Everett kept his eyes on the stove. “Apple Gatorade fine?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
“It’s Caleb’s favorite.” Everett flicked off the burner and set the pan of scrambled eggs on the kitchen island. While he did, Jayne helped himself to the fridge. “I always thought electrolytes were just a marketing thing. Is there actually benefit to drinking them?”
“Well, let me break it down for you real quick and dirty.” Jayne closed the fridge with his hip, then started rooting around in the cabinets until he found a glass. He set it on the counter, then wedged the bottle of Gatorade between his hip and the ledge. “Electrolytes can be many things, but it’s easy just to think of them as a fancy way to say salt. Sounds counterintuitive, right? Doesn’t salt make you thirstier? Well, as it turns out, the human body needs marginally salty water in order to stay hydrated. It has to do with—” Jayne waved his hand dismissively, then used it to twist the cap and break the seal on the bottle. Everett had been sure that his body weight would have crushed the plastic inward after the seal was broken and sent Gatorade everywhere, but it looked like this wasn’t the first time Jayne had gone about opening packages while holding his son—the liquid stayed very much in place. “—biology, and electrical currents, and all kinds of other things. So yes, electrolytes are beneficial from a medical point of view, but here’s where it gets tricky… Gatorade was designed as a tool to help athletes rehydrate after prolonged periods of physical activity, but when they decided to market it to the public, they had to bloat it with all kinds of sugars and flavoring to appeal to the population at large who value taste over function. By adding in all that sugar and flavoring, the formula was thrown off, and the electrolyte balance became skewed. So, when you buy it from the store, Gatorade isn’t as effective as it could be.” Jayne took the bottle and poured half of it into his glass. He filled the rest with water. “To truly benefit, you’ve got to dilute it.”
“And that’s your hangover cure?”
Jayne laughed. “God, no. It’s part of it. Most of the heavy lifting is done by NSAIDs. Speaking of, do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Medicine cabinet in the bathroom.” Everett grabbed a pot holder and opened the oven. Not only had he made bacon, he’d made flaky layer biscuits as well. They’d come from a tube, but from the way Jayne’s eyes lit up as Everett took them from the oven, it didn’t seem like it mattered. “Would you like me to go get them for you?”
“No, I’ve got it. You worry about the bacon.” Jayne stuck out his tongue, his eyes bright. It seemed that whatever had gone on last night had been cathartic enough to minimize the pain of his hangover. “Shep said that he fed Parker this morning with the supplies we had rush delivered to the condo after we arrived, but would you mind if we headed out sometime today so I can pick up more? If you’re not available, that’s fine—I can take an Uber to my minivan and get it done myself—but I thought I’d ask, since you were so willing to go out of your way for me before.”
Everett took the baking sheet of bacon out of the oven and set it on top. “I can do that, but I need to ask you a favor in return.”
“Shoot.”
“I’ll ask it after breakfast—for now, don’t worry about it.”
Jayne narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but left the kitchen without comment, his watered-down Gatorade in hand. When he returned, his drink was partially drained and Parker had changed shoulders. Everett, who’d been setting the kitchen island with four plates, forks, and a butter knife in anticipation of their meal, paused to watch Jayne cross the room. The way he moved was confident and fluid—visual poetry—and it drew Everett in like a moth to a flame. Would Jayne burn him if he got too close? It was impossible to tell. Everett hoped that after breakfast, he’d have a better idea.
Jayne settled at the island, Parker on his lap. As Everett served him, Caleb stumbled out of the bedroom, traversed the short hallway leading from the bedroom to the kitchen, and slumped onto the kitchen counter opposite Jayne. The hangover that barely touched Jayne ravaged him. Everett had to hold back a laugh.
“There’s half a Gatorade on the counter,” Jayne told him. “Fill the rest of the bottle with water and take some ibuprofen. It’ll help you feel better.”
“Scooping my brain out with a melon baller would be faster and easier.”
Jayne hitched an eyebrow. “Do you know how hard it is to drill through someone’s skull? I’m not even going to bring up how difficult it is to clean up cerebral fluid. Forget it. Gatorade and pills, doctor’s orders.”
At great pains, Caleb lifted his head from the table and glared at Jayne. “I hate that you can use that legitimately.”
“Hate all you want—you know I’m right.”
A small smile crept onto Caleb’s face. He smirked at Everett as he dropped from the kitchen stool onto his feet, then grabbed the bottle from the counter and headed to the bathroom. When he returned, they ate breakfast in partial silence, interrupted only by Parker who cooed as Jayne fed him small pieces of scrambled egg he’d mashed with his fork.
Shep did not join them.
“So,” Jayne said once his plate was empty. “Now that breakfast is over, what kind of favor are we talking about?”
Caleb frowned. “Favor?”
“Yeah.” Everett set his fork down, no longer interested in the few grains of scrambled eggs left on his plate. “Something happened at work yesterday that I need to talk to you about. It’s not going to be a pleasant conversation, but it’s important that we have it. Is that okay?”
The joy drained from Jayne’s face. He nodded.
“Everett?” Caleb asked. He slipped a hand onto Everett’s thigh. “Fuck, what’s going on? You didn’t call or text to let me know that shit was going down.”
“I know.” Everett slipped his hand over Caleb’s. “I’m sorry. Everything is fine, it’s just that it’s the kind of conversation that needs to be had face to face.”
Both Caleb and Jayne were silent and attentive, so Everett began.
“Last night, Bastian tried to violently force his way into the members-only club I work at. Eventually, he managed to pry the door open and saw me standing on the other side. He didn’t attack, or cuss me out, or raise his hand against me… all he did was stare, and then he walked away.”
A small, worried whimper squeaked in Jayne’s throat. Everett turned his attention to him, knowing the conversation would be difficult, but also aware it was necessary.
“The way he looked at me made me think that, given the chance, he’d kill me. I know we beat the shit out of him in the alley, and he has every right to be angry, but I have no reason to suspect that he targeted The Shepherd because he knew I worked there. I don’t see a way he could have found it out. What I think is more likely is that he’s been circling club to club, hitting up a new place every night in the hopes that he might find you.” Jayne lowered his head, hiding his face in Parker’s hair. Caleb was shockingly silent, his expression as repulsed as it was enraged on Everett’s behalf. “Which means that he’s insane enough to still be actively looking for you even after we chased him off.” Everett crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “To me, a man that obsessed would grasp at any straws he could to get what he wants, so what I need to know from you is this: now that he’s found me, will this be a safety concern for me and my patrons?”
