*****PG13*****
He couldn’t recall feeling this bad ever. And he had had some really bad shit happen to him. He had stopped believing in God after the first wave of hell had washed over him. He was five at the time. His mother had always assured him that he had a father somewhere ‘up there’ who watched over him – in hindsight probably to compensate for the fact there was no father figure ‘down here’ – but then his mother died and he ended up in an orphanage. The name of the place turned out to be completely misleading. “Safe heaven”. Yeah, right. It had been hell. Pure hell.
But even those memories didn’t hurt as much as he was hurting right now. Guilt, anger and grief had joined hands and generated a hurtful tight straitjacket that made it hard to breathe. Impossible to think straight. He needed to break out. He needed…
He plunged on the bar stool and ordered a whiskey. Double. The barkeeper gave him a searching glance. Undoubtedly he looked like shit, right now. It would make sense. He felt like shit. The blue eyes in front of him looked worried. Great. He hated pity. He didn’t need pity. He needed…
The whiskey burned in his throat. Good stuff. He liked quality. Demanded it, even. And life had been looking up, these last months. Finally his talent had been recognized and valued. He’d felt the king of the world. Until his world came crashing down on him, this afternoon.
Tristan. How could he have been so stupid to let his son wander off? No phone call should have been that important. He took a large sip of his drink. Dave. Things had been distressing for some time, but he knew this accident was the last push over the edge. His marriage was over. His father-in-law had ignored him completely. No surprise there. The minute their marriage had become a little rocky, Dave’s father had taken sides. He didn’t even blame him, really. He assumed that was what fathers were supposed to do. He knew he would take Tristan’s side whatever the circumstance.
The boy’s face came to haunt him and he felt like throwing his now empty glass through this exquisite hotel bar. He’d never been here. The Lakeview. It had sounded qualitatively reliable and the interior hadn’t disappointed. This would do for tonight.
When he heard Dave ask his dad if he could stay on his farm, he hadn’t interfered. He didn’t want to go back to the house either. That beautiful house with Tristan’s toys all over the place. How that boy loved his cars. What car had lured the boy to the road? Why had Tristan run up the street, without looking? They probably would never know. They only knew he did. And now Tristan was gone and his relationship was down the drain too.
He needed some distraction. He needed some physical outlet. He needed…
He pushed his glass to the barkeeper.
“Another one.”
“Are you planning on driving?”
Waylon narrowed his eyes.
“Who made you my guardian angel? You’re too late anyway. I could have used you a few hours ago.”
“It’s hotel policy,” the young guy smiled, “and what happened a few hours ago?”
Oh God, why did all barkeepers feel the need to act like dr. Phil? Waylon shook his head. He would shut this guy up. Bluntness would do the trick.
“My son was killed in a car accident. And I’m not driving. I have a room here. So pour.”
He watched how the whiskey found its way to the glass.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Waylon shrugged.
“I know you mean well, but it’s just words. I don’t need words.”
“What do you need?”
“A good fuck.” Waylon looked the guy over and the way the blue eyes darkened a little, suddenly loosened up the band around his chest. It made him even more direct than usual. “Interested?”
The young guy didn’t pale and didn’t back away. He just looked him over. Pensively.
“Maybe.”
To cover his surprise, Waylon took a large sip and stared at the counter. For some reason he hadn’t expected any male opportunities in this little town. He looked at the bartender again. He could do worse. Tall, dark and good body. And obviously attracted by Waylon’s dominant behavior. This could be exactly what he needed. He had to make sure it was, so he made himself very clear.
“I need to let off steam, so don’t expect anything slow and loving. It will be a rough ride.”
Again the guy didn’t seemed put off. On the contrary. His interest became evident now.
“Just how I like it,” his voice was husky and it made Waylon even more eager.
“Good. So what’s the maybe about?”
“I’ve never done this…” the guy looked around and lowered his voice, “I just started working here and I need this job. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”
Waylon nodded. He understood the importance of a steady income.
“We just need to be careful then.”
He took out a pen and wrote his room number on a coaster.
“When does your shift end?”
The barkeeper checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”
Waylon smiled. Perfect. He let the last drops of whiskey dance on his tongue. He didn’t want to think about Dave. He didn’t want to think about Tristan. He didn’t want to think about all he’d lost. He needed some redemption and this guy looked like he could provide that.
As casual as possible, the barkeeper removed glass and coaster from the counter and gave him a professional smile.
“I hope you’ll feel better soon, Sir.”
Waylon forced his face not to grin. This guy was wicked.
“Thank you. I plan to.” Waylon’s eyes were defiant. “Thanks for the good talk. I’ll put in a good word for you with your boss. What’s your name?”
The guy smiled, feeling his body spring to life.
“That would be great, Sir. The name is Noah. Noah Mayer.”
