Hot Sauce [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations

by Tymber Dalton

  “If you’re going, yes, I’ll be there. Me and Ken. I’m going straight from work. He’s going to meet me there. You sure you’re okay about this?”

  “It’s one small way I can still have contact with him. I want to know him the way his friends knew him.”

  “Then I’ll see you Friday night.”

  After saying good-bye, Vanessa ended the call and stared at the laptop for a moment. Then she logged out. There were private messages waiting in his account, but she didn’t want to contact those people yet.

  She couldn’t.

  She didn’t have the emotional or mental strength to. What reserves she had were all used up.

  What she needed to do right then was to take Carlo out for a long evening walk in the neighborhood and then come home and start going through Tony’s room again. She hadn’t made much progress other than under his bed. Reading his entire journal a second time earlier that afternoon didn’t count as progress.

  Then again, maybe she could start on the garage. It might be easier with a little emotional distance, not being right there in his room, the bed still made with sheets and a pillow that smelled vaguely like him.

  It was too easy to want to curl up around his pillow, bury her face in it, and cry.

  And if she was going to move on with the rest of her life, she needed to find a way to keep moving forward or she’d end up drowning once treading emotional water got to be too much for her.

  Others had survived far worse grief, far worse tragedies. She knew she shouldn’t compare herself to others, but if that was what she needed to do to get through the next few days and weeks, she’d do it.

  And she suspected there would be plenty of renewed tears when she got to meet more of Tony’s friends—the vanilla and kinky ones—in person.

  For right now, she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to breathe, to find a safe, neutral mental median she could pull over onto, hit pause, and not focus on all of this.

  * * * *

  I got to try fire cupping for the first time at the club tonight. Kel did it on me. Wow! It was amazing! I’ll have to make sure I wear a shirt around Nessie until the marks disappear so she doesn’t see them and start asking uncomfortable questions. I know she reads spicy stuff on her Kindle, but reading something and having her big brother involved in it are two different things.

  The past three months living with Nessie have proved to me how wrong I was to stay married to Kelly for so long. It wasn’t fair to her. When I finally realized how I was, I should have talked to her about it, opened a dialog with her. Maybe she would have been okay with it, maybe not.

  I suspect not, based on her not-quite-subtle jabs about certain subjects in the news.

  I was struggling too hard to be normal, to fit in, when I realize now I didn’t need to. It wasn’t fair to Kelly to use her as my attempt to conform to society’s expectations of me. I wasted her life and mine. And I feel badly about it.

  At least now I can spend time with Nessie when I want to instead of Kelly whining about it. That should have been my huge red flag, right there. That Kelly obviously didn’t think very much of my sister, or my parents. Although she did hide that from me pretty well until after we were married.

  Then Carlo. Oh. My. God. He loved Nessie and hated Kelly. Clue number two, right there, and I ignored it. That should have been the last straw…

  Vanessa slipped her thumb between the pages and closed the journal, her mind racing. Her brother had lived a double life pretty much all his adult life. First while with Kelly, then while living with her.

  Although at least with her, he’d been able to have that part of his life that he’d needed.

  And no, Vanessa—and her parents—had pretty much hated Kelly on sight, but they’d done their best to pretend to like and welcome her into their family. Vanessa and her parents had always found the woman to be very shallow and materialistic, more interested in fashion and reality TV than in the real world and the people populating it. Hell, even the birthday cards from them had always been bought and signed by Tony. Vanessa knew his handwriting.

  It never escaped Vanessa’s notice that it was always Tony taking her out for her birthday dinner, Kelly always having to “work” or giving some other lame excuse for her not joining them. Even family holiday dinners were barely tolerable. The last couple of years Tony was still married to Kelly, when their parents flew in from Seattle to stay with Vanessa for the holidays, they’d all simply gone out to a restaurant to eat instead of cooking a large meal at home. Tony had suggested it to Vanessa, under the guise of “simplicity.”

  He hadn’t fooled her. Vanessa knew it was because Kelly didn’t want to spend time with their family. Her family was all up in Tampa, and after they finished their family celebration, she dragged him up there for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  As if Kelly couldn’t wait for the moment she could dash out of there, dragging Tony in her wake and escaping them.

  The first thing Vanessa’s mom had said to her when she told her Tony was filing for divorce was, “Thank god. It’s about time.”

  At least Vanessa could take comfort in the fact that the last four years of his life had been good ones, happy ones, and she would always have those memories. It would have been that much more tragic had Tony died still tethered to the damn shrew and never able to be his true self.

  She opened the journal and started reading again. This was her third time through it, and it was close to midnight, but she wanted to absorb every word, understand him as much as possible.

  It was all she had left of him.

  Chapter Seven

  Thursday morning, Lyle asked his receptionist to hold his calls. He shut the door to his office before making a call of his own.

  When Jenny answered the phone, he didn’t detect anything off in her tone. “Hey, Lyle. What’s up?”

  “Can you talk?”

  “Um, sure. Hold on.” It sounded like she moved to a quieter location. “What’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath. “I need to ask you about Basco—”

  “Yes,” she said, cutting him off. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

  “You knew we were friends with him. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  She dropped her voice even lower. “Because he’d specifically told his sister a while ago when they discussed final arrangements for each other that he only wanted immediate family and very close friends in attendance at the service. His sister didn’t even know he was kinky or bi. How was I supposed to explain to her his relationships to people she’d never even heard about, much less met before? How did you find out, anyway?”

  “Facebook. She posted on his wall yesterday. Friends are going to organize a service for him. I’m assuming a vanilla service.”

  “Oh.” It sounded like she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. She said she made a post but I didn’t go look. That’s the service meant for everyone else. It didn’t mean he didn’t care about you guys. And it was killing me not to tell anyone.”

  “Are you going to post something on Fet about it?”

  She let out another sigh. “Vanessa called me last night. She found his Fet account.”

  His stomach curled. “Oh.”

  “It’s…okay. She wasn’t freaked out by it. She said it actually made sense. She found his journal first, before she even made the Facebook post and before she’d discovered his Fet account. I told her yes, I’d met him through the local BDSM community, and asked her if she wanted me to post something. She said she’d handle it herself. So please, don’t post anything. Very few people in the community even knew his vanilla name, much less were friends with him on Facebook.”

  “Guess we were special,” he bitterly said.

  “You guys absolutely were special to him. Listen, I’m sorry. She’s obviously upset right now.” Her voice gentled. “He was her life, her best friend, not just her older brother. I know you guys cared about him, but she knew hi
m her entire life. He was her big brother. You know how much he loved her and worried about her. She’s working her way through her grief the best way she can, the only way she can. Cut her some slack, okay?”

  That made him feel like shit. He scrubbed his face with his hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Yes, he knew how much Basco had adored his sister. And he also realized to honor his friend meant honoring that bond.

  “No, it’s okay. I know you’re upset, too. This isn’t easy on any of us. I’m going to approach her about having a service at the club for his kinky friends. I’m sure Derrick and Kel will agree to it.”

  “Will she want to be there?”

  “I…don’t know. Not yet. I promise, as soon as I know anything, I will call or text you. But please don’t post this on FetLife yet. She’ll handle it how she wants to handle it. She’s going to the rope class on Friday night. I’m meeting her there.”

  “She is?”

  “Yeah. She saw that several friends of his had RSVPed as going, so she wants to go and tell them in person. She didn’t like having to post about it on Facebook. She wants some in-person contact.”

  “Is it okay if we go and meet her, too?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure she’d love to meet you and talk to you. She’s…lost right now. She’s alone.”

  “What about their parents?”

  “They live in Seattle.”

  “Didn’t they come here?”

  “They did, but she sent them home Tuesday. Some aunts and uncles and cousins came in and left on Monday. She wanted alone time. She’s single, she’s a workaholic, and most of the few friends she has were Tony’s friends, including me, Ken, Rusty, and Eliza. So if you really want to honor Tony’s memory, come out, befriend her, and help me get her through this. She’ll need all the true friends she can get right now. I’m really worried about her.”

  He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep his tears at bay. “Yeah. We can do that.” Well, he knew he could do that. He wasn’t sure what Reed’s schedule would be or if he’d even feel like going out that late when he’d likely have a Saturday morning charter scheduled.

  After ending the call with Jenny, Lyle opened his office door and headed for the bathroom to splash water on his face. His day felt cloaked with gloom, a dark funk settling over him from the moment he woke up.

  It was hard to believe the friendly, full-of-life guy they’d known was…gone. He wasn’t even forty yet.

  Hell, I’m not even forty yet.

  He was still four months from his fortieth birthday. Almost the same exact age as Tony.

  People their age weren’t supposed to die that young. Especially over something so stupid as pneumonia, something easily treated in someone that age.

  Maybe a tragic car wreck, or unfortunate accident, okay.

  But…that?

  Note to self, I’m overdue for my annual checkup.

  So was Reed, come to think of it.

  After telling the receptionist he was available again, he buried his head in his work and tried not to think about the loss of their friend, the loss of what might have been had they said something sooner to him. Maybe they would have been able to force him to the doctor sooner.

  Maybe…maybe…maybe.

  It echoed in his brain like a lonely church bell lost in the fog.

  * * * *

  Reed’s morning had gone to shit before he even moved his boat out of the slip. The starboard engine didn’t want to crank. He was able to grab one of the marina’s techs to look at it, who discovered it had a bad ignition module, and fortunately had the part in stock. Over two hundred dollars later, and running nearly forty minutes late, he and his morning charter headed out of the marina basin.

  That would put him up against the clock with the afternoon charter. He’d be lucky to have time to hit the bathroom, much less eat lunch.

  One solution would be trying a spot slightly closer to shore than he usually fished, one that he’d had luck with before. A diver friend of his had given him the numbers to the rock pile, said it usually had grouper, sheepshead, grunt, mangrove snapper, and sometimes even amberjack on it. Reed had only fished it twice, and at different times of the year, both times producing decent catches even though the grouper they’d caught were almost all too small to keep.

  He called the spot up in his GPS before he reached the channel’s head marker and plugged it in.

  With that done, and the course laid in…

  Basco’s death returned to mind. Not even the gorgeous day and perfect weather could drive the darkness back once that thought had settled in.

  Memories of their friend had haunted his mind all morning, kept at bay only by the hectic detours in his routine before returning now with a vengeance.

  He wasn’t even sure if he’d have time to call Lyle at lunch to see if he got hold of Jenny or not about it. This wasn’t exactly the kind of discussion he wanted to have via a text stream.

  It definitely wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of other people. Especially customers.

  All he could do at this point was try to make it through the morning as best he could.

  * * * *

  Fortunately, the spot paid off. It didn’t hurt that Reed’s morning charter passengers were not experienced anglers. They were tourists from Minnesota who’d booked a charter with him at the last minute. They were perfectly happy to reel in the fish they caught, much to Reed’s relief.

  No, nothing huge, and no grouper today, but nearly everything else was legal length. By the time he had to haul anchor for the return, he’d thought maybe he was going to pull this day out of the crapper after all.

  Until he’d almost reached the head marker. He cut in a little sooner than he usually did and was startled by the bump and sudden severe vibration from the port engine.

  Dammit.

  Immediately throttling down and shifting to neutral, he raised the engines and took a look.

  One of the blades on the port prop was missing a chunk from it.

  Only the fact that one of his passengers was a twelve-year-old boy kept him from swearing a blue streak at his luck.

  “Everything okay?” one of the men asked.

  He forced a smile. “Could be worse. Just a prop. I’ll swap it out when I get back to the dock.”

  Spare props he had. He’d be stupid not to. And yes, he could swap it out himself. After he had the marina pull the boat with a forklift.

  Dammit.

  So much for making up time.

  Reed lowered the starboard engine back into the water, checked his bearings, and slowly made his way toward the channel.

  He was running right up against time when he finally made it to the dock. He’d already called the marina over the VHF radio and they said they’d have the forklift waiting for him to haul him out. After offloading his passengers, he cast off lines and motored over to the pull-out dock.

  Carl sat there, smiling, chewing his gum like he was angry at it. “You’re just having shit luck today, ain’t ya?” he called out.

  “You can say that again.” Reed shut the engine off and got out, using a bow and stern line to back the boat onto the lift forks. Ten minutes later, they had his boat securely sitting on blocks, and Reed was racing for his truck to get his tool bag. The fuel dock clerk would tell the charter group he was running a couple of minutes late, and why.

  After swapping out the prop—relieved to see the skeg itself hadn’t sustained any damage from the hit—he dropped the prop off at the repair shop for them to send out for him, returned his tool bag to his truck, hit the bathroom, and grabbed a sandwich from the marina’s store to take with him before running back to help Carl get him in the water again.

  So much for an easy day, and for catching up on his schedule.

  He quickly texted Lyle while Carl was moving his boat back to the water.

  Running real late. Nothing but problems today. TTYL. Love U.

  Before he slipped his phone into h
is pocket, Lyle responded.

  :( Sorry. Love you, too. I’ll take care of dinner.

  Reed stuck his phone into his pocket.

  I definitely need a new cell phone.

  * * * *

  Lyle was waiting at the door with a beer for Reed when the man arrived home that evening.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Reed said, taking it from him after giving him a kiss. “You’re the best.” He walked in and dropped his duffle bag on the couch as Lyle closed the door behind him.

  “Sorry you had such a crappy day.”

  “Crappy doesn’t begin to describe it.” Lyle followed him to the bathroom, where Reed started stripping in preparation to take his shower. He told Lyle about the morning mechanical problems, then the prop.

  “Well,” Lyle said, trying to put a positive spin on it, “it could have been worse.”

  “I know. I could have whacked the rock hard enough to do damage to the lower unit. That would have put me out of business for several days. I don’t have a spare one of those just lying around, and they’re damned expensive to fix.”

  “I called Jenny this morning,” Lyle told him.

  Reed froze and slowly turned. “And?”

  “Basco’s sister found out about his kinky side.”

  He leaned against the counter. “How?”

  “Apparently he had a journal or something, and his FetLife account.”

  “Wow.” Reed stared at his feet.

  “She—his sister—is going to Tony’s shibari class tomorrow night. Jenny’s going to meet her there.”

  Reed stared at him. “Why?”

  “Jenny said she wants to meet her brother’s friends. Apparently, she’s okay with him being…having been kinky.” He told Reed about the conversation. When Lyle finished, Reed stood there, his arms crossed over his bare chest.

  “I’d like to go,” Lyle said.

  Reed slowly nodded. “Okay. I’d like to meet her, too.”

  Lyle breathed a silent sigh of relief. He hadn’t been one-hundred-percent sure if Reed would actually want to go or not. “Cool.”