by L. A. Witt
“HEY, HEY, someone’s looking better,” Seth shouted over the upper level’s music. We clasped hands in that handshake that looked like we were about to start arm-wrestling. “How’s the shoulder?”
“A lot better.” I rolled it as if for emphasis. “That shit’s amazing.”
He grinned, raising his beer bottle in a mock toast. “Told ya.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right. Come on.”
Seth followed me past the bar and down the hall by the restrooms. I pushed open the door marked Employees Only, and we continued up the metal stairwell to the roof where we always went to chill when he came by the club.
More than once, I’d considered opening this as a terrace level for the club, but the liability made me break out in hives. What if a drunk went over the side? What if a cigarette didn’t make it into the designated receptacle and the whole place went up? No, no, no. This was, and would be for the foreseeable future, the outdoor break room.
Seth leaned against the railing, idly tapping his beer bottle on the bricks. “So Michael helped, then. Glad to hear it.”
“More than I expected, that’s for sure.” I threw him a pointed look. “You could have warned me he was hot.”
Seth laughed. “Well, I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Bringing his beer up to his lips, he added, “Too bad he’s straight.”
I scowled. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”
“Damned shame he doesn’t play for our team. I mean, I thought he did a few times, but….”
“What do you mean?”
“In high school, I’d have sworn he had a thing for this kid who was in the band with us.”
“Did he, now?”
Seth nodded. “Michael and I were both first chair trumpet players. He was a super talented, amazing musician back then. Probably still is. Anyway, junior year, this kid Charlie Turner moves to town. I swear, the day Charlie sat next to us, Michael couldn’t remember a damned scale.” He laughed, his expression taking on a distant look. “I thought for sure Michael was gay after that. Or at least bi. Curious. Something.”
“But he isn’t?”
“Nope. There wasn’t a varsity cheerleader in our school who didn’t date him, and I’m pretty sure he banged his way through two sororities in college before he met his wife.”
“Damn it, he’s married too?”
“Was married.”
“But still bats for that team.”
“As far as I know, yep.”
“Bastard.”
“You know how it is.” He shrugged. “All the good ones are taken or straight.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’m single too, so….”
“Yeah, but we’re talking about the good ones.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
I snickered, then rested my elbow on the concrete railing and faced him. “So, you guys went to high school together? How did you both end up in this godforsaken town?”
“You know my story, but Michael’s son has a lot of problems with asthma, that kind of shit. The smog in LA wasn’t doing the poor kid any good, so Michael and Daina wanted to move him somewhere with cleaner air.” He gestured up at the night sky, which was dotted with stars that even the faint city lights couldn’t dim. “I suggested Tucker Springs, and here they are.”
“You?” I raised an eyebrow. “You who is forever complaining about being stuck here and how there’s nothing in Tucker Springs? You persuaded someone to move to this town?”
“Okay, so it’s boring as fuck and I’d love to leave, but I could see why someone with a kid would live here. Especially if it makes a difference with health problems.”
“I suppose that makes up for the dullness, doesn’t it?”
“Apparently. And hey, it means I have my old friend nearby. Don’t see him as much as I’d like, but it’s more than once a year now.”
“And the acupuncture’s a bonus, right?”
“You’d better believe it.”
“Speaking of which, thanks again. I don’t know what the fuck he did, but….”
“Helped, didn’t it?”
“God, yes.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “You gonna see him again?”
“I want to, believe me.”
“Money?”
“Always.”
“If you need it, I can—”
“No way, Seth.” I put up a hand. “I can’t let you pay for this. It’s too much.”
“And we both know it’s too much for you to afford.” He pointed at the club beneath our feet. “You’ve got this place to leech off your wallet.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got overhead and shit to deal with.” I shook my head. “I can’t. Thanks, but I can’t.”
“Well, the offer’s there if you need it.”
“I appreciate it.” And I did, but I couldn’t take his money.
No matter how badly I needed to see Michael again.
Chapter 5
I COULDN’T escape daily—even hourly—reminders that I was a financial failure, and few things made me feel more ashamed than being on a first-name basis with the guy at the Light District’s biggest pawnshop. Didn’t have much choice these days, though, so I pushed open the door, pretending not to notice the place’s familiar smells. It was mostly aging vinyl and ammonia-based glass cleaner—a distinctive mixture I could have identified even blindfolded.
The bittersweet smell of failure. I shoved the thought out of my mind as I approached the case at the front of the store.
Emanuel—El to most of us—stepped out from the back and grinned. “Jason! My friend. You coming to bring me money?”
I cringed, trying not to think about the four outstanding items I had in hock. Probably wouldn’t see any of that shit again.
“I wish.” I ignored the familiar camera beneath the glass case between us. “Coming to get some money, I’m afraid.”
“Man, keep it up and I’m gonna have to change that sign to say Jason Davis’s Personal Fucking ATM.”
“In my dreams, right? Then I wouldn’t have to dig through my house every other week to find something to bring in.” I set a leather-and-steel watch on the counter, trying not to remember how much I’d coveted the damned thing before I finally bought it. “What can you give me for this?”
He studied me instead of the watch. “You doing all right? You don’t look so good.”
I scowled. Less than a week after my appointment, and my shoulder had already begun going back to its old ways.
El tilted his head. “You’re trying to do something for your shoulder, aren’t you?”
My cheeks burned, but there was no point in trying to get the truth past El. He was way too familiar with the problems spanning from my physical health to my financial. “If I can pay for it, yes, it’s something new for my shoulder.”
He pursed his lips. “Something new?” One eyebrow climbed his forehead, and he drew back a little. “Jason, I’m not gonna judge, but if this is for a drug habit….”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” I shifted my weight. “Acupuncture.”
“You? Acupuncture?” El blinked. “Somebody put a gun to your head or what?”
I laughed. “No, Seth talked me into it.”
“And it works?”
“So far, so good.” I gestured at my shoulder. “Just need another hit.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat, my friend.” El smirked. “But if he asks you to take your pants off, you’ll know he’s planning on sticking more than needles in you.”
I chuckled. “I wish, believe me.”
“Think that would help the pain?”
“Fuck, I don’t care.” I grinned, not even a little ashamed of the goose bumps rising along my arms. “You should see this guy.”
“Is that right?” El thought for a moment. Then he put a hand on the small of his back and winced dramatically. “You know, I think I feel a sudden pain coming on myself.”
I laughed. “Yeah, well,
before you go get treated for that, I need to see him about my shoulder.” Humor fading, I tapped the watch. “Which is why I’m here.”
El’s lips thinned. “How much do you need?”
“How much can you give me?”
He scowled, locking eyes with me for a moment. Then he shifted his attention to the watch. “It’s in good shape, but these things don’t sell so good. Thirty-five’s the best I can do.”
I exhaled. “Shit….”
He drummed his fingers on the glass beside the watch. “Sorry, man. I’m stretching it as it is.”
I absently rubbed my neck, trying to knead out the tension that threatened to creep up from my shoulder. But if that ever did a goddamned bit of good, I wouldn’t be here trying to score some cash like a jonesing drug addict so I could get a hit of the only thing that did help.
El eyed me. “How much do you need?”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to ask you to give me more than it’s worth.”
His brown eyes bored right into me. They weren’t as intense as Michael’s, but they were just the right shade to make me think of my acupuncturist’s, and there went my knees. I casually leaned against the case, holding El’s gaze.
When he spoke, his tone was nonnegotiable. “Jason. How much do you need?”
“I’m not—”
“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “How much is the appointment?”
I shifted my attention to the watch to avoid his scrutiny. “It’s sixty-five.”
“And how much do you have?”
“Not enough.” But I knew the answer he was really after. Closing my eyes, I exhaled sharply. Shame tangled in my gut and heat rushed into my face as I muttered, “If I want to eat for the next week? I have about twenty.”
El pushed out a sharp breath. “Man, that club is going to suck you dry.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. And if the club doesn’t kill me, the house will.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. We’d had this conversation enough times. Close the club, let go of the house, cut my losses—El probably knew as well as I did that there was no point in discussing it. I’d deal with the long-term cataclysm that was my financial life eventually. Somehow. In the short term, I needed this.
“Sixty-five, then?” he said.
I didn’t look at him. “Thanks.”
He printed out the usual forms and wrote the pertinent information, then handed them to me. I didn’t bother reading them. El would tell me if anything had changed since the last time I was in here, and God knew I’d read these things enough to know them by heart. I just signed on the dotted line and slid the forms across the case. El checked them over, signed them, and put them under the counter.
Then he pressed the bills into my hand. “Well, my friend, I hope the acupuncture keeps helping.”
“Thanks.” I took out my wallet and slipped the cash into it. “Believe me, I hope it does too.”
El and I made small talk for a few minutes, shooting the breeze about our respective businesses, the amazing new microbrews that a pub down the street had recently added, and whether we thought the Broncos would pull it off this year. Then we shook hands, and I left with enough cash in my wallet to pay for one acupuncture appointment.
AS I walked into the clinic, Nathan looked up from behind the tall desk, batting a few strands of hair out of his eyes. “Mr. Davis, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I hope I’m not too late?”
“Oh, honey.” He waved a hand. “Dr. Whitman’s so far behind today, you could go get a coffee and read the paper if you wanted to.”
“He’s behind already?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s not even one o’clock.”
“His first appointment of the day ran long.” Nathan gave an exasperated sigh. “Then the second one did, and the third, and….” Another wave. “It’s all downhill from there. Pretty much standard operating procedure for the doc.”
I chuckled, pretending I didn’t hope my appointment ran a little long. Hey, I couldn’t touch the man, but I wasn’t opposed to looking at him for a few extra minutes. Or having his hands on me. Or….
I cleared my throat. “I’ll just wait, then. I’m in no hurry.”
“Lucky you.” Nathan smiled. “Half the patients who come through here are on their lunch break or running off to get their kids. They’re always in a hurry, but they sure don’t mind staying a little longer with the doc.”
“I can’t blame them,” I said. “Well, I don’t work until seven tonight. Whenever he’s ready for me.”
“Shouldn’t be too long. He’s usually—” Nathan paused, doing a double take at something on his desk. Then his head snapped up. “Oh my God. You seriously own Lights Out?”
“I do, yes.”
“Oh, I love that place. Question, though.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That bartender with all the tattoos and the earrings. You know, the one who looks like he just got out of prison?”
“Caden?”
“Is that his name? Anyway, is”—he dropped his voice a little more—“is he single?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid he’s spoken for.”
Nathan clicked his tongue. “Damn it. All the good ones are taken.”
“Truth, isn’t it?”
As a door opened outside my line of sight, a voice in my head added, And if they’re not taken, they’re straight.
A woman came into the lobby, and at the other end of the hall, another door opened, then closed. Michael must have been working with a few people at once.
I took a seat while the woman paid her bill and left. Someone else emerged a while later. About ten minutes after that, a third came down the hall, and Michael was right behind her.
He glanced my way, and maybe I imagined it, but he seemed to tense a little. He smiled, though, and nodded to acknowledge me, turning away before I could be sure if his cheeks had colored.
I shifted in my chair, turning my attention to the bonsai tree on top of the jade fountain in front of me. Wishful thinking, nothing more. The man was a medical professional, and he was straight, no matter how much I wished he was just a little curious and a lot unprofessional.
“Jason?”
I looked up, and as I stood, Michael said, “How is your shoulder feeling?”
“Better. I mean, it was better for a few days after I saw you. The treatment helped. A lot.” Aware that I was rambling, I pointed at my shoulder. “But it’s been hurting again. Kept me up most of last night.”
Michael pursed his lips, eyeing the offending joint as if it might explain why it hadn’t done his bidding. Then he gestured down the hall. “Come on back.”
I followed him into one of the rooms. Not the same one as last time, but similarly appointed: dim lights, a massage table, a chair, and a few small cabinets and a chest of drawers pushed up against the walls.
“I’m glad to hear your last treatment helped.” Michael closed the door behind us, sealing us into the tiny room. Or, rather, sealing out the rest of the world. Oblivious to my steadily rising heart rate, he said, “Was last night better, worse, or about the same as what you were experiencing before?”
“It was—” I stopped abruptly when he picked up my wrist and pressed two fingertips against it. I gulped, forcing myself not to even glance at his hand. “It wasn’t as bad as it’s been the last few months.”
“Mm-hmm. Did you take anything?”
I hoped the room’s dim light masked whatever color might have darkened my cheeks just then. “I, um….” What did it matter if I blushed? He had his damned fingers on my pulse. “I took some Percocet.”
“Did it help?”
I shrugged with my good shoulder. “As much as it ever does.”
“And how much is that?”
“Took the edge off enough to let me get some sleep. Better than spending the whole night digging the corner of a wall into my shoulder.”
Michael cocked his head. He released my hand, ma
de a quick note on my chart, and then he said, “Digging a corner into it? What do you mean?”
I wrung my hands in my lap, focusing on them instead of him. “It sounds ridiculous, but sometimes when it hurts really bad, I’ll lean against a corner or some molding. Anything sharp, basically. As hard as I can.”
“Which makes it hurt more, right?”
I nodded and didn’t look up. “Yeah. It hurts like hell. But when I stop—”
“It’s a relief when that pain stops, even if the original pain is still there.”
Finally I met his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“And of course the original pain is diminished because of the endorphins released.”
“I guess. All I know is, there are some nights it’s either pills or the wall. Or both.”
He set my chart down. “Well, that’s why you’re here. The plan is to get you off the pills. And the wall.”
“Most people would tell you I’m off the wall to begin with.”
Michael laughed. “Not much I can do about that part, I’m afraid.” He walked past me to the tiny chest of drawers behind the table I sat on.
“Before we get started,” I said, “you told me last time it would take several visits to treat this. Is that… still pretty realistic?”
“I wish I could tell you this was an overnight solution, but this is an injury that’s had a long time to set in. Fixing it will take a while.”
“It’s not the time that’s the issue.” I swallowed, wondering if this was what it felt like to literally swallow my pride. “It’s the money.”
“Well, we might be able to work something out. As I said before, since insurance doesn’t cover acupuncture most of the time, I run into this a lot. We can find a way.”
I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure how much you can work around it when it’s a matter of food or acupuncture.”
Michael stepped into my peripheral vision, and when I gazed at him, his eyebrows were up. “You’re not foregoing food for this, are you?”
“Not this time. But there’s only so much shit I can pawn to pay for it.”
“Ouch.” He chewed his lower lip, absently tugging the wrapper on one of the needles in his hand.
