3. Gage

CHAPTER 3

GAGE

T wo wolves, a fox, a lynx, and a large police dog emerged from the forest, loping across the distance between the treeline and the house. They headed for a small shelter where they chose changing stalls and emerged human and fully clothed.

“That was a great run.” Gage Merrick grinned broadly at his friends, Russ and Drew Lowe, Liam Reynard, and Noah Wilson.

“It’s a good temperature.” Liam smoothed a hand through his red hair. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him as a fox. “And not too humid. I get frizzy when it’s humid.”

Russ and Liam were a mated pair, as were Drew and Noah. Russ looked at his mate with long-suffering affection. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re a diva?”

Liam returned a dramatic stare. “Of course I am, dah-ling. That’s one of the many things you love about me.”

That was fun. We should run more often. I like our pack , Gage’s inner Malinois said, sounding relaxed after the exercise.

I’m not sure we’re a pack, Gage silently protested.

We run together. We would protect each other. We are friends. Two mated pairs and us. We need a mate so that we match, his dog side replied.

You just want to get laid.

His Malinois shrugged its elegant black and tan shoulders. Of course. So do you. There was that guy ? —

He’s ancient history.

Not so very long ago.

Not long enough. Gage’s academic record was top-notch. His dating record, on the other hand, was a series of strikes and misses. While he didn’t have trouble getting dates, finding anyone who wanted to do more than party seemed a lost cause. His most recent misadventure ended when his boyfriend developed a chronic allergy to dogs and sneezed whenever Gage was in the room.

We are not different here. There are lots of shifters in this town. We run with the top dogs—and the little red fox, his shifter side noted with pride.

Do NOT let Liam ever hear us call him little. He’s fierce. He once went batshit crazy on a poacher and practically scratched the guy’s eyes out.

Commendable. We’ve made good friends. Much better than where we were before. I didn’t get to come out as often.

Being a shifter in a city posed problems. Gage had to be careful that he didn’t get picked up by the dog catcher or shot by an overzealous cop who was afraid of an unaccompanied Malinois’s potential for harm.

We are impressive and handsome. A protector, his dog preened.

That was true, Gage had to admit. He didn’t know how the shifters made it work when their human and animal bodies were very different sizes, but his Malinois was tall and solid, so while it wasn’t exactly an even trade, he was a big, muscular dog with a reputation for law enforcement and military work that made people give him space.

We’re not the big dog on the block next to the wolves.

No, but we run with them, and they respect us. Even the fox. I like this town.

Russ and Drew had dark hair like their wolves. Gage’s hair was brown with streaks of gold like his Belgian Malinois alter ego. Liam’s red hair had brown undertones. Noah, the lynx, had sandy hair with some stray black strands.

Other traits remained consistent between their shifter and human sides for those who knew what to look for. The Lowe brothers were committed to family and social connections. Liam’s clever, playful, and dramatic nature showed his fox. Curious and independent, Noah was the quietest of the bunch. And Gage’s friendly, protective and very stubborn traits remained true to the guard dog side of his personality.

The stubborn part certainly paid off when it came to brewing craft beer, Gage’s hobby, obsession, and now, his full-time job.

“Are you coming down to the brewery later? It’s RPG Night,” Gage said as they headed inside for coffee and bacon.

“Sounds fun. We can stop in for a while,” Russ replied, and Drew nodded.

“And I need to size up the space for the reading night.” Liam sipped his coffee. “Now that the weather is getting colder, people will like being inside instead of on the patio. Perfect for some readings and book talk.” Liam ran the Fox Hollow library and was always looking for community engagement opportunities.

“I’m debuting a new flavor, and there will be munchies, so be sure to come early,” Gage said. “I need to see how the new brew affects you.”

“You always have good specialty beers,” Noah said. “They’re different but not too weird.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gage laughed.

“This is where you try to get us drunk, but you give us food and get us a ride home,” Liam pointed out. “I can be bought.”

Shifters, like other supernatural creatures, had a higher tolerance for alcohol than regular humans. Gage had heard the same was true for both recreational and therapeutic drugs as well. That led to an underground network of medical providers for paranormals, but it also made it harder to unwind on a Saturday night.

Gage had taken it as a personal challenge to brew beers that he could actually get buzzed on. While he had no intention of enabling vampire alcoholics or drunk werewolves, it just seemed wrong that those in the paranormal community couldn’t relax like their human counterparts.

“I got a little tipsy on the most recent batch,” Gage said. “I’m curious to see how it works for everyone else.”

“Liam’s the lightweight,” Russ pointed out, and Liam blew him raspberries. “We should bring Brandon.”

Brandon, a moose shifter, was a regular in their friend group. While Brandon was tall and muscular as a human, Gage had no idea how much booze it would take to get a moose snockered.

“Riley could be the control in the test,” Drew said. “Since he’s not a shifter.” Riley and Brandon were a couple.

“The more the merrier. I’ll pay someone to drive you home if you get a buzz.”

“If that happens, I doubt it will last long,” Russ said.

“One problem at a time,” Gage replied cheerily. The alarm went off on his phone.

“Speaking of which—duty calls. I’m going to head to the brewery, but come tonight if you can. And thanks for the run!”

He drove from Russ and Liam’s house to the small brewery in a repurposed building at the edge of town. Gage still felt a thrill of pride when he saw the sign “Merrick Craft Brewing.”

Unlike his new friends, Gage wasn’t a Fox Hollow native. He had happened upon the town on a long-ago camping trip, and been surprised to discover it had a secret identity as a haven for misfit shifters and psychics.

Since Gage felt constrained about his shifting near where he lived in Schenectady, he was open to finding somewhere that would be a good place to indulge his passion for small-batch craft brew and maybe—just maybe—enable him to meet his forever person.

When he had gotten a job at the Fox Hollow Brewery over the summers during college, Gage knew he was in the right place. He came back year after year and got to know the brewery’s owner. Gage’s fascination with craft beer had led to a degree in brewing, which he had been pleasantly surprised to be able to pursue without leaving upstate New York.

Eventually the former owner decided to retire and offered him a sweetheart deal to purchase the business. Gage felt like the path was clear to make his dream come true. Armed with seed money from a small inheritance, a couple of beer-enthusiast investors, and a bank loan, Gage had moved to Fox Hollow, bought the brewery, and put everything he had on the line to make it successful.

For the first several months, he slept on a cot in his office. After that, he rented a room at a motel before he felt comfortable getting a real apartment and recently, a cabin of his own. Now, the brewery operated firmly in the black, and he felt certain that if he could crack the puzzle of giving creatures like himself a way to have a buzzy night on the town, the brewery would not only be on solid financial ground but set new profit records.

Sometimes the uncertainty still woke him in the middle of the night, but over the last several years, the brewery found its footing and a legion of fans. Some were from Fox Hollow and glad to support a new business. Others were campers and tourists who happened upon the brewery and took advantage of being able to ship their favorites home.

Gage headed home to get a shower before he went in to work. Bobby, his brewmaster, was already there, overseeing the second shift and checking the new batches. Gage cleaned up and changed into his self-imposed uniform of a Merrick Craft Brewing T-shirt over nice jeans and boots.

The brewery’s collection of shirts sold quite well, as did a variety of mugs, pint glasses, and other souvenirs. Merrick Craft Brewing wasn’t exactly famous, but it had started to make a name for itself in the Adirondacks, which made Gage very happy.

I’ve never felt as much at home as I do here. I love living and working here. Now I need a mate, Gage thought.

We’re not as young as we used to be. We need to get a move on finding the right person, his Malinois replied.

I’m not going to settle just to have company, Gage cautioned. I want to find a true mate.

Don’t be too picky. I have needs.

Gage didn’t appreciate his Malinois’s nagging, but he also didn’t disagree. Go to sleep. I have work to do.

In response, his Malinois snorted loudly but retreated into a corner of Gage’s mind, where he tossed out occasional snarky comments and stayed out of the way.

“Hey, Bobby! How’s the new batch going?” Gage asked.

“It’s coming along.” Bobby was an otter shifter and a Fox Hollow native. Now in his middle years, he had worked for breweries elsewhere in the Adirondacks before coming home to Fox Hollow. “I think this one might be a bit more potent. I tried a different formulation. You’ll have to see if your friends notice.”

“Did it affect you?”

Bobby laughed. “I stuck around after my shift ended last night and tried it out. Got a nice buzz—but I’m a lightweight compared to the big boys.”

Gage had never figured out how the magic of shifting worked when the human form didn’t match the bulk of the shifted form. But he knew from the focus groups that shifters who turned into bigger animals—like Brandon’s moose—had an even harder time feeling the effects than the smaller creatures, like otters, beavers, and squirrels.

It only took half as much for Liam to get buzzed compared to Russ or Drew. And so far, nothing had affected Brandon—even a little.

Then again, I’ve seen videos of deer eating fermented apples. Maybe it’s a good thing that Brandon isn’t a cheap drunk.

“What’s it taste like?” Gage accepted a tasting cup and concentrated as he let the flavors bloom on his tongue.

“You tell me, boss.” Bobby grinned, clearly proud of his concoction.

“Good body, but not too hoppy.” Gage swirled the beer in his mouth. “I’m picking up some jammy undertones—raspberry and fig?”

“Very good. You nailed it. There are always people who prefer a sweeter drink, and this is a little fruitier without taking away from the other elements,” Bobby told him. “I think we might be able to win over some skeptics with it.”

“I’m all for it,” Gage told him. “I love the idea of having something for everyone who chooses to drink. And for the others, there’s soda.”

Gage had a contract with an Adirondack-based soda maker that produced original flavors unique to the region. The extensive variety was a hit with locals and tourists and set the brewery apart from competitors.

“I’ve got the gang coming in to try the other new batch. Do you think you’d have enough to try this one on them, too?”

“Sure,” Bobby agreed. “Your friends are very willing to tie one on for the team.”

“It’s a heavy burden, but somehow, they manage,” Gage replied melodramatically and laughed. “I really like what you’re doing. I think they’re both great additions to the menu.”

Once he assured himself that all was right with the vats, he headed back to the taproom to check in with the kitchen and wait staff.

“Don’t forget, it’s RPG Night,” he told Shelly, who oversaw the servers.

“Got it, boss. We’ll keep checking every half hour for drink refills and snack orders, but everyone knows to make sure the players aren’t in the middle of something dramatic,” Shelly replied. “We all love listening to the adventures on game night. Some of the players missed their calling in the theater.”

Imaginations ran wild on game night, and the players really got into the scenes. Since most were regulars and knew each other well, there was plenty of banter, and everyone stayed friendly.

He checked at the bar. Carlos, the head bartender, was already set for the night’s crowd, and he had an extra barback on duty to help keep up with the orders.

“You got the new brews Bobby wants to demo?” Gage asked.

Carlos nodded. “They’re in pitchers. We’ll keep an eye on the reactions so you have a different perspective from what the drinkers report.” He snickered. “Some people have a hard time realizing they’re not as sober as they think they are.”

“Make sure you let Bobby know your impressions,” Gage said. “I really like the flavors.”

His last stop was in the kitchen. Cathy, like several of the other section heads, had stayed when Gage bought the brewery. She’d been with the prior owner for ten years and had a good read on the difference in food preferences between nights when the crowd was mostly local versus the tourists.

“Got everything you need?” Gage poked his head in far enough to see that Cathy and her staff already had a good start prepping for the evening.

“I was worried when my grocery order was late, but it got here in time and wasn’t missing anything, so we won’t be stuck with peanuts and pretzels,” Cathy told him with a grin.

Gage knew the regulars would make the best of it if a delivery mishap meant missing out on their favorite snacks, but the evening’s receipts would be much higher if they could cater to the gamers’ munchies.

Sitting around moving little rocks on a board is not playing, his Malinois objected. Chasing a ball is playing. Or fetching a stick. I need to teach you about real play.

Bite me, Gage replied. Since Malinois were sometimes jokingly called Maligators for their hard bite in police settings, the response was an in-joke with his other side.

Humans throw balls around.

We do that sometimes, Gage reminded him.

We could go now. Now is good, his Mal said hopefully.

Not now, sorry. Gotta work to afford your pricy dog treats.

His dog gave a huff and shot him the side-eye, then slunk to a corner of his mind.

Gage spent the rest of the morning in his office paying bills, ordering supplies, and handling paperwork. While those weren’t the most exciting parts of owning the brewery, he accepted them as a necessary evil. Fortunately, his coursework and the time he spent working at other breweries prepared him well.

He really enjoyed spending time with Bobby and his other brewers dreaming up new flavors or giving feedback to tweak or perfect a new offering. It surprised Gage how happy he was circulating in the tasting room in the evenings, chatting with friends, neighbors, and tourists about the different flavor profiles.

Gage also liked dreaming up ways to spread the word about the brewery. He had liked his marketing classes in college and loved coming up with promotions, ordering branded tchotchkes, and creating special events that brought people together.

This certainly wasn’t the life his family had in mind for him. The Merricks had a long, proud tradition in law enforcement and the military. Gage knew his father and brothers cared about him, but they weren’t big on showing affection unless someone was dying, and hid their feelings with macho joking. His father had tried to be accepting; his grandfather much less so. As the youngest, his brothers cut Gage some slack, but being gay tested their tolerance.

Gage finally decided, when he was old enough to choose, that he wasn’t cut out for uniforms. He left home for college and visited on holidays now, since he loved his family but realized they worked best together in small doses.

We have a new pack that likes us just fine, his Mal pointed out. Gage loved the way he fit in with his friends in Fox Hollow. His family could be a bit snooty about Malinois being the epitome of a military dog as if that made Mal shifters superior. Here in Fox Hollow, most people didn’t have their traditional pack or other family unit to fall back on, so they forged their own regardless of their animal.

We have a great pack—and other awesome friends. I like it here. The cabin is perfect. The brewery is everything I hoped it would be.

But it’s not complete without a mate, his Mal finished.

That sounds like a romance drama…but yeah. I’m ready to find the right guy, Gage admitted.

That realization wasn’t new. He had always hoped to fall in love and find a partner. But first there was college and then buying the brewery, and Gage had been so consumed by everything involved that looking for love hadn’t been the priority.

We’d sleep better with a mate, his Mal argued.

It’s got to be the right one. And so far, we haven’t met him.

Look harder. It would be good not to be alone, his Mal replied.

We aren’t exactly lonely, Gage pointed out. We have our friends. And the brewery.

Not the same.

Gage sighed. I agree. But getting the brewery up and running took everything I had. It wouldn’t have been fair to start with someone when I wasn’t really present. Now, I can take time away to make it work.

Don’t fart around. I’m tired of waiting.

Sometimes his inner dog reminded him of his gruff, ex-military grandfather, and Gage struggled not to let it raise his hackles—figuratively or literally. I’m fond of eating on a regular schedule and having a place to live. We had to build the brewery to make that happen. And we’re much more attractive to a mate if we aren’t starving and living under a bush, he pointed out.

Just don’t take forever. It would be nice to curl up with someone at night, his Mal admitted, relenting on his gruff posture.

You’re a big softie, Gage teased. Belgian Malinois could be intimidating, and they were good in their guard dog roles, but they also were deeply connected to family. Striking out on his own when his father didn’t support his goals had hurt Gage badly. That went double when his brothers sided with their dad. He wasn’t completely estranged—his mother called occasionally with updates, and he got the occasional gift card—but he only went home on holidays, and the time always felt tense.

He had never intended to cut ties. That had been his father’s reaction to not being able to order Gage to follow the family path. But Gage had always known he would be miserable as a soldier or in law enforcement, despite how sexy and exciting television and movies made it seem. He realized that learning to brew beer for shifters wasn’t as heroic as being security personnel.

And despite changes, he knew being gay would only make fitting in more difficult.

But isn’t being able to sit at a bar with friends and have a good time the kind of thing they’re fighting to protect? I’m giving people a place to go that isn’t work or home, a friendly spot to fit in, a way to meet new people and to not be alone. That might not be heroic, but it’s necessary. And maybe I’ll meet my person along the way.