Booking Roy Cesar

ROY

The smell pricked my nose the moment I opened the door to my friend Blake’s bar.

Even though the indoor smoking ban had taken effect a year ago, cigarette smoke had firmly lodged itself into every pore of this once-hip space. The lack of access for purifying UV rays and fresh air had trapped the smoke particles in their homes.

Adding to this was the fresh scent of stale, spilled beer, which caused my sneakers to stick to the floor. Each step emitted a peeling sound as I made my way to where Blake was cleaning bottles behind the bar.

“You should really open some doors, get some clean air and sunlight in here,” I said, sitting on a barstool.

The heavy door rumbled closed and plunged me into temporary darkness before my eyes adjusted.

“Too bright out there,” Blake said, turning to me while wiping down a bottle of whiskey. “And too clean.” His smile suggested a preference for this gloomy and dirty place, but his eyes—and the dark circles under them—told me otherwise.

It could be my vision not having adjusted to the light, but Blake looked rough, older than his twenty-eight years. His jet-black hair no longer carried the luster and fullness it once had; in fact, it was no longer jet black, I realized.

Silver shards flickered like stars as he replaced the bottle behind him, and the balding spot in the middle of his crown caused me to lean back on the stool.

“Is everything all right, man? You look…tired,” I said, concern flooding me for my best friend.

“Oh, you know how it is,” he said, throwing the towel on the bar and walking to the coffee maker beside the till. “People these days. They come, they go. Can’t get any reliable help.” He poured a glass. “Want one?”

“Thank you.” I rested my forearms on the bar as my fingers circled the mug, but I regretted it when my skin stuck to the epoxied wood after I lifted the mug for a drink.

Instead of bringing the cup to my lips, wary of its cleanliness, I held it in my hands in my lap, leaning back again on the stool. Letting my eyes wander while Blake refilled his coffee, I saw his bar in a new light through the dim.

What happened? I asked myself upon noticing the grime, scratches, and small acts of vandalism that covered nearly every surface of this place that used to draw respectable crowds.

As my gaze returned to Blake, his reflection barely visible in the mirrored wall behind the bar, I caught him replacing a bottle. I suspected its contents had added to the kick of his coffee. And what happened to him?

“So, what brings you here so early?” he asked, resting his back on the bottle shelf behind him. “Party prepping doesn’t start until later.”

His party was this Saturday, and I’d had every intention of going, especially because I’d canceled on his last two events. I’d told my assistant, Xelesia, to keep that evening open, but this morning, she’d booked in a client, which meant the client must have been desperate.

And a desperate omega always took precedence, so now I had to break the news to Blake, knowing he was going to be pissed.

While Blake, also an entrepreneur, should understand my need to prioritize my business, his tolerance for my cancelations had grown thin of late. And if he was drunk, I was more unsure how best to phrase it.

Buying myself time, I took a sip of coffee, but Blake’s expression fell along with his shoulders as he correctly read my hesitation.

“You’re bailing on me again, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, but—”

“What the hell, Roy? This is the third time in a row, and on my birthday, no less!” Blake began pacing. “You swore you’d come, so what? What’s the reason now? And you’d better not tell me you’re just going to be doing paperwork in the office again! You’d better have a client.”

Blake’s reaction stunned me. He’d never reacted so strongly before, and I suspected his anger wasn’t 100 percent about me, so I suppressed my instinct to defend myself, took a calming breath, and set my mug on the bar.

“Yes, Blake, a last-minute booking came up, and if Xelesia took it, the client must be desperate. She must really need my help,” I said, keeping a placating tone.

“They all ‘need your help,’ Roy, but who’s gonna help you?” He stopped moving and turned to me. “You haven’t had a real relationship in the entire time I’ve known you. If you spent less time on work and omegas who distract you, you’d find your happiness.”

I’d already found my happiness many years ago, but I’d lost her that same day. Since then, I’d discovered that I received more fulfillment from pursuing my passion to help omegas than pursuing romantic interests.

“Helping them is what I’m meant to do,” I said. “This is my higher purpose. Don’t you get that?”

Scoffing, Blake said, “Higher purpose.” He shook his head. “Don’t act like some saint, Roy. You aren’t performing miracles—you’re giving omegas your dick. Any alpha could do it too—hell, I did do it with you to raise money for this place.”

It took all my strength to swallow my rising resentment enough that I could respond with a cool head.

“So you understand why I have to do this. You had your chance to begin, now let me have mine,” I said. “And it won’t be for much longer. I’m close to my savings goal, and I’ll be able to open my hotel soon. Besides, you know why it means so much to me to help omegas.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning his back to me and refilling his mug, “your sisters, blah blah.” Grabbing the same bottle from the rail, he poured the brown liquid into his coffee. “I’ve heard it all many times. Get a new story.”

That was too far.

Standing from the stool, I gripped the bar, glaring into his eyes in the mirror. “That was not ‘blah blah.’ They were almost killed. By alphas like you!”

Blake spun to face me. “Hey! I never touched your sisters.”

“No, you didn’t. But you almost touched her. How do her screams not still haunt you, huh?” I held eye contact, waiting for his expression to show…something. When it didn’t, I added, “Because they sure as fuck still haunt me.”

The memories of those events revisited me often, and while they no longer plagued my sleeping hours, they still infected my waking ones.

My sisters stumbling home, clothes and bodies in tatters, broken wills along with bones. Then her screams, pleads for help, strawberry-blonde hair, and a flash of striking blue eyes.

Blake approached the bar and set his mug down. Standing across from me, he leaned forward. “Grow. The fuck. Up. Roy. That was years ago, and this is real life. Alphas are alphas, and omegas are omegas. Stop pitying them, choose one, and settle down.”

This man, with his bloodshot eyes, pallid skin, and cruel words, was not the best friend I’d known since I was fourteen. I no longer recognized this man in front of me.

Pushing myself away from the bar and stepping back, I said, “I don’t even know why I’m friends with you, why I was ever friends with you.”

Blake sneered, distorting his face. “Because I was the only one who’d take you in when you came to our school. No one else wanted such a weak and pathetic alpha in their circle. You should be thanking me for making you into the man you’ve become.”

Only the tearing sound of my soles peeling off the floor accompanied me as I strode to the door. Pulling it open, bathed in the fresh air and sunlight of the outside world, I felt lighter somehow. A weight had lifted that I hadn’t known was there.

Turning back, I glanced at the man behind the bar, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the light. “Happy birthday, Blake,” I said. “Have an extra drink tonight for me.” And I left.

The heavy slam of the door felt like the closing of a relationship, but I knew our friendship—or whatever we had now—wouldn’t be over. Tomorrow, when he sobered up, Blake would apologize, and I would accept it because I knew something was deeply wrong.

Something he wasn’t ready to talk about or admit to.

But I was loyal and patient, so I would wait. For a bit longer.

After getting into my car, I pulled up the client file Xelesia emailed me and skimmed it. Krissy Waters, twenty-seven, peak hits Saturday evening. Hers was a typical client file, so I made a mental note to figure out why she needed my services so badly.

Because if I was risking a friendship over this person, I’d damn sure like to know why.