Breathe (6 page)

“Don"t we all?”

Would they hate Jay as much if they knew the truth of that day? If they knew

Jay"s part in it?

Breathe

25

Chapter Five

Jay parked his Jeep and got out. The door rattled as he slammed it shut. One

of these days it was going to fall off the hinges, and he"d end up driving around with

plastic sheeting and duct tape for a door.

The neon signs from the Late Night Paradise Plaza carryout nearly blinded

him as he crossed the parking lot. He"d entered Sonny"s Tavern a few times over the

past year. A lot over the last six months. That"s when the drinking had gone from a

way to dull the pain to a way to get through each day. He couldn"t face the empty

house and the fading memories.

Most of the time, he walked to the bar and back. A necessity when you expect

the bartender to keep the beers coming. Tonight he had some thinking to do before

he fell into the bottle, so he"d made the stop off to Sonny"s. He"d save the heavy

drinking for when he got home. Time to figure out what he planned to do about

Lincoln McCaw.

If Todd was right, and the man was leaving town, Jay didn"t have a lot of time

to make up his mind. This might be his last chance to face him—to get a look at the

man who had taken Katie from him.

But what would he gain from finally seeing him? And was it worth tearing at

old wounds when they hadn"t even started to heal?

Jay shoved the bar"s door in with his shoulder and welcomed the scent of beer

and smoke that signaled the usual forthcoming alcohol stupor. The lighting in the

bar was dim, and the brown wood paneling and hardwood floor added to the

darkness. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust. Sonny was pouring a glass of

whiskey behind the bar, and four men sat at a table nearby, celebrating a bowling

league victory—unless they liked to dress in matching button-up shirts advertising

the Edgefield Pizzeria across their backs. The group"s laughter and the clink of their

glasses drowned out the country music playing overhead. A young couple sat at a

table along the back wall, paying attention only to each other. And the same old,

weathered man who was always in Sonny"s sat at his usual table near the

restrooms, proximity obviously an issue for him. He was dressed in a dirty jean

jacket worn to tatters at the seams and cuffs and sported a white and gray beard

that he hadn"t trimmed in years. The waitress on duty brought him another glass of

whiskey. The old man gripped the glass and sucked in a long, slow sip before she

retrieved his empties.

Jay ordered a beer and settled in at a table toward the back. He was nearing

the bottom of the bottle and hadn"t come up with a decision on whether to find

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Sloan Parker

McCaw when two men sat at a table next to him. One was short and sweaty. The

other, tall, somewhat good-looking, but with a beer gut lounging out past the belt

holding up his jeans. They made several lewd comments to the waitress and offered

her a party at Short and Sweaty"s place after her shift. Jay tried to tune them out

until he heard the word he"d feared for a long time.

“He"s a fag.”

What
? Jay stopped the bottle an inch from his mouth. How could they tell?

Was there something in the way he had looked at them?

“Who?” Short and Sweaty asked.

“That guy. At the bar,” the tall one said.

Someone else
. Jay let a long breath into his lungs.

“The one in the leather?”

“Yeah,” Tall and Gutty said. “Fucking fag.”

“No shit?”

“Yep. Went to high school with him. Was a fag back then too.”

Short and Sweaty shook his head, threw his arm over the back of an empty

chair, and gave the man at the bar a disgusted look. “What the fuck"s he still doing

here?”

“Beats me,” Tall and Gutty said. “Oughta head out to California or one of them

pansy states that lets "em get married.”

“Maybe we should give him a clue.” Short and Sweaty slid his chair away from

the table without lifting his ass. The chair legs scraped the wood floor.

“My buddy Hal tried once. Three years ago. He and some of his guys went to

the man"s house. Fag was living with another guy. Can you believe that? Hal and

his buddies beat the shit out of them. Cops came. Hal spent time in jail for it.”

Short and Sweaty stood. “Ah, he ain"t worth all that trouble. Let"s head across

town.”

Tall and Gutty joined him, and they sauntered toward the door.

“Yeah. Don"t wanna hang out in a fag bar.” Tall and Gutty spat the last of his

words toward the man in question, who ignored them.

Jay stared at the back of the man"s leather jacket. A gay guy? In Edgefield? In

Sonny"s?

The dark-haired man lifted his head and took a long swig from his beer.
The

guy from out front last night.

Jay had no idea how to tell if someone was gay, but that long stare they"d

exchanged had seemed like…something.

The man"s shirt was untucked, hanging out past the bottom of his jacket. His

ragged face sported several days" worth of stubble. His attention was focused on the

beer in front of him, which he held on to with both hands. The expression on his

face, his posture, the way he clung to his beer told of the despair. Lost. Broken.

Breathe

27

Was Jay looking in a goddamn mirror?

* * *

Lincoln lit a smoke and ignored the questions. The kid had sat one stool away

from him twenty minutes earlier and ordered a beer he"d downed in two gulps.

Same guy Lincoln had seen outside the other night. Young. Gorgeous. With a

sadness in his eyes a little too familiar. Probably a regular who had started coming

in while he was at the jail. Lincoln had readied himself to find another seat if the

kid talked too much. Damn regulars always felt the need to talk even when no one

was listening.

Instead, the kid had ordered another beer and stared at the television set

hanging over the bar, not even glancing away at the commercials, until he asked

about the game. Lincoln didn"t offer an opinion. It wasn"t like he even knew who

was playing.

The bartender stopped by, and Lincoln gestured for another beer. He gathered

the new bottle in his hands and stared down the mouth at the liquid. He wanted a

whiskey, but the beers would let him get his ass to Nancy"s. He"d start in on the pint

of Jack there.

The kid reached for a bowl of nuts in front of Lincoln, picked up a peanut, and

took his time smashing it between his fingers, freeing the nuts from their shell.

Lincoln silently cursed himself out as he watched the kid chew the nuts and lick the

salt off his lips.

Damn
. Maybe he should make a trip to the Forge sooner rather than later, find

himself a nameless blowjob. If assholes like the ones from earlier caught him

staring at good-looking straight guys in Sonny"s, he"d get a pounding on the walk

back.

Laughter erupted from the table of bowlers behind him, and they belted out a

chorus of “We Are the Champions.”

“Must have won the league championship.”

Lincoln rolled his eyes and took another drink. Great. The kid was a talker

after all. Lincoln grunted. There. He wasn"t ignoring the man.

The bartender brought the kid a new beer and said, “Nope. Five years in a row

they came in last place. Not this year. They were second to last.”

“Oh.” The kid turned on the stool and glanced at the men in bowling shirts.

“Should I tell them champions doesn"t mean „we suck, but hey, at least we don"t

suck the most"?”

Lincoln huffed out a short laugh, almost choking on a mouthful of beer. He

wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don"t laugh while you"re drinking,” the kid said. “Beer up the nose burns like

hell.”

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Sloan Parker

Good-looking and funny. At any other time in his life, Lincoln would have been

seriously interested.

The kid slid onto the empty stool between them. “Can I bum a smoke?”

With the back of his hand Lincoln slid over his pack of Marlboros.

“Thanks.” The kid picked up the smokes. He dug one out and placed the pack

next to Lincoln"s beer. “Uh, you got a light?”

The guy was really killing his buzz. Lincoln fished the lighter from his pocket

and tossed it to the kid, who fumbled the catch but saved the lighter from hitting

the wood floor. Good thing. Lincoln"s grandpa had given it to him. He didn"t need it

scuffed up.

He also didn"t need the kid sitting so damn close. He smelled clean, refreshing

after time spent with the jailhouse inmates who weren"t sure how to work the

showers or the sinks. The kid held out the lighter, his eyes wide, his lips parted, his

chest rising with each shallow breath as he stared at Lincoln.

Lincoln accepted the lighter, as well as the slight press of the kid"s thumb to

his palm.

Oh, hell
. He"d never had someone come on to him in Sonny"s, not in any local

establishment for that matter. Public propositions for gay sex didn"t go over well in

a town the size of Edgefield.

Had the kid heard those fuckers from earlier?

Maybe he was toying with him. Maybe he was friends with those guys, and

Lincoln was about to get his ass kicked out behind the bar. But it didn"t feel like the

kid was fooling. It felt good. To be touched. To be wanted again. His hand clenched

as he set the lighter with his smokes.

The kid was staring at the TV again and made no attempt to move back to his

previous stool. He played along the length of the cigarette with his fingers before he

took another drag. His hands were a bit beat-up, rough, the hands of a man who

worked for a living. Yet the kid treated the cigarette as if it were made of delicate

tissue paper until his last puff. Only then did he crush the butt into the ashtray

with the push of his thumb.

Would fucking the kid involve the same mix of tenderness and roughness?

Lincoln"s dick had hardened more with each play of the long fingers over the

roll of tobacco, with each drag between the kid"s lips.
Damn
. He hadn"t gotten hard

that fast in a long time. Not from one look and a touch of hands. This

twentysomething kid brought to life needs he"d learned to bury. Would it be so bad

to just give in? To feel again?

He wanted a fuck, but could he let himself have even that much of a release?

No. Too soon to feel good. To feel anything.

At the next commercial, the kid said, “Did you know those guys from earlier?”

Breathe

29

The man"s low whisper had Lincoln"s dick begging for a hand, a mouth,

anything. Why couldn"t his body listen to his head…or his heart? “If you came in

here to talk, I suspect you sat by the wrong person.”

Before the kid said anything more, Lincoln downed the last of his beer,

grabbed his smokes, and headed for the door.

It didn"t mean anything that the kid watched him go. Did it?

30

Sloan Parker

Chapter Six

“Uncle Lincoln!” Davy shouted as he sprinted out of the kitchen.

Lincoln held up a fist and the two tapped knuckles in greeting. “How you

doing?”

“Okay,” Davy said. “Just borrowed
Guitar Hero
from Richie. He said I could

keep it until next week.”

Mindless entertainment. Lincoln could go for that. He toed off his boots and

draped his jacket over the back of the couch. “I"d like to try that one.”

Davy walked backward in front of him as they moved toward the kitchen.

“Yeah? I"ll go set it up.” He turned to run off, but Nancy"s words stopped him short.

“Not now. Let your uncle have something to eat first. And you need to finish

your homework.” She wore hospital scrubs and the same worn orthopedic shoes she

had on the night before. Did the patrons of the all-night diner on State Road 91

know she wore the same shoes to schlep their food around in the evenings that she

wore to empty bedpans at the Fairlawn Retirement Home during the day? As soon

as he had some cash for the bills, he"d talk her into quitting one of the jobs. He

hated seeing her so tired, hated thinking how alone and scared she must"ve felt

while he was gone.

Davy sank into a chair at the kitchen table and picked up an open math book.

Jessica sat beside him coloring a pony in stripes the various colors of a rainbow.

Lincoln laughed and ruffled her hair. A fluorescent purple crayon in her hand, she

smiled up at him, then started coloring the horse"s tail.

Nancy handed him a plate of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and carrots. “Kept it

warm for you.”

“Thanks. I"ll eat it in Davy"s room so he can study.”

“I put all your mail on the desk. Forgot to give it to you last night.”