Skookum 1/?
Title: Skookum 1/? Author: rebop13 Rating: NC17 Summary: Alternate universe, Luke is running away from something, Noah finds him. Disclaimer: Don't own, mean no harm. Author's Note: Dedicated to the amazing Moey, who is pretty much responsible for me being here.
He finally made it. He'd gotten as far away from Oakdale as he possibly could, thanks to countless, gut churning cups of bad diner coffee, and Red Bull and cheap candy bought at 711's. It felt like he had been driving forever, all his life, interspersed with short naps at truck stops, and nameless motels that smelled faintly like cigarette smoke.
Problem was, now that he parked on a cliff next to a sign that said 'beach entrance' he couldn't see the damn Pacific ocean. Because it had been fucking raining ever since he'd hit the state of Oregon.
He stepped out of the dirty Lexus and got a face full of rain and cold air. He could smell and taste the salt, and hear the muffled thrum of waves hitting the beach, but the moonless black and the heavy downpour hid the ocean and most of the beach from view. It was a scary dark too, like the bottom of the cellar steps, or a crawlspace. Full of unknown.
He stood there, frozen, unsure what to do, letting the rain soak his clothes. He tried to force himself to those steps that led to nothingness. All he need was to gather his nerve, put one foot in front of the other and...keep walking. Until he couldn't anymore.
That was his grand plan, wasn't it? Why he had been driving miles and miles, until the white line in the road blurred. He'd wanted to finally drown the terrible guilt and the pain. He'd never been strong, too afraid to live his life as he wanted, and he somehow ended hurting so many people in the process. It would be such a relief for it to be finally over.
But now, other thoughts started to creep in. What would happen to his body? Would it ever be found? And if it was, the thought of his loved ones, god, his dad, being forced to identify it, all water logged and swollen, made his knees go weak.
And then there was a terrible surge of fear about what it would be like to go under in that cold, cold, lonely dark.
Luke Snyder hugged himself, shivering as the rain plastered his thin hoodie to his body. Then he slowly go back in the car, hands numbly gripping the steering wheel. On auto pilot, he started the car and pulled away from the beach, and continued down the narrow coastal highway.
God. He was such a damn coward. But what the hell else was new?
There was a sign that said, "Towagh Bay, four miles" and he decided to stop there for the night, feeling suddenly exhausted. He needed to start thinking clearly and get himself out of this limbo. His high beams caught the slanting rain patterns, and he turned the heat up to stop himself from shaking.
He also didn't see the service engine light that had been steadily on for the last hour, and ignored the loud knocking sound.
The town turned out to be tiny and toy like, the highway serving as the main street. Everything seemed to be shuttered up tight as he looked for a motel sign through the wipers. Lots of small shops looking to attract a tourist trade, advertising "Salt Water Taffy", "Kites", "Seashells' and boldly, "Fresh Crab n' Clams!"
Then a bright splash of red neon cut through the gloom. "Skookum Bar and Grill" and "Open" were spelled out in old-fashioned, curving letters. The fifteen year old boy in Luke, the one that once loved all things to do with words and sounds and writing, felt a spark at the strange name. What on God's green earth was a 'skookum'?
He found himself pulling into the bar's empty parking lot. A bar was always dangerous territory for him, but the grill part told that there might be coffee or a sandwich to be had. And if he ended up drinking at this point, well, he had been contemplating doing a lot worse a half an hour ago.
He got out of the car, got drenched again, and walked down an uneven sidewalk to the bar's entrance. His glasses immediately fogged up when he walked through the door, and he couldn't see a thing. But he heard some music, and a gravely voice singing, like honey over razor blades:
Well, it's a marvelous time for a moondance
with the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies...
Luke took off his glasses and stuck them in his hoodie pocket. He was just a little near sighted, and could see pretty well without them.
The place was old and worn around the edges, but it was by no means a dive. Instead, it seemed full of character, with dark, polished wood and heavy tables and chairs, all now empty. They were lit by the inevitable colorful beer signs, advertising odd brands that Luke had never heard of. 'Terminator Stout', "Drop Top Amber', 'Dead Guy Ale'.
And behind the long bar stood a lone employee, a tall, dark haired bartender who gave him a slight, though very welcoming, smile.
"Hey. Neither fit night for man nor beast." He had a deep voice that reflected the bar, warm and solid and very inviting.
Luke took a deep breath and remained poised at the entrance. "Um...yeah." He was struck by a sudden thought."God-you're not about to close, are you?" He had no idea what time it was.
"Nope-although I was tempted to shut down early. Miserable weather is keeping even the pig-headed locals away." The bartender smiled even wider, and it was such a bright smile, a lighthouse beacon over stormy seas. Luke felt himself pulled toward it like a lost schooner."So come on in, and keep me company. Then the night won't be a total bust."
Luke walked over to the bar and was suddenly conscious of the loud, squelching sound his wet sneakers made. He was wetter than he realized, and he flinched with embarrassment. He sat on a stool and was even more mortified when the bartender handed him a dry cotton towel.
"Don't worry-it's just been washed and unused." The bartender said in a slightly gentle tone. "You really got drenched, man."
Luke flushed and took the towel."Yeah-kinda did. Thanks." He dried off his face and the top of his head, most likely making his hair look even more ridiculous. The towel did indeed smell like fresh laundry, which also made him think of his grandma Emma, and how she used to fuss over him when he got out of the bath when he was little. "There's my little duck!" she would say, wrapping him in soft terrycloth, kissing his face. He swallowed hard, knowing she was most likely worried sick about him.
He was snapped out his reverie by the bartender."So..what can I get you?" he said in the same soft, gentle tone. He leaned against the counter and Luke blinked, involuntarily taking in some details, stuff he tried to ignore in other people. Well, not all people.
Other men.
And the Skookum Bar and Grill's only employee was a really attractive guy, around his age, late twenties. Luke had already noticed the tall part, hard not to, as he was over six feet, very lean and broad shouldered. He had a long, handsome face not marred at all by the presence of a slightly too big nose. He wore a heavy, faded denim shirt with snaps, the sleeves rolled up. On one tightly muscled forearm were hints of a black and red tattoo in tribal patterns.
Most arresting of all were a pair of very dark blue eyes, a color that Luke had always imagined the Pacific ocean to be.
He took a breath and realized there was this long pause, and he was wool gathering. He resisted the powerful urge to order a vodka and tonic. "Coffee." He stuttered. " A cup of coffee would be great. And um, do you serve food?"
"We do. To be honest with you, I let the chef go home early, but I can rustle up something simple for you. Burger? Sandwich? I make a mean grilled cheese."
The mention of that gave Luke a wave of longing, remembering when he was a kid, coming home from school, and his mom fixed him a snack. A simple, uncomplicated time when all he thought about were Magneto and Wolverine battling it out on the pages of a comic book. "Yeah-that sounds wonderful."
"Coming right up." The bartender gave the counter a slap. "I've got some great Tillamook." He grinned apologetically at Luke's baffled expression. "Sorry-it's a local cheese." He tilted his head."And what kind of coffee?"
"Kind?"
Luke got another of those big, marvelous smiles, one that made those blue eyes crinkle. "Obvious that you're visiting from elsewhere. This is the Pacific Northwest, and we take our java much too seriously, even in a little one traffic light town like Towagh Bay. I think it's all the damp we endure that makes us obsessed. I can get you a simple americano, but I can also make you and espresso, a latte..."
"I don't want you to go to any trouble..." Luke demurred.
"Honest-it won't be. I've been bored out of my skull for the last two hours, and you can only polish the counter, and do inventory for so long."
"Okay-a latte then." Luke said, again feeling an involuntary pull towards this stranger. There was something friendly and unassuming about him, like a big, happy labrador holding a tennis ball.
"You got it." The bartender turned and busied himself at an espresso machine near the end of the back counter. Luke noticed for the first time that he had a slight, hitching limp. His other movements, however, were sure and graceful, and Luke tried not to stare, but couldn't help himself. He had big, strong, very capable hands.The bartender hummed along to the music that was playing, the rough voiced singer now going on about a brown-eyed girl.
Hey where did we go
Days when the rains came
Down in the hollow
Playin' a new game
Laughing and a-running, hey hey
Skipping and a jumping
In the misty morning fog
With our hearts a-thumpin'
And you, my brown eyed girl
You my brown eyed girl
Luke stared at the counter not wanting to hear the lyrics, tears filling his eyes. The terrible guilt coming back to gnaw at him. He saw those big brown eyes again, full of so much shock and hurt, hurt that he had caused. He thought about running out of the bar for a second, but seemed rooted to the stool. He was startled when the bartender set down a heavy stoneware mug in front of him.
"Hey...you okay?" One of those big hands reached out, and very carefully, touched his arm. Luke wanted to pull away, thinking he didn't deserve any comfort or kindness, but he couldn't make himself. Instead, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and forced himself to talk. And look into those blue eyes that were so opposite of brown. Which were not full of tears and accusation, just compassion.
"Don't feel sorry for me' Luke thought.'I don't deserve it.'
"I, uh...sorry. I've had a bad, um, week." Understatement of the century.
"I see. Well, if you want to talk, I'm all yours. Goes with the job description." The bartender smiled a little ironically. "I'm Noah, by the way."
It was a good, old fashioned name and it fit him. Even though he knew he shouldn't, Luke ended up blurting,"I'm Luke."
Noah chuckled."Well, looks like our folks were hitting the bible in regards to names." He patted Luke's arm."Let me go get you that sandwich, now, Luke." He turned and walked towards a small back kitchen area, where Luke could still see him from the head and shoulders down.
Luke again thought about escaping, but the outside seemed like such a cold, dark alternative. Instead, he grabbed the coffee mug, which was comforting in his icy hands. The latte had a perfect crest of white foam on the top, and it smelled heavenly. Luke picked up the mug and took a careful sip. It tasted heavenly too, especially after all the swill he'd recently been drinking.
The singer finally switched from brown eyed girls, thank god, to something about dominos, with lyrics Luke couldn't make head nor tail of. He decided to take a stab at some conversation, hoping that Noah wouldn't think of him as a total, pathetic freak.
"So, what's the CD you're playing?" He asked a little loudly, so Noah could hear. It obviously was a favorite of the tall bartenders.
"Van Morrison's Greatest hits." Noah answered."Oldies but still incredible goodies, although Van still puts out some great stuff. 'Moondance' and "Astral Weeks' and "It's Too Late To Stop Now' are some of the best albums ever recorded. Celtic poetry meets American soul. Shame on you Luke, for never hearing of him." he added, in a teasing tone.
"Well, I happen to like stuff that my dad doesn't listen to." Luke shot back, surprising himself. It felt good to have a normal conversation about nothing, like him and Casey back in high school, arguing over a plate of fries at Al's. He took another gulp of his latte.
"Well, I happen to like stuff with meaningful lyrics, old or new, and Morrison's written some of the greatest." Noah countered. "Louis Armstrong said it best-and if you don't know who he is I'll have to lecture you- 'There is two kinds of music-the good and bad.' Van Morrison responsible for a lot of the good." Noah came out of the kitchen with a plate. He set it in front of Luke, and it had a perfect , golden brown grilled cheese sandwich on it, along with a pickle and some chips. He then looked at Luke's face, gave a slight laugh and handed him a napkin.
"Hey-you've go a pretty serious latte mustache going there."
Luke licked his upper lip without thinking, found out it was true, and felt his face flush. He also thought he saw a flash of heat in Noah's eyes, but it went by so fast, he wasn't sure. He'd never flirted with, or had been picked up a man, and his gaydar was pretty non-existant. And Noah seemed pretty damn macho. Not to mention even if Noah was, by some wild chance, gay, Luke was pretty sure he looked like shit. His hair was greasy, he had three days growth of beard, had bruised circles under his eyes. Hardly the object of desire.
"Thanks." Luke said, wiping off his face clumsily with a napkin. "By the way, great latte."
"You're welcome." Noah said, going back to the espresso machine. There was nothing but friendliness radiating from him now, so Luke was more than likely imagining things. He bit into his sandwich, and it was the perfect combo of crisp sourdough and sharp, melted cheddar. It sparked his long dormant appetite, and he struggled not to just wolf it all down.
He forced himself to chew. "So, um-you have a favorite Van Morrison song?"
"That's tough." Noah answered, thinking for a minute." Probably a toss-up between "Tupleo Honey" and "Into the Mystic"." He finished making a cup of coffee, and thought for a moment "Probably "Mystic." The words just get to me."
Noah strolled over to the cd player behind the counter , and punched a button, changing tracks. Van Morrison started singing, and Luke listened carefully.
We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...
Noah listened quietly as well, looking outside the darkened windows of the bar. He leaned against the back counter, sipping at his own cup of coffee. He seemed momentarily sad, and Luke wondered what he was thinking about. He also had to agree that the lyrics were beautiful and full of longing, for home, for love. When the song was over, Luke cleared his throat.
"Well, I think that one most definitely falls under the good music category."
Noah saluted him with his coffee cup."Glad you agree."
Luke started on the last half of his sandwich."So, I'm sure you get asked this a million times-but...what's a "Skookum?"
"Yeah, I do, but since I was the idiot that picked the name, I'd better not bitch about being asked. "Skookum' is a Chinook word meaning 'strong'. Chinook is an old trade language that was used between the local tribes and the whites way back when. Towagh, by the way, means 'bright'."
"Oh. It's an interesting word. Skookum." Luke repeated. It was a fitting word for Noah, too. He had a quick as lightning fantasy about how nice it would be to be held in those long, strong muscular arms. He knew somehow, it would be safe. But that was it- it was just a fantasy."So-you own the bar?"
"Every worn bit of timber and bottle of beer. It's been good to me and I've been good to it." Noah said fondly, and with a hint of pride.
"I hope business gets better." Luke said, wiping his greasy fingers with his napkin.
"Oh, there are always ups and downs. I do just fine. Season just started, and when it's in full swing, we're crazy busy. There's a bunch of nutty surfers from Portland that come every weekend, and I make a fortune selling hot toddies." Noah chuckled into his mug.
"Why are they nutty?"
"This ain't California. The water off the the Oregon coast will freeze your damn balls off." Noah glanced at Luke's plate."Can I get you another sandwich? Or a refill?"
"Oh, no thank you." He suddenly felt horribly drained. He really didn't want to leave, but he had a feeling Noah was going to close soon. "I should get going, actually. Can you, um, recommend a motel?"
"Oh, sure." Noah set down his coffee cup. "There's a really nice place half a mile from here. Just head north, up the highway. The "Surftides" Bob and Emily are great folks. Not the fanciest place, but real clean and homey."
"Thanks, I'll check it out. So-how much do I owe you?" Luke hopped off the bar stool, and began to dig for his wallet.
"On the house." Noah said with a smile.
"What? No! I can't let you do that!" Luke protested.
"Hey, one of the few perks of being the boss is that yes, I can do that."Noah took a step closer and leaned over the counter, and Luke struggled with the insane desire to do the same."Thanks for the company, and liking Van Morrison." And Luke got rewarded with one last gorgeous grin, one that showed off a pair of vampire sharp incisors.
"Thanks for everything as well."Luke said, voice slightly ragged, trying to smile back. God, it was going to feel so lonely back out in the dark. "Nice meeting you, Noah."
"Same here."There was a hint of real concern on Noah's face."Take care of yourself, Luke, and safe journey."
"You-you too." Luke answered. He then turned and quickly walked out of the bar, in to the night air. To his surprise, the relentless rain had stopped, and the sky, while still inky black, was clear. He took a deep breath of the cold, bracing sea air, shook himself, then walked slowly to his car. The song, "Into the Mystic", was now lodged firmly in his head, as well as the wonderful line, "I want to rock your gypsy soul.', which caused another brief wave of longing to be in Noah the bartender's arms.
But that wasn't reality, and there was no sense of desiring things he could never have. His life was a fucked up, snarled mess, due to a lack of courage. He wasn't remotely skookum, never had been. Which was why he was now in the middle of absolute nowhere in Towagh Bay, Oregon.
He fished out his keys, got in to his car, started it, and got-nothing. The dash lights went on, but the engine wouldn't turn over. He finally noticed the service engine light. Fucking hell. He became suddenly furious, and pounded the dash."C'mon, you sonavabitch, piece of crap-GO!" Instead, all he ended up doing was flooding the engine. After throwing a tantrum worthy of the two year old, he slumped over the wheel.
Couldn't any goddamn thing in his life go right? He wanted to just bawl like a baby.
He was startled by a tap on his window. He turned and saw Noah standing there, wearing a leather jacket, concern on his face. Luke, sighing with humiliation, lowered the window.
"Everything okay? I assume you got car trouble."
Luke tried to avoid the gaze of those dark blue eyes, intense even under the street light. "Yeah. Won't start." Oh god-stupidest sentence ever uttered. Luke felt his face flame.
"Pop the hood, and let's see what we can see." Noah said in a light tone.
"Sure-okay. Thanks." Luke answered with a sigh, reaching under the dash, and opening the hood. Noah went to look, and Luke got out of the car to join him. He was impressed that Noah was using a small flashlight to examine the engine.
"Well..." He said, after a moment."Best thing to do in these situations is eliminate the obvious. Got gas?"
"Half a tank." Luke answered.
Noah pulled out the dipstick and held it under the flashlight. It looked bone dry. Fuck. "I'm gonna guess that's your problem."Noah said, kindly, obviously trying not to make Luke feel like an complete moron. It didn't do any good. Noah slammed the hood shut, and pocketed the flashlight. "Well, no telling how messed up your engine is at this point. There's a really decent garage in Newport-that's twenty miles from here-but since it's past midnight, doubt you can get a tow right now. I can give you a lift to the motel, if you want, and you can call the garage in the morning. Your car's safe here for the time being. Hope you don't mind riding with me on my bike."
"Bike?" For some weird reason, Luke conjured up an image of a ten speed.
Noah, reading his face, laughed. "My Harley. I don't have an extra helmet with me, so we'll have to break the law a little."
"God-sorry. I'm such an idiot." Luke rubbed his face.
"No-you just look really, really tired and this is just one more damn thing. Been there." Noah said softly."Do you have any luggage? I have saddlebags, and I'll get you to Surftides."
Luke locked up his car, and with some shame, went to the trunk and pulled out a plastic Target bag that held all his extra clothes, purchased in haste on the road. Noah thankfully made no comment, but walked Luke around the back of the bar where a big, formidable motorcycle was parked.
Noah pulled a helmet off the seat and handed it to Luke."Passenger safety first." He said with a slight smile. He took Luke's Target bag from him and put it in one of the bike's saddlebags. Luke stood there watching him, overcome suddenly with emotion. Noah had been so kind to him, and he needed kindness and understanding like a man lost in the desert needed water.
"Need some help with the helmet?" Noah asked, breaking Luke out of his stupor.
"No, I...no. Thank you Noah. For everything. I've had a rough time lately, and you've really helped." Luke said, inwardly cringing. He knew he was babbling, but couldn't help himself.
"My pleasure. Just helping a fellow gypsy soul." And there was a spark again, in those dark, ocean blue eyes, and Luke realized with a thrill of both fear and happiness, that he wasn't imagining it. It was real. Without thinking, he put a hand on Noah's leather clad chest.
There was a long pause, and Luke could hear the distant sound of the ocean, as well as the pounding of his own tired heart. Then Noah ever so carefully, covered Luke's trembling hand with his, and squeezed it. With another hand, he cupped Luke's chin and tilted it up, as gently as you would hold a delicate porcelain cup. Luke held his breath as Noah placed a careful, light kiss on his mouth. His lips were dry and very soft. Finally.
Finally, finally, finally.
Luke swallowed hard, swaying a little as Noah pulled away. "I think...I think I should take you home with me instead." Noah whispered.
"Yes." Was all Luke was capable of answering.
He finally made it. He'd gotten as far away from Oakdale as he possibly could, thanks to countless, gut churning cups of bad diner coffee, and Red Bull and cheap candy bought at 711's. It felt like he had been driving forever, all his life, interspersed with short naps at truck stops, and nameless motels that smelled faintly like cigarette smoke.
Problem was, now that he parked on a cliff next to a sign that said 'beach entrance' he couldn't see the damn Pacific ocean. Because it had been fucking raining ever since he'd hit the state of Oregon.
He stepped out of the dirty Lexus and got a face full of rain and cold air. He could smell and taste the salt, and hear the muffled thrum of waves hitting the beach, but the moonless black and the heavy downpour hid the ocean and most of the beach from view. It was a scary dark too, like the bottom of the cellar steps, or a crawlspace. Full of unknown.
He stood there, frozen, unsure what to do, letting the rain soak his clothes. He tried to force himself to those steps that led to nothingness. All he need was to gather his nerve, put one foot in front of the other and...keep walking. Until he couldn't anymore.
That was his grand plan, wasn't it? Why he had been driving miles and miles, until the white line in the road blurred. He'd wanted to finally drown the terrible guilt and the pain. He'd never been strong, too afraid to live his life as he wanted, and he somehow ended hurting so many people in the process. It would be such a relief for it to be finally over.
But now, other thoughts started to creep in. What would happen to his body? Would it ever be found? And if it was, the thought of his loved ones, god, his dad, being forced to identify it, all water logged and swollen, made his knees go weak.
And then there was a terrible surge of fear about what it would be like to go under in that cold, cold, lonely dark.
Luke Snyder hugged himself, shivering as the rain plastered his thin hoodie to his body. Then he slowly go back in the car, hands numbly gripping the steering wheel. On auto pilot, he started the car and pulled away from the beach, and continued down the narrow coastal highway.
God. He was such a damn coward. But what the hell else was new?
There was a sign that said, "Towagh Bay, four miles" and he decided to stop there for the night, feeling suddenly exhausted. He needed to start thinking clearly and get himself out of this limbo. His high beams caught the slanting rain patterns, and he turned the heat up to stop himself from shaking.
He also didn't see the service engine light that had been steadily on for the last hour, and ignored the loud knocking sound.
The town turned out to be tiny and toy like, the highway serving as the main street. Everything seemed to be shuttered up tight as he looked for a motel sign through the wipers. Lots of small shops looking to attract a tourist trade, advertising "Salt Water Taffy", "Kites", "Seashells' and boldly, "Fresh Crab n' Clams!"
Then a bright splash of red neon cut through the gloom. "Skookum Bar and Grill" and "Open" were spelled out in old-fashioned, curving letters. The fifteen year old boy in Luke, the one that once loved all things to do with words and sounds and writing, felt a spark at the strange name. What on God's green earth was a 'skookum'?
He found himself pulling into the bar's empty parking lot. A bar was always dangerous territory for him, but the grill part told that there might be coffee or a sandwich to be had. And if he ended up drinking at this point, well, he had been contemplating doing a lot worse a half an hour ago.
He got out of the car, got drenched again, and walked down an uneven sidewalk to the bar's entrance. His glasses immediately fogged up when he walked through the door, and he couldn't see a thing. But he heard some music, and a gravely voice singing, like honey over razor blades:
Well, it's a marvelous time for a moondance
with the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies...
Luke took off his glasses and stuck them in his hoodie pocket. He was just a little near sighted, and could see pretty well without them.
The place was old and worn around the edges, but it was by no means a dive. Instead, it seemed full of character, with dark, polished wood and heavy tables and chairs, all now empty. They were lit by the inevitable colorful beer signs, advertising odd brands that Luke had never heard of. 'Terminator Stout', "Drop Top Amber', 'Dead Guy Ale'.
And behind the long bar stood a lone employee, a tall, dark haired bartender who gave him a slight, though very welcoming, smile.
"Hey. Neither fit night for man nor beast." He had a deep voice that reflected the bar, warm and solid and very inviting.
Luke took a deep breath and remained poised at the entrance. "Um...yeah." He was struck by a sudden thought."God-you're not about to close, are you?" He had no idea what time it was.
"Nope-although I was tempted to shut down early. Miserable weather is keeping even the pig-headed locals away." The bartender smiled even wider, and it was such a bright smile, a lighthouse beacon over stormy seas. Luke felt himself pulled toward it like a lost schooner."So come on in, and keep me company. Then the night won't be a total bust."
Luke walked over to the bar and was suddenly conscious of the loud, squelching sound his wet sneakers made. He was wetter than he realized, and he flinched with embarrassment. He sat on a stool and was even more mortified when the bartender handed him a dry cotton towel.
"Don't worry-it's just been washed and unused." The bartender said in a slightly gentle tone. "You really got drenched, man."
Luke flushed and took the towel."Yeah-kinda did. Thanks." He dried off his face and the top of his head, most likely making his hair look even more ridiculous. The towel did indeed smell like fresh laundry, which also made him think of his grandma Emma, and how she used to fuss over him when he got out of the bath when he was little. "There's my little duck!" she would say, wrapping him in soft terrycloth, kissing his face. He swallowed hard, knowing she was most likely worried sick about him.
He was snapped out his reverie by the bartender."So..what can I get you?" he said in the same soft, gentle tone. He leaned against the counter and Luke blinked, involuntarily taking in some details, stuff he tried to ignore in other people. Well, not all people.
Other men.
And the Skookum Bar and Grill's only employee was a really attractive guy, around his age, late twenties. Luke had already noticed the tall part, hard not to, as he was over six feet, very lean and broad shouldered. He had a long, handsome face not marred at all by the presence of a slightly too big nose. He wore a heavy, faded denim shirt with snaps, the sleeves rolled up. On one tightly muscled forearm were hints of a black and red tattoo in tribal patterns.
Most arresting of all were a pair of very dark blue eyes, a color that Luke had always imagined the Pacific ocean to be.
He took a breath and realized there was this long pause, and he was wool gathering. He resisted the powerful urge to order a vodka and tonic. "Coffee." He stuttered. " A cup of coffee would be great. And um, do you serve food?"
"We do. To be honest with you, I let the chef go home early, but I can rustle up something simple for you. Burger? Sandwich? I make a mean grilled cheese."
The mention of that gave Luke a wave of longing, remembering when he was a kid, coming home from school, and his mom fixed him a snack. A simple, uncomplicated time when all he thought about were Magneto and Wolverine battling it out on the pages of a comic book. "Yeah-that sounds wonderful."
"Coming right up." The bartender gave the counter a slap. "I've got some great Tillamook." He grinned apologetically at Luke's baffled expression. "Sorry-it's a local cheese." He tilted his head."And what kind of coffee?"
"Kind?"
Luke got another of those big, marvelous smiles, one that made those blue eyes crinkle. "Obvious that you're visiting from elsewhere. This is the Pacific Northwest, and we take our java much too seriously, even in a little one traffic light town like Towagh Bay. I think it's all the damp we endure that makes us obsessed. I can get you a simple americano, but I can also make you and espresso, a latte..."
"I don't want you to go to any trouble..." Luke demurred.
"Honest-it won't be. I've been bored out of my skull for the last two hours, and you can only polish the counter, and do inventory for so long."
"Okay-a latte then." Luke said, again feeling an involuntary pull towards this stranger. There was something friendly and unassuming about him, like a big, happy labrador holding a tennis ball.
"You got it." The bartender turned and busied himself at an espresso machine near the end of the back counter. Luke noticed for the first time that he had a slight, hitching limp. His other movements, however, were sure and graceful, and Luke tried not to stare, but couldn't help himself. He had big, strong, very capable hands.The bartender hummed along to the music that was playing, the rough voiced singer now going on about a brown-eyed girl.
Hey where did we go
Days when the rains came
Down in the hollow
Playin' a new game
Laughing and a-running, hey hey
Skipping and a jumping
In the misty morning fog
With our hearts a-thumpin'
And you, my brown eyed girl
You my brown eyed girl
Luke stared at the counter not wanting to hear the lyrics, tears filling his eyes. The terrible guilt coming back to gnaw at him. He saw those big brown eyes again, full of so much shock and hurt, hurt that he had caused. He thought about running out of the bar for a second, but seemed rooted to the stool. He was startled when the bartender set down a heavy stoneware mug in front of him.
"Hey...you okay?" One of those big hands reached out, and very carefully, touched his arm. Luke wanted to pull away, thinking he didn't deserve any comfort or kindness, but he couldn't make himself. Instead, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and forced himself to talk. And look into those blue eyes that were so opposite of brown. Which were not full of tears and accusation, just compassion.
"Don't feel sorry for me' Luke thought.'I don't deserve it.'
"I, uh...sorry. I've had a bad, um, week." Understatement of the century.
"I see. Well, if you want to talk, I'm all yours. Goes with the job description." The bartender smiled a little ironically. "I'm Noah, by the way."
It was a good, old fashioned name and it fit him. Even though he knew he shouldn't, Luke ended up blurting,"I'm Luke."
Noah chuckled."Well, looks like our folks were hitting the bible in regards to names." He patted Luke's arm."Let me go get you that sandwich, now, Luke." He turned and walked towards a small back kitchen area, where Luke could still see him from the head and shoulders down.
Luke again thought about escaping, but the outside seemed like such a cold, dark alternative. Instead, he grabbed the coffee mug, which was comforting in his icy hands. The latte had a perfect crest of white foam on the top, and it smelled heavenly. Luke picked up the mug and took a careful sip. It tasted heavenly too, especially after all the swill he'd recently been drinking.
The singer finally switched from brown eyed girls, thank god, to something about dominos, with lyrics Luke couldn't make head nor tail of. He decided to take a stab at some conversation, hoping that Noah wouldn't think of him as a total, pathetic freak.
"So, what's the CD you're playing?" He asked a little loudly, so Noah could hear. It obviously was a favorite of the tall bartenders.
"Van Morrison's Greatest hits." Noah answered."Oldies but still incredible goodies, although Van still puts out some great stuff. 'Moondance' and "Astral Weeks' and "It's Too Late To Stop Now' are some of the best albums ever recorded. Celtic poetry meets American soul. Shame on you Luke, for never hearing of him." he added, in a teasing tone.
"Well, I happen to like stuff that my dad doesn't listen to." Luke shot back, surprising himself. It felt good to have a normal conversation about nothing, like him and Casey back in high school, arguing over a plate of fries at Al's. He took another gulp of his latte.
"Well, I happen to like stuff with meaningful lyrics, old or new, and Morrison's written some of the greatest." Noah countered. "Louis Armstrong said it best-and if you don't know who he is I'll have to lecture you- 'There is two kinds of music-the good and bad.' Van Morrison responsible for a lot of the good." Noah came out of the kitchen with a plate. He set it in front of Luke, and it had a perfect , golden brown grilled cheese sandwich on it, along with a pickle and some chips. He then looked at Luke's face, gave a slight laugh and handed him a napkin.
"Hey-you've go a pretty serious latte mustache going there."
Luke licked his upper lip without thinking, found out it was true, and felt his face flush. He also thought he saw a flash of heat in Noah's eyes, but it went by so fast, he wasn't sure. He'd never flirted with, or had been picked up a man, and his gaydar was pretty non-existant. And Noah seemed pretty damn macho. Not to mention even if Noah was, by some wild chance, gay, Luke was pretty sure he looked like shit. His hair was greasy, he had three days growth of beard, had bruised circles under his eyes. Hardly the object of desire.
"Thanks." Luke said, wiping off his face clumsily with a napkin. "By the way, great latte."
"You're welcome." Noah said, going back to the espresso machine. There was nothing but friendliness radiating from him now, so Luke was more than likely imagining things. He bit into his sandwich, and it was the perfect combo of crisp sourdough and sharp, melted cheddar. It sparked his long dormant appetite, and he struggled not to just wolf it all down.
He forced himself to chew. "So, um-you have a favorite Van Morrison song?"
"That's tough." Noah answered, thinking for a minute." Probably a toss-up between "Tupleo Honey" and "Into the Mystic"." He finished making a cup of coffee, and thought for a moment "Probably "Mystic." The words just get to me."
Noah strolled over to the cd player behind the counter , and punched a button, changing tracks. Van Morrison started singing, and Luke listened carefully.
We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home
And when that fog horn blows I want to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float into the mystic
And when that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it
I don't have to fear it
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
Come on girl...
Noah listened quietly as well, looking outside the darkened windows of the bar. He leaned against the back counter, sipping at his own cup of coffee. He seemed momentarily sad, and Luke wondered what he was thinking about. He also had to agree that the lyrics were beautiful and full of longing, for home, for love. When the song was over, Luke cleared his throat.
"Well, I think that one most definitely falls under the good music category."
Noah saluted him with his coffee cup."Glad you agree."
Luke started on the last half of his sandwich."So, I'm sure you get asked this a million times-but...what's a "Skookum?"
"Yeah, I do, but since I was the idiot that picked the name, I'd better not bitch about being asked. "Skookum' is a Chinook word meaning 'strong'. Chinook is an old trade language that was used between the local tribes and the whites way back when. Towagh, by the way, means 'bright'."
"Oh. It's an interesting word. Skookum." Luke repeated. It was a fitting word for Noah, too. He had a quick as lightning fantasy about how nice it would be to be held in those long, strong muscular arms. He knew somehow, it would be safe. But that was it- it was just a fantasy."So-you own the bar?"
"Every worn bit of timber and bottle of beer. It's been good to me and I've been good to it." Noah said fondly, and with a hint of pride.
"I hope business gets better." Luke said, wiping his greasy fingers with his napkin.
"Oh, there are always ups and downs. I do just fine. Season just started, and when it's in full swing, we're crazy busy. There's a bunch of nutty surfers from Portland that come every weekend, and I make a fortune selling hot toddies." Noah chuckled into his mug.
"Why are they nutty?"
"This ain't California. The water off the the Oregon coast will freeze your damn balls off." Noah glanced at Luke's plate."Can I get you another sandwich? Or a refill?"
"Oh, no thank you." He suddenly felt horribly drained. He really didn't want to leave, but he had a feeling Noah was going to close soon. "I should get going, actually. Can you, um, recommend a motel?"
"Oh, sure." Noah set down his coffee cup. "There's a really nice place half a mile from here. Just head north, up the highway. The "Surftides" Bob and Emily are great folks. Not the fanciest place, but real clean and homey."
"Thanks, I'll check it out. So-how much do I owe you?" Luke hopped off the bar stool, and began to dig for his wallet.
"On the house." Noah said with a smile.
"What? No! I can't let you do that!" Luke protested.
"Hey, one of the few perks of being the boss is that yes, I can do that."Noah took a step closer and leaned over the counter, and Luke struggled with the insane desire to do the same."Thanks for the company, and liking Van Morrison." And Luke got rewarded with one last gorgeous grin, one that showed off a pair of vampire sharp incisors.
"Thanks for everything as well."Luke said, voice slightly ragged, trying to smile back. God, it was going to feel so lonely back out in the dark. "Nice meeting you, Noah."
"Same here."There was a hint of real concern on Noah's face."Take care of yourself, Luke, and safe journey."
"You-you too." Luke answered. He then turned and quickly walked out of the bar, in to the night air. To his surprise, the relentless rain had stopped, and the sky, while still inky black, was clear. He took a deep breath of the cold, bracing sea air, shook himself, then walked slowly to his car. The song, "Into the Mystic", was now lodged firmly in his head, as well as the wonderful line, "I want to rock your gypsy soul.', which caused another brief wave of longing to be in Noah the bartender's arms.
But that wasn't reality, and there was no sense of desiring things he could never have. His life was a fucked up, snarled mess, due to a lack of courage. He wasn't remotely skookum, never had been. Which was why he was now in the middle of absolute nowhere in Towagh Bay, Oregon.
He fished out his keys, got in to his car, started it, and got-nothing. The dash lights went on, but the engine wouldn't turn over. He finally noticed the service engine light. Fucking hell. He became suddenly furious, and pounded the dash."C'mon, you sonavabitch, piece of crap-GO!" Instead, all he ended up doing was flooding the engine. After throwing a tantrum worthy of the two year old, he slumped over the wheel.
Couldn't any goddamn thing in his life go right? He wanted to just bawl like a baby.
He was startled by a tap on his window. He turned and saw Noah standing there, wearing a leather jacket, concern on his face. Luke, sighing with humiliation, lowered the window.
"Everything okay? I assume you got car trouble."
Luke tried to avoid the gaze of those dark blue eyes, intense even under the street light. "Yeah. Won't start." Oh god-stupidest sentence ever uttered. Luke felt his face flame.
"Pop the hood, and let's see what we can see." Noah said in a light tone.
"Sure-okay. Thanks." Luke answered with a sigh, reaching under the dash, and opening the hood. Noah went to look, and Luke got out of the car to join him. He was impressed that Noah was using a small flashlight to examine the engine.
"Well..." He said, after a moment."Best thing to do in these situations is eliminate the obvious. Got gas?"
"Half a tank." Luke answered.
Noah pulled out the dipstick and held it under the flashlight. It looked bone dry. Fuck. "I'm gonna guess that's your problem."Noah said, kindly, obviously trying not to make Luke feel like an complete moron. It didn't do any good. Noah slammed the hood shut, and pocketed the flashlight. "Well, no telling how messed up your engine is at this point. There's a really decent garage in Newport-that's twenty miles from here-but since it's past midnight, doubt you can get a tow right now. I can give you a lift to the motel, if you want, and you can call the garage in the morning. Your car's safe here for the time being. Hope you don't mind riding with me on my bike."
"Bike?" For some weird reason, Luke conjured up an image of a ten speed.
Noah, reading his face, laughed. "My Harley. I don't have an extra helmet with me, so we'll have to break the law a little."
"God-sorry. I'm such an idiot." Luke rubbed his face.
"No-you just look really, really tired and this is just one more damn thing. Been there." Noah said softly."Do you have any luggage? I have saddlebags, and I'll get you to Surftides."
Luke locked up his car, and with some shame, went to the trunk and pulled out a plastic Target bag that held all his extra clothes, purchased in haste on the road. Noah thankfully made no comment, but walked Luke around the back of the bar where a big, formidable motorcycle was parked.
Noah pulled a helmet off the seat and handed it to Luke."Passenger safety first." He said with a slight smile. He took Luke's Target bag from him and put it in one of the bike's saddlebags. Luke stood there watching him, overcome suddenly with emotion. Noah had been so kind to him, and he needed kindness and understanding like a man lost in the desert needed water.
"Need some help with the helmet?" Noah asked, breaking Luke out of his stupor.
"No, I...no. Thank you Noah. For everything. I've had a rough time lately, and you've really helped." Luke said, inwardly cringing. He knew he was babbling, but couldn't help himself.
"My pleasure. Just helping a fellow gypsy soul." And there was a spark again, in those dark, ocean blue eyes, and Luke realized with a thrill of both fear and happiness, that he wasn't imagining it. It was real. Without thinking, he put a hand on Noah's leather clad chest.
There was a long pause, and Luke could hear the distant sound of the ocean, as well as the pounding of his own tired heart. Then Noah ever so carefully, covered Luke's trembling hand with his, and squeezed it. With another hand, he cupped Luke's chin and tilted it up, as gently as you would hold a delicate porcelain cup. Luke held his breath as Noah placed a careful, light kiss on his mouth. His lips were dry and very soft. Finally.
Finally, finally, finally.
Luke swallowed hard, swaying a little as Noah pulled away. "I think...I think I should take you home with me instead." Noah whispered.
"Yes." Was all Luke was capable of answering.