Summary:
Christmas Fixes Everything #1
They say you never get over your first love.
After a meteoric rise to baseball stardom, Chase Meadows’ dream is cut short and he’s back home for good, helping his brothers run the family bar while he finds his feet. Plenty of things have changed since he left for college. Although one thing he recognizes right away is Joel Levine.
From setting eyes on the skinny, stammering teen their first day of high school, until reluctantly parting five years later, the two of them had been inseparable. And now, Joel is definitely someone not easily forgotten.
But as Chase settles back into home town life, he finds that under the superficial differences—the leather jacket and tattoos—Joel is still the same person he fell for when they were fifteen. While they’re both older and wiser, Chase never stopped loving Joel. And as Christmas rolls closer, Chase starts to think that maybe Joel never stopped loving him either.
They say you never get over your first love.
Some people don’t have to.
"Don't forget to tilt the glass—"
Flipping the tap handle away from him, Chase cut off the flow of beer and his brother at the same time. "Believe it or not, I still remember how to pour a beer."
Tyler shrugged in that way he had that said he was older and therefore didn't give a shit what Chase thought as he pulled another couple of glasses from the rack. Turning to place them on the shelf, he said, "I don't know. I saw Collins get you in the head with that fastball last summer. Figured it must have knocked something out."
Chase huffed out a laugh. It stung a little to be reminded of what he'd lost, not that it was a particularly good memory but it hurt that he wouldn't get the chance to make any more to replace it. "Just my tolerance for your bullshit," he snarked, flipping the tap back on and making a point to angle the glass dramatically to appease his brother.
He hadn't forgotten how to pour a beer—hell, he'd been doing that since he was fifteen years old and Kyle would sneak him and Tyler behind the bar to show them the ropes—but it was true there was plenty for him to relearn.
Chase had barely been home since the bar he owned with his brothers had been remodeled so everything was in the wrong place as far as he was concerned. Plus, of course, all the prices were different. It hadn't mattered so much when he was a customer and earning good money—all he'd had to do was hand over his American Express—but as a bar owner, he needed to know how much things cost so he didn't undercharge people.
The only thing that hadn't changed was the customers. He'd spotted a few new faces he didn't recognize—some he suspected had only shown up to watch him from the dark corners behind the pool table as if he was a zoo animal on display. They seemed friendly enough, but most were regulars and friends he remembered from before he'd left town.
It was strange to be back home after almost eight years. There had been fleeting visits, of course—his brothers would have never let him get away with disappearing altogether—but he'd never really taken in how much the town had changed. Some things were as they'd always been. The garbage truck still woke him at five thirty every Tuesday morning. Mr. Garrison still ran the Gas 'n' Sip as if he resented every single customer. Teenagers still got drunk and swam in the fountain in Fairmont Park, even when it was the dead of winter.
But the arcade was gone, replaced with a wholefood store. And the two-screen movie theater had died thanks to the Cineplex opening up one town over. Chase thought maybe that if he hadn't had the money to buy the business out from the bank, the bar might have gone under too. But he had, so it wasn't really worth dwelling on. It meant that he had somewhere to come home to when the inevitable happened, at least.
Tyler glanced over. "It's not bullshit. It's brotherly advice that you will take and like it too."
Chase rolled his eyes and waited for the foam to hit the rim before flicking off the tap. Sliding a paper coaster underneath it, he placed the glass on the bar top. "What do you think, Earl? Am I out of practice?"
The barfly sat across from him considered the glass carefully, taking in the color and frothy head, before lifting it to his lips, and taking a long draft. He swilled the drink around his mouth like it was fine wine, not a mid-range lager, and then swallowed, and smacked his lips. "I don't know." Earl grimaced a little, though it was clearly for show. "Maybe you should top it up, son, so I can double check."
Tyler laughed and said, "Nice try, old man. Just give the boy his five-fifty," but shot Chase a look that clearly said, watch this one.
Earl grumbled and dug in his pocket, coming up with a handful of change. "You'd think with all that sponsorship money, you'd be able to give away the beer for free."
Swiping the money Earl had dropped on the bar top into his palm, Chase bristled. "Yeah, well," he muttered as he turned away, "I'm not a ballplayer anymore, am I?"
Earl at least had the good grace to look shamefaced, but mumbled, "Damn shame, boy. Damn shame."
Chase couldn't have agreed more. Thankfully, his brother slapped a conciliatory hand onto his shoulder. "Why don't you load up the jukebox before Hank makes us listen to 'Free Bird' on repeat for two hours again."
Chase nodded his gratitude for the reprieve and scooped some quarters from the till before escaping.
Being it was a Wednesday afternoon, he didn't have to fight his way across the floor like he would have had to on a Saturday night, though the place would get busier later once the after-dinner crowd came in. He had a clear run to the old jukebox, which had stood in the corner of the bar opposite the pool table for as long as he could remember. A guy would come by every now and again to put some new music in but they kept a lot of the old songs, the ones his parents had loved or that were sentimental for other reasons.
Chase stood in front of the machine, scanning his eyes down the list, opening his legs slightly to ground himself as he settled into the task while jiggling the coins in his hand. It felt a little stupid to be taking it so seriously but it felt important.
When he was a kid, this was his job, picking the music that would keep people drinking rather than drive them out the doors. That and helping in the kitchen. The bar had always been a family affair—his mom and dad pouring drinks, along with Kyle when he had turned twenty-one, Chase and Tyler happy to clear glasses or work the microwave in the kitchen. That changed after his little league coach had sat his parents down and talked seriously about natural aptitude and scholarships. Afterward, he spent less time wiping tables and more time at the batting cages. He'd thought he was letting them down by not being able to contribute to the family business but even after the car crash that had killed his father and the cancer that had taken his mother within the year, it was made clear he was doing what was needed for the family in his own way.
It seemed like yesterday, the three brothers sat around the bare kitchen table, listening to the ticking of the clock. Kyle—his face ashen, eyes still red from the funeral home, the weight of suddenly becoming responsible for two teenagers and his parents' business at twenty-three—shaking his head when Chase said he would be around more to help out. "No. It's your dream and it was theirs. Don't let them down, kiddo. Even if you don't make it, you have to try. They wanted you to try. We'll manage. I don't know how but we'll manage."
"How long you going to stare at that thing?" Justin, Kyle's kid or rather his stepkid, slumped against the side of the jukebox, chewing gum, and looking bored to death.
"I'm not putting Britney Spears on if that's what you're angling for."
Justin snorted. "No, thanks. I'm not into that vintage stuff. I'm trying to persuade Dad to put some Gaga on there. That might liven the place up."
Chase shook his head, partly as he knew that was never going to happen but also out of the swell of bemused pride he felt around the kid.
Kyle had met his wife, Kirsten, right before he became a cop and left the running of the bar to Tyler. Justin was eight at the time and, with no father in the picture, he took to Kyle like a baby duckling. They all loved him; it was like having another brother around.
When puberty hit and Justin sat them all down in a formal meeting to announce that he was gay with a look of terrified defiance in his eyes, none of them had batted an eyelid. In fact, he'd been more shocked to find out that Chase was gay than anything.
Now, Justin was confident and flamboyant in a way Chase had never been, maybe because baseball had been his life at fifteen and that kind of thing simply wasn't talked about. He'd never hidden his sexuality, never even had to announce his preferences—everyone had simply assumed and it was never a big deal. Of course, once Justin came out, Chase's insecurities followed. He felt stupid, pulling Kyle to one side to share a beer and gauge whether his brother blamed him for influencing Justin somehow. But Kyle was his usual laid-back self, hugging Chase tight, and telling him he was an idiot. "I need you more than ever now, kiddo," he had said, looking serious, to which Chase could only shrug and reply, "You've raised one gay teenager. I turned out okay. This should be no different." The revelation hadn't exactly brought Chase and Justin closer together, but a year later, the teen was pretty comfortable saying things to Chase he might not around his stepdad.
As Chase dropped a handful of coins into the slot and punched a couple of numbers, he heard the doors open behind him and felt a blast of cold air on his neck. He was too busy choosing the next track—listening to the forty-five slot into place and start playing—to pay any attention to the newcomers settling in. That was until Justin moaned next to him.
"Jesus. You think I could pass for eighteen yet? 'Cause I'm dying to find out if that's false advertising or not."
Chase scowled at Justin and muttered, "Don't let your mother hear you say that or she'll have you under house arrest until you're legal." Except when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw right away what all the fuss was about. The guy was sex on legs and even after all this time, he'd know Joel Levine anywhere.
Joel was already walking away, heading for the door with his leather jacket clutched in one fist. The tight jeans hugging his thighs were worn in places, and the chain that hung from his waist to his back pocket swung against his leg as he moved. The tight black tee shirt stretched over his shoulders—that showed off the tattoos covering his arms all the way to his knuckles—had something crude written on the back that Chase knew for a fact to be true. At least, it was the last time he'd seen the guy—five years and a broken heart ago.
For a second, Chase thought, hoped, that Joel was leaving, but an older guy he'd come in with—Eric, if he wasn't mistaken—grabbed him roughly by the neck and pulled him back about the same time Tyler's voice came from behind the bar.
"Justin, kitchen," adding, when the boy opened his mouth to protest, "Don't test me today. Kitchen." It was the no-nonsense voice that got his nephew moving although Justin did roll his eyes at Chase before he went. Chase didn't get yelled at but he headed for the bar obediently when Tyler crooked his finger at him.
"I need to get a crate from the cellar. You okay to serve?"
Chase clenched his jaw and glared at his brother. "You're shitting me?" he hissed out in a harsh whisper. "Don't do this. Please." He glanced over to the table full of bikers who were making themselves comfortable. Joel stood with his head down, nodding slightly while he listened to whatever Eric was saying. It looked a little like a dressing down but he couldn't make out the conversation over the music.
"All I'm asking you to do is serve some beer. You can do that, right?" Tyler's voice was steady and somewhat amused. Chase almost didn't catch the teasing tone in his panic.
"You bastard. You planned this. I don't believe you. You—"
Tyler smirked and cuffed him on the arm. "Gonna have to face him sometime. Just think of it as ripping off the Band-Aid."
Chase would have cussed him again but he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and knew exactly who he was going to see when he turned around.
Joel couldn't have looked more uncomfortable leaning on the bar if he'd tried. At least, he appeared that way to Chase but then Chase had always been able to see beyond the dour expression, intimidating body language, and the silence.
Clearing his throat, Chase forced himself to relax. "What can I get you?"
Joel appeared to twitch at the sound of Chase's voice and didn't look Chase in the eye when he mumbled, "Two p-pitchers. Six wh-whiskeys."
Chase nodded and was glad of the excuse to move away from him and find something to do. It felt as if the only way to get through this was to keep his eyes down and get it over with as quickly as possible.
"W-when did you g-get back?"
Joel's voice was stronger with only a hint of the stutter that used to plague him. Hearing the gravelly tone again did something to Chase's insides.
"A couple of days ago." He could have offered more but didn't want to draw this out. Joel clearly didn't have such reservations.
"You back for good?"
Chase closed his eyes for a second and had to catch his breath. "Yeah. Looks like."
He saw Joel nod and then look over his shoulder. Chase followed his eye line to where Tyler sat next to Eric, chatting and smiling, and watching the two of them at the bar.
Joel hunched back over and swore under his breath. It somehow made Chase feel a little better as he placed one of the pitchers on a tray and began filling the next. "Guessing this wasn't your idea either?"
Joel shook his head slightly and smiled, that small secret curve of his lips Chase used to see when they were curled up together half-naked in the back of his car, or sitting on the bleachers, close—but not too close—after school before practice started. Something between just the two of them. It hurt Chase's heart to see that private expression again.
"I'm sorry about your eye. It was b-bad luck. You didn't deserve that."
Chase could only shrug, as he had done for the last six months and more. There wasn't much else to say, other than, "Had to stop playing sometime."
Placing the other pitcher on the tray, he looked over to find Joel watching him, his startling gray eyes making the breath catch in Chase's chest. Turning away too fast, Chase reached for the shot glasses a little too quickly. He managed to fill them without comment; although the hairs on the back of his neck prickled knowing Joel was only a few feet away. It had been the same between them since the first day they had met in high school. After all this time apart, Chase thought he would have grown out of his crush but clearly nothing much had changed.
When he turned back, Joel was making his way over from delivering the beer to the table and was pulling a bunch of bills from his wallet. Chase frowned and crowded the shot glasses onto a tray. "I would have helped you with that."
Joel shook his head and pushed the money over the bar at him. "And risk you d-dumping them in Eric's lap? No, th-thank you."
Chase huffed out a laugh. "Fair point." The atmosphere felt easy between them for a second.
Joel sighed and pulled the tray off the bar. "You look good, Chase," he said, and then turned and walked back to his table.
Chase picked the money off the bar, counted it, and rung up the sale in a daze. It wasn't until he turned back to face the room that he saw Earl staring at him, opened mouthed.
"What?"
After spending far too long creating stories in her head, Alex finally plucked up the courage to write them down and realized it was quite fun seeing them on the page after all.
Free from aspirations of literary greatness, Alex simply hopes to entertain by spinning a good yarn of love and life, wrapped up with a happy ending. Although, if her characters have to go through Hell to get there, she’s a-okay with that.
With only a dysfunctional taste in music and a one-eyed dog to otherwise fill her days, Alex writes and walks on the South Coast of England—even when her heart and spellcheck are in New York.
You can now find her dark m/m romance under Alexis Jane, if you like love…but darker.
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE
EMAIL: contact@alexjane.info
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Glitter Fixes Everything #2
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