First Chapter Friday: Heartscape by Garrett Leigh
Tanner
“Special of the week is a red from Sparrow Farm.” I zoom the bottle along the bar to the cluster of staff I’ve gathered together. “It’s a Frontenac blend. Full-bodied, cherries and vanilla, and some other fruity stuff I can’t remember. Have a taste if you want and check the board for the notes.”
The spiel is about as good as it gets when it comes to me waxing lyrical about wine. And I’m fooling no one, not even my boss, who rolls his eyes on his way out the door. I don’t give a shit about wine, and he knows it. A few months back, I couldn’t tell one grape from another, or explain how tannin levels affect the palate. I still have trouble with both, but I’m getting better, because I want to be. Somewhere along the line in the last few months I’ve learned that matters—the will to be a better human, not just at wine, but at life.
It’s a work in progress, but I care enough to keep at it.
Most days, at least. And today is one of those days. I slide more bottles on the bar and take my best shot at teaching my crew how to hawk them to the locals and tourists who patronize the inclusive wine bar I’m lucky enough to run. Vino and Veritas. Vino is me—dark leather, rich wood, and rainbows in the window. Veritas is the adjacent bookstore, but I know even less about books than I do about wine.
When the wine briefing is over, I clear away the empty wine boxes, turn the music on, and fetch the cash floats for the registers. The list of jobs in my head gets checked off, task by task, and I settle into the routine I need to keep my brain quiet. I’m good at organizing people. At checking they have everything they need to do the job my boss pays them to do. When I get it right, I can almost avoid the actual bar altogether, but the problem with “right” is that it’s never too far from being catastrophically wrong. Dodging folks isn’t good for me—even strangers who want ten-dollar glasses of Chablis to go with their hipster spiced nuts. They’re nice people, and they want to talk to me, so I do my best to show up.
Smoky jazz music fills the bar, blending perfectly with the wood and leather interior. The space is the living room I’d have if I ever find the inclination to decorate my apartment. It’s cozy, warm, and welcoming to anyone who ducks inside to seek shelter from the chilly fall days.
The rhythm of the night takes hold. Feeling weak, I keep my distance from the bar for the first hour of my shift, collecting glasses instead, and taking out the trash, all the shitty jobs no one else wants to do, but eventually it’s time to rotate staff breaks, and I take my place with a suppressed sigh.
Regulars call my name. Lucky for me, one of them is my brother, checking in on his way out of town.
I bring him a soda. He doesn’t drink wine either. “Heading out?”
Gabriel ignores the glass in front of him, letting me know his appearance has nothing to do with refreshment. “I’ll be back before Christmas. Just wanted to let you know you could, you know, like, call me if you need anything. On the phone, Skype, whatever.”
I snort out a laugh that feels hollow in my chest. My brother is a horrible communicator. He’s saying this shit because I am too, but I never used to be, and he still doesn’t know what to do with that. “I won’t need anything. I’ve got six-day work weeks through the next month, and I sleep all day on Sundays.”
His frown deepens. “You live a blessed life, bro, but do you have to be a dick when I’m trying to be nice? It’s not easy to walk out on you for months at a time.”
Guilt rattles me, a beast that can’t be tamed. Nothing about being my brother should be this hard. My kid brother. Gabi is younger than me. It’s eighteen months, but still. It burns that he feels so responsible for me. That I’ve given him every reason to worry, and it’s not over. “All right, all right.” I step away to pour fruity red wine for another customer and make change, hoping Gabi’s expression will lighten by the time I get back.
It doesn’t, and the sigh I swallowed when I shuffled behind the bar escapes. “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m fine, honest. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy around here, and I promised Eve I’d help her move into that girl-tastic yoga commune next week. She mentioned plumbing issues. I don’t think she was kidding.”
A bare hint of a smile warms Gabi’s earnest features. Eve is his nearlygirlfriend and one true love, and I’m well known for avoiding her as much as I do him. I adore her, but…she’s a lot. For me, at least. Typically, Gabriel has the decency to sigh and leave me alone. Eve stands her ground. She leaves me nowhere to hide, and I’m not always in the mood.
Scratch that, I’m never in the mood. It’s only her kick-ass mac and cheese that pulls me in. That, and the house full of chicks she’s about to move in with. I have zero interest in romance right now, but despite my best efforts to live a quiet life, I’m still a red-blooded bisexual.
I’m also weak enough to crave my brother’s embrace, even if I’m not man enough to tell him I don’t want him to go. That I’ll miss him, like I always do.
I lean over the bar and hug him. He hugs me back and presses his forehead to mine like he did when we were kids and I was the one taking care of him. “Call me,” he says. “Doesn’t matter why, when, whatever. Just do it, okay? I need you as much as you need me.”
He makes it sound like we’re star-crossed lovers, but he’s depressingly right. Our parents have been gone a long time. There’s no one else, and the guilt in my gut kicks up a notch as I recall, unbidden, how close I’ve come to leaving him on his own.
Gabi leaves. I wish he hadn’t, and I wish he hadn’t stopped by at all. I keep moving, fighting shadows. The low lighting of the bar cloaks me, and I remember why I like working here. My team keeps me company even when I forget to speak, and it’s past nine o’clock before I give in and take a minute upstairs in my office.
Silence envelops me, but it’s not literal. As the night draws in, I can still hear the buzz of drinkers and the music. But up here on my own, the pressure of being “on” fades. I suck in a deep breath and drop into the chair at my desk. Wine notes and delivery schedules litter my workspace. Tidying it up has been on my list of things to do forever, but I like it messy. It reminds me I have something to occupy myself with if I need too many of these precious minutes. That I never need to be truly still, even if I’ve convinced myself I like the quiet.
My phone buzzes, breaking my dirge-like internal monologue.
I rummage around on my desk for it, then wish I hadn’t as Eve fills my screen with her bright eyes and kind smile. I hate ignoring her, but I do it anyway, and that makes me feel like shit.
So call her back.
I don’t. I bury my phone beneath more paperwork and go downstairs.
“Yo, Tanner.” Rainn, my favorite part-time bartender, is looking for me. “There’s a bunch of fire trucks outside. Looks like that hostel went up. You’d better check it out.”
Rainn doesn’t waste words, so I take him seriously, and duck under the bar to make my way to the front door.
Flashing lights greet me, along with the kind of milling crowds you always get around a disaster. Grief vultures. I sniff the air and smell smoke, and sure enough, Rainn was right. The backpacker hostel opposite V and V has gone up in flames.
Firefighters pile out of their trucks, running hoses across the street and dispersing the masses. It’s a thrum of activity I don’t enjoy, but the masochist in me remains on the street, gawking as much as the next dude, eyes peeled for casualties.
After a while, it becomes clear that the hostel had been evacuated before the fire took hold, leaving only fixtures and belongings inside. Relief makes me sag against V and V’s old walls. I don’t know anyone at the hostel, but I’ve learned the hard way you don’t need to know a soul to grieve for them. Or feel responsible for the premature end of their life. I lean hard against the wall, dampening anxiety I haven’t earned tonight. A shiver passes through me, but not from cold, and I let my attention wander, cataloguing my surroundings to anchor myself to the present.
The fire is still burning, but the fire crews have it under control. And the crowds have thinned out too; only a few distraught hostel guests remain at the barrier the first responders set out to keep people back. Some of them are arguing with the firefighters—pleading with men who’ve seen horrors they can’t imagine—to go back into the burning building and rescue their gadgets and snowboarding gear they can’t even use yet. It’s irritating enough for me to look away and swing my gaze carelessly until it lands on a set of slumped shoulders. Broad shoulders, that belong to a lone figure crouched on the ground a few feet back from the rest of the hostel residents. He has his head in his hands, and for a moment appears so lost that an emotion I can’t quite name stirs in me.
I straighten up. The man stands too, and seems to give himself an internal shake. Then he turns his back on the flames, shoulders a bag, and walks away, gifting me a perfect view of his face.
And man, what a face. With his golden hair and high cheekbones, the dude is gorgeous. I’m betting he has blue eyes, and long lashes—I can’t see from here—and I’m digging the scruff on his chiseled jaw. I admire the determined set of his strong shoulders too. It’s clear he’s lost something to that fire, and he’s forcing himself to make peace with it fast.
Making peace is a skill I’ve never had. I fester and brood, until the time for healing has passed, and old wounds become permanent scars that keep me awake. Until they don’t and they haunt my dreams too.
But still. The man is beautiful. Perhaps I’ll dream of him instead tonight, because he sure seems like a face I won’t forget.
* * *
Jax
I walk away from the smoldering hostel, resigned to the fact that unless I want to kick it around Burlington in full hiking gear, the sweatpants and hoodie combo I’m sporting are my only clothes in the world. Fuck it. Maybe I’ll go get drunk. At least my wallet is safe in my pocket, and most of my kit—save what I have in my bag—is stashed at work. If I’d lost that too…damn. I can’t contemplate it without my eyes getting hot and my chest too tight.
The urge to head back to HQ and check on my collection of secondhand cameras, lenses, and rigs is strong. Only the reality that I need to find a bed for the night stops me. I don’t fancy sleeping in the currently unheated offices of Wildfoot Adventure. I’m a summer child at heart.
Yeah? Shoulda stayed in California then, shouldn’t you?
Scratch that. Maybe I should’ve stayed on my own side of the Atlantic. Maybe then I’d have more to my name than a couple of cameras and some kick-ass snow boots.
I keep walking with no clear idea of where I’m going. Aside from my boss, I have exactly one friend in Burlington, and she lives in a tiny studio apartment she’s about to vacate. No couch. And a moody boyfriend-not boyfriend who won’t take kindly to me snuggling up to his girl, even if he is rarely in town.
Besides, I’m not the kind of dude who rocks up on his BFF’s doorstep asking for help. I deal with my own shit. It’s easier that way. And it’s not that cold yet. Maybe I’ll head up to HQ after all. My legs are already beat, but I can handle the walk.
As the thought processes, my phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and answer with a sigh I can’t quite help. “Let me guess. You saw the smoke from your window and you’re checking I’m not bacon right now?”
Eve laughs a little. “I know you’re not bacon because I can also see you from my window. Are you okay?”
“Course I am. Not bacon, remember?”
“What about your stuff? Your cameras weren’t in there, were they?”
“No, I left them locked up at the office. They’re safer there even without catastrophic fires. Pretty sure my iPad is dust, though. And I now have even less clothes for you to bag on.”
“I don’t bag on your clothes.”
“Stop trying to get me to wear flannel shirts, then.”
Eve laughs again, and despite the gloom settling over me, I chuckle too. But I must do it real badly, because Eve’s laughter fades fast. “Right,” she says. “Come over to my place. I’ll fix you some dinner and you can have my bed for the night.”
I snort. “As if I’m taking your bed. Where will you sleep?”
“I have a zillion girlfriends.”
“Lucky you.”
“Am I? Thought you’d sworn off the fairer sex for good?”
“I’ve sworn off all the sexes for good, but that’s not really the point. I’m not taking your bed.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to. I’m not your problem. We went to the same uni for six months about a million years ago. We’re not siblings.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I know she won’t flinch. Despite every word that’s just left my mouth, we were close enough once that I probably could sleep naked with her and not get wood. She’s also the only person I can talk to without measuring my words a thousand times first. It’s a habit I’m trying to break, but life keeps getting in the way. And today my life has literally gone up in flames and I’m taking it out on the person who cared enough to pick up the phone. “Sorry I’m such a dick.”
Eve is silent a moment, then she sighs. “You’re not a dick, but I get why you don’t want my help. Do you think I don’t know you?”
“I don’t know what I think right now. I might have to take you up on that flannel shirt, though.”
“And what about a bed for the night? Jax, you can’t wander around Burlington all night.”
She’s right about that, and if I don’t want to turf her out of her bed, I’ll have to spring for a hotel room. But seriously, fuck that noise. I can barely afford to eat as it is.
“Listen,” she says when I fail to answer. “I know a guy who’s got a couch you can probably surf for a few days. He works in a bar, so he’s never home, and he needs the company as much as you do.”
“How can someone who works in a bar need company?”
It’s Eve’s turn to snort. “Trust me, you’ll see. Of course, that’s if he says yes. He’s a grouchy asshole if you catch him wrong. Good luck with that if you do land on his couch.”
Awesome. If there’s one thing less appealing than drowning in kindness, it’s forced proximity with someone who’d rather you were anywhere else. But I’ve run out of energy to argue with Eve. I’d rather kip on a stranger’s couch than rinse my bank account or put her out of her bed. “Okay. Ask him. But don’t make him feel bad if he’s not up for it. I’m not his problem either.”
“Sunshine, you’re not anyone’s problem.”
She hangs up without waiting for an answer. Mindful of the fact I’m getting closer and closer to her studio apartment, I spin around and head back the way I came. The fire trucks are still in the street and smoke lingers in the air. I find a bench outside the bakery and sit, gaze fixed on the damp remains of the hostel. Truth be told, it wasn’t the nicest place to sleep anyway, and I’ve never been particularly attached to my cracked and ancient iPad. But losing my clothes hurts more than I want it to. Board shorts, and ten-year-old T-shirts that have no place when I’m camping in the Vermont wilderness. The jeans I wore on the flight I took from Heathrow to Cali all those years ago. They were all I had of the naive dude I was back then, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I left enough of myself in California.
It’s a while before Eve calls me back. I wrap my arms around myself and fatigue sets in. Even before the hostel fire it had been a hell of a long day. Tracking through the wilderness from dawn till dusk, then persuading my boss that we’re not on a wild goose chase every time we put boots to dirt. He wants to capture the elusive Canadian lynx on film as badly as I do. But he doesn’t want to waste his hard-earned bucks on footage I might not get before my contract runs out in the spring. And I don’t blame him. Stick to squirrels, man.
I shiver. It really is fucking cold. I lean forward and blow on my hands. I’m still thinking about hoofing it back to the office to get my mountain coat and gloves. Or maybe giving in and sleeping under my boss’s desk. It can’t be colder than this, and at least I’d be out of the wind.
A booted foot nudges my leg. “You Jax?”
I blink and find myself lost in the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re round, gold-flecked and grave, and attached to a handsome face covered by the kind of beard I dream about when I’m not up to my neck in mud and snow. Huh. Maybe I am dreaming. It would make more sense than the inked tower of mountain man leaning over me. Though the irritation in his liquid gaze rings a bell. “He’s a grouchy asshole if you catch him wrong. Okay, well fine. If this is my knight in shining armor, I’ll take the grouchy part.
Too late, it dawns on me that I’ve left the guy hanging too long.
I uncurl my body faster than my cold-stiffened back really wants to and lurch unsteadily to my feet as Eve’s friend starts to turn away. My hand lands on his arm by accident—his bare, inked arm. And just for a moment, there’s nothing in the world but my fingers wrapped around solid flesh. Then I come to my senses and regain my equilibrium. I drop my hand. “Shit. Sorry. Yeah, that’s me.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No. I’m Jax.”
Something flickers in the man’s dark gaze, and it’s not humor. He darts a rapid glance to where my hand had touched his arm as if he expects to find a mark, then he stares at me again and the exasperation in his eyes has gone. “I’m Tanner,” he says. “Eve was worried about you. Said you need a bed for the night.”
“A couch will do if you’ve got it, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Besides, I’m not gonna leave you out here with no fucking coat, am I?”
I don’t see why not, as he doesn’t know me from the next guy, but this dude has an intensity so compelling I can’t look away. I can only stare as he picks up my bag and points across the street.
“My place is just over here.”
I don’t move, though I can’t say why.
The man—Tanner—frowns, and a big hand appears at my back, splaying across the bottom of my spine. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you inside.”
He gives me a gentle push. My legs finally connect with my brain, and lacking any better ideas, I do exactly what he says and let him tow me all the way to his place across the street.