The Sweetest Goodbye (Roadmap to Your Heart, Book 3.5)

by Christina Lee

  I felt my jaw drop open, as if he’d told me he had signed up with the foreign legion or something. “What kind of club?”

  “I…I work at STUDS.” My skin felt prickly, my throat tight as if I couldn’t suck in enough air.

  So the night he took me there, was that some sort of a test?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice peaked. I was being an idiot. “That one Saturday…” The night I couldn’t get out of my head.

  “I had just started working there and I knew you’d act this way,” he said all flustered. “So I wanted to show you that it was a cool club. Not some skanky hole in the wall.”

  He handed me my mug of coffee and I blew on it attempting to get myself under control. “And don’t worry, it’s not like I want to quit working at Sweets. I just need extra money. And…to do something for me.”

  I was not his keeper and the fact that he guessed I’d overreact and be overprotective was not good. Didn’t I hate when my own family treated me that way?

  I needed to calm my butt down and be the good friend that I always was. “I’m being an ass. It’s cool, I get it. I just hate when you keep things from me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Uh huh.”

  “So tell me about the new job. What do you do?” I already knew the answer, but I asked it anyway. No way he’d be a barback or bouncer at the club.

  “I dance, like the men you saw up on those huge platforms. I like it because you can sort of put on a mini-show.” He had a certain gleam in his eye and that’s when I knew he had found the thing he was looking for—at least temporarily. He couldn’t get that at Sweets. So I needed to stop being a pouting asshole and start being happy for him. I was his best friend, not his warden. He was one of the most important people in my life.

  I tried to picture him in tiny shorts, strutting his stuff and making the customers salivate. I bet he got good tips, which was great, because he could use the money.

  Taking a long sip of my coffee, I savored the flavor. He had added extra vanilla for me. The shit. Making me feel extra bad. “You look beat. No need to stay tonight; I can handle it.”

  “Just shut the fuck up and let’s get started with our day,” he replied flipping the sign on the door to OPEN. “You know I’m going to stay no matter what.”

  I turned away so he couldn’t see the immediate relief on my face. His dedication was like a salve for my soul.

  7

  Dylan

  We’d had a steady stream of customers all day, but I could feel the tension radiating off Billie ever since I told him that I danced at STUDS. He’d always acted like some super responsible older brother, even though we were the same age. I wasn’t sure if it was just in his blood or if it was because he’s had to deal with being sick his whole childhood. Or maybe because he had to make up for his momma dying and leaving all those kids to his dad and Grammy when he was born.

  I’d never say it out loud, but by now I knew what he was thinking—that I could do better. Part of me wanted to ball up my fists and tell him to go fuck himself because despite his hardships, he had some things a hell of a lot better than me. The other part of me wanted to grab him and squeeze the stuffing out of him because he was the only person in my life to give a shit about me.

  To take me in, listen to me, care about my well-being…and that meant the world to me. I knew he was only concerned and meant well. So I also knew that he would get over himself soon enough.

  I flipped the sign to CLOSED and locked the door. Bullseye was close to snoozing near the entrance, one of the only things he ever did lately, besides keeping his eye on Billie and eating every treat in sight. I could hear Billie clattering away in the kitchen as I put the chairs up on the tables and finished sweeping the floor.

  Digging out my smartphone, I scrolled to a music station. If we were going to finish making the pies and the surprise cake Billie had consulted with Grammy about, we needed some upbeat tunes. The best thing I could do was help Billie as much as I could because it wasn’t good for his disorder if he was stressed. Even worse if he got too little sleep, which is what his brother Callum had reminded me about the other day, when he asked if I’d be staying late as well. He didn’t even have to say the words—just the crook of his eyebrow did the trick.

  I would’ve stayed anyway, regardless of whether he asked me to or not. Though I knew Bullseye was trained for added protection, the dog was getting up in age and had trouble moving fast enough or keeping his eyes open for very long. His time as a service dog was pretty much past. But he was part of the Montgomery family and no way Billie was ready to face that fact yet.

  The last time he’d had a seizure was a couple of years back when Billie had been restless and upset after his New York City trip to meet Leo. He’d found out that he was dating somebody else and even though he acted like it was no big thing, I knew he was losing sleep—along with his mind. We were just getting Sweets up and running at the time, and had stayed well past midnight to paint the walls when Bullseye started whining like crazy.

  I had never heard anything like it before. But Billie understood immediately, as did Callum, who was on the other side of the room. Billie lay down on the floor to soften his fall and Bullseye was right there to keep him contained with the mass of his body, so that he didn’t hurt himself when the seizure came.

  I had felt so helpless watching him thrash around like that, his eyes rolled back in his head. But Callum assured me it would all be over in a couple minutes’ time. When Billie came to he was in a fog and spoke a few garbled words that didn’t make sense. But at least I now knew what to expect.

  Heading to the cupboard below the cash register, I dug out a bottle of red wine, Billie’s favorite. Country boy had some expensive tastes. His cell was laying on the counter and I lifted it to bring it along. Grammy worried if he didn’t respond right away.

  My fingers accidentally brushed over the home button and the display lit up. I couldn’t help noticing the last screen he’d been scrolling through. It was a text exchange between him and Leo from a few days ago. I knew I shouldn’t read it, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  Billie: Too bad you can’t make it. I’ll tell Callum and Dean you send your best.

  Leo: Wish I could. A break would be nice after such a tough semester.

  Billie: We’ll make up for it this summer.

  Leo: Looking forward to it. It’ll be nice to catch up with old friends.

  I sighed. If only Leo realized how much Billie had banked on his words. I was afraid he was in for a world of hurt and I was liable to rearrange somebody’s too-perfect face.

  I walked into the kitchen just as Billie was pulling some pies out of the oven and it smelled divine. “I swear you make the best key lime in all of Florida.”

  There was a twinkle in his eye and that’s how I knew he liked my compliment. “Because you’ve been in every county in the state?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve crossed over more county lines than you have.”

  Using the hot pads, I watched as he gingerly placed a pie on the countertop.

  “At least I’ve left the state,” he said with a snort.

  He had me there. Traveling was expensive and normally I couldn’t do more than string together enough dollars to pay my food and rent. But I had gotten in my truck to drive around Florida, just itching to see what else was out there.

  “You know I’m only messing with you,” he said and the earlier disappointment about my new job was gone, replaced with the easy smile of my best friend. “We should totally take a trip someday. Remember our plans to drive cross-country?”

  Back in high school, we’d cruise the four wheelers around the preserve and shoot clay targets at the wobble deck where the quail hunters practiced. Afterward, we’d lie in the orchard staring up at the sky and dreaming. Billie used to love stargazing, but there’d been little time for that lately.

  Billie would probably always be a resident of Roscoe, because his family was here, but he di
d want to travel and see more of the world, same as me.

  I figured I’d just go where the money was. I no longer had any ties to anybody in this town, except maybe the Montgomery family. I never knew my mother, and my father had disowned me long ago. He acted like my being gay was worse than him getting drunk and high every weekend. Passing judgment even though he had plenty of shit to be judged about. Too bad child services never caught up with his ass.

  “I remember.” I placed a new trivet on the counter so he could set down another pie from the oven. “I still want to see the Grand Canyon and San Francisco. Or maybe head east to New York and Maine.”

  “Maybe we should make a real plan,” he said, but I knew it was only talk. He had the shop to run and plus he was probably holding out hope that the kind of trip we were discussing would take place with Leo, not me.

  “Sure, let’s map it out sometime,” I replied, eager to agree so we could move on. No use getting my hopes up anyway. It wasn’t like I was rolling in the dough at the moment. One of us had to stay levelheaded, after all.

  I headed over to the cakes that were cooling on a rack, and gently tapped the middle of the chocolate one to be sure it was ready to be frosted. They were Callum and Dean’s favorite flavors and Billie planned on making each tier to their liking.

  When I hadn’t heard him move or respond, I looked behind me. “What?”

  “You don’t take me seriously, do you?” he asked, his brows knitting together. “About a road trip together?”

  “I don’t know. There’s always plenty going on,” I replied, shrugging. Then I got busy making the frosting, attempting to avoid his probing eyes. “Besides if you and Leo ever…”

  “This has nothing to do with me and Leo. Anyway, he’s traveled plenty,” he said, gritting his teeth. “This is about you and me.”

  I couldn’t help the small thrill that shot through me at his words, followed quickly by guilt for reading that text exchange.

  Billie stared me down until I broke. “Okay, fine.”

  What the hell was that about anyway?

  As we began decorating each layer of cake, I opened the wine bottle and reached for some goblets in order to pour us a hearty serving.

  I raised the glass in a toast. “To our future travel plans.”

  “That’s more like it.” He clinked my glass and took a huge sip, savoring it as it went down.

  I tried not to stare at how the wine stained his lips red or imagine how tangy they might taste. More than likely I would never know how he tasted. It was hard enough knowing how he smelled. Fuck.

  “Okay, I’ll frost one in buttercream and one in chocolate,” I said after downing my first glass of wine. I’d acquired a taste for red over the years, so Billie tried to stock our favorite brand for times like these. “What’s next?”

  “After I decorate the tiers, I need to make a couple of apple pies. Then I’m all set.” I looked around at our ingredients and began pulling out the flour and sugar containers. I knew the routine well and reckoned Billie was grateful for that. To train somebody else would be time-consuming, so I was glad to stick around for as long as I was needed. “I made a couple of crusts after the lunch rush, but I need the apples cored and sliced.”

  We set to work on separate tasks and before we knew it the cake was decorated, the apple pies were baking, and the wine bottle was empty.

  I had opened a second Cabernet after I tossed the apples in lemon to stave off bruising. Billie was on his third glass, with sweat dripping down his temples from the heat of the ovens.

  I figured while we waited, it was time to liven things up.

  8

  Billie

  When I heard Dylan turn his iPod up in the main room, a smile lined my lips. Music always had to be playing in some capacity or he’d get restless. I knew he enjoyed working here, but staying in on a Saturday night to bake was probably pushing it.

  Earlier, I had watched as Dylan expertly frosted both cakes for the grooms’ luncheon. Whether he realized it or not, he had developed a skill. He could walk into any other baker’s kitchen in the state and get a job. I knew it wasn’t his passion, but he sure did take pride in it.

  But what he enjoyed most about working at Sweets was being up front with the customers while I was fine hiding in the kitchen. He loved to chatter away with everyone in town, even though some of these folks had shunned him and his dad back in the day. And fuck, he deserved so much better than that.

  He acted so carefree, but deep down I knew Dylan needed to feel like he mattered, like he belonged somewhere. Still he didn’t like feeling dependent on anybody or accepting handouts. Grammy had even suggested he live on our property a couple years back, but he outright refused.

  I left the kitchen to watch him from the doorway. Dylan’s back was to me and he swayed his hips to a catchy rap tune, completely uninhibited in the empty room.

  Sweets at night was a different experience. It was dead quiet in town and with the shades drawn on the windows it almost seemed eerie and clandestine. I pictured Dylan dancing exactly like he was now except in broad daylight in front of the passersby and felt a blush crawl across my cheeks.

  He’d have put on quite a show and I’d suspect most of the girls in town would faint on the spot. For all the times they snubbed their noses at him in school, when he’d show up with holey clothes and worn shoes—now I suspected some came inside the shop just to get an eyeful of how handsome he’d turned out. Either that or because of the rumors of two faggots running a bakery. But by and large our business had been steady and the customers respectful.

  “Are those some of your moves from STUDS?” I asked, more than curious about his new gig.

  My question startled him, so when he turned, Dylan’s cheeks were a bit pink. But he kept moving, never one to be ashamed of his dancing. Every time I thought about his dad throwing him out on the street and his dream of Julliard washing down the drain, I felt a stab of anger seize my chest. When I was in NYC, we had passed the famed college and I almost bought him a sweatshirt, but it might’ve burned too much.

  “Not really,” he replied, squatting down low with a sensual grinding motion as the tempo changed to another song. My cock stirred to life in my pants. I pushed down on the offending body part with the heel of my hand, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. But no doubt, Dylan’s moves were erotic as sin, especially to a guy like me who hadn’t had sex in ages. “I kind of just make it up as I go along. Sometimes Aaron and I play around with a couple of props.”

  “What kind of props?” I asked as a swell of irritation surged through me. It was one thing to dance alone but quite another to grind on someone else. I though back to our night at STUDS and vaguely remembered some of those dancers being in groups of two or threes, simulating sexy acts. Blood rushing to my ears, I reached for one of the chairs from a table and dragged it across the floor to sit down. Bullseye’s one ear pricked up and then he turned his attention to Dylan’s dancing as well. “Show me.”

  Dylan stopped mid-motion as his eyebrows scrunched together. “Show you what?”

  “How you dance for the customers,” I replied, suddenly blinded by the way his hips were gyrating and how his messy hair was falling in his eyes. “What do you wear? Do they stuff money in your pants?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dylan asked, his mouth curving downward. “Are you drunk?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I replied, attempting to get my raging hard-on under control. All he had to do was look down at my lap to see what I was attempting to hide. “We’re waiting for the pies to finish baking, you’ve got music on and I like watching you dance.”

  His eyes sprang to mine in a mix of surprise and confusion. Had I confessed too much?

  “Is that right?” he asked in a skeptical voice. “Or are you just checking up on me? I don’t care if you approve of my job or not.”

  “Yeah, you do. Just like I care what you think about my choices.” His eyes flared with an emotion I cou
ldn’t quite tack down. “You’re always grumbling that I’m uptight and too much of a prude.”

  “Because you are,” he said not skipping a beat when the music changed to a different rhythm. “You don’t let yourself have enough fun.”

  “Touché.” I shrugged and leaned forward, challenge in my gaze. “So this prude is asking you to show me your moves.”

  “Okay, fine.” He reached for his cell on the table and changed the station to a slower tempo. “You want a show? I’ll give you a show.”

  And fuck if his words didn’t make a spark of electricity zing straight through me.

  Dylan began swaying his hips seductively as he inched closer to me and then suddenly his knees were touching mine flush against the chair. “There’s this act we do with a stool. Aaron sits down and I dance for him, like we’re in a go-go club.”

  He walked forward and straddled the chair, his thighs sinking down on top of my lap. His ass rested near my groin and my dick strained from the friction.

  “I…” I could barely get the words out let alone inhale properly. “I bet customers go crazy. You’re so…”

  “What?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes, along with something else. Unmistakable desire. Holy shit, he was just as turned on. Don’t look at his cock.

  “I’m sure you know how sexy you are when you dance,” I panted as his eyes snagged on my mouth. His gaze lazily traveled up to my eyes as if he needed to see if I was teasing. A wash of color crept from his neck all the way to his cheeks.

  “Have you and Aaron ever…” I didn’t want to know, yet I did at the same time, because the idea of it was really fucking hot—even though it made my chest feel so tight, I could scarcely breathe.

  “No,” he replied, his arms swinging while his upper torso twisted with the tempo. “Besides, it’s just for show.”