Chapter One
Derek
From the outside, the place looked like a dive, and the inside wasn’t much better.
You’re being pretentious. And picky.
Two things I could no longer afford to be. The chain hotel I was staying at had decent room-service food, but I needed something more. Something greasy, filling, and bad for my arteries. To hasten my demise in this God-awful small town. If boredom didn’t kill me first.
Ace’s Place. The only sports bar in Merritt, British Columbia. Better known as the middle of fucking nowhere.
Okay, that might have been an exaggeration. The town had over seven thousand residents. It was on the Trans-Canada Highway, so if one was going from Vancouver to, I don’t know, Calgary, one would travel through this backwater town. Unfortunately, I wasn’t traveling to Calgary. Or Toronto or Montréal or anywhere urban and urbane. Nope, Merritt was the last stop for me. An ignominious end to what had begun as a very glorious career.
In the past.
Now I was about to hunker down for a meal at this bar. Ace’s Place wasn’t the only bar within the boundaries of Merritt, but as it was next to my hotel, it won. I could drink myself into oblivion, and only have to walk a couple hundred feet back to the semi-comfortable bed that awaited me.
Three days. I’d been here for three days and I was already numb. What would I be like after three months? Three years? Hell, three decades? A shell of my former self. Guaran-fucking-teed.
I opened the door, and the smell of beer and fried food assailed me. Reminded me of the bar back in Vancouver I used to frequent with my co-workers after we quit on Friday nights. A far cry from the gay bars I haunted on Saturday night. Those forays, I kept to myself.
A young woman in a black shirt and short black skirt approached me. I held up one finger before she could get a word in edgewise.
“Bar or table?”
A decision almost too much to deal with, but I answered. “Bar.”
No need to occupy an entire table. The place was hopping with almost every booth filled.
“Game night.”
She answered my unasked question as she led me to the bar.
I selected the stool at the end and slid onto it.
After she handed me a menu, she headed off.
I perused the menu. Perfect, there were hardly any healthy items on it.
A coaster was placed in front of me, and I glanced up to see who’d put it there.
My breath caught.
Dark-brown hair. Shaved at the sides, longer on top. Sexy trimmed scruff. And the deepest-brown eyes I’d ever seen. Oh, and the body? I tried to be circumspect in my examination but, man, he made my mouth water. Brawny, but not beefy. Wide shoulders with muscular arms. His black T-shirt was tight across his broad chest.
He was scrumptious enough to eat.
And by his raised eyebrow, I’d taken just a moment too long in my perusal.
Crap.
“Whatever you have on tap.”
“We have eight brews.”
He named all eight.
I tried not to think that my old pub had a much larger selection.
“The pale ale would be great.”
He nodded and moved over to the tap. As he poured, I watched him instead of the beer. The movement of his arm, the furrow of concentration in his brow, the flexing of his abs when he hit the right amount of beer and foam. My cock sat up and took notice—something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.
“One pale ale.”
His eyes sparkled in the light from the upper frame of the bar. “You decide on food?”
“Greasy, please.”
I handed him the menu. “And spicy.”
His grin did things to my stomach. “One jalape?o burger with a side of spicy mushroom caps. That’ll fill your belly.”
Said stomach growled. How long since I’d eaten? Food? A few hours. A man like him? Way too fucking long. He was so my type. And probably as straight as they came.
I sipped my beer as I watched him work the bar. Beer was flowing, and I quickly picked up it was hockey night. Apparently the hometown junior team was playing, as every screen in the place was tuned to the game. I liked hockey as much as most Canadians, and being a hometown Vancouverite, I enjoyed Canucks games. That being said, I only attended when work gave me tickets. I had season tickets for the symphony.
Didn’t figure that’d go over well in this crowd.
“One jalape?o burger and one side of spicy mushroom caps. Anything else I can get you?”
He’d caught me unawares. You probably wouldn’t go over well in this crowd either.
“No, this is great. Smells delicious.”
And it did. Better than the BLT sandwich I’d had for lunch.
He placed a rolled napkin with all the cutlery, winked, and backed away. Before I could say another word, he was halfway down the bar and leaning over so he could hear the server giving him a drink order.
A wink?
Because the food was good, or because he read something more? Was there longing in my expression? My last hookup had been over six months ago. Longest dry spell since I’d turned nineteen and could head to the gay bars down on Davie Street. I’d taken full advantage over the past ten years. Always being safe, but enjoying myself nonetheless. Nothing serious, though. No, nothing to distract from my career.
What a fucking joke that turned out to be. Not lost on me what I’d missed out on.
I bit into the burger and moaned. Juice dribbled down my chin, and I quickly swiped it up with the napkin. Holy Lord. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything this good. Maybe ever. After chewing thoroughly, I swallowed, took a swig of beer, then popped a mushroom cap into my mouth. Heaven. I’d died and gone to heaven.
All in Ace’s Place.
The bartender returned and pointed to the food.
“Amazing,”
I enthused. “Hey, what’s your name?”
A sly grin cut across his expression. “Harold.”
“Harold?”
He didn’t look like a Harold.
“Better known as… Harold.”
Swiping the cloth across the bar, he offered a sheepish smile. “I wanted Harry or, I don’t know, anything other than Harold. But my great-grandfather carried the name, and he died in the war, so my mother insisted on honoring him. I think she did it to curry favor with my grandfather. Whatever. It’s just a name, though.”
Another swipe against the pristinely clean mahogany. “What’s your name?”
“Derek.”
Harold nodded. “And where do you hail from, Derek? Because I know just about everyone in town, and I don’t know you. Or are you passing through our fair city?”
I wish.
“I’m from the coast. I just took a job teaching at the community college. I start Monday.”
Another nod. “Yeah, Ms. Caulder’s sudden heart attack devastated the entire town. Just six months from retirement, no less.”
He pointed at me. “Guess they were lucky you could come up here so fast. Vancouver, right?”
Since I was pretty sure I didn’t have a Vancouver accent, he’d likely made an educated guess. I supposed I could’ve come from elsewhere, but what was the point of attempting subterfuge? Yes, I was starting over. No, I didn’t have anything to hide.
“Yeah, Vancouver.”
Point Grey, to be exact. The most exclusive neighborhood in the city. Or that’s where my parents lived. I’d had a condo in the downtown core. One I’d just sold for an obscene amount of money. I pointed to the plate which held only remnants of one of the best meals I’d ever consumed. “Amazing.”
“We do our best. Got a great kitchen staff.”
He organized the plates into a pile. “You want another drink? Maybe some desert? We’ve got a decadent cheesecake.”
I patted my flat belly. Wouldn’t stay that way if I indulged too often. “I’m good. I might hang for a bit before heading back to my hotel.”
He cocked his head in the direction whence I’d come.
“Yep. Just until Friday. I got a great deal on a house in Bench. Four bedrooms and three bathrooms for less than my one-bedroom condo in downtown Vancouver cost.”
Another nod. “Yeah, we get lots of city folks settling up here. Not too far of a drive, but far enough away that real estate prices haven’t gotten silly. With telecommuting these days, people can live everywhere. Our small community is expanding with city slickers getting away from the rat race.”
“You always live here?”
“Five generations. My family used to own the general store back in the day. We’ve held various jobs over the years, nothing sticking. My two younger sisters headed to Vancouver and never looked back. Small town living never suited them.”
“But it did you?”
That fascinated me.
A huge grin. “Big fish in a small pond.”
I was about to ask what he meant when a guy sauntered up to the bar. He pointed to the stool next to me, and I gestured for him to have at it.
He plopped down, removed his baseball cap, and set it on the stool next to him. “Cold one, please.”
“Sure, West. Rough day?”
The guy shrugged. “I caught three kids smoking dope behind the school when they were supposed to be in my gym class. Instead of turning them in, I made them run continuous laps until the period ended. Two of them threw up, and the third collapsed.”
Harold raised an eyebrow.
West waved him off. “All for show, I promise. They showered, rehydrated, and went on to English. I suspect it’ll be a long time before they smoke weed instead of coming to my class.”
The man looked on the young side to be a teacher. I didn’t peg him for much more than twenty-five. Of course I was only twenty-nine, but I felt decades older. His light-brown hair was much shorter than my light blond. He had almost a buzz cut—close to the look I used to sport—but I hadn’t been to a hairdresser in six months. And his eyes were a stunning hazel. I’d been told my sky-blue eyes were my best feature, but I wasn’t convinced of that. I always figured guys used it as a line.
“West, this here is Derek. He’s new in town. Derek, this is West. Used to play for the Junior A team, and he decided to stick around. Now he’s the gym teacher at the high school.”
We shook hands. His grip was powerful, but something in his expression caught my attention.
“You from the Lower Mainland?”
Sheesh, what was everyone’s obsession about where I came from? “Yes, Vancouver.”
“Ah.”
He grabbed the beer Harold presented him. “Just wondered if you might’ve been out in Mission City or Abbotsford.”
An odd question. But that ghosted look flashed again. Obviously something was prompting the curiosity. More likely, someone.
“Can’t say I made it out to the Fraser Valley often. Worked and lived downtown.”
“Fair enough.”
He took a long drink, then turned to the bartender. “Plate of nachos, hold the jalape?os.”
Harold glanced my way when he said, “You two will never be compatible.”
West snorted, cutting a glance my way. “I take it you like those little fuckers.”
He took another sip of beer. “And I don’t play for that team.”
His brow furrowed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean—”
“You’re talking too much, Mr. Harris. Drink your beer.”
Saluting Harold with his beer, West snickered. “Never let an excellent brew go to waste.”
He took a long draw. “What is it you do, Derek?”
“He’s taking up the teaching job at the community college.”
Would I be allowed to contribute to the conversation?
West turned to give me a good look. “Glad you’re here. Those kids deserve the best instructors.”
“I don’t know if I’m the best—"
“You’re here and you’re breathing. I assume you have some business background…”
“MBA and CPA.”
Said with little thought. I didn’t need to defend my credentials. I didn’t have any teaching experience, but I knew the material inside and out.
“The student body is a huge cross-section of students from the surrounding area.”
Ah, I saw where he was going with this. “I’m aware of the make-up of the students. You don’t need to worry about me.”
In other words, I wasn’t a bigot. I could honestly trot out the standard I have Indigenous friends line but it’d be trite. One of my best friends at the university had been from a reserve in Northern British Columbia. She’d fought long and hard to get into the Sauder School of Business. She now ran the finance department for her entire region. Had I witnessed discrimination against her? Yes. Had I spoken up? Also, yes. But she said she preferred to fight her own battles. It just pissed me off she had to at all.
Harold dropped a huge steaming plate of nachos in front of West. “Eat up, my friend, because I’m going to kick your ass Sunday morning.”
West grunted, took a huge mouthful, then cringed and took a swig of beer. “Jesus, buddy.”
“You think I wouldn’t bring them right out of the oven?”
Bartender grinned. “Best in town.”
“Best in the Nicola Valley.”
West blew on a chip before popping it in his mouth. He finished chewing, took another swig of beer, and tipped his glass. “And we’re going to kick your ass Sunday morning.”
“There’s going to be ass kicking?”
I was intrigued.
“Hockey, to be precise.”
West blew on another chip, and I was forced to wait as he ate. At least he didn’t speak with his mouth full. “We play hockey most Sunday mornings. Bright and early.”
Harold returned with a full sleeve of beer and put it in front of me, taking away my half-full glass. Or was that half-empty?
“Lukewarm sucks ass.”
“You would know, buddy.”
Another chip. West must’ve been starving by the way he devoured that meal.
“I think you mean suck cock and kiss ass.”
Harold again winked at me, then sauntered down to the far end of the bar, where he served several beers in bottles.
Had he just…?
West cleared his throat. “Uh, I sure hope you bat for that team or this might get awkward.”
“I…uh…”
He waved. “This is a pretty progressive town, and I work with a lesbian teacher. The principal of the elementary school is gay, the mayor has a trans son, and the head reporter at the paper did a byline about how inclusivity benefits everyone. Someone painted a rainbow crosswalk and life’s been pretty sweet. Does it help that the hometown hero son is gay? Yeah, probably.”
“Harold.”
West cut me a bemused glance. “Oh, Harold, is it? That’d thrill his mother. I’ve met the woman more than a few times. Don’t cross her. She’s a sedate lady most of the time, but piss her off and she’s a wild cat.”
He eyed a chip with cheese dripping off it. “She’s shorter and stouter, but she looks exactly like, uh, Harold. Works as a greeter at the supermarket. That way she keeps up with all the latest gossip.”
Good to know. I didn’t plan to seek Mrs., uh, what was Harold’s last name? Anyway, I wasn’t planning to seek the woman out, but I suspected in this small town we might just run into each other. And I had to ask, “why do you keep stumbling on Harold’s name?”
The man next to me snickered. “Because none of us call him Harold. He’s hiding something from you—and far be it for me to give his secret away—but he’s up to something. I’d warn you to watch out, but you’re from the city. You seem pretty smart, so I suspect you can take care of yourself.”
I wasn’t certain if I’d just been insulted or complimented. “You’re not from around here?”
He shook his head. “Abbotsford born and bred.”
He dropped the nacho in what I could only term disgust. “Nothing left for me there. I finished teacher’s college and decided to make Merritt my home. I’ve done all right for myself.”
“More than all right.”
Harold had reappeared in time to pick up the half-empty plate. “To go?”
West nodded.
“Hey, is Zach coming up for Sunday’s game?”
West checked his watch. “He’s due in about an hour. I’m meeting him at my place. We’ve got coaching in the morning, which is why I’m done.”
He’d barely drunk half his beer.
“Coach and a player?”
“I coach half-a-dozen sports at the high school as well as a junior hockey team in town. Pretty talented kids. Some of them are going places, you know? I had dreams of making it big, but I was never good enough. Didn’t have the fire in the belly. Now I try to inspire kids to be better than I was. Not to put too much pressure on them, though. I want them to enjoy the game.”
He tossed his credit card onto the bar and Harold whipped it away, coming back within moments with the receipt and the boxed nachos.
West signed the receipt and saluted me. “You’ll do all right here, Derek. Feel free to drop by the rink on Sunday mornings if you’re bored. A bunch of old geezers playing for fun.”
Neither West nor Harold fit the description of old geezer, but I understood what he was saying. He rose, stretched, nodded once, and ambled out.
Harold was there within moments, grabbing the beer glass.
The entire bar erupted in applause, hoots, and cheers. There’d been the odd noise before, but this far eclipsed anything else.
Harold grinned. “Hot damn. Those kids are amazing. Four to one. Decent score, and now they’re in contention. They win the next two and they’re guaranteed a spot.”
He glanced around. “This place’ll be chaos. Our best time of year is always playoffs.”
I avoided sports bars when the Canucks were in the finals. I liked camaraderie as much as the next guy, but I also enjoyed hearing myself think. Sipping my beer, I took stock of the situation. Going home alone to the hotel room held little appeal, but did I have a reason to stay?
Before I could come up with an appropriate answer, Harold leaned over and beckoned me close. “I’m off in an hour. I could keep you company tonight, if you’re interested. Because I do believe we’re on the same team.”
My cheeks heated, and I glanced around, but no one was paying us any mind. They were still all clapping and cheering the win.
On impulse, I pulled the second key card from my wallet. “Room 302. Bring supplies.”