Chapter 4: If It Takes a Long, Long Time
I woke up the next morning when Dean slipped out of my arms and got out of bed. I made a sleepy noise of protest and tried to pull him back, but he dodged my grasp and hurriedly got dressed.
"You stay here, man. I'm gonna throw together something for breakfast, and then I'll come get you." He bent down to kiss me and then left the room.
I was too awake at that point to fall asleep again, so instead I laid back and marveled at how quickly everything had changed. When I'd first arrived here, I'd been caught in the depths of despair, feeling like I had nothing left. While the grief and guilt were still there, now I could combat them with the knowledge that my life was truly my own for the first time ever, and I had so much I wanted to do with it. And there was no denying that most of the difference was due to Dean, who was already close to me in a way that no one had been before.
Tantalizing aromas started to waft through the partially open door, so I got up, pulled my t-shirt and sweatpants back on, and headed to the bathroom. After washing up hastily and deciding that showering and changing could wait until after eating, I went to the bar, where all the chairs and stools were turned over on the tables and most of the lights were switched off. I took a couple of the chairs down at a table near the bar just as Dean brought a laden tray out from the kitchen.
"We don't serve breakfast normally, but I was able to make do okay with what's there," he commented as he set out two plates loaded with scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, a basket of biscuits from the previous night, two mugs of coffee, and containers of the appropriate condiments.
"Well, it looks and smells great!" I responded as I spread butter in the middle of a couple biscuits, while he slathered his in honey.
We chatted as we ate, much like we'd talked last night for a couple of hours before falling asleep, asking questions to get to know each other better and find areas of mutual interest. I'd already learned that Dean was an enormous geek—he exhaustively watched all sorts of genres of TV shows and movies, could quote extensive minutiae about favorite classic rock bands like Led Zeppelin and AC/DC, enjoyed a wide range of authors from Kurt Vonnegut to Stephen King to George R.R. Martin, and even participated in LARPing when he could. The more I discovered about him, the more I couldn't believe how lucky I was.
Once breakfast was over, we cleaned the dishes and then took turns in the bathroom taking showers and in my case shaving. Before I changed, he insisted on taking me into the clinic room to check my vitals, examine my injuries, and reapply the antibiotic cream. The wounds looked much better than I expected, with no sign of infection, very little soreness, and already well on their way to closing up.
"It's this stuff—a former regular got the recipe from a coven of white witches he'd helped out, and he passed it onto us since the shit don't keep well on the road," he explained when I made a surprised noise, holding up the jar of cream. "It clears up infection and speeds up healing even better than holy water, which happens to be one of the ingredients. With how good these gashes are looking, we oughta be able to take out the stitches in another day or two."
"That's certainly a relief! Any ideas for what to do, at least until the bar opens?" I asked.
"I was thinking of taking you outside to walk around out back for a while and get some fresh air," he suggested. "After that I got a coupla projects I need to work on and some stuff to prep in the kitchen for tonight. You're welcome to hang out with me if you want, or you can chill in your room or the library or whatever if it gets too noisy. After we close down for the night, I was thinking of taking you back to my place instead of crashing here again, since you're in such better shape."
"Sounds good! Is that your parents' house you're talking about?"
He shook his head. "I got my own apartment a few years ago, after I got fucking tired of bringing dates home when the parental units were around. Mom, Dad, and Jo aren't far though, just on the other side of town—town being Broken Bow, which is 'bout fifteen minutes south of here."
I returned to my room and put on a fresh t-shirt, loose pair of jeans, and fleece hoodie. Dean was also in a different outfit when I emerged—blue and red plaid outer shirt, Serenity t-shirt, and dark-washed jeans—and I remembered him mentioning that he kept a couple changes of clothing here in case of spillage or other accidents.
He eyed me and smirked. "That's certainly an . . . interesting shirt there, Sammy."
I glanced down at my tee, which was dark purple with a grey whippet across the chest. "The selection for someone my size is usually pretty limited at the average thrift store, so I have to make do with what I can find. Is it really so bad?"
"No man, it's kinda cute." He patted my shoulder, then suddenly gave my rear end a slap. "Which is more than what I can say about this! The sweatpants from before were one thing, 'cause no one expects to look good in those. But it's a total crime to hide such a hot ass in this saggy thing!"
"Hey! And again, I was dealing with the limitations of shopping at thrift stores or if I was lucky Walmart, especially considering that Dad prioritized buying ammo or booze over a decent-fitting wardrobe," I groused, rubbing my buttock.
"Aw, don't pout, kiddo! We'll hafta see what we can do to fix this sorry situation. You're too tall to fit into my stuff, so we'll hafta go shopping. There ain't much choice in Broken Bow, but there's a mall and other clothing stores 'bout an hour away in either Kearney or Grand Island," he suggested. "The bar's closed on Sundays, so we'll have plenty of time tomorrow. You can pick up a new phone and anything else you might need too. Just, uh, how are you for funds?"
"I should be okay. Dad had squirreled a bunch of cash away in his bags and truck, which Bobby found when he went through Dad's stuff after the funeral. I also have the credit cards my dad had gotten for both of us, which I wouldn't use near where you live but could draw cash advances from if needed," I replied.
"Alright then. Follow this way!" He beckoned and led me toward the back door of the building.
Immediately outside was a small patio with a cast iron bistro dining set on one side and a couple of wicker chairs and some flower planters on the other, which I guessed was for family use only. My dad's truck was parked nearby, and next to it was a large classic muscle car, all sleek lines, gleaming black panels, and polished chrome fixtures. My gaze lingered on the car as something stirred my memories.
"Huh, I think Dad had a very similar car a long time ago—he had a few photos from before Mom died with a big black car like that. He must've gotten rid of it soon after though, since the first car I remember was a blue '69 Ford Galaxie, which I practically grew up in. He kept that until sometime after I left for college, then he replaced it with this monstrosity." I indicated the truck with my thumb.
"Makes more sense that this was your dad's, since a hopped up pickup doesn't exactly seem your style. Though it sounds like your old man had pretty good taste in cars before that! This here is my Baby, and she's a '67 Chevy Impala," Dean stated proudly. "I've had her since not long after my sixteenth birthday, when someone left her in the parking lot with the keys inside. The owner had to be a hunter since the name on the title and registration was fake and there was a weapon compartment in the trunk. When no one came to claim her after a while, my folks asked around, but none of the hunters who passed through knew who drove a car like this. They eventually declared her abandoned and turned her over to me."
"That seems rather odd—who'd just leave their car like that?" I wondered.
"Our theory was that the guy had met up with someone else here and went with them on a hunt, leaving their own car here 'til they got back," he answered. "It happens from time to time, though usually the owner lets us know so we can move the car back here and keep an eye on it. Anyway, we figured that hunt musta gone bad, so no one was able to come back for her."
"Sucks for that poor bastard, but it worked out well for you!" I said. "I'm not a car buff, but she looks in excellent condition, especially considering she's nearly forty years old."
"Thanks, man! Dad's not a car guy either, but Bobby and a coupla other regulars showed me how to take care of her. I replaced the engine a few years back with a 502 big block, but other than that she's still in almost factory condition." He stroked the car's hood lovingly as he spoke.
"This reminds me that I'll have to figure out what to do with the truck at some point, since it's just too big and inefficient for my needs," I mentioned.
"Your best bet would be to ask around the guys that come here, since selling it to a hunter would easier than trying to explain the arsenal and any other mods to a civilian," Dean pointed out. "You can also unload any of the weapons you don't need, particularly if you're gonna step away from hunting. Whatever money you get can then be put towards getting a ride you like better. There are a coupla dealerships in Broken Bow and more nearby within an hour or so of here."
He petted his car for a bit longer before leading me away. Our next stop was a rather large shed, more like an outbuilding, about fifty yards from the main building and not far from the tree line. It was built from cinder blocks and had a garage door on one side of the front facing and a double door on the other, as well as a few small windows high up on the side walls.
"We built this a few years after the addition on the bar, when the shit I was working on started to get bigger. This side's got a mini auto shop so I can take care of Baby or do repairs on other hunters' cars. The other's where I got the bigger machining equipment, a forge, and some woodworking tools too for making rifle and crossbow stocks and crap like that," he explained. "I can show you around later if you want, but I don't wanna risk tiring you out too quickly right now."
He then took my hand and led me past the row of planted ash and rowan trees into the natural wooded area beyond. We followed a faint path presumably laid by years of the Harvelles following this same route as it meandered through stands of oak and elm trees. We crossed over a small stream via a simple bridge made of three tree trunks lashed together and sanded smooth to reach a sunny little clearing blanketed with lush grass and wildflowers, with a large, flattish rock near the center.
"Mom and Dad used to bring us here for picnics when we were little, and Jo and I kept on playing here for years. Dad even built us a tree fort over there, though who knows how sound it is now." Dean pointed toward a particularly large oak as he sat down on the rock. "I sometimes brought dates here in high school, but I haven't been back regularly for a while—guess I got too busy as an adult."
"This place is lovely, and I'm glad you chose to share it with me, man," I said as I joined him on the rock. "Having a picnic here sounds like a great idea for some time later, don't you think?"
"Yeah, we can do that. But for right now . . ." He drew my head down to kiss me, which I gladly reciprocated.
As we leaned back against the rock and exchanged passionate kisses, I reveled at the feeling of the omega's lips against mine and hoped that it would continue to feel just as enthralling for as long as we were together. No one had ever captured my attention, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well, as swiftly or as thoroughly, and I resolved to do whatever it took to keep this stunning man.
We returned to the Roadhouse not long after that, where Dean went first to the kitchen to prep a couple of large pork shoulders before putting them in the wood smoker attached to the massive charcoal grill just outside the kitchen. He also threw together a hearty tomato vegetable soup to simmer in a giant stock pot on the back of the stove, which I helped with by cutting up some of the ingredients. I then followed him to his workshop but soon had to leave when he began grinding some metal components.
Back at my room, I spent some time responding to the backlog of emails from college friends that had accumulated over the past several months, though of course I had to remain vague on what I'd been doing on my "road trip" with my dad. I then started doing some research into options for the future beyond continuing to hunt. Dean eventually came to get me for lunch, which consisted of the soup, thick, gooey grilled cheese sandwiches, and cans of locally brewed honey wheat ale, and which we ate over reruns of Dr. Sexy, M.D. in his room. What he worked on after lunch was mostly soldering and assembling some electronics, so I hung around and read.
When Bill and Ellen arrived a little before four, I jumped in to help Bill get the bar ready—setting up the tables and chairs, putting out salt and pepper shakers and napkin holders, slicing lemons and limes for the bar, and so on—while Dean and Ellen retired to the kitchen to finish preparing the night's menu offerings. Once customers began to arrive though, the Harvelles put their collective feet down and sat me at the cash register behind the bar so as to not overexert myself. Meanwhile Bill manned the bar, Ellen ran the kitchen, Dean took over serving the tables since Jo had the night off, and Ash was drafted as needed to help bus tables and wash dishes.
Being at the register allowed me to watch the customers and talk to those seated nearby, as well as observe how well Dean and his family ran their business on a busy Saturday night. Some of the hunters who came in kept to themselves, but most interacted with each other and the Harvelles familiarly, exchanging news and gossip, joking around, and occasionally even lending a helping hand. The alcohol of course flowed freely, but very few of the clientele went overboard with it, and the food, including tonight's special of pulled pork sandwiches and sweet potato fries, was just as popular as the drinks.
Ellen came over at a little past midnight. "Why don't you grab Dean and head home, Sam? I've shut down the kitchen for the night, and Bill and I can manage the bar until closing. We don't have to worry 'bout cleaning up either, since we have a crew come every Sunday to scrub, polish, and disinfect everything. We appreciate how much you've helped out tonight, but I'm sure you're pretty tuckered out by now."
"Lending a hand is the least I can do after everything you all have done for me! You're right though that I would appreciate calling it for the night," I responded with a tired smile.
She squeezed my shoulder and shooed me out from behind the bar. I saw Dean heading over with a tray of empty bottles and glasses and waved to catch his attention. He smiled and veered to come closer.
"Your mom said we could go home for the night, that she and your dad can handle the bar now that the kitchen is closed," I told him as he set the tray down on the counter. "Give me a few minutes to grab my shower bag and a change of clothes, and I'll meet you out back."
"You might as well pack up all of your shit, ya know. I mean, unless you wanna come back here tomorrow to spend the night alone, 'cause I ain't sleeping on that sofa bed when I got a perfectly fucking good memory foam mattress at home," he pointed out with a grin.
"Well, I didn't want to assume, since it's only be—"
He shook his head. "I keep telling you, you think too much, Sammy—sometimes you just need to go with it! Grab your stuff, and I'll come out once I clean up here."
I hurried back to my room and gathered my belongings together, once again feeling a bit depressed that my entire life fit into a single duffel bag and backpack. I pulled the sheets from the bed, grabbed the towels I'd used, and tossed the linens into the washing machine in the small laundry room Dean had shown me earlier. I remade the bed with fresh sheets and tidied up the room before picking up my bags and leaving.
Dean was already waiting by the Impala when I came outside. "Directions are pretty easy—it's a coupla turns to get to Airport Road, then follow that to the north end of town, then a handful more turns to my apartment. Just follow behind me, and we'll be home soon."
A little over fifteen minutes of driving through mostly farmland and cattle ranches outside of Broken Bow and then some residential neighborhoods within the town brought us to a cul-de-sac with a small apartment complex of half a dozen duplexes and four single units. The buildings were single story with grey siding, white trim, small porches, and a few shrubs in front and looked fairly new.
We pulled into a row of parking spaces in front of a cluster of three duplexes and walked up the path to the left side of the central unit. Inside the apartment was an open living room and dining area which opened onto a galley kitchen, as well as a short hallway. The living room was furnished with a leather sofa and loveseat, square coffee table and matching end tables, and an entertainment center with an even bigger TV and fancier sound system than at the Dean Cave, along with a couple of gaming consoles and racks of DVDs and games. The dining area held only a table and six chairs, while the kitchen had off-white cabinets, grey quartz counters, stainless steel appliances, white tiled floors, and a cutout over the sink. Movie and music posters hung on the cream-colored walls, movie and TV memorabilia decorated many of the other surfaces, and soft rugs in warm earth tones covered the hardwood floors.
"Welcome to my humble abode!" he announced. "Are you tired enough that you wanna go right to bed, or are you cool with relaxing with a beer first?"
I dropped my bags near the hallway and took a seat on the couch, pushing aside a mound of throw pillows (seriously, what was with omegas and those things?). "A beer sounds good, man."
He ducked into the kitchen, came out with two open bottles of Margiekugel, and joined me on the sofa. "The place ain't anything super fancy, but it's been mi casa for almost five years now. The complex is less than ten years old and is nicer than the others in town, so I was lucky to find an available unit when I did."
"Your apartment is great, dude! Jess would've loved to have one like this, but as starving college students in Palo Alto, our options were more limited," I commented after taking a deep draught of my beer. I then smiled and nudged his shoulder with mine. "She would've loved you too—I can easily see you guys being besties if you could've met."
"If she got over me poaching her man, 'cause I don't share," he pointed out wryly. "Still, it would've been cool to meet her—from what you've told me, she sounded like a pretty awesome chick."
We finished our drinks and tossed the bottles in the recycling can, and then he led me down the hall, past a few closets, a three-piece bathroom with chrome fixtures and the same tile and counters as the kitchen, and a smaller bedroom that had been converted into a study, judging from the L-shaped computer desk with a fairly nice gaming rig and bookcases lining the other walls. The master bedroom filled the back end of the apartment and held a California king bed, pair of nightstands, dresser, and walk-in closet, as well as more movie posters and memorabilia. Here the décor was in cooler colors, with dark green rugs, pale blue bedding, and leaf-patterned curtains.
"Don't worry 'bout unpacking 'til later," Dean said after I set my bags down by the dresser. "I'll clear out some space in there and in the closet tomorrow."
"Thank you for this and for everything else." I stepped in close and gave him a deep kiss.
He returned the kiss enthusiastically before slipping away and heading into the bathroom. While I waited, I stripped down to my boxers and tossed my clothes into the laundry hamper near the closet, then examined some of the replicas around the room. Once he emerged, I went into the bathroom to wash up myself and to apply more of the antibiotic cream that he'd left on the counter.
When I came out, the lights had been turned off, lit candles were placed on the nightstands, and classic rock ballads were playing on the MP3 player on the dresser. The covers were turned down to the foot of the bed, and Dean lay naked on the far side with one hand tucked under his head and the other idly caressing his chest, the candlelight gilding his fair skin and gleaming off his tawny hair. Seeing this, I hurriedly shucked off my boxers and climbed into bed beside him.
He immediately pushed me onto my back and leaned over me. "You just lie back and let me drive again, since we don't wanna risk tearing any stitches."
He bent down until his mouth met mine, and we kissed eagerly until my lips started to feel swollen. His then migrated along my jaw to my ear, where he nibbled briefly at the lobe. The kisses traveled down my neck, pausing at the base to suck a mark there, before continuing down my chest. I gasped and clutched at his shoulders as he toyed with my nipples for a while, flicking at them with his tongue and nipping at them with his teeth. He soon resumed kissing his way down my torso until he reached my groin, where he proceeded to lick up my shaft to the head and then suckled on my glans with messy abandon. Once my cock was thoroughly slick with spit, he sat up and shifted until he was straddling my hips before slowly sinking down, and we both groaned as my member was enveloped in his taut channel.
"Goddamn Sammy, you're fucking huge! I don't think I've ever been stretched this far or this deep," he panted once he was fully seated, his inner walls flexing around my length. "You feel awesome!"
Even if I was capable of a response, he didn't wait for one and instead began to raise himself up and slam himself down on my cock, his strong thighs flexing with the effort. I grasped his hips to help guide him and thrust up as much as I could without pulling on my wounds. As when we first kissed, we swiftly found each other's rhythm and moved in sync to best arouse the other. Cries of pleasure resonated through the room, and it wasn't long before I had to make a desperate effort to hold back, waiting until the omega keened and arched his back as his passage clenched forcefully around me and his cum shot across my belly. Only then did I let go, ejaculating into his warm depths with a shout.
Dean collapsed on top of me with a satiated moan and smiled up at me languidly. "Dude, that was well worth the price of admission!"
I stroked his back gently, enjoying the feel of him purring against me. "Everything about this, about you, has been amazing. I love you, Dean Harvelle."
His smile widened, and his scent turned tender. "I know."