Monster mash, p.28
Monster Mash, page 28
“Seriously?” he said without judgement.
I nodded. “Seriously.”
“Right in front of you.”
“Thanks,” I said and reached to take the coffee.
Boyd made sure I had a good grip on it before he let it go, settling into the seat next to me. “So what are you doin’ here at five in the morning? Shouldn’t you be all cuddled up to your new boo?”
“Nah.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Gaston’s great but, well, he’s some bigshot out in L.A. It would never work out.”
“Why not?” Boyd asked, as if what I’d said was ridiculous.
“Well,” I said, drawing the word out, “he’s got to go back, Boyd. He’s only in town for a few weeks and, like…”
“Shit, man. You really like this dude. Wait a minute.” He shifted, one of his tentacles brushing against my knee. “This is the Gaston, right? The one in that song you wrote?”
My face was suddenly hotter than the coffee in my hand. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Remember it? Man, that song’s a gut punch straight to the feels. Probably the only good one you ever wrote.”
“Hey, now,” I said, smacking one of his tentacles with my cane.
Boyd chuckled. “Well, you’ve always been a better singer than a song writer, my friend.”
That was true. I hadn’t penned many songs at all, and for good reason. I wasn’t great at it. Losing my eyesight certainly didn’t leave much room for practice, either.
“Alls I’m saying,” Boyd continued, “is that if he was important enough to write a song about, what’re you doin’ runnin’ away from him?”
“I ain’t running away,” I protested, even though I knew full well that was exactly what I was doing.
Running away from Gaston was better than hurting him and being hurt. He had a whole life on the other side of the country, a life I would never fit into and I didn’t want to get in the way of that. The night before, I had thought I could make it work. I’d convinced myself I could be satisfied with a fling and then move on, knowing he was happy and that we’d tried.
Until he said he wanted to knot me, and I realized I wanted that too. I wanted more than just a fling. I wanted him so bad, I knew I’d never be able to let him go. The longer we stayed together, the more it’d hurt us both, so it was better to just leave.
I drew a thumb under my nose. “Listen, Boyd. You got plans today?”
“Not really,” he said. “What were you thinkin’?”
I smiled and patted the guitar case. “Was thinkin’ of getting’ the band back together. I got a gig over at Bluz on Sunday. Pays good. Thought maybe I’d share the wealth.”
“Well,” he said, and paused as if he were thinking about it. “I think I might know where Alabama might be stayin’. Don’t know if he’s still got his keyboard, though. We can go see. Have to take the bus.”
“Don’t got bus fare,” I said, shaking my head. “But pretty sure we can go down to the corner and make it in no time, you and me.”
He punched me in the arm with a tentacle and I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “It’ll be like old times.”
“Sounds good.” I smiled back and stood.
A day playing on the street with my broke buddies was exactly what I needed to make me forget about Gaston. At least, I hoped so, because if I thought any more about it, I might walk straight back to Bluz and make the biggest mistake of my life.
About an hour later, me and Boyd had set up down the street, me with my guitar, and Boyd with a couple of buckets he found and his trusty drumsticks. We played a couple tunes, falling back into rhythm with each other, but I just couldn’t get Gaston out of my head.
There was a part of me that wondered what it’d be like to insert myself into his life, to knock elbows with celebrity chefs and movie stars. What was his LA apartment like? Probably sleek and fancy.
While he was shopping at one of those all-organic grocery stores, they had out west and slept on sheets that had a thread count in the four digits, I was counting change at the CVS counter and crashing on the floor at a shelter, if I was lucky. My friends were people like Crazy Louie, who lived under the overpass over by the Kroger, and Boyd Coots, who usually crashed down by the Ohio River. His friends had TV shows and Michelin-star restaurants. Gaston ate caviar and wine while I was out there living on packaged ramen and Mountain Dew on a good day, and scraps on the bad days.
He lived in another world, one that would never be accessible to me, a world where I’d never fit in. Not that I begrudged Gaston his position. I knew he’d worked hard to get where he was and fortune had smiled on him. His success was well-deserved.
It just wasn’t my scene. That life required tethering himself to people and places, which wasn’t something that appealed to me. I liked my freedom to come and go as I pleased, even if it came at the cost of many other things.
Did I wish for stability and a big break? Hell yes, I did. But I’d come to accept my lot in life. Fame and fortune would never bring me happiness, and I didn’t want to forget where I came from, which was less than nothing at all.
So, I stood on that street corner with Boyd and we played through the morning, gathering enough change from passers-by to get lunch and the bus fare to take us out to see if young Alabama Holt still had his keyboard.
Alabama wasn’t his real name, of course. It was Allen. He was from Alabama though, so everybody just called him that. Too many Big Al’s or Fat Al’s or Alley Cat Al’s around. He was usually down in this little wooded area off Preston between the Waffle House and the Bojangles. Boyd and me got off at the nearest stop and popped into Bojangles for some dirty rice, chicken, and extra biscuits. I got some gravy and doused a biscuit for Simon, who gobbled it up faster than you could say Jack Robinson. The extra biscuits we took with us up to see if we could find Alabama.
His tent was back a ways from the road, tucked behind a couple of wild hydrangea bushes. There were about half a dozen tents back there, so Boyd stopped in front of the closest one to ask about Alabama. We didn’t know the guy in the first tent, but he pointed us to the edge of the camp and said that if Alabama was still around, that’s where he’d be.
I took Boyd’s arm, and he led me through the camp so I didn’t trip on any of the tent lines or debris littering the camp. As soon as we’d walked a few more feet, I knew we had the right place. Alabama’s voice came singing through the trees, singing Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back”.
The song cut off suddenly and Alabama let out a whistle. “Would you look at what the cat dragged in? Where you been? Ain’t seen you two in a coon’s age!”
I put out my hand and Alabama took it, stepping in to bump his shoulder against mine. “Hey, Alabama,” I said and offered him the extra biscuits. “How’s it goin’?”
“All right, all right,” he said. “Damn, you brought me Bojangles? Now that’s how you know who your friends are.”
Boyd chuckled. “Well, don’t get too excited. It’s totally a bribe.”
“You don’t say? Why don’t you sit a spell and tell me all ‘bout it?” He ushered us into some folding lawn chairs that had certainly seen better days. The bottoms had broken long ago, but he’d repaired them with a couple of worn strips of cloth, so they worked just fine.
“Grey wants to get the band back together,” Boyd said, scratching Simon’s ears. “You still got your keyboard?”
“Ain’t pawned it yet,” Alabama said, smacking his lips. “You got a gig or somethin’?”
I nodded. “Sunday night at Bluz. Pay you each one sixty to do a full set. Think you’re up to it?”
“Bluz, eh?” He plopped down in the dirt in front of us. “Ain’t that the werewolf barbecue place? I thought they’d shut down.”
“It’s a grand re-opening,” I explained. “Gaston wants to relaunch the place, bring in new people. It’s why he wants a local band.”
“Gaston? The same Gaston you was pinin’ after something awful a couple years ago?” Alabama said, and I heard the telltale hiss of something canned and fizzy being opened up.
My face flushed hot. How come that was the first thing everybody brought up? Wasn’t like I was always talking about him or anything.
“That’s the one,” Boyd replied, and it sounded distinctly like he was grinning.
Alabama let out an excited gasp and clasped my knee. “Tell me this is all part of your big plan to get together with him? Oh, lord, Greyson! I am so on board to help you impress your man. We gonna play that love song you wrote for him? Please say yes!”
My face burned, and I turned away, rubbing my cheek. “Nah, it’s way too cheesy. No way.”
“We’re totally playing it,” Boyd agreed smugly. “Sorry, Grey. You’ve been outvoted.”
I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. Talking them out of it was about as likely as me sprouting wings to fly away. “All right, fine. But I pick the rest of the set, and you two have to practice. I want this to be perfect, you hear me?”
Alabama and Boyd chuckled.
Alabama grabbed my hand and pushed a lukewarm can into it. “For you and your lover boy? You bet.”
I leaned over my desk with a mournful sigh, staring at the numbers. I couldn’t concentrate. My every second thought was about Greyson and how I’d fucked things up so badly. I never should’ve told him I wanted to knot him. That’s what’d done it. I’d scared him off by stupidly thinking he wanted more.
Well, I did, even if he didn’t, and I had no clue what to do with that. I wanted a lot more.
If I can’t have Greyson, what’s the point of any of this? Something in my chest twisted like it might break off. It was the strangest sensation, almost like hunger, but it wasn’t in my stomach. It was a special sort of emptiness that left me aching in the worst way, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.
I growled and shoved the ledger away, letting my head rest in my hands. “Fuck.”
“Rough night?”
I looked up and saw Di standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. “Oh, Di…” My arms fell limply to the desk. “I fucked up. Bad.”
She pushed away from the door to come sit in the rickety old chair across from me. “You want to talk about it or drink until you forget about it?”
I sighed and glanced back at all the red in the ledger. “Don’t think the bar can afford what it’d take to get me properly drunk.”
“What happened?” She propped her head up on her elbows. “Things not go well with Greyson?”
“Oh, things went great until I opened my big, stupid mouth and shoved my furry foot into it. Again.” I snorted and flipped the ledger closed. “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. These books are a mess. Bar’s losing money and I can only guess where, since Kelvin was a shitty bookkeeper. Pretty sure the pack drank all the missing stores, and I don’t know how I’m going to clear that up financially, so taxes don’t come back to bite us in the ass. Plus, I’ve got to do inventory so I can get all the food ordered for the re-opening and somehow, I’ve got to get this place cleaned and repainted. I can’t focus on any of that, Di. All I can think about is Grey, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
“Sounds like somebody’s a little moon crazy,” she teased.
I shot her a harsh glare. “That’s not what this is.”
“No?” Di pushed up. “Remember when Robbie and Sue got together?”
“How can I forget? Robbie was practically feral for almost a month. Bit everyone’s head off when they came around. He damn near tore off Franklin’s arm when he bumped into Sue, and those two weren’t even officially dating. Got to the point Dad had to put his foot down. Told them they were either going to get mated or get out because it was driving everyone crazy.”
Di just stared at me, arching one eyebrow.
I growled. “That is not what’s happening here, Di. Besides, Grey’s human.”
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first werewolf to have a human mate.”
I tapped my pen on the surface of the desk, knowing she was right. It wasn’t unprecedented. There were a couple of humans in my line way back, but it didn’t happen often and when it did, there was usually a lot of controversy around it. Humans couldn’t fully integrate into a pack, and it caused a lot of friction because no one knew exactly where to put them in the hierarchy. New werewolves usually took their position in the pack based on where their mates stood, but most packs universally agreed that humans had to be at the bottom because they couldn’t shift or participate in pack hunts. Other members of the pack could easily misread their emotions, and they’d always need protection from predators. Humans were soft and vulnerable. There was no way anyone would put Greyson near the top of the pack where I was.
“Greyson isn’t my mate,” I said and felt a horrible stab of pain in my chest when I said it. “Don’t you think I’d have noticed if he was? I mean, we’ve known each other for years, Di. A mating bond isn’t something that you just wake up to one day.”
“Actually, it kinda is,” she pointed out.
“Oh, because you’re such an expert?” I snorted and shook my head.
Di crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. “Honey, just because I ain’t found my mate yet doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about it. I’ve got two older sisters, and I have worked in this bar long enough to know a thing or two about werewolves in love.”
I let the pen fall from my fingers and watched it roll around on the surface of the desk. “Yeah, well, this entire conversation is pointless. Even if Greyson is my mate—and I’m not saying he is—he’s gone. I don’t even know if he’s coming back for the re-opening.”
The ledger suddenly slid off the desk and came flying back at me. I yelped and only barely dodged Di pitching it straight at my face.
“What the fuck, Diana?” I growled.
“Somebody’s got to knock some sense into you, Gaston! You’re being an idiot.” She pointed at her nose. “What do you think this big thing on your face is for, huh? It ain’t sniffing fire hydrants!”
“Louisville is huge,” I protested. “Even if I spent all day driving around, I’d probably never find him. Grey knows all kinds of nooks and crannies in this city to hide in. If he doesn’t want to be found, I won’t find him.”
“So you’re just going to sit there and whine about it?” She grabbed another ledger from the pile and threw it at me. “Go find your mate!”
“Okay, okay!” I held up my hands, defending myself against the onslaught of paperwork flying at my head. “Just as soon as I get all this cleaned up and finish my work and—”
Diana let out a bone chilling snarl. “Now, Gaston!”
I shot up out of the seat. “Okay, I’m going! God damn, Di. Maybe they should make you the alpha of this pack.”
“Do not tempt me,” she countered.
As I slid toward the door, backing away, Diana stood and started picking up the ledgers, arranging them neatly on the corner of the desk, muttering, “Fucking stubborn bachelor werewolves. I swear…”
I walked out of the bar without much hope. Louisville was a big city, and I had no idea where to look for Grey. He could be anywhere, doing anything. Just the same, I climbed into my car and hit the streets.
Di had suggested I use my nose, but it wasn’t much help in the urban landscape, especially in the middle of the day. Every time I stuck my nose out the window, all I got was a snout full of baked asphalt and car exhaust.
I drove across town to the place where I’d first seen him playing, figuring maybe it was a regular spot. He wasn’t there. After driving around the block a few times, I stopped into a little sandwich shop and asked if they’d seen him. The clerk knew who I was talking about—she called him the little human with the pretty voice and the guitar—but she hadn’t seen him around.
After that, I hit the bus stations and the surrounding areas, reasoning that Grey didn’t have a car, so the bus was the only way he could get around. If that’s how he was moving from place to place, he couldn’t be far from a stop, right? But those turned out to be a bust too.
As the sun started to go down, storm clouds rolled in to darken the sky, and I got even more frantic. The idea of him spending the night out on the street alone and unprotected against the rain left me breathing fast and trembling. I had to find him. Even if he didn’t want whatever this bond was between us, I had to make sure that he was safe, dry, and warm.
Around four o’clock, my phone buzzed. I answered it through the car’s system with a growl, thinking it was just Inzo again. “Inzo, I swear to God, if this is about that cat—”
“Young wolf, you’d best check your tone,” came my dad’s stern voice through the speakers.
I immediately sat up straighter. “Sorry, Dad. I thought you were Inzo.”
“I gathered,” he replied with a grunt. “I also gather something’s got you all riled up, son. What’s happening? Trouble at the bar?”
I let out a heavy sigh. I should’ve known I was getting worked up enough that Dad would feel something was wrong. Others in the pack were probably feeling some of my anxiety, too, through our mutual bond, but as the alpha, and my father, Dad would be able to pinpoint the source better than most.
“No, nothing at the bar,” I said reluctantly. “It’s…complicated. I’d rather not get into it while I’m driving.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, son. I put some mutton in the smoker this afternoon and I was just about to sear it off. You come on over and we’ll have us a talk face to face. Get this all sorted out before somebody loses their cool, all right?”
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch to go out looking for Greyson. I hadn’t wanted to miss him because I was stuck ordering food.
“All right, Dad. I’ll be right over,” I said.
“See you soon, Son. Careful drivin’ in the rain, now.”
He hung up, and I made a left on the next street, turning around to go toward their home. My folks lived in Bonnycastle, which was one of the nicest neighborhoods in Louisville, but they hadn’t always lived there. Before my dad was the alpha of the Bluegrass pack, he’d worked his entire life in the restaurant industry, training under some of the best pitmasters in the area. He had a passion for food, and it showed when he took over Bluz and turned it into a successful venue.
