Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Mercer
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this.
Too much, maybe.
What little I’d told Jack and Earl did not begin to cover the total package that was Darby. He was a walking conundrum that had upset every belief I’d had about my sexuality and challenged the vow I’d made to spend the rest of my life single.
The truth was, I’d never had much of a married life to begin with. And really, I shouldn’t have expected things with Rachel to be a roaring success. We’d dated for less than a year before she got pregnant with Molly. A speedy courthouse wedding followed, and then I was off to boot camp.
Looking back, I wasn’t sure I’d ever really loved her. Not in the way I understood love now. I was equally doubtful she’d loved me.
When she divorced me, it hurt—coming home from a long deployment to find those papers waiting on the counter. But it was also a kind of mercy because I would’ve clung to that vow forever, even if it made me miserable.
I should have taken my freedom and run with it.
Instead, I was left debilitated and devastated.
I buried myself in rehab and then the slow grind of trying to reintegrate into society.
Dating, intimacy, and any thoughts of a relationship were shoved aside.
It was hard to fathom letting a stranger close while I was learning to live inside a body that felt strange all on its own.
Awareness of the present returned as I pushed into the building with Darby’s hand clasped in mine.
I couldn’t tell if the gesture was meant to steady him or me, but it worked either way.
The knots in my chest eased, and I found myself more settled than I’d been all evening—ready to face Jack, Earl, and the rest of the Post regulars.
It sent a message, arriving like we did. A statement that was practically a shout above the scuffle of chairs on linoleum, the murmur of small talk being exchanged, and Bingo balls rattling in the hopper.
People looked our way. Many I recognized and a fair few I didn’t. They stared and raised brows, trying to identify the newcomer at my hip. The dark-skinned, demonic diva was always, everywhere, a head-turner. Even dressed down and disguised, Darby drew every eye in the room.
Seeing him walking across the club with his tail tucked out of sight and his horns hidden in the nest of a wig, I’d felt…
unnerved. He’d been so blasé about his features at my house just last week, showing confidence and a sense of self-acceptance that I couldn’t help but admire.
But something had changed, and now he was hiding.
I hoped like hell he didn’t think he needed to do that for me.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I’d wanted to make a good impression on Darby, to get to know him a little more. I’d really wanted to take him on a date, but I hadn’t had the guts to call this that after seeing the kind of restaurants he liked to frequent.
Just some fun, I told myself. An average weeknight thing. A glimpse into my world. But by bringing him here and introducing him to the closest things I had to friends, I was opening us both up to scrutiny.
“Hey, Doc! Over here!”
Jack’s gruff bark carried through the stagnant air. I spotted him anchored at the end of a six-foot folding table with his wife Ava beside him and Earl on the other side.
“Better get your cards quick,” Earl added, reminding me to focus on something other than the small sea of people dialed into my every move.
I scanned the room, lighting on the table I’d passed without noticing. Beside the door, one of the wives sat behind a cashbox with stacks of Bingo cards fanned out in front of her. Neon-colored daubers filled an empty beer pitcher at her elbow.
Releasing Darby’s hand, I dug out my wallet and paid for a few cards for each of us. The bills felt damp in my palm, but I couldn’t tell if it was the humidity in the room or the nerves in me.
Gripping the cards and a pair of daubers, I snagged Darby’s fingers again. I realized—too late—that the moisture came from my clammy skin, now clamped firmly in Darby’s grasp. I cringed inwardly but didn’t let go.
Instead, I steered us through the maze of tables and chairs, angling toward the empty seats next to Jack, Ava, and Earl.
“These are some buddies of mine,” I explained as we moved across the room. “Mind if I introduce you?”
“Not at all,” Darby replied, quieter than I’d ever heard him.
He edged closer as we walked, near enough that our arms brushed and hips bumped. The little demon, usually all sharp wit and swagger, hugged tight to my side, and I was tempted to forgo the handholding and slip my arm around his waist instead. Just a quick touch. A reassurance.
He looked like he needed it, which was baffling from a man who bared himself nightly to a club full of gawkers. There, he seemed bulletproof. But here, stripped of stage and spectacle, Darby was small, moving slowly, and clinging to me like he needed a shield after all.
We closed the last few steps to the table where Jack leaned back in his chair, grinning.
“Mercer,” he began with a tease. “Who’s your lovely friend?”
A friend, yes. That’s what we’d decided last time. That was how I’d defined this, and I saw no need to change it now.
“This is Darby,” I replied. “The one I told you about.”
Jack’s brows drew together, covering a flicker of hesitation. “From the club?” he asked slowly, like he was still sussing it out.
I nodded.
Jack thrust out a wrinkled hand as his sense of hospitality overpowered his confusion. “Pleasure to meet you. We were hoping the doc would bring you along.”
Darby brightened, though it was a pale echo of his usual light. He took Jack’s hand and shook while the older man carried on with introductions.
“This is my wife, Ava, and that there is Earl.”
Ava waved and smiled while Earl leaned forward and draped his forearms across the table.
“Are you any good at Bingo, Darby?” he asked.
Darby tilted his head. “I didn’t realize it was a game of skill.”
Earl chuckled. “Oh, it ain’t. But beginner’s luck can be a bitch. For the rest of us, anyway. And I’ve already been eyeing the prize table.” He jerked his chin toward the far wall.
Darby’s head snapped that way, and I looked too. It was the usual assortment of crocheted doilies and afghans, a few small appliances, off-brand Swiss Army knives, an embroidered trucker cap, and—pride of place—Ava’s strawberry preserves.
“Is that a toaster oven?” Darby asked, eyes widening.
I squinted, following his line of sight. “Looks like it.”
“Ozzy wants one of those. We were at the mall the other day, but they were sold out.” He glanced back at Earl, and a familiar spark returned to his eyes.
“I’m gonna win it,” he declared, sudden and resolute.
I grinned and fanned out the cards I’d bought. “Any of these give you a good feeling?”
Darby leaned close, worrying his bottom lip as he considered, then tapped the one farthest to the right. “This one.”
We settled in as the Bingo balls resumed their clatter, and the caller cleared his throat and adjusted his mic. The crowd hushed with their daubers held at the ready.
The first number rang out, and Darby pounced on it, stamping his dauber like a cat swatting a red laser dot. Every call after had him leaning forward, eyes darting from card to caller to card again, gleefully blotting numbers.
He didn’t win the first round. Someone else shouted “Bingo!” and made their proud march to the prize table. Darby tracked the victor like a hawk, following every step until they made their selection from the lot. His gaze lingered on the toaster oven, and his lip puffed in a faint pout.
Second round, same story. The tension built in him with each number. His shoulders were rigid, and his pigtail buns bounced as he shifted in his chair. When another player claimed victory, Darby deflated like a balloon, eyes narrowing at the prize table all over again.
I’d wanted to get to know him better, and without a word of conversation, I’d gotten my wish.
He was competitive. Determined. And so invested it was frankly adorable.
By the third game, they switched to outside frame. Darby was only one number away, and it was all he could do to stay seated. His legs bounced under the table, making his chair squeak and shift. Static crackled when he brushed against me.
“Easy there,” I muttered under my breath, amused.
Ava took notice, covering a giggle with her hand as she watched him squirm with anticipation. Jack smirked, Earl fixed us with a side-eye, and I was pleased to see my friends not just observing Darby but appreciating him.
The caller rattled on, his amplified voice bouncing off the ceiling as the crowd hunched over their cards. Darby hunkered down, poised for the kill.
“B nineteen.”
Darby shot up, and his chair legs screeched across the floor. “Bingo!” he shouted, waving his card overhead.
In the same motion, his tail slipped loose from where it had been hidden beneath his skirt. It unfurled, dark and sleek, and danced like a charmed boa in the air behind him.
Laughter burst out of me. He looked adorably triumphant, tail and all.
But the happy moment shattered almost instantly. The caller drew a sharp intake of breath and the microphone drooped in his hand as his bespectacled eyes fixed on the slithery black thing cresting Darby’s shoulder.
Darby noticed the other man’s gaze, and the joy drained from his face in a single, awful heartbeat. His winning card fluttered to the floor as he reached instead for his tail, hauling it in and hugging it to his chest.
I sprang to my feet and turned toward him with my hands half raised.
It’s okay. You’re safe. You don’t need to hide from me.
I thought those things—meant to say them—but I wasn’t sure if anything came out because Darby was already dashing for the exit. He bolted into the night, and the door slammed shut in his wake.