RR-CDA (10 page)

At the mention of the drunk, Owen’s gaze flicked to the now-yellow bruise on Cole’s face. The last thing he wanted to do was unload on him; Cole didn’t need that after everything else he’d been dealing with. Owen certainly didn’t want to inflict his dad on him, especially if he was in one of his moods. “I’ll be good. It’s a short walk and you have a tree to decorate.”

Cole nodded and smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Be careful, then. And thank you for helping with the tree. It’s perfect.”

God, he didn’t want to leave. It was strange how at ease he’d become in Cole’s company. Stress he hadn’t realized was weighing him down always dissipated the moment he saw Cole. The time they spent together was never long enough, and left him wanting more.

Ignoring the ache in his head, he kissed Cole hard. Like it had back at the tree lot, everything slotted into place for him. They fit together. He’d never had this level of comfort with another man before. It had always been about sex, hot and fast. The passion had been limited to physical attraction and nothing more.

With Cole, things were different.

Owen pulled back, knowing if he let the kiss go on too long he’d never leave the condo. “I’ll give you a call later?”

“Looking forward to it.”

The moment he left the safety of Cole’s place, the urgency surrounding Jane’s phone call and his father’s presence at the bar hit him. Ignoring his head, he ran to the bar as quickly as he could manage on the slippery sidewalk. McGregor’s Closed sign was still flipped around, but the door was unlocked. Jane and Moe would be setting up for the night, and wouldn’t have unlocked it.

His dad had a key, though.

Opening the door, he was greeted with the sound of a glass smashing.

“How dare you try and give dirty dishes to my customers!”

Shit.

His dad was standing behind the bar, red-faced. Moe stood in the doorway to the back, arms stretched out as if to stop his dad from going back there. Jane was behind the bar with him, standing far closer to his dad than Owen would have liked.

Jason McGregor was normally an even-keeled man; even when Owen had gotten into trouble as a kid, he rarely lost his temper. But when he did, well, everyone ran for cover.

“Mr. McGregor, I promise you everything is clean.” Jane’s voice was shaky and she held both her hands up. “Look, Owen’s here. I told you he was on his way. I know he’ll be able to sort everything out.”

“Dad, what’s going on?” He slipped his coat off and set it over the back of a chair. “We’re not open yet. We don’t have your beer ready or anything.”

“I’m not here for a beer.” He looked at Owen, but his gaze didn’t settle for long.

The closer Owen got to his dad, the easier it was to see how unhinged he was. His eyes were wide and the flush on his cheeks traveled down his neck. From this distance Owen was able to see that his dad was sweating.

“Jane, why don’t you and Moe continue getting set up for tonight. Check to see if Ryan is in yet.” He took her place behind the bar with his dad, giving her arm a squeeze as she went.

“Who’s Ryan? And you shouldn’t be opening the bar on Sunday. It’s against God.”

“Dad, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do. I’m a grown man.” His lips were pressed together in a solid line. “And you didn’t answer me. Who is she talking about?”

This wasn’t going to be easy. “Ryan is one of our cooks. He works on Sundays because he goes to school through the week.”

“When I ran this place I never once opened the bar on a Sunday. Your mother would have forbidden it.”

“We talked about this when I took over. We open late Sunday for the sports crowd. Hockey and football. We’ve been doing this for over a year now.”

“They can damn well watch that shit at home.”

“We already talked about this a long time ago. I can’t change things now.”

His father hadn’t been pleased when Owen had suggested that they open the bar for a little while on Sundays, but they’d talked about it and he’d understood that the extra money the food and beer sales brought in would help with their bottom line. Owen had worked hard to turn McGregor’s into a destination, rather than an afterthought.

He thought everything had been fine.

“Dad, what’s really wrong?” He came a bit closer and gently put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “How can I help?”

His father opened his mouth, but nothing immediately came out. It was strange, but for a moment his dad looked lost, confused, and for the first time since he’d agreed to let Owen take over the bar, unsure of himself.

“I want the bar back.”

Owen let his hand drop. “What?”

“I don’t like how you’re running things. You’re going to damage the reputation of McGregor’s. I’ve worked too hard to watch you destroy this.”

His words were a silent knife to Owen’s chest. “What’s brought this on? You’ve seen the financials. We’ve been doing well, especially leading up to the holidays.”

“Faked.”

“Dad, they’re not faked—”

“How would you know? You’re running off with some . . . some queer and—”

“Hey!” In all his years, he’d never heard his father say anything derogatory about anyone.
The fuck was going on?
“Are you trying to piss me off? Because you’re succeeding. I’ve been running the bar for two years now, and we’ve been doing great. My personal life has nothing to do with it. Mom would be ashamed of you if she heard you use that word.”

“Fine. You don’t want me here, I’ll go. Move.” He pushed by Owen, shoved past several chairs, and stomped out the door.

Owen was paralyzed. That wasn’t his father. The fear and hate coming from him hadn’t been something Owen had seen from his old man ever in his life. It was as though an alien had taken up residence inside the kind, generous man and didn’t know how to behave.

He felt rather than saw Jane standing in the doorway. “I don’t know your dad well, but there was something wrong with him.”

“I know. That’s not . . . that’s not how he acts.” He pulled out his phone and called his mom. “Hey.”

“Owen? I was at the market with Jessica. Drove her to get her Christmas turkey. I got back and your father was gone.”

“He was here.” His voice cracked, the anger and fear threatening to break free.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” This wasn’t his mom’s fault, but she had to know that something was going on. “He was angry, wanted to take control of the bar again. Saying things . . . He wasn’t acting like himself.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say? What’s wrong with him?”

“I thought it was just me. That I was the one upsetting him.”

It was typical of her not to let him know there was a problem until things were bad. He hadn’t known his dad was having health issues until after he ended up in the hospital with a stroke. “How long has he been acting like this?”

“A few months now.” Her voice had gone soft, and he knew she was trying not to cry.

“Mom, how long?”

“I started noticing that he wasn’t right about six months ago.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’d taken over the bar. You were running yourself ragged trying to get it cleaned up and profitable again. You’d taken on that load, and I was looking after him. You didn’t need anything else to worry about.”

He leaned against the bar and let his head fall forward. “Are you okay?”

“I am.”

“Mom?”

“Honestly, I am. Though it’s been a bit stressful this last little while. He’s been getting more irritable than I’ve ever seen.”

“He needs to see his doctor.”

“I’ve tried but he won’t go.”

“Then we make him.”

She sighed. “I’m more worried about where he is right now. You said he left?”

“He stormed out of here angry. I’m not sure where he went, but it couldn’t be far.”

“Probably to see Stuart. I’ll call to give him some warning and ask that he drive him home.”

When he hung up with his mom, Owen couldn’t shake the weight that had settled on him. This was worse than the stroke. Then he had known what was wrong and what course of action he could take to make things right. Quitting his job and taking over the bar made sense. Now . . . he didn’t know where to start.

That wasn’t true. He’d promised his dad that he’d make sure McGregor’s would always be up and running. He wasn’t about to let that change now.

Standing, he turned to see Jane still hovering by the entrance. It was three o’clock and the bar opened in an hour. “Is Ryan here?”

“Yeah, he slipped in the back a while ago. Owen, what happened to your head?”

“Long story, but I’m fine. Let’s help Ryan prep and get set up. We’ve got a bar to open.”

Cole sat in the spot where Owen had been hours earlier and stared at his fully decorated Christmas tree. It really had been the perfect one for him, its size and shape fitting into his condo as though it had taken root and grown there. Owen had found it, had bled for it, and had dragged it back for him.

It was very caveman in a way.

He liked that.

What he didn’t like was being alone. It gave him time to think, which was both good and bad. The last few days hanging out with Owen had eased his broken heart. His anger had dissipated and he was finally able to clear his mind and look at the whole Steven situation somewhat rationally. Well, as rationally as he could when he had a box of his ex’s stuff sitting at his feet.

He had this random collection—a toothbrush, Steven’s DJ Tiësto shirt, his copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
, some other random odds and ends—and he didn’t know where to send them. He’d texted Steven to see if he wanted to come get his things, only to be told that he’d gone to Montreal for a trip with . . . whatever the hell his name was.

Adam. Right.

Cole didn’t know any of Steven’s family; he’d never met them. They’d only hung out with Steven’s friends a few times. He’d gotten the impression that they weren’t big fans of his. He’d never minded when Steven had gone out with them and he’d stayed behind. The thought of taking the box to any of them, to see the look of
oh thank God Steven came to his senses
, was too much. It served as a reminder that things would never have worked between them.

Deep down, he had probably always known that. It had nothing to do with the difference in their ages or incomes, and everything to do with their personalities. Steven was an extrovert to the
n
th degree. He liked to party, dance, hit the clubs, all the things Cole didn’t enjoy. Bars like McGregor’s had always been more Cole’s speed. The game or fight on the television, people to talk to about what was happening if he wanted. Or the option to simply sit and be left alone if that’s what he preferred.

Thinking about McGregor’s meant his mind made its way around to Owen. The idea of becoming entwined with the bartender was a fantasy come true. He was an attractive man with a mouth that could turn a straight man gay. And if he hadn’t had the opportunity to feel the slide of Owen’s cock into him, well, that was something he could hopefully look forward to.

But if Cole knew one thing about himself, it was that he had a tendency to jump from the frying pan into the fire. While he might be coming to realize that his relationship with Steven had been doomed from the beginning, that didn’t mean getting into something with Owen would necessarily work either, no matter how different Owen and Steven were. If he came out of this breakup learning nothing else, it was that rebound romances were never,
ever
a good idea.

So he’d taken up residence in the spot where Owen had fallen asleep, sipping his eggnog and whiskey drink, staring at his Christmas tree.

Alone.

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

Nope, he wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for himself. Picking up the remote, he turned on the television and flipped through the channels until he found a holiday movie.
It’s a Wonderful Life
wasn’t one of his favorites, but at least everything turned out for the best in the end. Jimmy Stewart walked around the screen talking to his angel as he tried to figure out his life. Cole wondered what his own guardian angel was up to. Probably escorting a few drunks to taxis, buying supper for a deserving family, or saving a kitten from a tree. Typical bartending stuff.

He lasted all of fifteen minutes before becoming overwhelmed with the saccharinity of the movie, and went in search of the Leafs game. Oh good, they were up in the second period. “That won’t last long.”

He was on his feet, swearing as the Rangers scored in the top of the third period to tie things up when his doorbell rang. He moved to answer it, his eyes glued on the screen as he walked backward. Opening the door, his attention snapped to a downtrodden Owen standing there. Not just exhausted, but looking emotionally beaten. Without knowing what was wrong, there was nothing he could do to fix it. But Owen didn’t appear to be up for a lengthy conversation.

So he handed Owen his nearly full beer. “Rangers just tied it up.”

“Fuckers.”

And that was it. Owen kicked off his shoes and went toward the couch. Cole grabbed three beers because he knew they’d need more than the one before the game was over, and joined him.