Chapter Twenty-One
Emmet
Hungover is an understatement.
I haven’t felt this bad in years. My body aches, my stomach is sour, my head is pounding, and my eyes feel like they’re being stabbed by a thousand little needles.
I have no idea what time it is, but it’s relatively quiet, and I’m most definitely not home.
It takes a moment for me to remember everything from the night before.
Adam. I’m at his house, on his couch. I listen for a sign he’s away, but hear nothing, so I assume he’s still asleep.
I look around for my phone and find it on the floor.
There’s 5% battery left, but it tells me it’s nearly two in the afternoon.
I carefully sit up and put my feet on the floor. My back is stiff, and I have to piss so bad. Once I’m on my feet, I steady myself and make it into the bathroom to pee and wash my face. There’s mouthwash in the cabinet, so I rinse my mouth with that, then go in search of Adam.
There’s a large lump in his bed, which must be him. After a quick check to make sure he’s breathing, I go back into the living room, order a car, and put on my shoes.
“Hey.”
Adam is standing in the doorway looking as bad as I feel, but I still give him a smile.
“Hi.”
“You look like shit,” he says.
I chuckle and it hurts my head. “So do you.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I need to shower and get to the bar.”
“You could shower here.”
“I have mac and cheese all over my shirt.” I point to the stains I saw when I was in the bathroom.
“I’d say you could borrow mine, but I don’t think they’d fit.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
We had a great night together, but a lot of things happened that I need to process. There’s one thing that’s bothering me though, one thing that has nothing to do with last night, but I need to get it off my chest because this is Adam and I used to be able to go to him for everything.
I stare at the floor and let it out.
“My mom died.”
“What? When?” he says, coming into the living room and sitting beside me on the couch so close our legs touch.
“On Christmas. It’s why I wasn’t answering you.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, scrubbing a hand down his face. I see the pain there from the corner of my eye.
“I’m sorry, Emmet. What happened?”
“She was sick for a while, but we found out a few months ago it was cancer. It’s why when you asked I said it was complicated.
A lot of people thought she’d died already and I never corrected them because it was too much to explain.
Her and my dad moved to Florida so she could spend her last days there.
She told me not to visit her because she didn’t want me sad, but I had to see her one last time. I needed one last Christmas with her.”
“So that’s why you went to Florida.”
“How’d you know I was in Florida?”
He smirks. “I may have asked Pete where you were a time or two. He told me. Don’t be mad at him.”
“I wouldn’t get mad over that. Not when it comes to you.”
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he says softly, his hands clasped together in his lap. I stare at them, wishing I could link our hands together—wishing we were just more than this.
We fall into a comfortable silence until I get an alert on my phone that my ride will be here in two minutes. The air in the room is heavy, but not the same kind of tension as last night. I get to my feet and turn to face him.
“I had a lot of fun last night.”
“Me too.” He smiles.
“Do it again?”
He gets to his feet. “Yeah, in a week when I recover.”
“Got it. But if you’re feeling better later and need something to do, come by the bar.” He groans. “You don’t have to drink. Maybe we can order food.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Text me.”
My phone alerts again, and as difficult as it is, I force myself to turn around and leave his apartment.
“Bar Daddy!” the guys shout in unison when I walk through the door, causing everyone to look at me.
I shake my head as I walk behind the bar and into the back room. I’m at my desk for exactly two minutes before the music starts up. It’s going to be one of those nights where Nathanial is singing all night.
I’m not a pop fan, but I’d recognize that Backstreet Boys song anywhere. It’s popular enough. Only it’s Nathanial doing his own rendition of it—something he does often enough, just not like this.
“Tell me why Bar Daddy makes the best drinks. Tell me why Bar Daddy is a ten out of ten. Tell me why I never want to see him go. I want him to stay!”
Pete pops his head into my office with a smirk. “That’s a talent all in its own.”
“Shut the door,” I grumble.
Pete laughs as he does.
It doesn’t block out the sound entirely, but it’s enough that I can focus.
I’m going through the quote for the HVAC guys and trying to figure out the best way to get them paid so they can do the work. One of the most difficult things about owning your own business is all the money you have to put into it in the beginning.
If you want to make money, you have to spend money.
I go through my budget and bills and move stuff around to make this work. Getting a fully functioning kitchen in this place will do wonders. I need to figure this out.
The music finally dies down; Nathanial must need a break. I focus all my attention on work, even though my head is killing me, and get a lot of the admin stuff done that I didn’t do yesterday. I lost a full day because I spent it with Adam. It was worth it, but I’ll be making up for it all week.
A knock on the door has me pulling my burning eyes away from the screen, and part of me is grateful for the break.
“Come in!” I call, pinching the bridge of my nose. I need something for this damn headache.
“Someone’s here for you,” Pete says.
It takes a second, but I realize who it is. It can only be one person. “Have him come back here.”
He leaves and comes back a moment later with Adam behind him. I don’t have to tell him to shut the door when he leaves, he does it on his own. I can only imagine what they all think we’re doing back here. Dirty thoughts from all of them, I assume. Their minds are always in the gutter.
“Hey,” I say with a smile, leaning back and stretching my arms up. Adam’s gaze dips down, and I feel the cool air on my lower stomach from my shirt going up. “Feeling better?”
He shrugs, sitting in the seat across from me. “Enough to get here.”
“Awww,” I say with a grin, causing him to blush.
“Cute office you got here.”
“Cute?”
“It’s a suitable word.”
“For a three-year-old.”
“I have one of those,” he says with a laugh.
“Fair point.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks.
I look at my computer screen and get a sharp pain through my right eye. I snap them both shut.
“Yeah, let’s have a drink.” I get up and he follows me to the front. I jerk my head toward one of the empty stools, and he moves around the bar to sit down. I make him a Jack and Coke, assuming that’s what he wants, and pour myself a whiskey. I take the seat beside him.
“I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” he mutters as he picks up his glass.
“Same,” I say with a laugh.