Chapter 9
Merchant’s Inn, Freedom
Robyn
It’s Friday night, and I’m still buzzing from my date with D’Angelo. I’m never going to be able to look at ice cream in the same way…or his car.
I’ll also never make a joke about his Alfa Romeo again.
Maybe.
It may be a penis extension, but D’Angelo definitely doesn’t need one.
On our date, it filled my heart with warmth to remember our friendship at college but also, made me realize that he’s truly a different man now.
I need to learn to see D’Angelo as he truly is — love him for it.
He’s complex.
It’s been incredible, finding out about and supporting him, just as he’s supporting all of us.
I’m going to hold tight onto this second chance with him.
Anxious, I shift from foot to foot on the sticky floor of Merchant’s Inn. I run my hand through my hair, which is damp with sweat in the heat. I’m dressed in a simple, cotton green dress and black heels.
D’Angelo is on his date tonight at home in Captain’s Hall with Shay. So, I’m giving them space. They need their time alone as well.
Plus, it’s an excuse to take a break myself from managing my beautiful PR nightmares.
I’m leaving them alone.
Can I trust them?
I’m meant to be with them twenty-four seven, but they still have the security team at the end of the road, and my phone is in my pocket.
How much trouble can they get into without me for a couple of hours?
Don’t answer that.
I force the image of Eden lost on a trail in the forest, or D’Angelo and Shay burning down the house as they cook the curry together, out of my head.
I need a drink.
My nose scrunches at the scent of smoke and stale beer. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.
Friday nights are always crowded. Merchant’s Inn is a rare safe space in Freedom with the added bonus of cheap beer, loud rock music, and a couple of rooms for travelers.
The locals love this old, grungy slice of town with its tacky floors, dance floor, and stained wooden walls that are covered with paintings of Neve’s favorite Emo bands like a shrine.
Neve owns Merchant’s Inn.
We were best friends in high school. She still wears the emerald and silver friendship bracelet that I made for her. I know how much it means to her because she doesn’t wear jewelery but she’s never taken that thing off.
This town once treated her like an outcast. Yet she didn’t leave or quit. Instead, she worked harder than fucking anybody and beat the haters through her success.
Freedom is a town with two sides: the wealthy, including the tourists, and those who are struggling but working hard.
Merchant’s Inn is at the heart of the working side of town.
I hope that one day I can achieve half as much as Neve has.
Tom, the tiny but feisty bartender at Merchant’s Inn, with hair that’s even redder than mine and beautiful jade eyes, pushes the beer across the counter to me. “It’s on the house.”
Always be friendly to the local bartender.
That’s a pro tip.
I grab the glass, sloshing the liquid over my fingers. “Thanks, Tom.”
“It’s not from me,” Tom replies, hurriedly. “I have strict instructions to never hit on customers. I mean, you’re beautiful, if klutzy. The number of glasses that you broke here was a record. Neve made a whole plaque with your name on it and put it up in the staff bathroom to commemorate it and everything. But I need this job and—”
I put him out of his misery. “I get it. A plaque, huh? You’re not breaking the rules, and I suck at serving. So, who’s the drink from?”
Tom lets out a relieved sigh. “Neve. She’s setting up the karaoke right now but said she’ll be joining you as soon as she can.”
My eyes widen in shock. “K-k-karaoke…?”
Tom’s smile is mischievous. “Didn’t she tell you? Friday nights are going to be our regular karaoke nights.”
Oh, fuck.
I take a deep swig of beer to fortify myself.
My number one nightmare, apart from sitting an exam that I haven’t prepared for…naked…is being in front of a room of people and singing karaoke.
My throat is dry. I swallow.
I used to be more spontaneous, before my marriage to Wilder. I’m trying to be again.
I’m taking baby steps, however for example, singing with Shay, while D’Angelo plays the piano, in the privacy of our own lounge.
Karaoke in front of all these people is a method of torture.
If I’m ever captured by an enemy army, they’d only have to put me in front a drunken crowd, stick a microphone in front of my face, and insist that I sing “I Touch Myself” by the Divinyls to break me.
What’s wrong with keeping singing to the shower?
When my phone rings, I hurriedly snatch it out of my pocket.
I bet it’s one of the guys. They promised to only call me tonight, however, if it’s an emergency.
Still, gorgeous disasters that they are, they’ve still saved me from Neve’s torture.
As long as they haven’t burned down the house, anything that they’ve done is forgiven.
I glance at the number.
Yep, it’s D’Angelo.
Or, as I still have him in my contacts, GRUMPY.
I answer GRUMPY, grinning as I hold the phone to my ear.
D’Angelo’s date with Shay can’t have gone wrong already, right?
“Hey, what’s up?” I hold the phone close to my ear against the chatter and music.
I can barely hear.
“Help,” D’Angelo hisses.
Suddenly on the alert, I stand up. “What the fuck? Are you okay?”
“Do I sound okay? Why didn’t you warn me?” He sounds terrified.
My pulse speeds up. My hand tightens around the phone.
What the hell’s happened?
“Stay calm.” I try to sound calm myself, when I’m not. “I’ll come straight home. Is anyone hurt?”
Silence.
Finally D’Angelo replies, “What are you talking about? You don’t need to cut your evening short. You’re having fun, and one of us should be. I’m talking about our little horror fanatic. He’s out in the lounge now, having the time of his life, while I’m—”
“Why does your voice sound echoey? Are you calling me from the bathroom?”
At last, it’s beginning to make sense. I try…hard…not to laugh.
“Yes, yes.” D’Angelo sounds embarrassed. “All right, I admit that I may be hiding out in the bathroom to make this call.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this an emergency?”
“I’m trapped in the bathroom, hiding from a horror movie because I can’t bear watching them, while my date is in the other room unaware and excitedly munching popcorn. I’d call that an emergency.”
I settle back on the stool, placing my beer on the counter. “You can’t even watch Labyrinth without freaking out over the creepy goblin puppets. What the fuck has Shay got you watching?”
“Shay said that it was an English classic. I thought that I’d be safe. He tricked me.”
Shit, these two need me as a permanent mediator or possibly, a referee.
“What film is it?” I ask.
D’Angelo takes a deep breath like he can barely bring himself to answer. “Hellraiser.”
I choke. “You’re scared of the Goblin King. What in the hell, pun intended, made you think that you’d cope with Pinhead?”
“Shay swore that it was a love story. I thought that it’d be romantic for our date.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
I wish that I was back with them. But they need to figure this out together.
Plus, it kind of says something about Shay, filled with sunshine as he appears to be, that he sees Hellraiser primarily as a love story.
My expression steels. “Jude D’Angelo, as soon as I stop speaking, put down your phone, get out of that bathroom and back into the lounge with your date. Be honest with Shay. He won’t judge you for not liking horror movies. Both you and I enjoy comedies. Shay will have to join Mike for horror movie nights because he’s into them too, probably because as a doctor, he’s desensitized to gore.”
“But this is Shay’s night. His first ever date with a man. I need it to be perfect. And he loves them.”
D’Angelo may act like a cold asshole. Deep down, however, he’s allowed me to see his vulnerable side. I understand why this is important to him.
“Shay only cares that you’re with him,” I reply, softly. “Trust me, your needs matter too. He’ll be happy that you’re showing the real you, beneath the mask. Try it.”
There’s a slight hesitation.
Then D’Angelo says, quietly, “Thanks, principessa.”
I swipe off the phone, resting it on the counter.
Someone’s kicked off the karaoke evening now with one of the most uncomfortable and awkward sounding duets that I’ve ever heard.
It’s meant to be David Bowie and Queen’s “Under Pressure.”
It’s an apt title.
I peer through the crowds and then chuckle, when I glimpse Cody next to Michael, his husband, at the front of the inn.
I should have guessed that Cody would choose Bowie to sing. It’s testimony to his friendship to Neve that he’s singing first. It’s also testimony to Michael’s love for his husband that he’s agreed to duet with him.
The stern doctor is even less likely to enjoy performing than I am.
I whoop encouragement, as Michael tries to make a particularly high note with his deep, rumbling voice.
And fails.
I wince, when I realize that I’m the only person whooping and clapping.
Neve winds through the crowd toward me, looking like an Emo Queen of Friday night.
Neve’s my age. She has chestnut eyes and spiky midnight hair. Large horn-rimmed glasses are pushed firmly on her nose. Her rich brown skin glows bronze on her cheeks.
She’s dressed in a Jimmy Eat World black t-shirt and skinny jeans with a studded belt.
She snatches a bottle from Tom’s waiting hand, before pointing it at me. “You fucking made it.”
I pick up my bottle and clink it with hers. “Cheers to your official karaoke opening night.”
“Did it feel like spitting glass to get out those words, RH?”
I give her the finger.
She laughs. “Your turn will come. I’ve chosen a song already.”
“Shut up.” I hide my smile behind my bottle. “We both know rules dictate that I get to choose, or you’ll have me singing “Welcome to the Black Parade”. Do you want the mood to become funereal?”
“I wouldn’t mind. It’d be a vibe.”
She’d do it too.
“How’s business?” I relax back. “It looks to be booming.”
Neve slouches against the bar. “People — all people — no matter who they are or love need somewhere that they can go to drink, dance their asses off, and feel safe. You know, it’s getting harder here every year for folks. You haven’t seen it because you left town. But I have. At least once a week, they need to forget about their sucky job, rising rents, or shitty neighbors. In this rundown inn with cheap beer, they can be themselves and just fucking…”
“Sing?” I wince.
Neve grins, wickedly. “Yep.”
I nudge her with my shoulder. “So, tell me about that blonde nurse who you were having a wild time with, while I was having one with Shay. Are you dating her?”
To my surprise, Neve blushes.
She never blushes.
Intrigued, I study her closer.
Neve twirls her bottle between her hands. “The pretty blonde with the badass smoky make-up who was eye fucking me that evening is called Lucy. It turns out that she works at the hospital with Mike. He’s given his Michael Seal of Approval. I also give my Tonguing Seal of Approval because fuck, she knows what to do. It’s like poetry.”
“Pussy poetry.” I tilt my head. “I like it. Are you seeing her again?”
Neve pulls a face. “She’s all athletic and shit. She’s into these thrill-seeking, risk your life sports because things aren’t hard enough already, right? So, she wants to share them with me. She’s taking me skydiving next week.”
“What?” I splutter, spitting my beer out and needing to wipe my mouth. “You’ve never even been in a plane. There’s no way that you’d jump out of one.”
I can’t imagine Neve in skydiving gear.
Can you skydive in all black?
“The things you do for…” Neve’s mouth twists. Is she going to say love? I hold my breath. “…hot blondes.”
I chuckle. “D’Angelo’s finding that out tonight on his date with Shay.”
When there’s a sudden smattering of applause, I realize that Cody and Michael have stopped singing.
I leap up and down, clapping wildly.
I ignore the disbelieving stares of the people around me.
Neve snorts.
“Here they come,” I mutter, as Cody and Michael weave toward us, “insincere praise at the ready.”
“Yeah, not my style.” Neve collapses onto a stool, resting back on her elbow on the counter.
Neve doesn’t sugarcoat. Actually, it’s my favorite thing about my bestie.
Michael looks worn down by the ordeal, or it may be that he’s simply exhausted from the twelve hour shift at the hospital, which he finished before coming out tonight.
He’s an awesome partner, however, because whenever he can, he takes Cody out to have fun, no matter how tired he is.
Cody and Michael are both lucky to have each other.
Michael is in his late thirties. He’s hot but stern with ebony skin and salt and pepper hair. He’s dressed in a casual tan suit that’s open at the neck.
Michael’s arm is slung possessively around Cody’s shoulders. As always, Cody is relaxed against Michael’s chest, happy and secure.
My heart clenches to see it.
“Here come the rock stars.” I raise my beer. “The next big thing.”
“If the next big thing is two awkward men who sound like cats fighting,” Neve agrees.
Cody only grins. “Eden would have liked it then.”
“I don’t think anyone’s heard someone singing Freddy Mercury and hitting such low notes before.” Neve arches her brow.
“And they never will again. Thank you for the backhanded compliment on my deep voice,” Michael says, dryly. “That was my first and last performance. You’re honored to have witnessed it.”
“Well,” I meet Cody’s eye and wink, “unless you lose a bet with my brother. Then we’ll be hearing you sing ABBA.”
“In a tutu,” Cody adds, smugly.
Michael freezes. “This is one of the many reasons that I respect my husband…and no longer make bets with him.”
Cody pouts.
Michael looks like he wants to kiss the pout off Cody, but since he’s not one for PDA, settles for giving him a stern stare.
“Cody,” he says, warningly.
And that works just as effectively on my brother.
“Come on.” I tap my beer bottle. “We’re together now. Okay, we’re a little pissed but that’s a good thing. I did my best work at college, when I was tipsy. Don’t tell my dad that. What I’m trying to say in a rambling way is that we need to brainstorm about how to improve Bay Rebels’ finances. They’re fucked.”
Neve looks confused. “Are they? Even after the successful exhibition games and all the attention in the news?”
“I guess that helped…”
It should have done. The arena was packed.
Why didn’t it?
“What do you need me to do?” Michael tightens his hold around Cody. “Isn’t it up to the players to win their games? I can’t put their skates on for them and trust me, if you’d seen me do any kind of sport in my college days, you wouldn’t want me to.”
“The pressure is already on the players,” I reply. “It’s been messing with their heads. It’s a mind fuck to have done as well as they have but still be on the chopping block, especially after what happened to Eden. I can handle the PR side. What I need is help with out of the box ideas to improve the finances.”
“You’re awesome at business, Neve.” Cody gestures around the room. “Just look at this place. There’s hardly space to move. I’m better at spending money than earning it.”
Michael snorts. “That’s certainly true.”
Cody tilts his head, and his hair falls over his eyes. “So, how’d you manage it?”
Neve becomes very still; her expression is serious. “I could tell you the boring business shit. It takes years of twenty hour days and not taking a salary. Years of putting the business above everything, which wasn’t hard to do, since my asshole family threw me out, and I was alone apart from you guys. But the real answer, the one that helps you, is this business is built on this town itself. The people here fucking love the place. I respect them, and they respect me. There’s no bullshit. And that goodwill — truth — is what connects me to our community. It’s about authenticity.”
I furrow my brow. “How do we copy that at Bay Rebels?”
When Neve taps my nose, I yelp.
“Dumbass.” She taps my nose again for good measure. “Freedom already loves the Bay Rebels The team is part of the town. They may be misfits, but they’re our misfits. You can’t buy that type of loyalty.”
“I’m willing to bet that gate receipts, merchandise, and concessions are already up,” I say, slowly. “Shit, you’re right. I don’t understand this sudden pressure. Why’s the team in financial trouble?”
“What if they’re not?” Cody ducks his head, biting his lip. “The fans love the team. You’re turning around the players’ images. But what if it’s still not enough for the board and higher up management? They’re the ones who don’t love screw-ups like us. They’re elitist. They don’t love how Dad’s supporting players with difficult pasts. What if this is an excuse for those entitled assholes to get rid of us?”
My stomach swoops, and my skin goosebumps.
He could be right. But why does he sound so sure?
I slip off my stool and lay my hand on Cody’s arm. “Has someone been giving you a hard time?”
Instantly, Michael’s eyes darken. “Have they, Code?”
Cody raises his head, and our gazes meet.
They have been.
Fuck.
“The players have been amazing.” Cody leans even closer against Michael for support but still without looking away from me. “The coaches are hardasses, but I’m used to that, having grown up with Dad. The equipment manager is great like most of the medical side. But it’s some of the senior staff…”
“Code…” Michael twists Cody now in his arms, holding him firmly by his shoulders. “You know that you can tell me anything. That includes, surprisingly enough, when your colleagues are giving you a hard time. I bitch about the Senior Consultants at the hospital. It’s normal.”
“It’s my first serious job,” Cody replies. “You were so proud of me for getting it.”
Michael gently tips up Cody’s chin to make him meet his eye. “It doesn’t matter what happens. I will still be proud of you.”
“They’re just always around the arena, and I don’t know why, assessing things and sneering,” Cody admits. “The way that they talk to me…it seems petty when I say it out loud but…it’s small things like they call everyone else by their first names but they call me the coach’s son.”
“Assholes,” I exclaim.
Cody worked for years for that job. He earned it.
He was appointed despite being Dad’s son and not because of it.
If these management guys knew anything about our relationship with Dad, then they’d know that we’re not given handouts.
We’re not even written into his will.
Neve shoves herself off her stool. “I’m getting my shovel.”
I blink. “What?”
“To bury the bodies,” she clarifies, pushing her glasses more firmly onto her nose with frightening determination.
“I have a more realistic suggestion.” Michael hugs Cody but he looks as close to murder as Neve is. “We work out how to beat the board and management. If they think that they can humiliate and degrade any of the people who I love and care about, taking away the heart of our town as they do it, then they don’t know us at all.”
My heart soars. “The players have the ice covered. I have the PR angle.”
Neve gestures across the throngs on the dance floor. “Plus, we have the people of Freedom to bring the love.”
Unexpectedly, my phone rings again.
I grin.
That’ll be D’Angelo hiding from Pinhead in the bathroom again, unless he’s escaped up to his bedroom this time.
I guess that could work out, as long as he’s carried Shay with him.
I answer the phone with a deep, English accent, ready to tease D’Angelo. “Your suffering will—”
“Excuse me?” Melanie’s sneering voice cuts me off. “Threats aren’t professional. Was that on the record? I don’t know why I was expecting anything better from you, Robyn.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Can I switch off my phone and pretend that this call never happened?
Why do I have to be a PR, when she’s the journalist?
“It’s Ms. McKenna,” I say, stiffly. “It was off the record, and I apologize. I thought that you were someone else.”
“Do you have a long list of people who you threaten then?” She sounds delighted like she’s sniffed out a story. “Do tell.”
“What do you want?” I snap.
“A full, live interview with the captain of the Bay Rebels. You can make up for your rudeness that way.”
“I’ll send you a muffin basket.”
“It would be in D’Angelo’s best interests to put his side of the story.”
I freeze. “What side of which story? If you tell me what exclusive you’re running on him next week, then I’ll talk to him about the interview.”
Melanie’s laugh is nasty and holds an edge to it that makes me shudder. “Do the interview and he’ll find out. I have a secret…”
Then she’s the one to cut off the call mid-sentence.