Chapter Sixteen #2
But all he felt was a vague disgust. He didn’t want to be that man anymore, holding onto old, ancient baggage, with all its anger and its hostility and its uncertainty. He knew he wasn’t going to drink anymore; Xander had been right about that.
“I don’t want a drink,” Damon said out loud, feeling a little lame, but also hoping that his father had installed sound with the sophisticated security system. “I really could give a damn if these are worth thousands.”
He thought coming here would absolve him of all the guilt and the frustration, but all it showed him was that he’d absolved himself of it a long time ago, he just hadn’t realized it. He’d already moved on; he just hadn’t caught up with the fulfilling, happy life he was already living.
If he hadn’t conquered the thrall of his addiction, he never could have dreamt of starting something of his own. He never would have built a new future for himself. And he sure as fuck wouldn’t have fallen head over heels for Xander.
There were only two things he needed to do now before he went to Xander.
The first would have to wait until morning, but the second he could take care of right now. He looked right up at the other camera, smiled broadly, gave his father the second middle finger of the night and sauntered off.
“There’s a lot of stuff about last night that we can celebrate,” Miles pointed out, pouring another cup of coffee. They were sitting on the outdoor porch of one of their favorite brunch places, conducting a complete rundown of last night’s preview success.
Xander knew they were trying to cheer him up, but it wasn’t exactly working.
Not after the way Damon had turned and walked away last night.
The very worst was Xander knew how much it had hurt him, and he’d known just how much it was hurting Xander.
And he’d done it anyway. Xander didn’t know whether to be pissed as hell at Damon for attempting to ruin them, or leaving him on what was supposed to be the greatest night of his life—or for Damon believing that he didn’t deserve Xander’s love and support.
“You’re not even listening to me,” Miles said with a frown.
“I can’t imagine why,” Xander retorted back.
“We’re just trying to . . . cheer you up,” Wyatt said with one of his more optimistic, sunny smiles plastered to his face. “And if that fails, then distract you.”
Xander reached for his glass and took a big sip of his peach mimosa. “Then distract me.”
“You should be hydrating,” Miles said with a frown at his glass. “You drank a lot of wine last night.”
Yes, he had. He hadn’t only done it to forget; he’d also done it as sort of a petty fuck you to Damon. Except he’d woken up this morning with a bottomless pit in his stomach, the victory from last night long since faded.
Xander switched his champagne flute for the water glass, and glared over the rim at Miles.
“Well, if you really want to be distracted,” Wyatt said. “We can talk about what didn’t go well last night.”
He switched his glare from Miles to Wyatt. “What?” Wyatt exclaimed. “You need to know, since you’re the general manager now.”
“Speaking of that,” Miles said. “You need to hire a front of the house manager. As awesome as it is for Wyatt and me to be handling that side of things, if Damon’s not coming back, you’re going to need someone.”
Xander took a deep breath. Was he ready to face the possibility that Damon might not ever come back to the Barrel House? Not really, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice.
Except the idea of doing it alone, without Damon being that steady and certain force behind him, was a nightmare. Xander wanted to bury his head in his hands and wail that he couldn’t do it. Instead he finished the rest of his mimosa and set the glass aside with a decisive click.
“Do you think we could cancel the reservations tonight?” he asked.
“What?” Wyatt and Miles bellowed at exactly the same moment.
“I know I said there was stuff to work on,” Wyatt continued. “But it’s small stuff. For a preview, last night went so smooth. There’s no reason to cancel the reservations.”
Xander set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “There is, if I never intend to open. I’m not doing this alone. I didn’t sign on to do this alone.”
There was total silence at the table.
“Are you kidding?” Miles burst out finally. “You can’t do this, not now! Not when you’re so close!”
“Miles is right,” Wyatt said seriously.
“I should record this,” Xander said. “I don’t think you’ve ever said Miles was right, ever.”
“Well, he’s right now,” Wyatt countered.
“You’ve worked so damn hard to get to this place.
Just think of how many shitty shifts you endured to be offered head chef.
How many times did Aquino yell at you? Throw a plate at you?
Are you really going to give up after you’ve finally gotten out from under him? ”
“This isn’t me giving up,” Xander tried to tell them.
“It sure as fuck looks like it,” Miles pointed out.
Xander glared but neither of them backed down.
“I just can’t believe you’re willing to throw this opportunity away because Damon let you down,” Wyatt said with a shake of his head.
“He didn’t just let me down, he broke my fucking heart,” Xander burst out.
“We know,” Miles said, reaching over and squeezing Xander’s hand.
“And I wish he hadn’t. I want to go find him and chop his balls off, and shove them down his throat.
But this isn’t about him, Xander. This is about you.
You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.
The most driven. The most determined. You shouldn’t let one guy’s shitty behavior change that. ”
“You quit before you’ve even started, and you’ve let him win,” Wyatt added.
Xander’s gaze narrowed. “You know, you’re a real asshole.”
“What, me?” Wyatt asked with a faux innocent tone and a hearty laugh.
“You know me too well,” Xander retorted. “You know exactly what will get me to the Barrel House tonight.”
Miles shrugged. “To get you there, we’re willing to play dirty. You’ve sacrificed too much to just give up now, and we love you too much to let you.”
“Don’t make me cry,” Xander drawled, but inside he was feeling all warm and fuzzy. Who made it through life without friends like Wyatt and Miles? He might even consider adding Kian to the list, even though sometimes he wanted to twist his neck in frustration.
“We’ll be there tonight,” Wyatt said. “And we’ll be there as long as you need.”
“Next Friday, we’ll be here until next Friday,” Miles inserted with a grin. “And then you either have to pay us or hire someone else.”
“Fine,” Xander grumbled. “Now let’s hear about the issues that need cleared up for tonight.”
“You’re going to need another mimosa,” Miles said and flagged the waitress down.
“Chef,” Miles said, his voice respectful, but his eyes glittering with amusement. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”
Xander glanced up. They were two hours into dinner service, and even though there were a few moments where he wanted to set down his pan and walk right out, sticking his best chef’s knife in Damon’s door for good measure, things were going even smoother than they had during the preview.
But Miles didn’t just look amused, Xander realized as they walked toward the back, to the long prep tables by the refrigerators.
The problem with having a large glass wall in between the kitchen and the dining room was that everyone saw everything.
Xander typically didn’t have anything to hide, except when his heart was broken and Miles was making that face.
“Everything okay?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “Really bad news first.”
Miles still didn’t say anything. “Okay,” Xander corrected testily, “I guess I’ll take the bad news first.”
“Bastian Aquino is here. He wants a table.”
“I don’t care about that asshole,” Xander said. “If he’s decided to lower himself by eating at my humble establishment, you might as well give him a damn table.”
“Damon is also here,” Miles said, before Xander could really prepare himself. He’d sort of expected what Miles was about to say, but maybe there wasn’t anything he could do to prepare himself.
“I can’t talk to him right now. We’re in the middle of service,” Xander complained.
“Which is what I told him,” Miles soothed, reaching up to put a hand on Xander’s shoulder.
“But he’s not going to continue to take no for an answer and you don’t want him to cause a scene,” Xander finished wryly. “Fine, tell him I can give him thirty seconds.”
“You want me to bring him back here?”
“He decides to bail,” Xander said firmly, “and he comes to confront me in the middle of opening night, when Aquino just walked in? He can say whatever he’s come to say in front of God and everybody. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Miles looked mildly impressed. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly. “You’ve got this,” was all he said before he walked back out toward the front of the restaurant.
Xander was focusing on the food at the pass-through, making sure every single plate was picture perfect before the waiter picked it up to take it to the table.
“Xander,” Damon said roughly, and Xander’s fingers hesitated on a lacy nest of microgreens decorating the top of his eggplant parmesan.
He didn’t look up; suddenly he wasn’t sure he could.
Why had he thought this was a good idea?
That speech of Wyatt and Miles’ from earlier this morning, when they’d talked up how brave and hardcore he was, that’s why. Xander mentally cursed them both.
“You have fifteen seconds,” Xander said, his voice thankfully steady, but he still didn’t look up.
He was painfully aware that the whole kitchen had slowed down and all his employees were focusing more on the confrontation in front of them than their own tasks.
But could he really blame them? Hell, he certainly wasn’t focusing on his own tasks right now.