s what it is?—”

“Whoa, hold up a damn minute.” I cut off Dad’s bitching. “First things first, Lance and Hudson are grown ass men who can make their own decisions about who they do or do not spend time with. Second, Lance has been your best friend since long before Hudson and me were around.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What the hell do you mean by it’s disgusting ?”

Dad opened his mouth like he was about to say something, caught my eye, and snapped his mouth closed. “I’m not talkin’ about the gay thing,” he started, “although, I gotta say seein’ Lance in bed with any man would have thrown me for a loop.”

I sighed. “I’m sure seeing him with your son was a shock.”

“You boys both know I’m not against your sexualities. Straight, bi, gay, whatever, I don’t care.” Dad took another pull from his beer. “In the beginning, I can’t say I understood it at all. Maybe still don’t. But all I’ve ever wanted is for my boys to be happy. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Hell, somedays I think I maybe even get it on some level—finding that person…no matter who they happen to be…gettin’ that chance to live your true, authentic life with a person you love who loves you right back. Somedays, it makes sense.” He ran a hand over his face.

For a moment, I thought maybe he was simmering down. It wasn’t the time to ask, but I wanted to know more about his changing attitude—not so much about Hudson and me being queer; he’d always been decently okay with that—but about this new openness to loving a person and living an authentic life.

That would have to be a later conversation because Dad grunted angrily and slammed his mug down on the bar. “But fuckin’ hell,” he said, his voice already ramping up into a roar. “Of all the people my son and best friend could have found to fuck, they had to find each other?”

“It’s kinda cool if you think about it,” I said. “Of all the millions of people in the world, two people you love the most found their way to each other.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ Judas. Came home like everything was the same, but he’s a backstabbin’ bastard. Sneakin’ around, fuckin’ with Hudson’s life.”

I took his empty glass. “If I had to guess, this thing isn’t just some sort of casual fling.”

Dad snorted. “Hudson doesn’t do serious. Hell, both you boys are just as fucked up as me.”

I held up my hand. “Look, we all know she did a number on all of us. Hudson has his way of dealing with it. I have my way.” Scratching my fingers through my beard, I offered, “Not sure you’ve ever really dealt with it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to?—”

I cut him off. “All I’m sayin’ is I know finding out this way was a shock, and maybe it would have gone over better if they’d had a chance to sit you down and tell you, but it’s water under the bridge now.” Letting Dad sit in his anger and stew a bit over what I’d said, I walked to the back and turned on the ovens. When I returned, Dad’s fists clenched—open, close, open, close—and his agitated state had clearly not decreased any. “Hudson doesn’t do relationships. He barely does repeats. We all know this. Maybe that should be our clue this is something more.”

“So, what, they gonna fuck up a friendship—fuck, he was family —just for some good dick?” Dad bitched.

“Are you more upset about Lance sleeping with a guy or the fact that guy was Hudson?”

“Both,” Dad grumbled. “Fuck, I don’t know. I didn’t see it comin’ with Lance. But he shoulda kept his dick in his pants around my kid.”

Shaking my head, I wiped up the mug’s lingering condensation on the bar. “Lance isn’t a player. He’s not the type to fuck around.”

“What’s your god damn point?” Dad demanded.

“My point is maybe you should go home, cool off, and think about that fact that Lance and Hudson are adults. They’re good people. Smart. If Hudson has thrown out the no relationship rule, maybe what he and Lance found together is real.”

Dad’s eyes caught mine as my words hit home. “God damn fuckin’ Judas. Backstabbin’ bastard. Fuckin’ liars—all y’all. Leavin’ me in the dark like it’s some big fuckin’ joke.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I muttered, “Gee, wonder why no one wanted to tell you…”

Dad stood and pushed away from the bar, the stool nearly toppling over. “Gonna kick his fuckin’ ass, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“You need to take your ass home and calm the fuck down. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you, and you need to be ready to have an adult conversation when they come over.” I placed my palms on the bar and leaned into my words. “Go. Home.”

Dad shoved the barstool in, unnecessarily slamming it against the underside of the bar. “Fuck all y’all. I’m goin’ home because I can’t trust a damn fuckin’ person in this town. Not gonna calm down. Not gonna talk to the backstabbin’ Judas. Punch him in his damn mouth is more like it.”

“Dad—” I started, but he turned and stormed toward the backdoor, his middle finger raised in way of goodbye.

Only because I worried he’d snap at Jack, I followed him.

Jack wasn’t out back anymore.

But the damn trash bandit had returned. Dad kicked at a wet piece of garbage warming in the sun. “Get this shit figured out,” he bellowed. “Smells like shit out here.”

Staring at the open bag with trash spilling from it, I ran a hand over my face. “Thought I had this shit figured out,” I muttered.

My phone buzzed in my pocket at the height of the lunch rush. With sweat prickling my forehead, and a headache building between my eyes, I grabbed at the interruption, set on swiping away the offending message in favor of concentrating on serving food and keeping customers happy.

Instead, the words caught my attention, and a brick settled in my stomach.

Dad: What the fucks wrong with your beer?

Me: Wdym?

Dad: Been sick ever since I got home. Damn beer.

Me: What’s wrong? Puking?

Dad: Need a nap. Stomach hurts, can’t get a good breath. Dizzy.

Well, fuck.

I quickly delivered dinner to a table and made my way back to the kitchen.

“Can you two cover things?” I asked Sam as Kayla took a plate from the window.

“What’s up?” Sam asked, glancing my way.

“Need to check on my dad. He’s not feeling well.” Dad wasn’t in the best of shape, but he wasn’t usually one to text about feeling bad unless he was down with something like killer pig flu—his words, not mine.

Sam must have seen worry around my edges because he gave a quick nod as he expertly plated a meal. “Sure, man. No problem. Let me know what’s up.”

“Thanks.” Heading to the back, I tossed my towel next to the washer, grabbed my keys, and headed out the backdoor.

Pounding up the stairs, I rushed inside my apartment. Jack sat curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eating cereal. His eyes went wide, and a little squeak escaped him.

“Sorry,” I said .

“What’s wrong?” He uncurled himself and put the mostly empty bowl of cereal on the coffee table

“Gotta go check on my dad.”

“The asshole?” Jack asked.

Chuckling, I nodded as I grabbed my wallet. “The one and only. He’s not feeling well. May end up taking him to the hospital.”

“Can I help?”

I hesitated. It wasn’t really Jack’s place to help me out, but he’d been in the bar enough lately to know Sam, Kayla, and several of the regulars. “Maybe check in with Sam, see if he needs any help? I’ll pay you for your time.”

Jack stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope, that’s not a part of this deal. Go on, go check on your dad. I’ll help Sam.”

Gratitude washed over me, and I fought the urge to pull Jack into a hug. Instead, I gave his shoulder a squeeze and headed back down the stairs.

By the time I reached Dad’s place, I was half convinced I’d find him on the floor, and half sure he’d tell me he burped and felt better.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling better.

“You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit,” Dad said, rubbing his chest. “Can’t get a good breath. Like a fuckin’ elephant sittin’ on my chest.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Fuck. Damn skunk-ass beer.”

“This isn’t the beer. Come on, we’re gonna go.” I grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, and searched the hall table for his wallet .

“Go where?” Some of his usual obstinance tried to break through his words, but it lacked conviction.

“Hospital.”

“The fuck I am.” He stood, rubbed his chest, and tried to speak around catching his breath. “What the fuck do I need a hospital for?”

“Well, you look like shit. You feel like shit. Your chest hurts, you can’t breathe, and you’re nauseous.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Dad. Get in the damn truck.” I grabbed his elbow and marched him down the front steps. It spoke volumes that Dad’s bitching and fighting didn’t make it beyond a few halfhearted protests and complaints, barely heard above the dental drill shriek of the cicadas.

The hospital wasn’t too far up the state highway that ran through our county, but the distance seemed like a day-long journey for my nerves as I drove well-over the speed limit while Dad hunched himself against the passenger door. A fist of fear gripped me, and worry coursed through my veins. Dad was quiet, but I could tell he was uncomfortable.

And scared.

Fuck.

Even as an adult, no kid wants to see their dad scared for his life.

I parked in a temporary spot outside the emergency room main entrance and helped Dad into the waiting room as quickly as his condition would allow. His feeble attempt to shake off my hand on his elbow was yet another sign he felt like shit. “I think he might be having a heart attack,” I said to the guy at the check-in desk trying my best to sound calm, but the fear demanding attention.

To their credit, everyone acted quickly. Dad was settled into a wheelchair—his large frame suddenly small and frail as he sank into the seat. The young nurse, who looked as if she’d worked every single bit of her twelve-hour shift and then some, expertly maneuvered the chair and whisked Dad through a swinging door. My chest squeezed tightly as I watched, his tired, pained words reaching my ears as he disappeared down a long hall. “That’s my son. I want my son with me. Henry…” And then he was gone, the doors swinging shut behind him.

The rest was a blur of fear and nerves.

Fear that the last I’d see of my dad was him being taken away in a wheelchair looking every bit as sick as I’d feared he was for the last several years. The last words I’d hear from him were I want my son with me . I needed to call Hudson. Needed to let Sam know I wouldn’t be back.

Move my truck.

Jack.

Fuck.