Chapter 41 Having a Huge Night
Forty-One
Having a Huge Night
Forest
Sportsballs ends up having a huge night. As soon as the first couple of Cougars walked into the bar, Scully put the news on blast. Which meant that a hoard of regulars turned up to rub elbows with greatness and ask for autographs.
By the time I get there, Scully and Izzy are deep in the weeds.
“Forest!” Izzy yells. “Happy to see you! How was the game?”
“Legendary.” I tie on an apron. “I’ll never forget it.”
She gives me a warm smile and hurries to wash some of the dirty glasses piling up in the sink.
Hudson Newgate—jersey number 68, hot as blazes, and the first out bisexual player for the Cougars—approaches the bar. “Hey, man. What do you have for light beer these days?”
“Lagunitas Daytime—carb count is three grams. Devil’s Backbone Bright Tangerine Ale is our new one, with just two grams of carbs. It’s fruitier than a regular beer. Then again, fruity is a theme around here.” I wink.
Newgate laughs. “Fine—you sold me. One of those, please.”
He pulls out his phone to pay, and I push it away. “Cougars drink free tonight. How’s your kid? She have a good hockey season?”
“She did!” He grins. “High scorer for her team. I tried to talk her into playing D, but she wants the glory.”
“Kids, amirite?”
He takes his drink and I get back to work, making drink after drink, before finally catching a glimpse of Beck near the door.
He’s a sight for sore eyes, too. Smiling.
Dimple on display. His roommate stands proudly beside him.
It’s almost certainly Rigsy’s first trip to a queer bar, but he looks like he’s having a blast.
I send Izzy over there with a whole bucket full of Beck’s favorite beer and over the next several minutes, watch it rapidly disappear. Beck is surrounded—literally—by famous hockey players and people who love him.
I fight a familiar reflex of disbelief. He’s got life by the balls, and yet he chooses to love me?
“He’s in his glory,” Scully says, following my gaze. “And somehow, you’re the one he’s going home with tonight.”
“Yeah, there’s no accounting for taste.”
He gives me a stern look. “Stop that.”
“I’m joking.”
“You’re not, though,” he says. “That’s the problem. Last year, some guy stole your joy. You downplay it, but he got away with more than your wallet, Seth.”
I gulp. “That’s not something I talk about.”
“You don’t have to.” He grips me by the arm. “Your friends can see it anyway. That guy stole your will to live. If I ever find him, I’m gonna end him. Or at least knee him in the nuts. If you could just learn to accept help, consider starting there.”
“Scully. We have a bar full of thirsty customers. Maybe we could have this conversation later?”
“Nah, man.” Without releasing my arm, he shakes his head slowly. “Did we learn nothing tonight? No more putting the important stuff off. That era is over. Tell me you understand.”
Instinctively, I glance toward Beck, who’s deep in conversation with Volkov, the Cougars’ veteran goalie. They might be talking about glove-hand positioning. Or, knowing Beck, they might be ranking gas-station breakfast burritos by their effect on lateral movement.
I care about him so much.
Scully chuckles knowingly and goes to serve a customer, leaving me to watch Beck with soft eyes.
“Hey, barkeep.”
I snap to attention, finding David Stoneman in front of me. “Yessir. What can I get you?”
“How about a round of shots?” He puts his credit card on the counter.
“Cool,” I say, reaching for some shot glasses. “But your money’s no good here. How many, and what kind?”
“How many glasses you got? What does our new rookie go for? Whiskey? Tequila?”
“Actually, the weirder the better.” I grab a bottle of pickle-flavored vodka. “It’s a local thing. Kinda briny. Very polarizing.”
Stoney hoots. “Let’s gooooo! If I get ’im drunk, I’ll make sure he gets home safe.”
“Actually, that’s my job tonight.”
He shrugs. “Awesome. Then I can get drunk too.”
And then he does, right along with most of the bar.
The exceptions are Coach Powers, who always keeps up appearances, and his boyfriend, Jethro Hale, who doesn’t drink. They’re sitting at the bar in front of me watching a tied West Coast game that’s headed for a shootout.
“You want me to turn it up?” I offer. It’s so loud in here tonight.
“No need,” Hale says. “The sloppy positioning is loud enough without the announcer’s voice.”
Powers gives him a fond glance, and I grab Hale’s glass and refill it with soda water. “Thanks for your hospitality tonight,” Coach says.
“Trust me, you guys are worth every penny.” I put a fresh lemon wedge in his boyfriend’s drink. “Every time you all come in here, I get a bump in traffic. It matters to this cash-strapped small business that you show us some love.”
Powers gives me a thoughtful nod. “We always have a good time here. Are you still planning a new screening room in back?” He tips his head in the direction of my latent dreams. “It’d be easier to throw more business your way if you did.”
“I consider it every day,” I promise him. “But I don’t like the sky-high interest rate the bank is offering me, and I don’t have the cash just now.”
Hale looks away from the screen and frowns at me. “How much money would you even need? Maybe let some of us invest? Can’t be much more than a half million.”
“A half...” I sputter. “It’s so much less than that. For two-fifty I could build something great and fix the leaky roof all in one go.”
Hale shrugs. “Two-fifty, split a few ways? I reckon we can get that done without breaking a sweat.”
“We couldn’t let you…”
“Yes, we could,” Scully thunders. “Jesus, Forest. Accept the help. They’ll earn…
five percent or whatever, and we’ll get this thing paid off in a couple of years.
Nobody works harder than you. You’re a safer bet than Fort Knox, at this point.
And think of the viewing parties people could throw here. ”
My face flushes, because I know he’s right. But it’s still hard to ask other people to take a risk on my dream. “He’s, uh, right. It would be pretty great to get that project going. I will, um, write up a plan and show it to you after the playoffs?”
“You do that,” Hale says, his eyes on the shootout again.
Scully punches me in the arm. “That was really hard for you, wasn’t it?” He laughs. “Hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Heads up, though. Somebody’s hitting on your guy.”
My chin snaps up, and I see Beck holding a beer and leaning against the wall. And there’s another guy—a bar patron I’ve seen once or twice before—propping his own arm against the wall in a not-so-subtle way, casually boxing Beck in, as if staking a claim. “Oh, hell no.” I throw down my sponge.
“Don’t do it,” Scully says. “Wait—I take it back. By all means do whatever toppy thing you’re about to do. And then clock out, okay? Izzy and I can take it from here.”
I’m already halfway across the bar.