19. Walt
WALT
Weeknights are always a slower crowd, and with only an hour left until we close, it’s trickled down to only a few parties left.
I’ve gotten less hateful toward the bell ringing over the door, seeing it as a way to bring in money instead of a nuisance.
But, right now, the sound draws me to a group that has me shaking in my boots as Bob walks in with some folks I used to hang with over at Miller’s Pub.
My skin crawls. Shit.
“Walt!” Several of the guys yell in unison as they walk in the door—already drunk and barely able to stand. They are all wearing Riders jerseys and, by the smell of them, they’ve been drinking since long before tonight’s game started.
“Hey Bob. Guys. How’s it going?”
“Riders fucking lost! Calhoun got ejected, and now we might not make the playoffs. Got any specials? We need to drink away this loss.”
“Got a few beers on tap; otherwise, Johnny can pour you a drink.”
Bob tilts his head down the bar toward Johnny, then back at me.
“I’ll take a beer. I don’t need some limp wrist making me a drink,” he spits as the rest of the group laughs at his tasteless joke. “You know about that guy before you hired him?”
My fist balls at my side. He’s lucky I haven’t already hit him square in the jaw. I ignore the question, my jaw clenched tight as I grab a pint from the tap. “You all want beers then?”
They all hoot and holler in agreement, and I begin to pour them—with Bob sitting on the stool right in front of me.
My jaw clenches. That’s Johnny’s seat. The one he sat on that first day.
The one he bobs his leg up and down on when he’s nervous or excited.
The one he straddles, pulling his jeans tight and making me wish we didn’t have all these damn windows.
Focus, Walt. Pour the beers. Maybe they won’t stay long.
“You know, Walt. I always knew there was something off with you. You never mentioned a woman before. And now it’s alllll starting to make sense.” He taps his finger on his skull, and I wish it was a nail going into it with a hammer instead.
I grit my teeth as I hand the beer over and continue to pour them for the rest of the group. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bob.”
“You think I didn’t see you two during the game before I came over? I did. You were a lot more friendly with him than when you hang out with us at Miller’s. I’ve barely seen you crack a smile, yet there you were, Walter Bennet, smiling like a goddamn fool next to his boyfriend.”
I slam the next glass down on the bar top. “You got something you want to say to me?”
“Just letting you know about my…obersa…overs…observation,” he slurs before chugging back half his drink.
I quickly glance down the bar at Johnny, who I can tell is trying his best not to look my way and cause a scene.
I swallow down the bile in my throat. I can’t decide if I want to punch Bob in the face or throw up.
Johnny finally turns, fully facing me with a look that’s clearly asking if I’m okay.
I’m the farthest thing possible from okay, but…
my shoulders loosen at the way he checks on me, not only now, but every day.
It gives me the courage to be more of myself.
Especially seeing Johnny has great friends here that support him regardless of who he loves.
The thought hits me like a jolt of electricity.
Maybe I’ve just been around the wrong people my whole life.
Maybe there’s a group that understands me better than the idiot chugging a beer while sitting at my bar.
Maybe there are more people like Rich and Sandy that would make things a hell of a lot easier.
I set the last of the beers on the counter with a purpose. “Beers are on the house, fellas, but I’ll need you to finish them and be on your way. I don’t tolerate people talking down to my bartenders in here.”
Bob nearly chokes on his drink out with a laugh. “Your bartender? Pssssshhhh! You’re not fooling anyone. You two are fucking, aren’t you?”
I grit my teeth as I walk around the bar to face him directly and hopefully lead him out the door. “You need to go.”
“You can’t throw me out! This is a public place,” he snaps.
“Hey, man”—Rich stands on the other side of Bob, grabbing his arm—“the owner is asking you to leave, so I think you’d better head out.”
“Oh…who are you? Did you know these two are together? Let me assskkks you a quession…Who do you think gives better head? I bet that one down at the end is sucking dick all over town!”
My blood boils—I can’t take this anymore.
The next thing I know, my hand burns and Bob is on the floor with a bloody lip.
I fight to keep my knees from buckling. I’ve never punched anyone before.
The entire bar is staring at me. Staring at me as if I’ve climbed to the top of a mountain I never thought I’d be able to get up.
Johnny races to my side, his hand a burning comfort on my shoulder. Rich helps Bob up and escorts him and his friends out the door, while Sandy is behind them telling them they are not welcome here anymore.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe.
I hear a few murmurs, saying ‘good for you’ and ‘jerk had it coming’ or ‘go, Walt.’ But all I can think of is the massive attention I’ve brought my way. The edges of my vision blur while the whispers sound as though they’re underwater.
I need air.
I push Johnny aside and race to the back of the bar, bursting out into the alley.
What the hell have I done?