Styx’s Storm (Love in Mission City)

Styx

“Fucking Baxter.” As I stood in the middle of First Avenue in Mission, British Columbia, I cursed my friend, bandmate, and the biggest asshole I knew. With this stunt, he’d landed at the top of my list of jackasses.

I gazed up and down the street, desperately searching—yet in my heart knowing that I wasn’t going to see him.

I realized I didn’t even have my guitar. Nope. Baxter had pulled the clanking, smoke-belching van over, tossed me my bag of clothes to "hold onto" and told me he’d take care of things. Then he hesitated, his eyes on mine and said an odd, muffled, "Goodbye," before he drove away.

There I was on the side of the road, staring after him, when I realized I had no idea where he was going. A repair shop, probably, but why did he make me get out? Why no plans to meet up? Where was he taking our only ride and my fucking guitar?

Still, I clung to hope, there on the sidewalk. Waited for his text. Waited for him to respond to mine. Or the next one. Or ten more after that, or calls that went to voicemail. Till, an hour later, it dawned on me, he wasn't coming back.

All my hopes and plans melted to nothing on that gray, November pavement. No van, no Baxter, and no guitar. I wouldn't even be able to busk for some money, if this pretty downtown allowed such a thing. I was alone. Right.

The damned camper van had broken down just two klicks from Mission City.

I was incredibly grateful she’d waited till that moment.

Because theoretically she could’ve given up the ghost anywhere between Oshawa, Ontario and the west coast of British Columbia.

Lots of stretches on that long-ass trip where breaking down would’ve been a nightmare.

Still.

Baxter and I had decided on Vancouver for our fresh start.

We were not in Vancouver.

I thought about the small amount of cash in my wallet.

I thought about the commuter train leaving Monday morning for the big city.

I thought about how expensive that city was going to be if I tried to live there on my own with no transportation, no one to share rent.

The math wasn’t mathing.

Plus, this was a Friday night. There might be some bus or something, but I couldn’t find any mention of one on the transit website. So did anyone too broke to own a car just hang around this town all weekend? Seemed nice enough…but definitely not my speed.

I sat at a bus stop to contemplate my options.

Of which there were damn few.

My phone sat heavy in my hand. At least I charged it at Tim Hortons. I’d be okay for a bit.

Then I did something I hadn’t done in eighteen months.

I pulled up the hookup app I used to use as a way to get out of my head when I wanted to feel, not think.

Baxter and I had been fuck buddies with benefits, but he’d married a woman and I’d…struck out on my own. The app had been my way to line up a warm body for an hour or two.

Until Frank died. After that, hooking up felt wrong. So I hadn’t.

As I scrolled through local guys, I tried not to dwell on our dead drummer. The horrible way he’d died. His blood, our screams, and that awful, final—I pushed the memory away.

Baxter played keyboard, I was vocals and guitar. Frank had been the third member of our garage indie band. We’d played through high school and into our twenties. With varying degrees of success. Then everything had gone to shit in the blink of an eye.

My life was never going to be the same. Hence, us starting over. New city. New province. New…whatever this was.

On the screen I was barely paying attention to, one profile caught my notice.

An avatar.

Okay, lack of any kind of photo was not cool. I wasn’t enamored with dick pics—but a nice chest went a long way. Or sturdy thighs.

Maybe he doesn’t have a great body. Maybe he’s just really shy. Those ideas had merit. I was, objectively, a good-looking guy. Which helped when I was crooning away for a tough crowd. I’d always have a few fans at the front, hanging on my every note. Ego boosts.

Maybe this guy never had that.

I opened a conversation with him. Basics. Hi, what are you looking for? Shit like that.

A chill wind blew through downtown from the west, flapping the back of my jacket and blowing my hair in my eyes.

I could go back to Timmie’s. I could try to find shelter. On that note, I gazed upward. Clouds. Ominous ones. I’d long forgotten my study of clouds in grade school, but these looked like they might bring rain.

A reply flashed up on my screen.

—Meet me at The Grand Hotel. Ask for the key to room 303. Anytime after six. I’ll be waiting. —

My eyes widened. I hadn’t quite expected things to escalate so quickly.

But hey, whatever. Hopefully this hotel booked by the night and the guy would let me stay.

Otherwise, I’d heard of a twenty-four-hour diner somewhere nearby.

That would work. At least for now. Chances were they wouldn’t let me hang out until Monday morning, though.

The final option was a shelter—but I’d feel guilty taking a spot when I had some cash in my pocket.

Not a lot—enough to get by, as long as I didn’t waste it on shit like hotel rooms.

After pulling up directions on my phone, I discovered The Grand Hotel was just three blocks west of where I was. He was very specific about the time. I don’t think he’d appreciate me hanging out in the lobby. Which meant killing time.

I eyed the clouds. Waiting indoors might be a good idea.

Directly behind me was a bookstore. The Owl’s Nest.

I honestly hadn’t stepped inside one for years, but surely they’d let me browse. I opened the door and let the book smell hit me.

To find myself almost tripping over a black-and-white cat. “Well hello, there.”

The cat gazed up at me with unblinking eyes.

“Ari.” A man hustled over to scoop up the cat. He stood, cradling the furry chunk in his arms. “I apologize. She usually waits until our guest is safely inside the store before approaching them. Silly girl.” He said those last two words in an exaggerated voice.

Darn cat purred so loudly I could hear it.

“I’ll just put her on her perch.” He did so, and the cat settled, staring out the window onto Mission City’s downtown. Then he pivoted back to me. “I’m Dickens, and this is my store. How can I help you?”

I squinted. “I’m just, uh, browsing.”

“Certainly,” he grinned. His blue eyes sort of sparkled, and the light bounced off his blond hair. “I’m always happy to help. Is there a particular book? Section? Or just going where your whim takes you.?”

“Uh. All of the above?” The guy was super cute. A bit older than me—but not much.

“Sure. There’s a cluster of comfortable chairs. Feel free to put your bag down there while you browse. I close at seven.”

“Oh, I won’t be staying that long. I, uh, have to be at The Grand Hotel at six.”

“Perfect.” He eyed the eyed the street where a lash of rain darkened the pavement. “That’s rain. The meteorologists have been predicting that we’d get a good storm. Glad you came inside when you did.” Another huge grin.

Does he know? That I’m stranded and have nowhere else to go? Is he going to kick me out, or can I really stay for a few hours? “Do you have a book about British Columbia? Or maybe Mission City?”

“I sort of pegged you as an out-of-towner.” His gaze appeared to take me in, as if he were taking my measure. “I have some great books I think you’ll enjoy. Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Water?” He eyed the rain coming down. “How about a hot chocolate? Perfect on a day like this.”

My heart sank. If he were serving a drink, then he’d expect me to buy something.

He cocked his head. “No obligation, okay? I do plenty of business. Do you need to charge your phone or something?”

“I’m not homeless.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were. You said you were headed to the hotel, eventually.

” He held up his hands. “Frankly, I enjoy company. Ari’s great, but she’s a little short on conversation.

My husband’s next door in his motorcycle-repair shop.

Fridays are hit or miss in November. Not quite Christmas yet.

Although getting close.” He shrugged. “Shelter from the storm is something I can offer. Now…hot chocolate?”

For the first time since I realized Baxter had abandoned me, I managed a smile. “That would be lovely.”

“Perfect. Have a seat, and I’ll bring you a couple of local books. Oh, how could I forget? Miss Edna is in one of the other chairs. She’s listening to an audiobook. The bus to take her back to her seniors’ home will be here shortly.”

A warm glow settled in my chest. Clearly, this guy was a good person. I had an instinct for that, and everything here read kindness. I smiled more sincerely. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” He gestured toward the chairs.

I settled into a stuffy, oversized chair—across from Miss Edna.

Her gaze settled on me, and she did something with her old iPod. A moment later, she pulled her earphones out. “Everyone says you have to listen to things on your phone.” She gestured to me.

“Well, uh, I don’t listen to many audiobooks.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re missing out. The library has plenty of free ones that you can download. Thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Do you have a library card?”

I shook my head. “Just passing through town.”

“Oh?” she straightened. “Interesting town to just pass through. Where are you coming from?”

“One hot chocolate and three books.” Dickens handed me the drink and put the books on the little table beside me.

Two appeared to be books with landscape photographs, and one was the history of Mission City.

He pressed his fingers on that one. “A little dry—but well-researched. Mission City has one of the oldest Indigenous-settlement discoveries on record.”

“Very interesting stuff.” Miss Edna offered me a smile. “I read it before my eyes started to go.”

Dickens pivoted his attention to her. “Are you all stocked up on audiobooks?”

She nodded. “That nice Marnie girl at the library got me settled for the next week or two.” She patted her iPod. “All good.”

“I’m not sure Marnie is a girl anymore.”