Page 77 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
Her smug, earnest gentleness got to him the most. Like shewas so fucking calm while she dragged her sister’s death out for years andyears, keeping her chained to a bed, not a wife, mother, or sister anymore. Noteven a person.
His phone vibrated and he grabbed it from his pocket,tempted to throw it against the windshield even though that would be a verystupid thing to do.
Just got back from SMD. Is your meetingover? Any chance for drinks at Puckers?
He was supposed to go home after the mediation and relieveAmanda from her childcare duties, but fuck, he was in no way ready to face hischildren. He didn’t need to take his bad mood out on them. He didn’t need totake it out on Christopher either, but having a drink would take the edge off,and seeing Christopher might make him feel human again. They’d texted a lot inthe week since the Cades Cove picnic, but he hadn’tseenhim. Fuck, he missed his face.
He texted a quick reply to Christopher and then calledAmanda. “I know I said I’d be there by bedtime, but Ronnie nearly sent me overthe deep end. I’m meeting Christopher for a drink or two. I’ve got to blow offthis steam. Is it too much trouble?”
“It was until you said the name Christopher, and now you canstay out all night as far as I’m concerned. I can get the kids up for school.The husband can make do without me this evening.”
Of course he’d known that would be the way she’d see things,which is why he’d already told Christopher yes, and why he’d even mentioned hisname to begin with. Amanda was on Team Get a Boyfriend and Christopher was herfavorite contender. The only contender, but still.
The drive to Puckers did nothing to calm his nerves.Everyone on the road was an idiot and he loathed every single one of them. Hefound parking and gritted out a halfway pleasant greeting to the lot attendant,and then meandered through the bundled-up crowd on the sidewalk, his nose andfingers cold because he’d forgotten his gloves and scarf in his haste to get toChristopher.
A text came through letting him know that Christopher wasalready there and had scored a booth in the back. It also said:
Have you ever noticed that this entiretown smells like pancakes, beer, and donuts?
That, at last, made Jesse smile. Andthatwas exactly why he was aching to see Christopher.
Puckers itself was a dive of the sports bar variety locateddown twelve or so steps in the basement level of one of the multi-businessbuildings on Parkway. As he walked into the crowded bar, the multipletelevisions flashed with various football games—none of them the Vols, or therewould’ve been no room in the place at all.
Somehow, over all the voices and the occasional boo or cheer,the plunking piano and tender vocals of “The Rose” by Bette Midler soaredthrough the thick atmosphere. He could hear it building over the clinking ofglasses and bottles and the murmuring of the patrons.
He remembered all too clearly the summer before whenChristopher had sung it as a duet with a tall woman at Smoky Mountain Dreams.It’d been the culminating song of the show. He’d never mentioned to Christopherseeing that performance, but it had been one of Jesse’s favorites, actuallybringing tears to his eyes. Christopher had stepped up and filled the nightwith his voice, tenderly bring the song to a close with the most gently heldnote Jesse had ever heard. At the time, it’d made him fall a little in lovewith the man on the stage, and now, knowing Christopher as he did—his kindness,generosity, and enthusiasm—it made the memory of the performance all that moreintense.
Still, Jesse was so angry and raw from the mediation thatthe lyrics of the song felt like pressing a bruise. In some ways, he wanted tokeep pushing harder, feeling more, and in others it made him want to vomit. Theatmosphere of the room didn’t help. It was all liquor, beer, fried food, andcheese—layers of desperation, boredom, hope, and sweat. It got his hackles upeven more.
When he spotted Christopher’s blond head bent over hisphone, typing in something and smiling, a tiny bit of the tension loosened.Just seeing him was a relief, and he wanted to grab him and kiss him, to buryhis nose in the softness of his hair and replace the scents of the room withthat bourbon-books-and-mint smell that was Christopher. But Puckers wasn’t theestablishment for that kind of demonstration. Dammit, Gatlinburg really neededa gay bar.
“Hey,” Jesse said, sliding in across from Christopher, his handsaching to tug him over the table and taste his beautiful mouth. It would calmhim down. He knew it would. Something had to.
“Hey, you,” Christopher smiled, his teeth shiny in the lowlight and a warm joy spreading over his face. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got the lead—well, after Lash, anyway.” Jesse must havelooked as confused as he felt, because Christopher went on, “You know, the leadin this year’s big spring show? I texted you about the auditions yesterday.”
“Right. That’s awesome. I thought it would be a week or sobefore you heard back?”
“They didn’t even make me wait.”
“Congrats. I’m not surprised, though. As your biggest fan, Ikind of knew it would work out.”
Christopher grinned. “Thanks.”
Jesse’s smile felt stiff. He wished he could shake off thelingering sense of helplessness that always overpowered him when he met withRonnie. “Tell you what, let’s get a drink and we’ll toast it.”
“I ordered for us both. I hope you don’t mind?”
“So long as you got something strong.”
“Bourbon and Coke for you.”
“That’ll do just fine. I hope she hurries. I need it.”
Christopher’s eyebrows lowered and he leaned forward, hishand slipping onto Jesse’s forearm, warm and reassuring. “What’s wrong?”
