The next evening, Cam was still furious with Ira. Anger simmered beneath his skin and hot in his marrow.
He was also embarrassed.
After storming out of Ira’s, he’d gone directly to work, forgetting to check the mirror before he went in. Everybody noticed his black eye and wanted to know what happened. He’d had to tell the story about fifty times. Now everyone knew he’d been assaulted.
On the one hand, people were on the lookout (not for Karl; Cam didn’t say anything about him); on the other hand, it put Cam right back into the role of victim. Something he very much did not want to be viewed as, ever again.
He couldn’t even look at Sterling. After everything Sterling had said, warned him about, Cam had stupidly put himself in a position to be hurt and embarrassed, again, by Ira. Fuck Ira. Fake boyfriend, how fucking convenient. Cam itched to throw something breakable. Preferably not the pint glass in his hand.
At least Ira hadn’t come in or called. Although Cam didn’t have any way to know whether Ira was heeding Cam’s demand or just still sick enough to stay home and away from the bar. His stupid stomach betrayed him then, twinging with worry at the thought that Ira might still be sick enough to need help. He set the pint glass inside the below-bar chiller, carefully.
“Hey, Cam.”
Cam glanced up to see Rod straddling a barstool across from him.
“Rod, how’s it going.” He felt a grin stretch across his face at the sight of Rod in his signature casual lumber-wear, a muted brown plaid paired with, Cam noted, a nicely worn pair of Levi’s. The guy was hot; he could do better than Travis the closeted country boy. A couple of heads turned while they talked, definitely checking him out.
“Better than you, it looks like.”
“Oh, right, my face. It’s a long story, and I’m tired of telling it. Would you believe aliens?”
Rod laughed. “All right, I won’t ask. But when you’re ready to tell me… you know I’m your friend, right?”
Cam had never fully comprehended “one-track mind” until he couldn’t stop replaying Ira’s conversation in his head. Every time he thought about it, he cringed in embarrassment, and he couldn’t not think about it. It ran on a continuous loop, over and over.
Throwing caution to the wind, he invited Rod over after his shift. Thank god he’d only been second bartender tonight; he didn’t have to stay for close.
“I need to get out of here; want to hang out at my place? It’s convenient, and I have some beer, I think.”
“Are you taking pity on me in my permanent bachelor state?” Rod laughed when he said it, but Cam sensed his underlying loneliness.
“Nah, I could use the company. You can distract me with your problems; I’m tired of mine.”
“So what do you do when you aren’t being Smokey the Bear?” Cam asked once they were upstairs. The heavy thump of dance music thrummed against the floorboards. He couldn’t quite make out the lyrics to the popular tune. That’s why he usually didn’t mind closing; by the time he went to bed, his apartment was quiet.
Rod chuckled. “You mean other than pining away like Scarlett O’Hara?”
“I think Scarlett’s problem was that she didn’t pine.”
“Whatever.” Rod made himself comfortable on the couch. Cam handed him a beer.
It was nice to focus on someone else’s problems. Rod had them in spades, and some of them made him laugh.
“I don’t really need a winter job, right? I save enough during fire season to live okay the rest of the year. But that gets boring, so this year I thought it would be fun to drive a school bus. Before you say anything, I know. What was I thinking? I was thinking I’d work like twenty hours a week, Monday through Friday, and could call it good.”
He pretended to pull his hair out.
“These kids are monsters. Monsters.”
“Why don’t you quit?”
“They need me.” His expression was pitiful. “Without me they’d be lost. We’re in the middle of a retelling of Frog and Toad.”
“Frog and Toad?”
“Best friends on very sketchy adventures. The kids and I have set our version on the Death Star. It’s all very cloak-and-dagger. Lots of snacks—the kids are always hungry, and Frog and Toad like to eat.”
“Oh my god,” Cam gasped. “This is hilarious. Are you writing it down?”
Rod shook his head.
“You need to. I want to hear these stories.”
“Maybe. But see?” Rod gestured dramatically. “I can’t leave now. What will happen to ‘Frog and Toad on the Death Star’? Will there be a snack? Will the stormtroopers discover them in the cargo bay? I am so screwed.”
“Aw, you like the kids.” Cam nodded sagely.
Rod sighed. “I do. And for some of them, I think riding on my bus is the best part of their day. I’ve only been doing it a couple weeks, but one of the teachers got on the bus after the kids the other day and asked ‘what kind of miracle’ I was performing, because suddenly little Tommy was wanting to come to school. I’m just a frickin’ bus driver! All these kids want is a little attention, a little input and control over something in their lives. I’m not doing anything special.”
Yep. Travis was an idiot if he let Rod slip through his fingers. Also, it was too bad Cam didn’t feel a single spark of attraction. Nothing. Nada. Rod was right in all the good ways: he was funny with a self-deprecating sense of humor that was easy to be a part of, attractive, smart, lived in Skagit, had a job he seemed to love. Was not a jerk from New York with salt-and-pepper hair who was also funny when he wanted to be, very smart, and a little mysterious.
“What are you thinking about?” Rod asked.
Cam opened his mouth, intending to say “Nothing,” and instead the whole story came tumbling out.
“I got so mad when he said that. All of a sudden it was convenient for him to have a boyfriend, to make himself look better to Sterling. And of course Sterling knows everything, so he wasn’t fooled—at least I don’t think so. Then I pretty much wanted to die of embarrassment, realizing I’ve been making an absolute fool of myself over someone with a lot of curb appeal but the depth of a…”
“Puddle?”
“Less.” Cam scowled.
Rob leaned further back into the couch, touching his forefingers together thoughtfully. “Okay, so. Let me rehash and make sure I have everything correct: You and hot older guy get it on and have a nice weekend. You think there might be more, even though nothing hot older guy has ever done indicates he will change his twink-prowling ways. By the way, you,” Rod pointed at Cam, “are not a twink. He tells you he’s not changing. Also, he tells you he thinks he’s too old for you; he wants you to get more life experience. Your feelings are hurt. Still, you keep watching him, thinking Maybe.
“You go to his house and take care of him when he’s practically on death’s door with the man flu, and then when he does say he’s taking you seriously, or something close to that, you shut him down and leave.”
Cam stared at Rod.
“Did I get it right?”
Cam threw up his hands. “Yes. I guess. I mean, when you put it that way, the whole thing makes me sound like a character from a poorly written daytime TV show.”
“Watch a lot of those, do you?”
Cam laughed. “No, but I have a good imagination. Thanks, now I feel like a real jerk.”
“Don’t get me wrong; the guy seems to be running hot and cold, all over the place. Maybe he’s a little lost too? Sometimes these guys who come out late play the field like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and management is shutting it down any minute. But coming into the bar to pick up guys is a real shitty thing.”
“It’s not like there are a ton of gay bars in Skagit.”
“True that.”
“Crud. Now what do I do?”
Rod looked thoughtful and finished off his beer before setting the empty bottle back onto the end table. “Well, I don’t exactly think you owe him an apology. But maybe you should give him a call and, I dunno, say you were caught by surprise. Really sit down and talk.”
Talk. Great. Everybody loved it so much when someone said they wanted to “talk.”
A thought struck him.
“I don’t have his phone number. He guards it like it’s a national treasure.” The terrible sinking feeling Cam had in his stomach threatened to send him to his knees in front of the toilet.
“But you know where he lives.”
“Yeah. That seems, like, borderline iffy.”
“Well,” Rod paused, “he works at the coffee place, right? He was the one glowering when we met up?”
Cam hadn’t noticed any glowering. “I think that’s his default in-public expression. He’s a pretty funny guy, actually. Glowering, really?” He’d been too busy ignoring Ira that day. It had been childish to meet Rod there, hoping to get some kind of reaction from Ira.
“Totally glowering.” Rod waggled his eyebrows.
“Huh. Want another beer? I’ve got some fancy fizzy water too.”
Rod took a water. “I’ve got to go sleep sometime. The kids and I are working on the next installment, ‘Frog and Toad Open a Bakery.’”
He cast Rod a calculating look. “All right. I’ll talk to Ira. Embarrass myself one last time. If you tell Travis how you feel.”
Rod leapt to his feet. “What? No. No no no no. No way. No.”
“What have you got to lose? He lives three hundred miles from here, for fuck’s sake.”
“His family… you have no idea what they’re like. They make it impossible for him. He’s the only boy. His sisters are all married, but he’s the one with the”—air quotes—“family name.”
Cam just stared at Rod, waiting.
“Sometimes I think I’m the only person he’s real with. I worry about him when he’s back at the farm. One of these days something is going to break, and I’m afraid it’s going to be Travis.”
“So, what, you’re just going to watch? A slow-moving yet inevitable train wreck? If something happens and you never said anything, how’s that going to feel? What if—”
Rod held up his hands beseechingly. “Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him.”
“When?”
Rod let out a gust of air. “We talk on Sunday nights. I’ll try and do it this weekend, maybe. Soon, at least.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Rod left; he had his kids in the morning. Cam lay in bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had completely fucked everything up. If he had misjudged Ira.
Rolling over, Cam groaned into his pillow. He totally had. He hadn’t listened. And then he’d run away. What a loser. What a douche. He crammed his head underneath the pillow, feeling his cheeks heat in shame and embarrassment.
Tomorrow he would track Ira down and apologize. Apologize for not listening. Apologize for acting like a hormonal fourteen-year-old. Maybe Ira would give him another chance.
The sky was growing light before Cam fell asleep.