“Flirting with Marines?” Shawn guessed.
“Assuming they know how to read numbers,” he corrected.
They both chuckled, sharing a strong sense of camaraderie that Abe hadn’t felt in a long time.
Shawn cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Darling here with you?”
While Aberlour didn’t think he was all that clever, he knew a test when he heard one.
Aberlour shook his head.
“Married with kids, I think,” he said offhandedly. Playing it off as no big deal was his best defense, as this clearcut reminder was like having an icepick jabbed directly into his heart.
Shawn tilted his head inquiringly, his brows arched in surprise.
“Really? I always figured you two were—” he stopped, waiting for Aberlour to fill in the rest.
He didn’t.
“Do you live around here?” It wasn’t an unusual question to ask since there were several naval installations along South Carolina’s coastline.
Shawn shook his head. “Just visiting with some friends from the service. Helped me set up an LGBT support group a couple of years ago,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing.
“Really?” Abe questioned. He’d never heard of such a thing.
“Sure, don’t ask, don’t tell is over. Why not?”
And those were the echoes of a similar conversation they’d had a long time ago. Aberlour fell silent, unable to come up with a good answer.
“I should probably get back to them—they’re bound to wonder what’s taking me so long.”
“Sure—I can see the headline from here—Navy SEAL Major assaulted by drag queen!”
Shawn snorted and rolled his eyes. Then, he dropped a large hand onto Aberlour’s shoulder and squeezed. His grasp was strong, and it felt—good to have a man’s hand on him again. It calmed and excited him at the same time.
“I’ll see you around, Abe,” he said, shooting him a brilliant smile. “Use the number—I know you know how to read it—and it hasn’t changed,” he promised, as he began walking backwards, his hand releasing Aberlour’s shoulder with obvious reluctance.
Aberlour watched him go, an unfamiliar feeling tightening his gut. Part of him wanted to follow—to put a hand on Shawn’s shoulder in return—to make a quick joke about owing him a beer, but his feet did not listen. They were firmly nailed to the floor, held back bysomething.
The drag queens werefabulousto use Bart’s favorite description. By the time the show was over, and he was headed back to his truck, he was startled to realize that he felt—lighter than he had in months.
These guys really weren’t his people. And it wasn’t like he’d suddenly, irrevocably, fallen in love with them and was now whole again, but the energy shared by everyone there had been hauntingly familiar. It had been a long time since he’d been with people who loved each other quite so genuinely and thoroughly. All of Bart’s friends were so different from the ones Aberlour had loved so dearly, and yet, they were similar. So close, so tightly knit. Their bond was easy and natural. He’d sorely missed that part of his former life. Missed it more than he could possibly describe. But even if he hadn’t been a part of the group’s special bond that day, just being there to witness it had felt as if something inside of him had healed, albeit temporarily.
Driving home, grief still sat in his backseat, but in the sunlight, it held hope’s hand.
Chapter 37
July 2019
On that second Friday in July, the busiest week of the summer season was well underway. The tourists arrived in droves. The fairgrounds were swamped with young couples and children with annoyed parents, and retirees with nothing but time on their hands. The parking lot was full of RVs and travel trailers.
Aberlour had learned long ago that Fridays were survivable only if he choked down lots and lots of painkillers. He’d popped two before his first shift and kept them coming every four hours. It was the only way to keep the heat and the noise from getting to him. As it was, the South Carolina legendary levels of heat and humidity were at an all-time high. He was baking even as he stood in the shade of the booth, further contributing to his increasingly disgusting condition that no amount of antiperspirant could fix. The locals called it “sweating your ass off.”
“Balloon!” a kid nearby shrieked with delight.
Aberlour had zoned out in the intense heat, and he hadn’t noticed the little girl who was now standing next to his booth. He had to lean forward over the counter to see her.
She had a cute little button nose. Her curly blond hair was caught up in pigtails, and her big blue eyes stared up at the balloons of Aberlour’s booth like she’d found a pot of gold. She reached up with her hands, making grabbing motions. Aberlour could tell her fingers were sticky, covered with the residue of what he was sure must be blue cotton candy. Not that it was of particular concern to her, which Aberlour had learned was typical of most kids. There was no way he was going to let her touch the darts or any of the toys.
