Stay(74)

“Good for you.”

“I haven’t gone through the chest at the foot of the bed. It was important to her. It doesn’t feel right going through that stuff. She’s had it since she was a kid.”

“It’s a start. You’ll get there.”

“What’s going on, Braden?” Braden wasn’t one to avoid a topic, and the fact that he did stressed Wes out.

“I got asked about a job in New York...trying to decide if I should take it or not.”

No, fought to jump off Wes’s tongue as the same time his whole body went numb. Braden had been saying goodbye. He’d just told Jessie goodbye. “New York?” His tongue felt swollen, like he had cotton mouth, the way he did when he used to get high as a teenager.

“Yep. Do I have a reason not to go, Wes?”

His first thought was, now there’s the Braden I know. He comes right out and says whatever’s on his mind. But he also didn’t say he didn’t want to go. And how could Wes ask him not to? It was just the kind of thing Braden would thrive at. He’d told Wes himself that he wanted to explore, that he never settled down in one place too long.

“It sounds like something you’d like to do,” were the only words Wes could manage to push out. His throat squeezed so tight, he hardly got those out.

Braden watch him a second, and then stood. “I guess I have an answer, then.” He took a step, stopped, then turned around. Reaching out, he cupped Wes’s cheek, his hands rough, and, despite the weather, somehow warm. “You’re too fucking sexy for your own good. You take care of yourself, Wesley. I’ll be back to say goodbye to Jess before I go. Can I keep in touch with her?”

“You know the answer to that, man.”

With that, Braden Roth walked away from him. It made Wes’s chest ache in a way it never had, a million times worse than with Alexander. No matter how much his legs twitched to run and his throat opened up to speak, he just stood where he was. It fucking killed him, but Wes did the...right thing. He gave Braden the freedom he deserved. He let him go.





Chapter Thirty-One


Braden set the shot glass down on the bar with a loud clank. Manson...Mason...whatever his name was looked over at him with raised a brow. He picked up a towel and flung it over his shoulder, with his green eyes still on Braden.

“What?” Braden finally asked.

“Nothin’.” Mason wiped down the counter and handed a beer to another customer. Since it was a weeknight, the band wasn’t in. Music still filled the room, but without the heavy bass as it spilled from speakers hung on the walls.

Eh. Wasn’t like he wanted to talk to the man, anyway.

Braden spun the glass around. Wasn’t like he felt like getting shitfaced drunk, either. That wasn’t really his style. But sitting at home just made him too antsy. It made his mind run on too many things he didn’t want to think about.

“Want anything else?” Mason asked him.

“Coke?”

“Don’t sell drugs here.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

Mason smirked and filled up a glass of soda for him. It took Braden nearly an hour to suck it down. By the time he did, the bar was empty, except for him and Mason.

“Braden, right?” the man asked.

“Yep.”

“Wanna play a game?” He nodded toward the pool table.

Wasn’t like Braden had anything better to do, so he stood, and said, “Sure.”

Mason opened up the table and pulled the balls out.

“Perks of being the owner?” Braden chuckled.

“Yep.” He used the same word Braden had a minute before.

Mason racked the balls and Braden broke. He made stripes. Damn it. He always played better with solids.

“Mopey isn’t a good look on you,” Mason said, mid-game.

“Didn’t ask.” He definitely wasn’t in the mood for this. He didn’t even know this guy. It wasn’t like he wanted to talk to him about shit. “He doesn’t want me to go. I know he doesn’t. He’s freaked out but I don’t get why. I know he has issues, but we were getting past them.” So much for not talking.

“Sexy guy with the sad eyes you were dancing with the other night?” Mason leaned against the table.

“His eyes aren’t sad. Not all the time.”

“Not when he’s dancing with you, they aren’t.”

“Who are you again?” Braden aimed and took a shot.

“I’m the bartender. Everyone talks to the bartender, remember?” He laughed.

Braden couldn’t muster one up. “Not me. Your shot.”

Mason hit two balls in before he missed. “If you don’t want to talk, get laid. That always helps.”