by Liz Crowe
Erik sighed. “Das ist gut, ja.”
Chapter Thirteen
By the time they made it to the convention hall the next afternoon, the place had filled with craft beer fans, eager to see the long-awaited awards for each category. After the Brewers Association president announced the last of the one hundred-plus awards the crowd would be prepped for the Big Ones—Small, Mid-Sized and Large Brewery of the Year. They’d entered Prufrock in the mid-sized category although it was a bit of a stretch. Helena and Dustin had no thought of winning but had gathered the year-over-year sales data, plugged in all the necessary media coverage and growth strategies and sent the thing off without a thought to collecting an award.
Helena smiled, feeling Erik’s hand on the small of her back, as they watched Dustin greet their fans and the media gathered near the brewer’s entrance to the hall. Her skin tingled and she looked up into his sparkling blue eyes as he watched the man she loved more than life itself work the crowd like only he could. But in the last twenty-four hours her life had gone sideways, upside down and inside out. In spite of Dustin’s insistence that this was about what she wanted, she knew in her heart he’d never been happier, now that they were all together. She smiled as he winked at her, then at Erik before they followed him inside.
“You are the most beautiful woman in here,” Erik whispered as the steep escalator took them to the upper floor, where the other brewery VIPs gathered, milled around, drank beer and chattered nervously.
“Flatterer,” she whispered back, unable to resist the impulse to brush his rough, red-bearded jaw with her lips. Dustin turned and smiled down at them both before stepping off the top step and getting absorbed into the loud crowd. He turned at the last minute, wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her close.
“I love you.” He grinned, nuzzling her neck.
“Cut that shit out, you damn lovebirds.”
Helena laughed as Greg Zeller put arms around them both. As owner of Michigan’s largest and most successful brewery, Zeller always made a big show of being worried about Prufrock, after his initial dismissal of them as a “one-off”.
Helen shot him a fake angry glare. “What? It’s the secret of our brewing success. You should try it.” She smacked Dustin’s ass and moved away but not before she heard Zeller laugh and shout to her retreating back.
“With you? Name the day, my darling.” She flipped him off on her way back through the growing throng. Zeller was divorcing the next ex-Mrs. Zeller and was a known womanizer. She caught sight of Erik as he accepted a beer from his new boss, the infamous Matthew Rocker. He raised his glass to her, she blew him a kiss and made her way in a different direction.
After nearly an hour of schmoozing and random, forgettable discussions, Helena’s head had started to pound from stress. Before she even acknowledged it her two men were at her side, one with a water bottle, the other crooning soothing seduction in her ear. She blushed and sipped the water.
“Cut it out, Dustin.” She elbowed him. “Do you want me to pull you into a side room? I can, you know.” Erik kept a hand on her nearly constantly and she hated to admit how comforted she felt by it. Panic surged through her, making the meager breakfast she’d managed to choke down threaten to make another appearance. “I gotta sit, boys.”
She leaned into Dustin’s ear as they walked down the wide, nearly empty aisles between the hundreds of beer booths. “Thank you.” He shot her that amazing grin, the one she’d seen the first time in a back hallway of a beer store that had melted her soul. He knew what she was talking about, no need to explain. He gave her a squeeze.
“Anything for you.” His normally rough voice sounded hoarser than usual. She glanced up at him, letting the crowd flow around them. Her heart pounded. She needed him to understand, now.
“No, Dustin. Thank you. For everything. I—” She looked down. The teeming, raucous crowd faded. There was only him. She looked up and cradled his face between her shaking hands. “I want to be with you. Forever. I’m sorry I’ve been so prickly and unreasonable. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” His tense face softened and he gathered her in his arms, kissing her with a fierce passion that turned her knees to jelly. She sensed the room filling up, heard the wolf whistles and cat calls but didn’t care. She broke away. He brushed the tears off her face.
“We are nothing if we aren’t together.”
“Oh my God, I’m gonna be ill.” Zeller strode by and yanked Helena away, pulling her laughing and only half protesting to sit by him. She looked back and saw them, her men, standing together. The dark and the light, the long, lean beauty of Dustin side by side with the strong, broad, rugged handsome of Erik. Their shoulders touched and they moved apart. Erik had to sit with his new employer she knew. She broke from Zeller’s drunken grasp and found two seats, accepted a beer from a famous California brewer next to her and settled in for the long awards ceremony.
*
Dustin’s head pounded. He plucked a couple of pain pills from his pocket and dry swallowed them, unwilling to admit that he would just as soon be lying in a completely dark and silent room as sitting here, but it had to be done. This was his moment. He felt it. After accepting two awards for beers, one for their black lager and another for an experimental old ale, he sat, staring straight ahead, willing the pain away, Helena’s hand clutched in his.
“What’s wrong?” Her blue eyes eased him a moment. He shook his head.
“Nothing. Stress.”
“Well, not to make it worse but—” She jerked her chin around, making him turn. His father stood at the back, looking about as out of place as a human could look, staring straight at him. He waved and turned.
“Shit.” He closed his eyes.
“It’s okay.” She rubbed his thigh. He felt the room narrow a little. “Honey?” His gut churned. There were two more awards, one for Distributor of the Year, one for the Pro-Am competition, before the brewery awards were announced. He winced and put a hand on Helena’s leg. “I may not make the tap takeover.” They had contracted with a local famous beer bar to replace ten of their tap handles with Prufrock’s brews throwing a huge party for the public, featuring their top ten best-selling beers. “It’s a bad one.” He’d been getting migraine-level headaches off and on for years, but had yet to bother going to a doctor for them, as a few hours of sleep usually did the trick. This one had a shit sense of timing, however.
She kissed his cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this, then get you back to the hotel.” Worry etched her face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. And he knew his father was staring at him, at them, at her. The man hadn’t had a civil word for him since…well, since he paid him off for his initial investment then turned around and started living with Helena. But he didn’t give a shit really. Not anymore. Until they realized how happy he was with Helena, with his brewery, they could sit in their Godforsaken too-big house and rot. But the tickling reminders that he no longer had his parents to fall back on did not help ease the vise currently crushing his temples.
He had planned to break that news to Helena once they returned to Michigan. Not that he was worried about her reaction—he knew she’d welcome any independence from the elder Prufrock’s overwhelming disapproval. And he’d had the sense to wait until the year his trust fund released completely to him.
“Here we go.” Erik’s accent tickled his ear. He smiled at the sight of the other man, who’d thrown off his new boss and come to sit beside them for this last part of the awards. He clutched Helena’s hand. They were a long shot at best, an impossibility at worst, but you never knew.
The Small Brewery of the Year accepted their award, had pictures snapped, then all eyes turned to the man at the podium. He launched into a brief history of the mid-size brewery winner and Dustin’s headache clamped down, making it hard to hear. Helena gasped at one point, wrapped her arms around his neck. His eyes popped open before he realized he’d closed them
when he heard, “Prufrock Brewing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan.” Holy shit. He grinned, and without thinking tugged Erik to his feet along with Helena.
“Nein.” The tall handsome German shook his head. “Go with Helena. Congratulations, my friend. You deserve it.”
Helena pulled him out into the aisle, and they made their way down, accepted the trophy and got photos taken, making lights dance around in the corners of his vision. He could barely hear, but his heart pounded in his ears as he smiled, accepted kudos and tried to find Erik in the crowd. Finally he appeared, put arms around him and Helena as they smiled for more pictures. Dustin felt his vision narrowing from the outside in. Erik’s grip tightened around him. “Get me out of here,” he whispered.
He barely remembered the cab ride back to the hotel, but could hear the whispered conversation between them. Helena wanted to go to the ER. Erik advised water and sleep. “He used to do this in Germany. It will fade. He’ll be fine.” A hand touched his face and he leaned into it, not caring whose it was.
“I love you,” he mumbled as they half carried him to the elevator and down the hall to their suite. Helena’s lips were against his ear. He had a panic moment, grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, honey. I…oh Jesus.” He laid back. “Turn off the lights when you go.” He was asleep before the lights faded.
*
Erik leaned his head against the cool taxi window. This last day had been such a whirlwind, so incredibly intense, almost more than he could handle. He sucked in a breath and tugged Helena close, needing to feel her against him. She sighed and relaxed for exactly two seconds before her phone rang. Frowning, she answered it.
“Hey. Everything set?”
Erik continued to study the Denver metro scape, trying to come to terms with the depth of his feelings for the woman next to him. He watched her frown deepen and heard tension creep into her voice.
“What do you mean the kegs are ‘bad’? What the fuck is that about?” He put a hand on her leg. She glared at him. “Listen, I’m about three minutes away. Tell the manager to turn them off, all of them. I won’t serve them if…what? Put Kyle on the line.”
When the taxi pulled up at the beer bar where Prufrock was supposed to be featuring their brews, she jumped out and ran through the crowd. Erik paid and followed her, attempting not to be rude to the many people who tried to waylay him with congratulations on his new job. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two five-tap vans with the bar’s logo emblazoned on the side parked toward the back of the building.
By the time he joined her in the huge, smelly basement where ten Prufock kegs were lined up and tapped, she was ripping the bar manager a new asshole, her voice rising every second. Erik touched her shoulder; she flinched but stopped yelling and took a breath. He jumped in before she got enough air in her lungs to resume the reaming session.
“Unhook them all, now.” The manager started to protest. “Look.” Erik used his very best intimidating stare, one he knew damn good and well would melt the resolve of the strongest personality. “Your lines are filthy. I can see them from here.” He pointed to the once clear plastic tubing that ran from the kegs up through a hole in the ceiling. What should be clean-flowing beer looked murky, cloudy and disgusting. “I don’t know what your line-cleaning schedule is, but you obviously need to change it. In the meantime, the Prufrocks will not tolerate you ruining their beer by sending it through these tubes full of shit. Unhook them. Right now.” The man gestured and two waiters started unhooking the kegs. “Well done. Now, get the keys to those vans, pull them around front and hook them up out there. You will announce that the first fucking round is on the house. You have fifteen minutes to make this happen or I call the health department.”
“But…” He put a hand up to stop Helena from jumping in and kept his gazed fixed on the smarmy manager. Her anger roiled around the room, and he knew he’d be dealing with that later, but for now, this potential disaster had to be averted and fast.
Within twenty minutes the front parking lot and large patio were full of happy beer drinkers with fresh glasses of clean-flowing Prufrock brews in their hands. The owner of the bar had shown up and fallen all over himself apologizing to Helena. Erik watched, proud of her ability to handle the guy diplomatically. She dropped into a seat next to him and pushed her hair off her face. “Nice save, Aldrich.” He sipped, not looking at her.
“Ja.”
“But don’t ever cut me off like that again.”
“Ja.” He kept watching the happy throng of drinkers. She poked his side. Her blue eyes sparkled with restrained humor. He glared at her. “I just did what Dustin would have done.”
It was her turn to glare. “Well, maybe.” She moved away from him a few inches. He reached out and pulled her back, keeping his arm around her, not giving a shit who saw them as he leaned into her ear.
“It’s fixed. Just go with it, no?” He bit her earlobe, making her shiver. A wave of pure lust washed over him, making his cock slam against the back of his zipper. He kept whispering. “I could fuck you right now, you know?” He tightened his grip on her shoulders, could smell her perfume as it became tinged with a hint of her own need. She shuddered as he nuzzled her neck. The dark corner he’d found on purpose served him well as he let his hand trail down her shoulder, touched the top of her full breast. “Mmm hmm…let’s go back to the basement. I need to show you something.”
“Helena?” A deep voice pierced his fuzzy brain and she leapt away from him as if burned. He watched her stand, confused, horny and still processing that a man who looked like a sixty-year-old version of Dustin Prufrock stood in front of them, glass in hand.
“Max.” Helena shook his hand. The deep freeze between them was palpable. He stayed seated. “What a surprise.” The older Dustin sipped his beer and appraised them.
“I see that.” The man’s voice was lighter than Dustin’s and his eyes were cold and calculating. But after about thirty seconds he seemed to relax, or give up. He grabbed Helena’s hand again. “Congratulations. Really. You guys have…”
“Thanks.” She kept her voice neutral, Erik noted. He stood beside her, held out his hand. “Oh, um, Maxwell Prufrock, this is Erik. Erik Aldrich.”
“Ah, yes, Dustin’s friend from Germany.”
“Ja.” He couldn’t think of anything more to say. The man’s negative energy oozed around them, poisoning what had turned into a really great party. He found himself wanting to put an arm around her, to protect her from this asshole. But he didn’t. The silence was awkward at best.
“Where is…” The man looked over their shoulders.
“He’s not well. Had to rest back at the hotel.” He sensed her tension as if it were a live thing he wanted to strangle, to banish from her forever.
“Ah. Headache?”
“Uh, yeah. They’ve gotten worse.”
“Yes, he had them as a teenager. But doctors never found any reason for them, and they stopped after a while.”
“Oh, well. Anyway, that’s where he is.”
“Helena.” The man took a step toward her and Erik felt his entire body tense, ready to pounce, although he knew that was utterly irrational. She stood her ground.
“Yes?”
“I want you to know that I’m…we…I’m very proud of my son. Of what he’s done.”
“I’m sure he knows that, Max.”
The man seemed to collapse in on himself, grow older by fifteen years before his eyes. Erik grabbed a chair and helped him into it while Helena stood, watching.
“No, he doesn’t and that’s my fault.”
Erik sat, and they both watched as she tried not to, but then joined them.
“You see, my wife, Dustin’s mother, she thinks, well, Dustin is our only child and she poured so much of herself into him. He was her project. Her one reason for living it seemed. And now…”
“She did a fine job.” Helena’s words made Erik stare. She put a hand on the older man’s thin knuckles. “Truly, Max. Dustin is an incredi
ble man, an amazing, loving, giving human being. I know that doesn’t happen by accident.” She sat back. “I just wish…” She stopped, shook her head. “Never mind.”
“You realize he’s reduced our ownership share to one percent. He paid me back my initial investment with interest, keeping us on the board because we shared a last name. He told me that was the only reason.” Erik stared at the man but he kept his eyes trained on Helena. “I see you didn’t know that.”
“No, I didn’t. But I’m sure he was going to tell me.” Erik frowned. For Dustin to give up that safety net, he was pretty sure Prufrock operated in the black but just barely given the expansion plans he’d seen. What had come over the man? He smiled, watching Helena relax and talk with Dustin’s father.
“What can I get you guys?” He stood, then made his way to the vans, smiling, chatting and letting his heart swell with happiness after years of closing himself off to any and all emotion. Now, Dustin was back, and he’d brought her. Erik had never felt more complete.
Chapter Fourteen
“Dear God, if I say one more word about these beers I’m gonna puke, or kill somebody.” Helena pulled her hair up off her neck. The bar had been a sweltering oven in the unseasonably hot Denver fall. Her throat ached and her heart pounded. She kept checking her phone, hoping Dustin had revived enough to contact her but the screen stayed blank except for all the Facebook and Twitter notices she kept getting about their win as Mid-Size Brewery of the Year. Sighing, she stuck her phone in her pocket and leaned on Erik’s back a second.
Without realizing it she’d relied on him as she would Dustin, and he’d rallied, solving the immediate problem—albeit without much of Dustin’s diplomacy, but solving it nonetheless. And the bombshell Max had dropped, about Dustin cutting him off from brewery ownership and in the process cutting them off from his family and their financial safety net had settled in her gut like a stone, making it hard to concentrate. Surely he knew what he was doing, though. She trusted Dustin implicitly and figured he would have told her eventually.
