Chapter 12
Scottie
Fifteen minutes before closing,I message Koen.
You should invite me to your place tonight :)
Less than ten seconds later, he calls me.
“Hey. Did you get my message? Or is this just a lovely coincidence?”
“Got your message. I was going to call you, but I wanted to wait until you were done working.”
“Nobody’s here, so I’m not doing much.”
“Don’t tell your boss.”
I laugh. “I won’t. He’s itching to close this joint, but his wife likes me, so they keep it open for me.”
“Dang. You must be special.”
“I do my best.”
He hums as if he agrees, and it feeds my giddiness.
“Well, I’m on my way out of town. I took on a last-minute job that’s three hours outside of Austin. I’ll be gone for two weeks, give or take.”
“Work is good. So that’s good. Right?”
“No. I mean, yes. Work is good. Having work is good. Leaving town for two weeks after what happened last night feels like a special kind of torture.”
“Is it an emergency? Did you really not have time to stop by on your way out of town for a quickie?”
“A quickie at the store?”
“Yes, at the store. There’s a back room with a stainless steel bench or the washer and dryer they installed, so I don’t have to go to the laundromat. We could have worked something out.”
“You’re killing me, Scottie.”
I walk the store’s aisles to release some tension—the good kind that Koen elicits every time we talk. “What you did last night was very kind. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome. I’m a breast guy, so nipples are my specialty.”
I bite my bottom lip, but it doesn’t suppress my laughter. “Stop. You know what I mean.” These two men in my life are not so different. Humor is their favorite form of flirting. “Taking Price home, that was kind.”
“Oh, that? No problem.”
“What did you two talk about?” I try this from a different angle.
“He asked me about my job and my family. Then he asked me about my intentions with you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing. What did you say?”
“I said I’m a welder?—”
“No. What did you say your intentions were with me?”
“I said my intentions were none of his fucking business.”
I start to speak, but I don’t have a follow-up to that. “Um …” I clear my throat. “And what did he say?”
“Nothing.”
I nod to myself several times.
“Until we got to his house. Then he said he’d end me if I hurt you. And in the next breath, he asked me if I belonged to a gym because he needed a workout partner. So now we’re BFFs, and when I get back in town, we’re working out together three nights a week.”
I chuckle. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“I’m not joking.”
“What?” I hold my phone out and stare at it, but I’m unsure why.
“I don’t belong to a gym, so he’s paying for my membership. I have weights in my garage, but I felt sorry for him, so I agreed to be his gym partner.”
This isn’t happening. It’s a joke. Right?
“Why did you feel sorry for him?”
“Because he let you go.”
Did he?
“Koen?”
“Yeah?”
“Hurry up and come back home.”
“That’s the plan.”
I feel sorry for Price,too, but for different reasons. Every time I start to ask him what I need to ask him, everything in my chest constricts clear up to my throat, and I suffocate.
He didn’t tell me about his new gym partner, so I don’t mention it when he comes into work the next day or when we go to the salt room, where I discover he’s bought us memberships.
Over the next two weeks, I spend many evenings with Price, sitting in the salt room, grabbing a healthy dinner, harvesting his sprouts, and listening to his growing collection of vinyl records while watching him work on his Lego projects.
It’s incredibly soothing.
One man loves puzzles, the other loves Legos.
As soon as I’m not with Price, I call Koen, and we spend over an hour on the phone.
“What’s a salt room?” he asks.
“It’s a room where you sit on lounge chairs and breathe in micronized salt particle air. The salt particles absorb toxins in your respiratory tract, and there’s a long list of potential benefits.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead.”
He chuckles. “Okay. I guess I should be glad he asked you to be his salt room buddy instead of me.”
“I’m still shocked that you said yes after having known him for ten seconds.” I put him on speaker while folding laundry on my bed.
“You know what they say: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Price is your enemy?”
“We’re going to find out.”
“Just hurry up and come back to Austin. We have unfinished business.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Do you want me to give Herb a hug for you or anything like that?”
“I don’t want you hugging anyone until I get home. Herb can be a little handsy.”
“Like his grandson.”
“He’s more of an ass guy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Herb is the nicest guy I have ever known.” I slide my clothes into the drawers.
“Ouch. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“I’ve known him much longer than I’ve known you. Why do you think I agreed to our blind date? I hoped Herb’s grandson would be like him.”
“Are you talking about the date we never went on?”
“Yes. That one.” I grin, plopping onto the bed and leaning back. “Can we FaceTime? I need to see your face.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, the call ends, and he’s FaceTiming me a second later. He’s all grins when I answer, as am I.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. Are you in bed?”
“Technically, yes. I don’t have a lot of sitting options. Do you?”
“Nope. I’m at a cheap motel in its cheap bed.”
“I mean at your place. I know you have weights in a garage. I assume that means you live in a house.”
“I do. I live in a house that I built.”
“Really?”
His grin swells with pride. “Really. I lived out of a dinky trailer while building it.”
“Are we boxing or talking? I wasn’t expecting that trailer jab.”
“I’m kidding. I love how content you are with your life. It’s refreshing.”
“Because I set the bar so low.”
“The lowest.”
I roll my eyes.
“It took me a year to build my house. I’m surprised Herb didn’t mention it. He checked on my progress every day without fail. He used to be a contractor.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“That’s odd since you’ve known him for so long.”
“Koen, I’m ready to crawl through this phone and strangle you tonight.”
“If you crawl through the phone, I can think of better things we can do that don’t involve you strangling me, unless that’s your kink.” He waggles his eyebrows, and they look extra goofy from his reclined position.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I thought sex was personal, but sure, whatcha got?”
“Do you still get help for your drinking issues?”
“You can call me an alcoholic. I take responsibility and own it. And, yes, I go to meetings. If I feel like I’m struggling, I have someone to call. And I have friends and family who support me. That’s why I don’t try to hide it, even when I probably should at least hold off on oversharing too soon. When people know, there’s accountability. Does it suck when I think someone’s judging me or having trouble trusting me? Of course. But I did this. And I hurt a lot of people in the process, so I take full responsibility.”
“You’re a good man, Koen.”
He yawns. “Thanks. I appreciate you saying that. I’d better get to sleep. I start early in the morning. Long days mean I get home sooner.”
“I like that plan. I’ll let you go.”
“Goodnight, Scottie.”
“Night, Koen.”