Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
brANTLEY
The laundromat smells weird. It’s somehow an amalgamation of body odor and detergent, and it’s making my stomach a bit queasy.
Bastian dropped me off and went to the grocery store, trusting me to do laundry over buying food. I should probably be offended, but the joke’s on him because I’ve ruined my share of white shirts since I started washing my own clothes in college.
I’m sitting on one of the dryers playing Pac-Man on my phone when the door dings and Bastian walks in. His cheeks are bright red from the cold wind, which picked up when we got into town. He shakes snow from his coat, stomps muddy slush off his boots, and then shoots me an aggravated look.
I look left and right. “What did I do?”
He walks over to lean against the dryer next to me. He removes his gray toque and runs his hand through his dark locks. “It’s not you. I walked over to the mechanic, and he’s got a sign up saying he’s gone until three.”
“Bummer. And it’ll be dark by the time we hit the road. Should we be driving back in this weather?”
Sebastian stares out the window. The street is mostly empty except for the odd slow-crawling vehicle. “I don’t think we should leave Fi overnight,” he says quietly.
I nod in agreement. “We’ll just take it slow then.” The dryer buzzes, and I startle, almost dropping my phone. Bastian smirks. I ignore him. “Looks like this load is about done, and you already picked up groceries, so what now?”
Bastian shrugs. “I suppose we need to see if there’s someplace open to eat.”
“Agreed. I’m starved.” I rub my stomach longingly. “I could really go for some shawarma.”
He gives me a look.
“What?”
“I seriously doubt they have Middle Eastern food around here, Stitch.”
“The Crooked Goose up the street is open. The owner lives above it.”
I clutch my chest because, fuck, my heart is racing.
Bastian and I turn around to find an old woman sitting on a chair in the corner. Her white and black hair is pulled into a severe bun, and she’s giving us a toothless grin.
“Uh, thank you,” Bastian says carefully, giving me a look like “Where the hell did she come from?”
This town is creepy as fuck.
I open the dryer and pull the clean clothing into a bag.
“You boys from out of town? It’s dangerous here right now. You should leave while you still can.”
I tug the drawstring tight and then look up at her. She still has that crazy smile on her face, and a shiver raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Why do you say that?” I ask slowly.
“The weather, of course,” she says with a cackle.
I swallow and nod. I glance at Bastian, who’s giving her a calculating look.
“Thanks again,” I say, hauling the bag of clothes over my shoulder.
“Good luck,” she replies, suddenly solemn, her pale eyes following us out the door.
We walk out onto the icy sidewalk toward my truck, which is parked about a block away in front of the grocery store. I hear the door close behind us, and look back, almost expecting the woman to be following us.
“That felt weird, right?” I whisper, leaning close to Bastian.
“This whole place is weird. It was like this last time I was here too.” He wraps his arms around his body. “I’m sure it’s the time of year, but it’s so deserted.”
“Don’t people ski?” I ask. “You’d think they would make money off the winter sports nuts.”
Bastian shrugs. “Maybe people go farther up the pass to ski since there’s only that one little motel at the end of town.”
We reach my truck, and I open the covered bed and toss the bag in. “So, the Crooked Goose?”
“Yeah, it’s either that, or we buy gas station snacks and sit in your truck.”
I grimace. “My toes are already about to fall off. I’d rather sit somewhere warm and eat warm food.”
“Yeah, okay,” Bastian says through chattering teeth.
We turn and trudge back the way we came, walking shoulder to shoulder as the icy wind gusts around us. When we pass the laundromat, I glance inside. The woman is gone.
The Crooked Goose is thankfully only a couple blocks away. The wooden sign above the door swings in the breeze, creaking ominously. The paint is chipped and faded, but I can still make out a sinister goose with thick, black eyebrows staring down at us as we approach.
“Geese don’t have eyebrows,” I mutter as we walk inside.
“What was that?” Sebastian asks.
“It’s just the sign…”
Inside, it’s a pretty typical-looking pub-style diner with wood-paneled walls and drab tan booths. The only patron is a bearded guy sitting at the bar, staring blearily into his beer.
We stop at a sign that says, “Please wait to be seated” and wait. And wait. And wait.
I glance at Bastian, who looks back at me with a shrug. Finally, a waitress wearing a little powder-blue dress walks through some swinging double doors, and spots us loitering awkwardly.
She’s about our age, her long, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She smiles warmly as she approaches, and I feel Bastian relax.
“I’m so sorry to keep you boys waiting.”She smacks her gum, the fruity scent wafting through the air. “We don’t have many customers this time of year. Just the two of you?” She looks around us as if someone else might walk in.
I nod. “Yes, the two of us for lunch.”
She nods and leads us to a booth by the foggy window, and I slide into the seat, my fingers skating over the bench’s cracked vinyl surface as I settle in.
“Do y’all need a minute?” the waitress asks, handing us some menus.
“Please,” Bastian says.
We sit in the quiet, enjoying the warmth while we look over our menus. When I make a decision, I glance up. Sebastian is looking outside, his brows knitted.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
I give him a small smile. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are, Bastian. You look worried.” He gives me a rueful look, and I kick him gently under the table. “Talk to me.”
Bastian’s blue eyes meet mine shyly, and I’m struck by how warm and open he’s been since telling us about his abuse. Even though he still maintains an air of grumpiness, his prickly attitude has definitely softened.
“I just have this feeling,” he says, shifting in his seat.
“What kind of feeling?”
“Don’t laugh.” He gives me a pointed look. “But it’s a bad feeling. Like something’s about to happen. To Fi. Or to us.” He taps his finger against the table and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just want to get back to her.”
“You love her.” The words fall from my lips before I think about what they mean, and Bastian’s eyes collide with mine. He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but I raise my hand, cutting him off. “You don’t need to hide it from me. I won’t tell her.”
“You’re not mad about it?”
I shrug one shoulder and look down at my hands as I consider my reply. Finally, I look back up. “I guess I understand because I’ve loved her since I met her freshman year. How could you not?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “I’m glad you understand because I sure don’t.
” He scrubs the nape of his neck. “I’ve never been in love.
Hell, I’ve hardly ever been in lust. And I don’t even know her that well, but I know I want to be with her.
It’s fucking weird.” He scrunches his nose.
“The first time I met Fi when Charlie brought her over, I guess it was love at first sight, but that sounds so stupid and cheesy. I–I…”
The flustered look on his face is almost as hot as watching him come apart while he blew me yesterday. My dick hardens and I try to redirect my thoughts, but his leg keeps brushing mine under the table.
I clear my throat, and he looks up at me.
“I get it,” I say with an easy smile. “We’re not rivals in this. We’re on the same team.”
He nods slowly and reaches across the table, his fingers tentatively grazing mine. But the waitress appears with a tray of waters, and Bastian jerks his hand back. The tension between us shatters.
We order our food, and I try to reestablish the connection we just lost. “You know my story, so tell me yours. Tell me about when you met Fi.”
Sebastian gives me a small smile and leans back in his seat.
“She came to Vancouver one afternoon with Charlie after she and the boys had a falling out.” He takes a breath, blowing it out as his electric eyes connect with mine.
“I felt instantly comfortable around her, which is pretty much unheard of for me.”
I cock my head. “Because of the abuse?” I ask softly, and then I could kick myself. Why would you bring that up, Brantley? “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I shouldn’t have…”
He shrugs, looking down at his hands. “No, it’s okay. That always plays a factor when I’m intimate with people. But…” He shakes his head. “The attraction part is because of my sexuality, I think.”
I nod for him to continue.
“Anyway, I was just hyperaware of her from the get-go, and we had dinner with her and Charlie. It didn’t end great. That was when Charlie told us all that stuff about our dad.” He frowns and his brows lower like the memory makes him angry. “Did you hear about all that?”
“Yeah.” I remember when Fi told me about that visit. It was so fucked up.
“Well, Charlie took off, and Fi just about lost her mind. She was so anxious about her friend—my sister—and honestly, I think I fell hard for her in that moment, though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time.
” He traces the wood pattern on the table with his finger and taps the toe of his boot against mine again.
I shiver and then feel ridiculous because who has this kind of reaction to someone foot-flirting? I don’t even know if he’s doing it intentionally.
“She let me hold her hand the whole way back to our apartment that night.” He looks up. “And I just knew that all I wanted to do was hold her hand forever.”
I clear my throat and rub my eyes.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I choke. “Just an eyelash or something.”
“You’re crying.”
“Well, fuck, I mean, that was a sweet story.” I sniff. “But we’re not talking about me. It was that quick with Fi? Really?” Bastian flushes, and I backpedal a bit. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I just mean…intimacy has been so difficult for you.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing again in a very distracting way.
“Intimacy is hard. So hard. But if I feel that deeper connection with someone, I crave simple touches first—if that makes sense.” He grips his water glass nervously.
“Reddit says I’m demisexual, but it sounds like everyone experiences levels of attraction differently. ”
I consider Bastian’s standoffishness and his hesitancy to open up, and understanding hits. “Does that mean you have that connection with me, too?”
The blush is back, brighter than before. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”
My foot collides with his intentionally as a fluttery feeling tickles my chest. It’s no declaration of love, but it’s enough for now.
We spend the next hour or so talking about ourselves.
It almost feels like a date. I learn about his childhood growing up with Charlie and Marcus.
How he refused to go to college despite his father’s wishes because he always wanted to be a chef.
How he struggled with relationships over the years.
It makes my heart ache to think about this beautiful man being so sure that he was undeserving of love.
I tell him about my dad and how he made me hate the sport I loved so much.
I tell him about waking up in the hospital alone and feeling like I lost everything.
My teammates came to see me, of course, but my dad hasn’t spoken to me since the accident.
My career was fucked, my body was fucked, and the one person I sacrificed everything for completely abandoned me.
I regretted my whole life at that moment—every decision.
I expect to see pity when I tell him how I spiraled after I found out I’d never play pro again, but then I realize that he already knew about it.
He saw me drinking my life away, and he took care of me anyway.
Reluctantly. Night after night. For months.
I never really thought about it, but Sebastian Conner has been there for me all along.
I knew who he was because of Charlie, but that’s not why I kept coming back.
“Do you remember the first night I came in?”
Sebastian purses his lips and gives me a nod. “You sat at the bar and ordered a Granville Island lager.”
My eyes widen. He remembers. I lick my lips. “You were helping Brett behind the bar. I thought…” Heat crawls into my cheeks.
“What?”
“I thought you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen.”
Bastian, who happens to be mid-drink, sputters on his water. “What?”
I chuckle. “So I came back again and again, trying to work up the courage to talk to you for weeks. It gave me something to focus on, you know?” I reach across the table and graze his hand with my pinky.
He doesn’t pull away this time. “But you didn’t really notice me until the first night I got so drunk that Gabriella had to call an Uber. ”
He flinches. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”
“I thought you were going to throw me out for good. Tell me to never come back.” I laugh sardonically. “I mean, my own dad didn’t want me, why would the hot bar owner?”
“But I didn’t throw you out.”
“You didn’t. You helped Gabriella pull me from that bathroom stall, you wiped puke off my face, and you said, ‘I know this isn’t you, Michaels. Why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.’”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’d just watched Batman Begins the night before. I figured you were too wrecked to recognize it.”
I gape at him. “It’s only my favorite Batman movie. I was so sure it was fate. I wanted to change, but it was so hard to be…good.” The air gets caught in my throat at the thought, and I look away.
“What is it?” Bastian asks as he stacks our dirty dishes at the end of the table.
My vision blurs. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For coming to the pub. For causing you so much trouble.” The lump in my throat is so big, I can hardly breathe.
“Hey.” Seb rounds the table and slides in next to me. I refuse to meet his eyes. “You were in a bad place, Stitch. You don’t have to be ashamed of that.” He eases an arm around me, and I lean into his warmth. “I’m glad we met.”
“Oh yeah?” I can’t keep the hopeful lilt out of my tone.
“Yeah,” he grumbles. “You may be a pain in my ass most of the time, but you’re not so bad.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, shoving him playfully, and he laughs. It’s a deep, rich sound, and I savor it the way I savor Fiona’s because neither of them laughs like that for anyone else.
Just me.