The Guy With the Suitcase (Once Upon a Guy #1) (11 page)

The years of his
madre
’s abuse. The years of his bullying, home-edition. The years of constant judgment, criticism, inadequacy. The everlasting feelings of uncertainty. The never-ending sense of danger. The indeterminate threat. The strikes. The punches. The kicks. The broken walls. The broken furniture. The broken dreams. The loneliness. The depression. The need.

And it all made sense. Now, it did. Andreas Arena Soto was not his
padre
. He was a stranger. A murderer. A murderer of innocence.

His
madre
gave him his rucksack.
 

“You promised,” he told her.
 

She didn’t dare look him in the eyes. She looked away, drawn back inside by Andreas. And that’s how Rafe came into another realization that night;

For all the years of his bullying, she was there, but not really there. All the judgment, the criticism, the inadequacy, she reinforced. The everlasting feelings of uncertainty? They were there because of her. The never-ending sense of danger? Was due to her inaction. Andreas Arena Soto wasn’t his father; he was a stranger. But Eva Santos Juarez was also not his
madre
. She was a perpetrator. And that realization hurt more than anything else.

He took a good last look at the blue door and waved goodbye to his old family. Now he was on his own and, despite his hurt, now it didn’t look like such a bad option. He climbed down the steps and walked. He felt so much better now. Thankfully. So he walked. He walked all night.

Pierce settled the pint glass on the beer mat and looked the patron in the eyes, his icy, blue eyes, and told him: “That’s five bucks, buddy.”

The guy, a man in his late twenties, in a navy blue suit, with blonde combed hair and a million dollar smile, put another note on the pile next to his beer. For all Pierce knew, he
was
worth a million dollars. That was the kind of clientele his bar attracted. Perhaps not millionaires per se, but people with dough, for sure.

It was a Thursday night. It was quiet, which worried Pierce, as he relied so much on making good tips on his work days, if he was to ever get off the streets. Not that he was unappreciative. He was grateful and thankful to finally have something to hold on to. It’d only been two weeks since he started working in Les Fourches and he’d already managed to put $300 on the side, in a small pocket in his suitcase, for his future home. Or room, more likely. There were times that he got carried away and thought he could actually make more than enough to rent an apartment to himself, but whenever he’d look at the prices around town, he’d be stomped back to reality.

He only worked weekends. Fridays and Saturdays and sometimes, like today, Thursdays. He’d done six shifts so far, excluding his training day, and Vance was very pleased with him. He’d helped him set up a bank account so that he could get some of his wages paid in there, to build his credit and help in his search for a room, which would start, from the looks of it, in a few weeks’ time. He had also worked a shift with him the past week, which Pierce took worryingly at first, but then realized how much fun Vance actually was to work with, and enjoyed a good and bountiful workday.

He’d also dragged Pierce along with him one afternoon, for shopping. They went to several clothing stores and shopped clothes for work. Pierce didn’t want to spend any money, especially on such expensive places, but seeing the radiant smile on his boss’s face and the pile of money in his pocket, he succumbed to the temptation and decide to try a few shirts. In the end Vance paid for half his things anyway, which made Pierce’s heart warm up.

He still didn’t know how he’d got so lucky to have found not only a job but one working for a great guy who treated his staff with so much respect. Every single one of his colleagues had nothing bad or mean to say about Vance, unless it was to his face, in which case they went all wild with punchlines.
 

He had found out that there weren’t as many people working at the bar as he initially thought. There were three weekday waitresses and a waiter, three extra guys for the busy weekend, two full-time bartenders, Pierce and Vance. He didn’t include the kitchen because he hardly ever interacted with them. It was nothing personal, they just always seemed to leave straight after their shifts. The majority of the staff was indeed men — and handsome ones at that, it being a primarily gay area, frequented by the likes of homos, queens, fag hags, lesbos, and businessmen and women.

Pierce had grown a new habit of having a sneaky beer or two after work. He’d only made the mistake of devouring once, then had to deal with the consequences of a hangover the day after. It had reminded him, however, how much he loved being healthy, which didn’t include the consumption of alcohol, and which was technically illegal for him, but everyone turned a blind eye, as it happens.

With the ability to finally have enough money to afford his daily meals, he had returned to a vegan diet, helped by the fact that his workplace, among all the other awesome things it did for him, had some fantastic food. Even being back on his beloved diet for little under a week, he found his energy levels returning to superb and his consciousness clearing up, making up for the time he’d spend not being a strict vegetarian. He also wished he could go back in the gym, but that would remain an unfulfilled one for a lot longer. He did some crunches at work, but other than that he wasn’t really able to do much.

For all the good things in his life, he still didn’t have a warm bed to sleep in every night. He hadn’t told anyone he worked with his status and he had asked Vance to not spill any beans either, even though he thought that someone might have a spare bed or couch to help him out. He liked his colleagues, but he didn’t want to wear his relationship with them before it had even started. So he’d resolved to sleeping in the subway since the streets were getting too cold for roaming in the middle of the night, let alone sleep.

“Can I get the lentil quinoa burger with a portion of fries?” the handsome guy asked Pierce, looking up from the menu and setting it down as Pierce put the order through to the kitchen.

“Done. Can I get ya anything else?” Pierce asked.
 

The guy shook his head. Pierce started to move to the other side of the bar, but the guy interrupted.

“Take a break, man. There’s nothing to do,” he told him.

Pierce looked at him and smiled with a chuckle. He still hadn’t grown used to talking to people at the bar, like a good barman was meant for. He decided to give it a shot. He went back to the guy and his fingers grabbed his end of the bar.

“So, you come here often?” he asked, and he already gritted his teeth as a good equivalent to rolling his eyes, which he didn’t want to do in front of the patron and embarrass himself more.

To his surprise, the guy answered in a genuine and friendly tone.

“Cool,” was all Pierce managed to comment to the guy’s reply. Now what did he say? “You like it here?”

The guy nodded. “It’s got the best food in town. And good eye candy too.” The guy didn’t even blush for saying that. Pierce on the other hand did. “I’m just messing with you. I’m Damian.” He stretched his hand out over the bar and Pierce had no other choice but to shake it. He let the shake linger for a lot longer than usual before he let go.

The food was ready and Pierce checked the lift on the back bar where the man’s food was waiting. Pierce served it to Damian and let him eat in quiet, reaching the other end of the bar as another patron graced him with his presence. He was thankful for that. He didn’t know how to respond to advances. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, but it just felt wrong, being touched by Damian. He had no clue why, however.

“A Coors Light, please,” said the new customer, a much older guy, and straight from the looks of it. They didn’t have those very often in here.

Pierce popped a bottle open for him and took the guy’s money as he noticed a kid walking down the street outside. His hair was shaved short and raven black, he was short and skinny, with a tank top on that fell well over his knees. He froze for a moment. He looked so much like Rafe he felt the need to run outside and catch up with him. But it wasn’t him. A simple turn of the head had proved as much.

Rafe. Pierce still couldn’t shake the guilt off him for how he’d treated Rafe. He hadn’t even let him explain himself. Not that he needed to explain anything to anyone. Pierce had acted like a dick. Like a judge, jury, and executioner of all things that didn’t agree with his morals or beliefs. He was constantly slapping himself for how out of line he had gone. Even going as far as to take Rafe’s money from his bag and leaving him there, on the ground, helpless.

“Argh!” he growled as he opened the register to get change and his two bar friends jerked their attention on him. “Sorry, guys. Just—not enough change in the register.” He excused himself and gave the older guy his money back.

For the rest of the evening, Pierce’s eye would train outside, looking for the boy he had wronged. But he wasn’t anywhere around. He knew that. He knew Rafe didn’t venture as far down as The Village, although he had no idea why. If there was anywhere for a gay boy like him to be, that was The Village. He might even be able to find a job just like Pierce had.

The clock struck eight and the bar filled with patrons ready to grab their dinner or evening drink with friends. Another guy was supposed to be working with him tonight, but had called in sick, so Piece was willing to see how he would handle a busy night on his own. What drove him were the amount of tips at the end of the night, which he wouldn’t have to share with anyone else, but the waiters.

So he worked. And the more he worked the more Rafe traveled out of his mind and to the back of it. Every once in between orders, his eyes would look at the door, as if he was waiting for Rafe, but they hadn’t arranged to meet. They probably wouldn’t see each other again.

At the end of the night, there were only four people in Les Fourches; Pierce, Vance, Katie — a waitress — and Damian, the white collar gay that hadn’t stopped ordering and flirting with Pierce. The guy had probably consumed more than 10 glasses of beer in between his snacks and food orders. He was still fine. Pierce had never seen anyone handle his drink so masterfully.
 

“Hey, Damian, I’m afraid we’ll have to close your tab now,” Pierce told him, distracting him from browsing his smartphone.

He looked up at Pierce and smiled. “Of course. Yes. How much do I owe ya?”

Pierce set down a check, quoting it. “It’s eighty-seven ninenty nine,” he said. He couldn’t understand how people spent so much on drinks when he barely had a dime in his pocket on most days. He couldn’t understand how much they had to make to be able to spend almost a hundred bucks every day.

Damian counted the bills next to his beer mat and although it was the right amount, he sent his hand digging on the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out another $30, then gave everything to Pierce. Adding his tip to the pile he had made a little over $200 on one night.
 

In the end, on nights like these, he didn’t care how people made money and how they spent it, if they were being generous enough to share some of that in gratitude of his service.
 

He folded it and put it in his front pocket, reminding himself to add it to his savings in his suitcase.

“So, Pierce, what are you doing later?” Damian asked from his position, and Vance and Katie, who were both counting money at the other end, looked up with a naughty smile on their face.

What was he doing later? He was going back to his hostel and crashing hard on his mattress before tomorrow’s long shift, trying not to think how much he’d wronged Rafe. But he couldn’t say that, could he?

“I don’t know. Not much,” he replied, leaving it ambiguous. He wasn’t stupid. He had been flirted with before and he had flirted before. He wasn’t as cruelly clueless as his colleagues thought he was. He just didn’t feel like doing these things at work.

“Did you wanna watch a movie on Netflix at my place?” Pierce gave the finger to the sniggers that arrived almost on cue from the other side of the bar and smiled at Damian. A night in a proper house with a beautiful man like him didn’t sound so bad. And they all knew what “Netflix at my place” meant, which again didn’t sound as terrible to Pierce as another night in the hostel.

“Sure,” he said, and Damian got up and exited the building, telling him he’d wait outside.

Pierce looked over to his boss. “Can I go now?”

Vance chuckled, but struggled to contain himself. So what came out of his mouth was a fine marriage between cackle and shriek. “Yes. Go. Watch ‘Netflix’ with your ‘friend’. Keep it family-friendly.” Pierce shot a menacing glance at him. “The list, I mean. Don’t go for anything too saucy,” he finished with a far more composed voice, which broke into loud laughter in the end.

Pierce shrugged him off and went to the staff room, put his money in the suitcase, and carried it outside to meet Damian.

They took a cab to Brooklyn, and as they crossed the Williamsburg Bridge, Pierce left his stress and worries in Manhattan, until he returned later tonight. He’d never ventured out of the island since he got to the City and he wasn’t familiar with the transportation system. But he brushed everything off. If it came to it, he’d take another cab. He’d find a solution. At the moment, he needed Damian’s company and he would take all he could from it.