His Best Man

by Elle Keaton

  His Best Man

  Elle Keaton

  Dirty Dog Press

  Copyright © 2018 by Elle Keaton All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For my family.

  For friends to lovers.

  For all those authors who have gone before me and know each time is the scariest time.

  For Alicia, I hope Rod and Travis are what you imagined they would be.

  For all the different kinds of families.

  Thank you,

  Elle

  Contents

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Elle Keaton

  Untitled

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  Once again I thank my editor Alicia Z. Ramos for her dedication and hard work, for going above and beyond the call of editorial duty (even if this book was her idea in the first place) and helping His Best Man come to life. Although I will say it wasn’t my idea that she head off to the wilds of Scotland!

  His Best Man is dedicated to Alicia, without her it would never have happened.

  Also, to my husband Erik. He knows my author cycle and knows when I get frustrated and need an ear. He knows how to listen and how to get me back from the proverbial ledge.

  Thank you so much Erik, you are amazing.

  To my readers, without you none of this would be true.

  From the very beginning you have had faith in me, often when I didn’t have any in myself. That is a priceless gift.

  Thank you.

  I hope you love Travis and Rod like I do.

  Thank you also to, the John Deere corporation, the Kellogg corporation for Tony the Tiger, Pokémon, Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford for Raiders of the Lost Ark, Andrew Z. Davis for Volcano, Jan de Bont for Twister. Anyone I have failed to mention is my fault alone.

  Cheers,

  Elle K.

  1

  Rod fumbled with the pen he’d found nestled amongst a stash of other mostly useless writing instruments in Michael Walker’s study. The myriad half-used golf pencils weren’t sharpened, and most of the pens were out of ink—except, of course, the single permanent marker. Was it a rule that the only pen left that worked was always the one you wanted to use the least? And why did people keep unsharpened pencils? Especially golf pencils.

  It had been equally difficult finding a piece of paper, but Rod eventually discovered a small note pad with a few pieces of lined paper left on it in a bottom drawer. He had to hurry or someone, Travis’s mom with his luck, would find him in here and ask what he was doing. He heard a noise in the hallway and ducked behind the desk, his heart pounding. Feeling stupid, he peeked around the edge and watched Travis’s younger sister walk by, heading toward the kitchen. When the coast was clear, he took the ridiculous pen and the pad of paper and went to hide in the downstairs bathroom.

  Rod’s hand trembled as he tried to think what he needed to write. What Travis would understand. He had to be clear—not that Travis was stupid, but he didn’t get nuances. Rod wasn’t going to declare his love for Travis when Travis had just announced his engagement to (literally) the girl next door. Except that was pretty much what he was doing, wasn’t it? And then he’d run like the coward he was.

  He shook his head at himself… again. How had he not seen it coming? He was so stupid. Travis had begged him to come for Thanksgiving; he missed Rod, blah blah blah. Rod had protested but caved. He was a sucker for Travis’s pleading; he always had been. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he’d accepted the invitation, erasing all the hard work he had done putting some space between himself and Trav. He hadn’t arrived until Thanksgiving morning on purpose, and now he regretted coming at all. He supposed that if Travis had planned on telling him about his engagement, there had been no time for it before they all sat down for the big, happy meal.

  When he was satisfied with what he’d written, he tore the page from the note pad, tucked it into his back pocket, and returned the pen and paper to the study. No one had come looking for him. The happy couple and everyone else had moved to the family room to celebrate and didn’t miss him. God help him if Lenore discovered him sneaking upstairs, but he did, leaving the note where Travis was sure to find it and hopefully his bitch of a mother wouldn’t.

  Checking up and down the hallway again and not seeing anyone, a Walker family member or otherwise, but still hearing excited voices trickling from the family room, Rod let himself out the front door—a door he was more familiar with than any other—and headed to his truck.

  Instead of starting the engine, he released the parking brake and rolled out of the driveway. At the junction with the main road, he turned the key and the engine started with a reassuring rumble. Snowflakes were falling and beginning to stick on the cold pavement. He cranked up the heat and plugged in his iPod. It was going to be a long drive to Skagit.

  The Ford’s engine ticked rhythmically as it cooled after the trip, a spare, lonely sound. The storm had quieted, for the moment anyway. It wasn’t comforting, though. Instead it reminded Rod he was alone. Twenty-eight, and he’d wasted a good amount of his life hoping Travis would realize how Rod felt and even return the feelings. Hope was a brutal emotion.

  He rolled his neck, making a popping noise that echoed in the cab. Rod was drained, bone-tired and emotionally spent. The return drive from Walla Walla had been hellish in the early-winter storm. It had been foolish to leave when snow was falling as thick as it had been, but he couldn’t have stayed another minute. He might have said or done something he would forever regret. At least this way Travis was out of his life; the cut was clean. There would be a scar, but it would heal. The miles between them would help.

  The highway to Snoqualmie Pass had been littered with jackknifed semis and stalled minivans full of exhausted families trying to get home, dads outside in the snow trying to fit tire chains. The weather had turned what was normally a six-hour drive to Skagit into a six-hour drive to Ellensburg and a chilly nap at the Indian John Hill rest stop on the wrong side of the pass. By the time he woke, the pass had been closed for avalanche control. Another ten hours and here he was in Skagit, finally.

  Skagit was home now.

  Rod recalled his first visit to the Walker household after he came out during his freshman year of college. Lenore Walker had trapped him in the spotless white kitchen between the main course and dessert and informed him that she’d heard he was “a gay” and he should know they didn’t “condone that lifestyle.” Because he was Travis’s friend of so many years he was allowed to continue to visit, but he understood he wouldn’t be allowed to bring a guest, right? And wasn’t that just fucking generous of her. Rod had never told Travis what his mother said that day. He’d also largely stopped accepting Travis’s invitations to holiday dinners. But he’d never been able to stay completely away.

  Why had he given in to Travis’s pleading? Somebody in Ska
git would have offered him a place at their table, or he could have caught whatever new action movie was opening.

  He sucked in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. The nearly twenty-four-hour trip had not calmed him down. He wanted a drink, which was why he was parked in front of his favorite bar in Skagit. Actually, he needed several drinks. He needed to drink until he couldn’t see straight or think about Travis.

  Rod was going to give himself one night to get utterly stinking drunk, to allow the self-pity to flow from his veins. Then he was going to buckle up and put Travis where he belonged, far away from Rod’s stupid fragile heart. For real. Forever.

  The truck’s engine stopped ticking, and the silence in the cab was overwhelming. The cold damp of Skagit’s late November snuck in through the truck’s vents and slight gaps where the thirty-year-old driver’s side door no longer fit the frame exactly true. He glanced at his phone. Jeez, he’d been parked in front of the Loft for forty-five minutes. The wind buffeted the truck as it picked up again, bringing freezing rain with it.

  The texts and missed call from Travis he continued to ignore.

  He opened the door and slid off the truck’s bench seat, stiff from sitting and driving for so long. His knees buckled slightly on impact. God, he felt like an old man. Straightening and stretching, he slammed the door shut behind him, not bothering to lock it. If anyone wanted to steal a two-tone beige 1984 Ford F-150, they were welcome to it. Nobody drove a stick anymore anyway.

  The Loft was much busier than Rod expected. He’d hoped to be able to hang out and mope semi-privately. This late on Black Friday—ha, it truly was a black Friday for him—folks should have been at home watching crappy movies and being with their families. Instead, the Loft was full of customers laughing and having a gay old time. Rod found the noise and laughter jarring after the silence of his truck, and the sight of male couples dancing together on the small dance floor made his heart clench painfully.

  He stood just inside the doorway for a second before the bartender, his friend Cameron McCullough, noticed him. Cam sketched a quick wave, and Rod crossed the bar to sit at his usual spot. He was ready to drink his trouble away, for the night at least.

  It took two stiff vodkas on an empty stomach for the whole story to come pouring out. How, without warning, Travis had announced to his entire family during Thanksgiving dinner that he and Lisa Harris were getting married. How Rod had managed to act pleased for the happy couple while his heart was shattering into a million pieces inside his body. Not just his heart; it had felt like his whole body was shattering. He had no idea how he’d managed to hold it together until he’d been able to sneak away.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to sneak away in time, had he? An hour or so after the meal, Rod had been in the family room fielding meaningless questions from Travis’s younger sister about the past summer’s firefighting and what he was doing in Skagit and trying to avoid Travis, when Travis had tracked him down. Even before Travis opened his mouth, Rod knew he didn’t want to hear the question. Travis’s pleading sky-blue gaze had kept Rod pinned to the spot, helpless to say no.

  A carbon copy of her older brother, Abigail had watched them with big eyes, waiting breathlessly for Rod’s response. Of course he’d had to say yes. Yes, he would be Travis’s best man. Maybe by the time the wedding came around it wouldn’t feel like he’d swallowed broken glass. Anything was possible.

  Telling Cameron about it made the hurt more authentic. Rod’s heart physically hurt, clenching around a jagged shard of grief that was going to make him bleed out. Funny how he’d always mocked the term “broken heart.” He’d never had one before, had he? Before this weekend, he’d held out hope. The stupid thing—the most incredibly stupid thing of all—was, he’d known it was coming. Lenore was always asking when Travis was going to “settle down,” and Rod had known that when push came to shove, Travis would never pick him.

  “Another double, hold the ice.”

  Cameron generously offered to take Rod home to his cabin, driving Rod’s beat-up truck himself instead of forcing Rod to be alone. Rod was childishly (and drunkenly) happy about the decision; being alone was not something he wanted tonight. Plus he might crack and answer Travis’s texts. He needed to distance himself a little before he answered, otherwise he might say something he would regret. Rod finished his drink; before he could ask, another appeared in its place.

  It was funny; after worrying for so long about telling Travis how he felt about him—too scared to risk their friendship—now Rod was going to be the one to put a hold on it. He didn’t think he could maintain the level of closeness they’d been operating at for most of their lives. They’d been best friends since the third grade. They’d gone to high school and then college together. Travis joined a fraternity, the same one his dad had been in, while Rod lived in the dorms. Later, they’d roomed together in off-campus housing. Travis had been there when Rod’s family imploded; he’d taken him to their favorite bar and gotten him drunk enough to forget about it for a little while.

  After graduation they’d decided to join the Forest Service as seasonal firefighters. Rod had wanted to pay off the remainder of his student loans and had no idea what to do with his English degree. Travis? Well, he’d always been at Rod’s side, so it hadn’t seemed odd that he decided to join up too. Rod was used to having Travis by his side, at his back—in his life.

  Travis’s folks hadn’t been happy about the firefighting; it took Travis away from the family farm during the summer and early fall when he’d otherwise have gone back to help out. Lenore and Michael acted like the time away was a vacation. Rod wondered if they realized how close to death their son had come fighting fires; how many times Travis had saved Rod’s ass and vice versa. And even if they did both enjoy the work, surely Travis deserved to have some fun?

  If Travis was getting married, he would be taking over the Walker empire. He would be home every night safe and sound. So that was another part of his life Rod needed to say goodbye to. Rod had thought Travis was dreading when it would be time for him to take over the business. Maybe he’d been the one in denial, not Trav? Rod had hoped so hard that Travis would find a way out. Instead he was further entrenched than before. Rod knocked his drink back, letting the sounds of laughter and music mute his unpleasant thoughts.

  Soft scraping sounds Rod didn’t immediately recognize intruded into his slowly awakening consciousness. It was oddly quiet; there were no street sounds, cars starting or doors slamming shut. The huff of wind rustling through trees and rubbing branches against windows was at the forefront, followed by the creaking sound of someone trying to move quietly. His eyes flew open. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar.

  He shut his eyes again. The night before came rushing back. He’d been at the Loft, and now he was at Cameron’s, and he’d gotten up in the night and been thoroughly sick. He tried to stifle his groan of embarrassment and agony from his hangover. Cam, or maybe Ira, chuckled, the sound drifting from the loft above.

  Waking up at Ira and Cam’s cabin turned out to almost be more uncomfortable than nearly breaking down when Travis announced his engagement. He recognized his intense jealousy where Ira and Cam were concerned, a feeling he didn’t like. As soon as he could, he took his leave, thanking the two men profusely but needing to be alone.

  He lingered on the porch of the cabin for a minute, breathing the cool air deep into his lungs and trying to shake the stupid hangover headache. The day was crisp and clear; there was only a light breeze now, the tree branches overhead were hardly moving, and the November sunlight was painfully bright. Yesterday’s storm had blown itself out, leaving only a few downed branches as evidence. The last leaf stragglers were gone from the maples and cottonwood, leaving the trunks bare and exposed to the elements. Very much how Rod’s soul felt.

  2

  The hell, where was Rod? Travis scoured the house, even going down the basement stairs, although what Rod would be doing down there was beyond Travis. The ba
sement was full of years’ worth of junk. Rod was not hiding in the appliance graveyard or hanging out with the power tools.

  Travis lived at the family home when he was in Walla Walla. He’d prefer his own place, but whenever he brought it up, both his parents would point out how practical it was for him to stay home, and his mom would start to tear up. Travis figured the fight wasn’t worth it, and anyway, sometimes he spent four or five months away during fire season, so an apartment would be sitting empty.

  Being away from Walla Walla every summer was emotionally steep but worth the price. When he was home he was reminded at every turn that it was his duty to take over the farm, that the property had been in the family for four generations, that he was the last Walker boy… this was usually followed by lamentations that Travis wasn’t married, there were no grandchildren, and his mother worried about his future. Travis couldn’t help but think it seemed like his mother was a lot more worried about his “legacy” than he was.

  Travis hated the weight of generational responsibility for the Walker farm. Some days he could actually feel it pressing down on him. Gravitational force was a constant, but it seemed like it doubled when he thought about being stuck in Walla Walla forever.

  It was expected that he would take on the farm, be a wheat farmer for the rest of his life, and Travis hated it. He hated even more that he was good at ag science. His parents had insisted on his major. He’d liked most of his classes fine, just not when the knowledge meant that he was going to live out his life in a small, dusty corner of southeast Washington. Rod was the only one who truly understood how he felt.