Page 6 of Missile Tow
“They’re not here with us, but I bet they’d want you to be happy. If I had to admit some truth about that boy, even John wants that for you,” she ruminated. “John was a good person, son, but sometimes two people aren’t meant to be a forever sorta thing. How about you look for your good boy? Your forever boy.”
I drew my lips together in contemplation. “Ya think?” I asked. “Christmas miracle, you say?”
Bertie leaned closer just as Buster Simmons strode in the front door. “Just remember this, though,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling like I’d never witnessed. “With Christmas miracles, you have to believe, and you have to have an open heart that’s ready to be filled again.”
I grinned at her. “You’re a wise old broad.”
“Careful calling me old, punk. I’m all you got right this moment.”
“Love you, Bert.”
“I know you do, son,” she replied. “I’m rooting for you. Now get your ass out in the garage. Mrs. Hatfield is coming in for new tires in fifteen minutes. I sold her the expensive ones, so you can give me a raise.”
I turned around, shaking my head as I headed toward the service garage. Bertie was otherworldly wise. She knew stuff. So, I figured she could be right. Maybe there was a Christmas miracle out there for me.
CHAPTER FOUR: Van
The last bag tumbled neatly into the only available space in the hatch of my SUV. Of course, I’d overpacked. I’m gay. A road trip to Denver, and who knows where else, could have me encountering all kinds of fashion emergencies. I might need to look like a star if I go to Aspen. Or what if Demi wants to chill by a giant fireplace at a lodge in Vail, drinking nice wine?
The first stop on my journey would be Spokane. I’d heard there were plenty of cowboys there. What if a rodeo broke out in Spokane while I traveled through? I knew it was December, and rodeos don’t happen then in America. But still, I’d packed the recently purchased cowboy boots I’d bought for Beyonce’s latest tour just in case that happened. A pair of super-tight Levi’s finished the look.
I was deep in reliving my plans for a successful trip when I heard a throat clearing behind me in the dim garage. Startled, I jumped and turned around. Evan was standing there with his new man. Not really new after almost a year, but newer than me at any rate.
“Shit!” I huffed. “You scared me.”
Evan’s new man seemed embarrassed that he was standing there. I’d seen them together several times from a distance, and once or twice in the elevator, but now the three of us stood in a cavernous condo garage, feet apart, staring at one another. Myheart felt fresh hurt when I realized the new guy was even better looking up close.
“That’s John,” Evan said, gesturing toward his new man.
John looked sheepish and acknowledged the introduction even though we did not shake hands. Built similarly to Evan, I noted he wore clothing I recognized as Evan’s. The two of them looked like bookends. John tried hard to exude a fashionable Pacific Northwest persona. This was wintertime, and he fit the bill perfectly. Expensive Filson clothing, lace-up leather boots—not a scuff on them—and an ever-present wool stocking cap completed his stylish look. You’d think he was about to sashay up Mt. Rainier at any moment.
“Going somewhere?” Evan inquired, his eyes diverting to my loaded vehicle. All five matching pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage were suddenly making me feel super gay.
“Job interview in Denver. I decided to drive and enjoy a bit of a road trip on the way.”
John had a voice after all. “This time of year? On I-90 heading east?” he asked.
“Uhm… yeah. I think I’m going that way,” I replied. “Idaho, and then Montana. That sorta way,” I added, pointing in the direction I thought was correct. “I think that’s east.”
“Dumb,” Evan stated in his usual condescending manner. “Even I know the Midwest is dangerous in the winter.”
“Idaho and Montana are not technically the Midwest,” John corrected, glancing at Evan. John’s response to Evan’s rudeness was awesome. He obviously had a pair of balls. Maybe Icouldlike this new guy.
Evan shot him a look I was all too familiar with. I’d been on the receiving end of many of thedon’t you ever correct me in front of peopleglares.
He appeared nonplussed by the stare-down. “It’s not,” John persisted, joyfully surprising me by standing up to Evan. Kudosto him. He turned to me, nodding toward my vehicle. “Is the BMW all-wheel drive?” I nodded. “Great! You’ll be fine. Just be careful on the pass out of Coeur d’Alene and down through the Bitterroot Mountains.”
“You sound like you know the area,” I asked, extending my hand to him.
Evan seemed none too pleased that John and I weren’t scratching each other’s eyes out in a jealous rage. I didn’t need to see cartoonish smoke blasting from Evan’s ears to know he was pissed.
“I grew up along I-90 in a small town that you’ll pass by on your way,” he said. “I’d advise stopping for the night before you get to that area, though. No hotels worth a hoot after Coeur d’Alene and until Missoula.”
“I’m stopping in Spokane,” I revealed, lost in his stunning eyes and how approachable he seemed to be. I noticed Evan cross his arms out of the corner of my eye, so I decided to stop talking.
“Great idea, Vance,” John confirmed. “Be sure to wait to fill up on gas until you cross the border into Idaho. Way cheaper gas prices than Washington,” he noted, becoming quite animated as he engaged with me. “You’ll love Montana’s gas prices, too. Oh! And the speed limit of eighty-five in this awesome BMW of yours. You’re gonna shit, man.”
No wonder Evan left me for thisguy. I was in love with him, and we’d barely said ten words to each other. I should’ve hated him, but he was too amazing to look at. Jet-black hair peeked out from the edges of his stocking cap. Matching black facial hair, with a five o’clock shadow, gave him a rugged look on an otherwise beautiful face.
