Page 39 of Patchwork
I made my decision a long damn time ago if I’m being honest with myself. All that’s left is to make it official. For some reason, I feel like I need to tell Hero before I actually do anything though. Not because I need his permission or anything stupidlike that. Maybe it just feels like the kind of thing you run by your partner first, and I want us to be partners like that. The past four weeks here have shown me what it could be like to be in someone’s life, to cook dinner together and stay up late watching movies and talking about life. I want it. And IthinkHero does too.
We roll to a stop in front of a coffee shop where there’s an LGBTQ open mic night. Apparently Arrow’s partner, Lewis, knows the owner and he mentioned a few regulars grumbling when they saw the signups posted. The guys offered to come and act as unofficial bouncers if anyone decides to show up and act like an asshole. Bonus, we get to enjoy a few hours of queer music and poetry.
I climb off the back of Hero’s Harley a little more awkwardly than usual with my guitar strapped to my back. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring it in case I work up the courage to play something I wrote.
“Are you going to play something tonight?” Milo asks.
“Oh, maybe.” I fiddle with my guitar strap and give him a tight smile.
It feels a hell of a lot more daunting to show the world my soul this way instead of playing a song some label exec handed me and told me to learn before the end of the week. But if I can’t play my own music at an open mic night, I won’t have any business telling Van I want a solo career without Black Sheep.
“If you do play, you’ll be the hit of the night,” Hero says encouragingly, kissing my temple and linking our fingers as we head into the coffee shop.
“Thank you.” I kiss the tip of his nose.
The lights inside are dim, with a portable spotlight set up to point to a small stage. The chairs and tables are all angled towards the stage, and there’s a small crowd already inside,chatting and drinking coffee while they wait for the open mic night to start.
“Do you want something to drink?” Hero nods towards the counter.
“Something decaf? I don’t want to be up all night.”
He gives me a lecherous grin. “Are you sure?”
I chuckle and playfully smack his chest. “I won’t need coffee to stay awake if I have sufficient motivation. So yeah, decaf.”
He gets in line, along with Piston and Arrow, while the rest of us grab a couple of tables near the back.
“I’ve only known my dad for about a year, but he seems a lot happier since you’ve been here. It’s nice to see him smile so much,” Milo says.
“He makes me happy too,” I admit with a dopey smile on my face. “How did that all happen, with you meeting him after so long and everything? If it’s too personal, just tell me to fuck off.”
He laughs. “No, it’s fine. I don’t know how much he told you, but he and my mom basically had a one-night stand when they were eighteen, and she never told him I existed. She knew his name though, and she told me a little bit about him when I was young. I thought about finding him on and off throughout the years, but it felt daunting, you know? I guess I just got to the point where not knowing him was weighing on me more than the idea of just going for it. So I looked him up and booked a tattoo appointment as an excuse to meet him.”
“He was probably easy to find, at least, with a name like Hero.”
Milo blinks in confusion, then chuckles again. “Well, it was a little tricky since I had his real name and most of his social media is under Hero. But I managed to connect the dots and find him.”
His real name. Right. The reminder that he’s never bothered to tell me his real name sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach.Maybe it’s something he doesn’t tell anyone? After all, it’s been almost thirty years since he told Milo’s mom his real name.
“He almost doesn’t even need a nickname,” Lewis chimes in from Milo’s other side. “His name is so nice already.”
Ouch. Okay, even Arrow’s partner knows Hero’s real name. That stings like a slap in the face. I crane my neck to look over at him, still waiting to order our drinks, looking relaxed and carefree as usual with his hands in his pockets and a grin as he chats with Piston and Arrow.
“This is a motorcycle club, we have to have nicknames,” Jag argues, teasingly tugging on a strand of Lewis’s hair.
Lewis bats his hand away. “Your matching jackets are precious and all, but I don’t think that nicknames are a requirement.”
I’m starting to think Lewis and Jag just enjoy antagonizing each other. I tune out their bickering and slump a little in my chair. Am I a complete idiot? Is it possible that I’m making up a whole romantic fantasy in my head while Hero thinks this is nothing more than casual sex? A couple of weeks ago at the farmers’ market, I told him there hadn’t been anyone else, but he didn’t say the same. He didn’t really say anything. Fuck, now that I’m thinking about it, any time the topic of feelings comes up, he just awkwardly laughs them off.
“Decaf vanilla latte,” Hero says, setting my drink down in front of me.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and force a smile. “Thanks.”
He takes a seat next to me, swinging his arm over the back of my chair. I tug my lip ring between my teeth, words building up inside my head like an avalanche.
“Are you okay?” he asks with a frown, and I nod, unable to get my tongue to work to form any reassurances.
I pick up the latte and take a sip, letting the warmth of it loosen up the tightness in my throat. I want to ask Hero what this is to him. I want to tell him that we can’t keep playing it safe and dancing around our feelings, because our wires are getting crossed somewhere. But I’m not going to be that guy in the middle of a café with all of his friends here. So I take another few sips, pull in a deep breath, and do my best to relax my smile into something in the neighborhood of normal.
