CHAPTER TEN
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THE DOOR TO the bar that wore the cloak of being a hardware store blew open.
Chatter started immediately from people dressed in the tourist garb of a Patagonia vest, hiking boots, and cargo pants.
Adam tried to give a quick once-over out of curiosity when their agreement that the place was, in fact, a bar shifted.
“Holy shit, when that skinny guy screamed and ripped out the crock pot…”
Adam did his best to sink into his watered-down beer without catching any eyes.
“And that brown one slugged him in the chest. Then they both went down.”
“Bro, those apples slammed into that truck like brain-dead pigeons. I swear, I thought I was gonna shit myself. Hey, two Buds.”
Despite Adam’s best attempt to blend in with the furnishings, the younger and brash men stepped up to the bar and surrounded him.
“And I thought this thing was gonna be boring as shit. Only reason I came was to get something from Sherry.”
“Dude!” The second man turned to slug his mate in the arm for managing to turn love into a hostage negotiation. In doing so, his bag slammed Adam’s shoulder. He gulped at the contact. “Sorry, man.” First, he turned, then the other guy. “Wait. Aren’t you…?”
“Thanks for the drink,” Adam called to the bartender.
He left half a glass behind and scurried off before the men tried to get him to relive his great humiliation.
Slipping into the chilled air, he took in a breath, his head dizzy.
In the distance, lights danced from the town square, and the local Hole in a Tombstone band played the Monster Mash.
Abandoning his drink to escape the attention of large men who use dude was old hat.
He should be able to shake it off with a laugh, but the pain of a dull knife wedged itself between his ribs.
Clutching his side, he hobbled down the street, doing his best to act like he didn’t keep glancing over his shoulder to make certain no one was following him.
Things were supposed to be different in New York.
Sure, there were more opportunities for work and play, but somehow, the same dangers were there just in greater number and when he least expected it.
There, he was always on edge, waiting for the wrong look or word to put him in the gutter.
Here, he just had to be careful come tourist season.
The rest of the townsfolk humored the monster in their midst.
Walking the same streets he did as a kid didn’t make him feel young.
If anything, it aged him a hundred years—his back aching, his head splitting, and his tongue dry.
This was supposed to get easier, right? You were supposed to fall into adulthood like slipping into a warm bath.
But every time he tried, the faucet broke, the stopper leaked, and the lights went out.
Of course, then he had to go and act like a teenager boiling in hormone soup whose only answer to finding a boy attractive was by hitting him. Or get stuck together in caramel until neither of them could move. He wasn’t imagining that cock that’d dug into his ass.
At first, Adam had panicked—flashing back to too many men who thought he’d like it if they just pushed harder.
But the way he’d lingered, his cock pulsing and jerking as it came to life, filled his brain with the most dangerous thoughts.
Running his fingers through the forest of curly hair shielding that shaft.
Cupping his palm over the cock and sucking on the head while staring into his deep eyes.
He hadn’t been able to reach for it, so his body did the next best thing and caressed Raj with his ass.
Dumb. Stupid. Probably harassment. And besides, he hated the man, so pointless. But…
Did he like it?
“Adam.”
At the scolding tone, he reached to tug down his vest, before remembering it was at the bottom of a trash can. Damn, he really liked that one. “Mom?” He pivoted his head, catching her running across the road to his side.
“Where have you been? The fireworks are about to start.”
After they’d finished cleaning up, his mother chose to stay for the rest of the festival. She had a few pies in the competition, after all. He’d chosen the saner path and escaped with his tail between his legs.
Peering over her cottony head, he tried to spy the grandstand where the mayor was about to push the button. “No thanks. I’d prefer to keep my head on my shoulders.”
“Don’t be silly. Mikey was just being spirited. You know how he gets.”
Despite her protestations, Adam knew the threat was real.
The mayor put up with Adam because his store went with the holiday, and because he was willing to give his all for this town, for Halloween.
But he found a new toy, one more willing to dance to his tune.
After everything Adam did for Anoka—the nights he’d lose glueing eyes onto bags for Trick-or-Treaters, organizing masquerades that’d put the Twin Cities to shame—he was out.
Maybe not officially, but he knew the fix was in.
So he could either stand there playing the stooge who smiled through the cross looks and whispers—or exit the stage. It wasn’t a hard choice.
“I need to return to my store,” he said.
“Don’t be silly. It can wait for a night,” his mom said.
“How’d the pie contest go?”
His mother’s always jubilant demeanor crashed. She didn’t let her smile dim, but her lips hardened and, through her teeth, she gritted two words, “Mary Anne.”
If Raj was to be his rival, then Miss Mary Anne Retton was hers.
Every year, his mom tried to outdo the woman in everything from pies to quilts to canned tomatoes.
If Anoka had a beatboxing competition, it’d be two old ladies going head to head in some decades-long war to best the other.
Strangest of all, the rest of the year, they were good friends who played bridge and had coffee every Tuesday. He’d never understand it.
“Well, there’s always next year.”
She tipped her head, but smiled at his platitude. “What about that young man?”
Adam’s sure step crumbled. He tried to catch it before she noticed and asked with a shrug. “What man?”
“You know.”
“There are hundreds at the festival. I can’t know them all.”
“The one you got quite close to.” His mother gave a little giggle, and she pointed to Adam’s chest.
“I guess I let my competitiveness get the best of me. At least people can find my humiliation funny.”
“Oh, love, they’re not laughing at you.”
Those men in the bar told a different tale. It’s not the laughter that worries him…yet. There was a fine line between laughing at the monster and fearing it.
The bar door swung open, and Adam’s throat dried. Little warning bells told him he needed to be elsewhere, preferably behind a locked door. “Mom, I’ve got to go.” Before she could drag him off to the fireworks, Adam took long strides down the sidewalk.
“He seemed nice.”
His sure steps faltered. “I suppose so.” To those who didn’t know about Raj stealing those masks out from under him, Raj was a perfect gentleman. A man of tender face, warm eyes, and a plump, forceful body below soft sweaters.
“Don’t you think…?”
“Ma, no. Not again. No meddling in my love life, or lack thereof. Please.”
“What else am I supposed to do? I don’t have any grandchildren to dote on.”
“What about my sister?”
His mother snorted at the idea. “Baph’s married to her farm. Remember? It was a lovely ceremony.”
That was a strange day, made all the weirder by the mysterious people in hoods and robes.
His sister was a hermit weirdo who preferred to spend her days talking to goats instead of people.
Yet he was the threat to society, always on the verge of being shunned and cast out if he didn’t dance just right for their sensibilities.
Looking at his mother, a woman who’d give June Cleaver a run for the Norman Rockwell cup, pain stabbed Adam in the gut. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what, dear?”
“That you’re saddled with two freak children.”
His sweet mother slapped him on the cheek. “Don’t you say that!”
It wasn’t more than a tap, but Adam was shocked. He held a hand over his face while staring in horror at his innocent mother getting angry.
“You are both wonderful children. Delightful, sweet, kind people who I am blessed to have in my life.” Oh, god, tears glittered in her eyes. Adam had felt like shit after his display at the festival, but the idea that he caused his mother to cry made him want to fling himself down a well.
“Mom…” He hugged her as she pressed a tissue to her eyes below her glasses.
“It’s all right, dear. Just, getting myself worked up. I only want you to be happy. As me and your father were.”
The junior college sweethearts who were married for forty-three years. He couldn’t have hoped to compete, even if anyone in high school had wanted to touch him more than it took to shove him into a locker. “Mom, I’d be lucky to have a tenth of the happiness you and Dad did.”
“That Mr. Choudhary seemed quite sweet.”
She got his name right. Adam almost said so, before realizing why she made sure to learn it.
“And he couldn’t stop glancing your way during the competition.” She nudged him as if Adam weren’t well aware.
He couldn’t tell her that they were in some stupid war over Halloween, or the crown, or just trying to be the one accepted gay man in town.
That they hated each other and just the thought of Raj made his tongue parch, his fists clench, and his heart beat faster.
The thought of him winning, lording it over Adam, leaning close to taunt him until all he could see were those deep brown eyes…
Fireworks exploded. Not the kind from a kiss of rage, but the literal ones. The air burst with sprays of orange and green, trying to form pumpkins in the sky. Adam took a steadying breath to wash away the touch of Raj’s fingers raking over his brain.
“I’m afraid that can’t be,” he said to his mother. She abandoned the spray of color to demand an explanation. “He’s got a partner.”