by A. E. Via
The stench of burnt bologna and cheese was the first attack on his senses the moment he walked through the door, the smell making him wince at the mere thought of that meat. Mike was sprawled on the couch with one hand down the front of his nylon shorts and the other stuffed with a half-eaten sub sandwich.
Bishop kicked his boots off at the door so he didn’t track grass and dirt onto the sandy brown carpet. “Man. What the fuck are you eating?” he asked on his way into the kitchen to get three bottles of water and a Gatorade.
“It’s a fried bologna and mac and cheese sandwich.” Mike took another huge bite, moaning after he swallowed. “I call it the poor man’s Philly sub.”
“Yeah, well, you enjoy that,” Bishop said.
“I am. Want me to make you one?” Mike asked, raising up on one elbow.
“Never will always be the answer to that question.”
Mike laughed at him and shrugged. “That’s cool. I picked up some more Hungry-Mans on the way home. You liked that Salisbury one, right?”
Bishop was finishing his second bottle of water, leaning against the half wall that separated the living room from the bedrooms. He dipped his head to hide the tilt of his lips, “Sure. I like those.”
“Cool. All right, well, pop two in the oven, shower real quick and then come back in here. I found this fishing show on Prime Video. It’s called Alaska Fish Wars. Thought we could get some tips before Sunday.” Mike sat up, pulling his other hand free and wiping them both on his tank top.
Bishop shook his head. “Not sure how helpful that’ll be to us. I have a feeling it’s a big difference fishing on Oceanview Pier in Norfolk.”
“Hmm. Never know. Still sounds badass to watch.” Mike pulled up the app on their large flat screen television that sat catty-corner at the opposite end. The camel micro-suede sectional and the second-hand walnut coffee table was all that would fit in the living room.
“I can’t. I’m about to get changed and go out for a bit.” Bishop stood and made his way around the corner and down the hall to his room. He heard Mike’s footsteps behind him on the hollow floor. “Can I borrow a shirt?”
Mike only nodded his okay. He was standing at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed over his wide chest, his arms bulging as if he was fighting with something. “Where you headed? Can’t be going out with Trent if you need a shirt. It’s kinda late and you already look like something the cat dragged in and mauled for a while before it ate it, then spit it back out.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “But, I’m gonna hang out with an old friend for a little while tonight.”
“Oh yeah. Old friends lead to old problems.” Mike was standing in his doorway, so it was impossible to ignore him and it would’ve been disrespectful, not to mention suicidal, if Bishop tried to close the door in his face.
“It’s not like that. Not with this friend.” Bishop went into his small walk-in closet and took his clothes off then wrapped his towel around his waist. He started the shower as hot as he could stand it, needing to relax his stiff muscles. When he was behind the curtain, he heard Mike start in again.
“This wouldn’t happen to be the friend Trent said y’all ran into at breakfast this morning would it?”
Bishop wanted to punch the tiles in the shower but that wouldn’t serve any purpose. No, he’d wait until he saw Trent tomorrow and punch him. Using an excessive amount of body wash, he quickly scrubbed away hours’ worth of grime and sweat.
“Bishop, why in the hell are you going out with that backstabbing little—?”
“Dad!” Bishop snapped. “Can I get a little privacy, please? I’ve showered around other men for five fucking years. Can you close my door? I’ll be out in a second.”
“All right, all right,” Mike said, backing out of the room.
Bishop cursed when he heard his door click. He loved Trent and he loved his dad too, but they had to let him be a man. He finished getting dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a simple, short-sleeved black button-up. He put his woven black steel chain around his neck and his two-inch gunmetal steel bracelet on his right wrist. His basic, black sports watch wasn’t anything special, but it served its purpose. He used to have a lot more jewelry and a few valuables before he went to prison, but surprisingly when Mike had tried to get his belongings to hold for him, most of his stuff had been stolen.
He slid on his black Steve Madden boots, wishing he had some fly Jordans or something instead to wear for the hot summer. But one hundred and eighty dollar shoes weren’t a luxury he could afford right now. He put his wallet into his back pocket and grabbed his keys off the dresser. He checked his reflection one last time in the mirror then looked around his room as if to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He was stalling. He began to feel that anxiety again, that jittery feeling in his gut that was telling him this might not be a good idea. That Royce didn’t appear to be on the same page as him. But how could he fully know that without a longer conversation with him?
With that final thought, Bishop turned off his lamp and closed his bedroom door behind him. He walked the short distance across the hall to Mike’s room and went to the chest of drawers where he kept his few bottles of cologne. Bishop grabbed the first one he saw. A clear bottle with bright blue cursive writing on it and a sleek chrome cap. He hit himself with a couple of sprays on the neck then put the bottle back.
He avoided Mike’s eyes as he made his way to the front door.
“Don’t be late tomorrow,” Mike said harshly.
“I won’t. I’ll be back tonight, Mi—. Dad.” Bishop tightened his jaw. He sounded so foolish trying to do this. He locked the door behind him, and the last thing he heard was his dad trying to brush up on his fishing techniques by watching Alaska Ice Fishing.
~
So this is Town Center? Nice. Bishop had ridden past it a few times but had never ventured down the streets and into the shops. It was a trendy hangout location with a lot of hip restaurants, bars, coffee shops, boutiques, a popular courtyard that showcased local musicians, and even a brewery. It was the most up-and-coming area in Hampton Roads. The luxury condos in the thirty-eight story skyscrapers in the midst of it all were so expensive Bishop could only blink at the crazy prices. Town Center was the place to be, to hang out… if a man’s pockets were deep enough.
He parked the truck in the lot closest to Market Street and sat there a moment, taking in his surroundings. People milled about on terraces that overlooked the city. Women and men ambled along the clean sidewalks, laughing and enjoying life, looking carefree. He felt a culture shock. His clothes were decent enough, but he was still feeling self-conscious. And for the briefest moment he wished Trent was there. This is stupid. Get out the truck. It’s just Royce.
He triple-checked the name Royce had sent of the restaurant with the letters on the door. Gordon Biersch? He didn’t know what kind of name that was or who it was, but it must’ve had everything to do with beer. Because the first thing he saw as he approached the hostess stand was a long bar with beer taps for miles. Behind large clear doors were huge steel containers with wiring and tubes running along the ceiling. Holy shit. He was tall enough to see over the crowd in the bar area, scanning the heads for honey blond hair.
“Hello. Welcome to Gordon Biersch. How many in your party?” the hostess asked politely.
Bishop stopped his search to give her his attention. “I’m meeting someone.”
“What’s the name of—?”
“Bishop.”
He spun around when he heard his name called and felt the light caress across his shoulder blades. Royce was standing there looking as sexy and enticing as he remembered. Shredded skinny jeans and an almost sheer, baby blue T-shirt. Bishop’s body reacted sharply, and he had to stop himself from pulling Royce to the nearest dark corner.
“Don’t look at me like that, Bishop. You’re the one who wanted to talk first.” Royce used air quotes when he said talk.
“I do.” Bishop found his voice, but he didn
’t recognize it. He was practically breathless. He needed one of those beers.
“Come on. We have a table over here,” Royce said, gripping his hand and guiding him farther into the bar section.
There were curved booths along the partition that separated them from the dining room. On their side were high-top tables and longer ones to accommodate bigger parties that wanted to get tipsy together. He wasn’t expecting such a dense crowd on a Monday. Bishop frowned, remembering that Royce said he’d be alone. “We?”
“They’re leaving. We’re all done now. This is my poly-sci study group, Bishop,” Royce said as he approached a table that had two young women sitting there and a guy wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a displeased sneer.
That wasn’t really a proper introduction, but since it did look like they were packed to go, he didn’t overthink it.
“Evening,” Bishop said, taking a seat on the end. One woman gave him a nice greeting, the other even reached over to shake his hand. However, sneering dude made a show of closing his thick textbook and shoving it into his raggedy book bag. Bishop didn’t have a chance to assess what the guy’s problem was—but he had a pretty good idea—before the waitress approached the table and set a long single page menu in front of him.
“And what are you drinking this evening?” she asked, sounding too bubbly for a quarter to ten at night. “You must be the super smart one, huh? You don’t need to study, you can show up two hours late, learn everything in ten minutes then spend the rest of the night drinking.”
The girls at the table laughed and Bishop smirked it off as well, but for some reason Royce was looking like a deer caught in headlights. Bishop couldn’t ask him anything about it, so he kept his attention on the server. “I’m not a student. I’ll have mozzarella sticks and a Bud Light draft.”
The waitress smiled sweetly at him. “We don’t have either of those.”
What kind of bar didn’t have cheese sticks or Bud? Bishop glanced over to see Royce with his head in his hands.
“Shit. I knew this would happen.” Royce took Bishop’s menu from between his fingers and began pointing at some of the bigger headlines. “This is um, says Brewery Starters. It’s the appetizer or starting dishes. Then wings are here. Tacos… lots of different types.”
Bishop took his menu back, wondering what the fuck had possessed Royce to do that. He’d never done that before. Years ago, before he’d known I couldn’t read. But that was then, and this was now. Bishop saw the uptight guy across from him trying to hide his smile. Bishop felt his neck heat as all eyes landed on him, but he played it cool. This wasn’t his first dance. Bishop glanced over at the bar. “I didn’t pay attention when I came in. It’s my first time here.”
“Of course,” she said, leaning over him and pointing at his menu. “On this side are our craft beers, brewed right here in our brewery. We also have local Virginia beers. So, if you like Bud Light which a lot of people that come in here do, I’d say go with the Golden Export. It has a clean, crisp finish.”
“Sounds good,” Bishop said.
“If you don’t prefer it, I can always give you some samples of a few others that I think you’ll like. The Birdnecklace is new. It has a citrusy taste to it that everyone’s loving this summer. I’ll run grab your drinks while you look over the menu,” she said all this while she cleared several empty wine glasses and tiny white plates from the table.
“Excuse us. Guess we’ll be going.” The study-guy stood so fast, bumping the table hard enough to make the few items on top clang loudly.
Bishop gave him a stony glare that the kid had a difficult time holding. When he dropped his gaze and blinked at Royce like a wounded puppy Bishop lost any potential respect for the guy.
“Yeah. See you in class tomorrow.” Royce didn’t look at his classmates as they passed.
He’s embarrassed of me. Bishop cleared his throat and tried to give the waitress an appreciative expression when she placed an ice-cold glass of a honey-colored brew in front of him and an even taller glass of water.
“Did you want to order any food?” She waited with her tray cocked on her hip. She had on a conservative gray blouse and form-fitting black slacks. He’d never been to a restaurant where the servers dressed so nicely. Her hair was pulled in a tight bun and held with at least a dozen slender metal pins.
Bishop flipped the menu over, feeling Royce’s eyes on him the entire time. He searched for the familiar words that he’d come to recognize on most menus. Chicken. Shrimp. He was confident that any dish that had one of those two meats would be fine for him. But for some reason this menu was crazy. Is this even English? Bishop stared at the long, foreign words that he couldn’t even sound out. Gorgonzola, Caprese, Schnitzel. Fuck. There wasn’t one single illustration of their dishes except for the nasty-looking pretzel sampler on the table tent. “I think I’m good with the beer.”
“You sure?” she asked, slowly easing her hand towards him for his menu.
No. I’m starving. “I’m sure. Thanks.” Bishop waited until she was gone before he took a long swig to quench his parched throat. “I was gonna ask to take you to Golden Corral tonight. Remember we used to get high and go raid the buffet right before they closed so we’d be nice and full for the club?”
“I don’t eat at that janky place anymore.” Royce pfft’d, unamused. He finished the rest of his drink and used the black cloth napkin to wipe at nothing in the corners of his mouth.
“I see.” Bishop tried to meet Royce’s sharp eyes but he wouldn’t let him. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, trying to appear elegant as if this was exactly where he belonged.
“What are you studying in school?” Bishop asked, trying to come up with a safe topic.
“Poly sci.”
Bishop thought for a moment. He didn’t recall hearing of a major like that.
“You know you didn’t have to do that in front of my friends. I was only trying to help, Bishop. I know the menu is weird, this is German-inspired food. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Royce blurted.
Bishop had a hard time believing that Royce couldn’t see the obvious. “Why do you think I’d want you to read the menu to me like I’m five years old?”
“Because that’s the level you read on.”
“Fuck,” Bishop huffed, the blow taking him by surprise. The quickness and stinging brutality of it piercing the hell out of him.
Royce rotated in his seat. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Bishop. It’s just… you make me crazy. Seeing you right now is a lot.”
“You agreed to meet with me. If you didn’t want to you should’ve just said so.” Bishop drank some of his water, no longer wanting any alcohol. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I thought maybe we’d catch up. I just wanted to see that you were good… and now I have.”
When the waitress walked by, Bishop asked for the check.
“Are you two together?” she asked.
“No,” Royce spoke quickly.
Bishop stared at the man he used to be head over heels about. But he wasn’t his anymore. He didn’t know this man. He was someone Bishop would never be good enough for. “It’s all good. It’s on me,” he told the waitress.
“Aww. Such a gentleman.” She smiled and moved over to her next table.
“Bishop I have a friend in my Ethics class that volunteers at the Adult Learning Center. I can give you his—”
“I didn’t come here for a contact, Royce,” Bishop said between clenched teeth. He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket the moment the black billfold was placed in front of him. When he scanned down the check to the total, he almost spit out the last gulp of water. Eighty-six goddamn dollars! What the hell?
“I had the egg rolls, the gorgonzola ribeye and three martinis. I told you I could pay it myself,” Royce snarked.
Bishop pulled the bills out of his wallet, slipped it inside and got up to leave. “I hope all goes well with your classes, Royce. Goodbye.” When he was out of the door and back onto Market Street,
Bishop felt like he could breathe again. He was drained and ready for this nightmare of a day to be done with. He supposed he could say it was semi-productive, because he’d gotten closure on the relationship he’d left wide open five years ago.
“Wait! Bishop.” Royce sounded incredulous as he hurried to catch up to him. “Are you really leaving? You don’t wanna… Look… why don’t you just come back to my place for tonight. Let me take care of you. I can at least do that.”
Did Royce think he was that desperate? That’d he take that fucking rudeness and abuse that he’d just dished out in that uppity restaurant then turn around and lay up in his bed. Just for his dick? Bishop’s willpower was a lot stronger than his flesh. He’d refused to fuck anyone in that damn prison no matter how blue his balls had gotten. There had been a few quick jerk sessions, but that was it. He had never been attracted to the hardheads in that place. Every day had been a struggle to keep his sanity and manhood.
Bishop didn’t have to think about it. He considered this to be another chapter closing. “Nah, I’m all right. But thanks, anyway.” Bishop held Royce’s eye contact as he leaned in and pecked his flushed cheek. His mouth dropped open as Bishop backed away. “Goodbye, Royce.”
Chapter Six
Edison
Edison hated that he kept running into Skylar on his way into the office. It was a pretty crappy way to start his day. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy waited for him to pull up before he popped up out of nowhere like bad acne. Everything he said rubbed him the wrong way. Skylar was the kind of man who insulted a person to their face and then tried to get them to laugh it off with him, basically laughing at themselves.
“What the hell? It looks like a freak show circus out here. How long do we have to put up with this?” Skylar said with attitude beside him as they walked up to their building. The construction men were still working to finish updating their irrigation system. “This is ridiculous! How are we supposed to get any work done with this racket?”
Since when do you worry about getting any work done? Skylar had a legal secretary he dictated everything to. He was lucky she was so competent and could carry his lazy behind. All Skylar did was prance up and down the office corridors gossiping and preening. He was a massive pain in Edison’s neck with the way he disrupted the flow of the office by interrupting others while working. He didn’t even want to get into the way he flirted with the junior staff. And it was rumored that he got away with not doing any work because Shirley Bickel, senior partner, sometimes used him to get off after a particularly stressful case. At least that was what Edison had heard around the water cooler before all conversation ceased when they noticed him walk in.
