Page 29 of Icy Pour

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “A few times actually.”

I squeeze his fingers, the lifeline I need right now. “Somewhere deep down, I thought I’d always have to live in this miserable state. I thought I was destined to be unhappy. The only one that ever seemed to understand me was my granddad; then he was taken away from me by a dad with impossible standards neither of us could live up to. It was only when that lawyer contacted me about the money that I started to feel seen again. Like he was here giving me a little push in the right direction. So I did it. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I figured I could sulk in the back, pay the bills, and not have to deal with customers that much.”

Johnny snorts.

“Damn, was I wrong about that.” I roll my eyes and take a steadying breath. “Then you came along. Seeing how you were with all those customers, making their drinks, treating every person that sat in front of you as if their problems mattered. I’d never seen anyone do that since my grandpa. You made me feel like maybe my problems mattered. Like maybe I mattered.”

“You do matter. To me and to everyone else who steps foot in that bar.”

I nod. “I know, I know. But…years of feeling like I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t normal? All that doesn’t evaporate overnight. As much fun as we were having, all the pressure to fit in came rushing back when Bob showed up. But”—I place my hand on top of where ours are clasped together—“I don’t regret this. I don’t regret you. I…I’m trying, Johnny. Goddammit, I’m trying.”

“Come here,” he says, pulling me in so tight I can barely breathe.

My fingers dig into his back. I don’t need air, I need him.

“You don’t have to be anything other than who you are. You don’t have to march with a sign or scream for equality or wear a t-shirt that says anything on it other than Walt’s on Water. We’re going at your pace, remember? Even if you move slower than a snail moving backward on a turtle, I’ll slow down. Hell, I’ll find a way to stop time if that means we can be together.”

My vision blurs. “You would?”

“Yeah, boss, I would.”

I bury my head into his chest. “But what if…what if I keep taking one step forward and two back? Are you going to resent me? What if I disappoint you? What if one day you want to go out and I want to stay home? What if⁠—”

“Walt,” Johnny says, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Take a deep breath. If you take two steps back, I’ll walk back and join ya.”

“It’s as simple as that? You’ll just sit here and wait for me?”

He pulls back from our embrace, those piercing eyes fixed on mine. “You know why I used to go out? Why I went to gay clubs?” I hesitantly shake my head, my heart racing. “I was trying to find a man. If I’m with you, guess what I don’t need to do anymore?”

“You…what? You mean…you’d want to just be with me?”

His laughter echoes around us. “What the hell do you think we’ve been doing here? Fucking around? In case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, I jump into everything like I did this bar, including you, hard and fast. I’m one of those guys that sits down at the poker table and goes all in on the first good hand. Even if I lose all my chips, I still wouldn’t regret it. I would never regret you. You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I was worth something. Worth risking it all for. Even if that comes with your personality that changes like a damn mood ring, I’m not going anywhere.”

I snort. “I can’t even get mad at you because that’s pretty damn accurate.”

“I didn’t think a broody, flannel-wearing, bar owner would be my type, but”—he grips my chin—“you are. As long as you don’t give up on me, I won’t give up on you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I would suggest we shake on it, but…how about we kiss on it instead? I think I’d like that a lot more.”

Me too.

CHAPTER 18

JOHNNY

“Hey, boss,” I yell toward the backroom. “Grab a couple vodkas after you finish opening the till. My hands are full so don’t throw ’em at me.”

Walt peeks his head around the door. “I found a better way to release my anger now.” He winks, then sulks back into the office.

My laughter echoes around the empty bar. This man may look like a lumberjack, but he’s more fragile than a baby bird learning how to fly. The way I want to be here to hold his hand until he can figure it out should feel like a burden, especially for someone like me who had to do it all alone. But watching this man find his wings feels like I’ve been handed something sacred. I don’t want him to go through what I did alone. No one should have to. The pounding behind my ribs every time I see him is enough to tell me he’s the best gift I’ve ever been given. Vodka, keys, and hockey tickets be damned.

It’s been a few weeks since the game and things have been amazing. I made one trip back to my place to grab some clothes and essentials, but outside of that, every moment has been spent here. Working at the bar or working my dick inside the sexy man that lives above it.

I have to admit—working together during the day can be difficult. When we brush shoulders behind the bar once we’re slammed with guests, all we can think about is servicing one another instead of the customers. Then there are the moments when we’re slow, and the boss needs me to ‘help him in the back’ for a minute, both of us smoothing our hair and shirts as we head back out. And Mondays when the bar is closed? We barely come up for air. Those days are difficult to tell where my body ends, and his begins. It’s like that saying work hard and play hard—if this relationship doesn’t define that, I don’t know what does.

We’ve been so busy Walt is thinking about hiring a second bartender to help out. I can’t help but be glad to have more hands during the evening rushes, but I can’t fully smother the tinge of sadness that it won’t just be the two of us.