1. The Eye Patch

ONE

THE EYE PATCH

JASON

Owning and working at a gas station toughens you up for whatever life throws at you. The amount of crazy I've seen over the years could fill several movies.

You wouldn't believe how many dipshits would put the nozzle in their car and then drive off. Not only did they spill fuel all over the place and risk setting the entire mountain on fire, but the repair costs and insurance hassle were just plain annoying. After this happened for the tenth time in the first three months of owning the station, I stopped selling gas at night. I was already having trouble finding employees, not to mention that the nights didn't bring in enough money to justify an extra shift.

Unfortunately, the list of annoying things doesn't end there.

Those big-ass bricks on the restroom keys? You would think that people would remember to return them. Nope. I always keep five spare keys on hand so that at least we, the staff—which was me and three guys in their seventies who wanted to supplement their pensions—could continue to use them. Unless, of course, someone made a pit stop on their way through the mountains and decided it would be funny to vandalize the walls or do their business anywhere but the toilet.

Now and then, I get angry one-star reviews complaining that the only gas station within fifty miles was closed at night. Only to find those same people still waiting for me to open up in the morning and play all nice so things go faster. Yeah, see if taking out your frustration over your poor planning on me will make me work faster.

Spoiler: it won't.

So, when I found a minivan parked behind the station that Sunday morning, the only thing that made me raise an eyebrow was that it wasn't parked next to the gas pumps but blocking the back door instead.

What was the purpose of that? To catch me going inside to tell me to hurry the hell up? To hide from the police? To attack me when I unlock the back door to steal some money? Good luck with that. Even the old people here have given up on cash. Everything is done with credit cards these days.

The autumn rain had soaked the minivan. With the floodlight mounted over the back door bathing it in a cold, white glow, it almost looked like a coffin.

I drove past it, craning my neck to get a better look. Nobody was sitting in the front seats. The rear windows were tinted so that I couldn't see inside—at least not from this angle.

The car looked like it belonged to a mother who had left her husband in a hurry with her two children and was now stranded in the woods. It was always a mom, a retiree, or an alcoholic. Never a hot guy. Never someone whose good looks would at least make up for whatever it was they made me deal with.

I backed into the space on the opposite side of the back parking lot, next to the small shed that was tucked into the pine trees so I could keep an eye on the van.

My jaw clenched. Only thirteen minutes to seven—already two minutes of my life lost to some new shit that was about to happen.

As I turned off the engine, my car's headlights, which had made the rain look like needles trying to scratch the minivan, faded, leaving it looking dead and empty.

I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head and yanked the door of my car open. The wind made the drizzle feel colder than it was. It had been raining for days. That was the bad thing about living in a place surrounded by mountains. Once those clouds get here, they stick to the treetops and don't leave until they're empty. But the rain didn't bother me too much. I've grown up with it. I'll probably die with it. What bothered me was the van.

Fixing my gaze on it, I walked over. Another glance through the windshield revealed a black sweater and two ripe bananas on the driver's seat.

The minivan was parked so close to the building that there was hardly any room. I didn't want to squeeze through the small gap because who knew if someone would jump at me out of nowhere, but I had little choice. If I went through the front door, the alarm would go off, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with the police this morning.

Damn it. If I get robbed, I get robbed. I have insurance for that.

I wedged myself between the wall and the wet minivan, my eyes still scanning everything, trying to figure out what was going on with this car. I walked past the rear windows, and since I could only see my reflection because of the tint, I leaned closer until the faint reflection of me and my eye patch was gone.

As soon as I could make out the back row, something moved.

Someone was lying there.

A guy .

His feet were tucked in because he was too tall for the seats.

I couldn't see his face. Squinting my left eye, I moved closer to get a better view.

He lifted his head. For a second, the rain pounding on his car drowned out every other sound until he let out a thunderous scream. He jumped to the other side of the vehicle and pulled his feet in as if he were about to be bitten by a bear, causing the whole minivan to shake.

Startled, I jumped away and jabbed the handle of the back door behind me right into my spine, letting out an unplanned scream of my own that frightened the crows hiding in the trees so much that they flew away.

I put my hands up in front of me to show him I didn't have any weapons and didn't mean him any harm. Not that he would suddenly pull out a gun and claim it was self-defense in the end. You never know this far out in the woods.

His scream turned into a laugh.

He also raised his hands to show me they were empty. We stared at each other, waiting for our heartbeats to calm. I nodded to acknowledge that this was an unplanned shock for both of us, but that I understood that this was one of those harmless stories I would tell once while it was fresh, but then never again.

He copied my nod and rocked closer to me. His legs squeezed into the footwell as if his car should have been twice as big for him to have enough legroom. He settled into the seat and rolled down the window a crack.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said in a husky voice.

Wasn't it more like I scared him? He was the one who screamed first.

I took in his soft brown eyes, his wide lips that his beard tried to hide, and the way he sat there, talking to me casually as if he had already decided that we would bond over this experience. If the whole situation hadn't been so out of the blue, I might even have acknowledged that this guy was one of those good-looking men I claimed never appeared in Seastone: bearded, about my age, with his shirt accidentally rolled up, revealing some skin and belly hair.

"I ran out of gas last night," he said as if that explained why he parked behind the gas station instead of next to the pump.

"Happens," I replied.

His gaze lingered on my face for a moment, and I could tell by the twitch in his eyes that he had the same questions about my eye patch that everyone else had when they first met me.

"Store will be open in about fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty," I said to cut him off before he could ask. The worsening rain didn't help with my motivation to answer stupid questions about why I was wearing an eye patch. No matter how hot the person asking was.

I turned around, stuck my key in the back door, pushed it open, and hurried out of the rain. As I turned around to close the door behind me, I found him still smiling.

"Thanks," he said, pressing his mouth to the crack.

And as much as I wanted to smile back at him, I was so out of practice that I just raised my eyebrows and closed the door.

The rain pelted against the back door as I deactivated the security system. A few drops made their way from my coat to the floor, and, hell, all I could see before my eye was his smile.

What was wrong with this guy? Why was I so flustered now that my wish of someone hot being in the car came true?

I shook my head. My watch vibrated, reminding me it was five minutes to seven, time to turn on the coffee machine so it could heat up. But I was in no hurry—not even with a guy like him close by. The best thing would be if he had to wait anyway. That would mean I could watch him through the shop windows for a few more minutes before he filled up and drove away, never to be seen again.

I shuffled into the break room on the right, took off my dripping coat, and hung it in the locker farthest from the door. I punched the numbers into the safe on the opposite side of the wall and pulled out the till. On my way through the small hallway toward the cash register, I switched on the lights and glanced into the restrooms—which wasn't such an unpleasant task anymore because now I pay a company from Ashbourne to clean them every night. So far, I haven't seen any disgusting shit for two months. As I walked into the store, my eyes searched the front windows to see if that guy would show up.

The covered area in front of the store couldn't be emptier. Not even any of my regulars came early, eager to get their daily coffee.

What did I expect? That he would stand there, waiting to come in and talk to me after his first reaction to seeing me was a frightened scream?

I took a deep breath and turned around to the most important task of my morning routine: firing up the coffee machine.

Coffee accounted for about thirty percent of the sales. It had high margins, and many of the old folks from town came here to get one. They jumped at the chance to chat with someone and get out of the house, even if they didn't have to fill up their car. It was a win-win, and I was happy to connect with them.

With three short beeps, the machine announced that it had warmed up and was ready for orders, so I pressed the button for a medium roast black coffee. The first one of the day was always mine—only to make sure that the machine worked properly, of course.

Once that was done, I usually made the rounds to see if Stan, Gary, or Chris, my three trusted employees who work the evening shifts, had restocked the candies and snacks. A cursory glance revealed no noticeable shortage, so I postponed that task, unlocked the front door, and trudged behind the counter to enjoy my beverage.

I pulled out the folding stool I had bought for Gary's aching back and sat down behind the register, coffee steaming in my face. At 7:04, the bell on the main door announced that Mr. I-Sleep-In-My-Minivan had finally made his way inside, and, damn , he looked even better without a tinted window between us. His head was level with the plastic severed hands I had hung from the ceiling with a ladder a week ago for the upcoming Halloween.

His eyes wandered around the store as if he'd never been in a gas station. "This place is perfect." He looked at the coolers I had decorated with fake cobwebs, the carved pumpkin next to the door, and the banner on the back wall wishing everyone a Happy Halloween before he fixed his eyes on me. "Good morning."

"Morning." I sipped my coffee without taking my eye off him. He probably thought I was suspicious of him—which wasn't entirely wrong—but our incident gave me the perfect excuse to check out this beautiful example of a man. He was gorgeous. Definitely not from around here because I would've remembered someone like him.

He walked up to me, turning his head as he scanned the snacks left and right of him. "Can I have a coffee, please?"

"Sure. Want me to leave some room for cream?"

He shook his head, picked up two bags of beef jerky, and threw them on the counter. I placed a paper cup under the nozzle and hit the button on the machine.

"Sorry again for screaming like a little girl," he said.

I turned to him. "Happens."

He wrinkled his nose.

I knew what he was going to say. After all, everyone commented on it. "My eyepatch scared you?" I said, beating him to it. I rang up the beef jerky and the nut-filled candy bar he'd picked out.

"The whole combo," he laughed. "The eye patch, the spotlight behind you, the rain. Only the murder weapon was missing. It was like a scene out of a movie. I wish I could've taken a picture."

The machine behind me beeped, announcing that the second coffee of the day was ready. What an excellent opportunity to turn away and hide the fact that I didn't know how to respond to his last sentence.

I put the coffee in a paper holder and set it on the counter in front of him. "Milk and sugar are on the side. That's eight dollars and eighty-nine unless you want to put some money on the gas meter. But they also take cards."

He shook his head and tossed ten bucks on the counter. "Do you like horror movies?"

I raised an eyebrow at him as I took the bill.

"This place," he gestured around, "looks like something out of a horror movie."

My left eyebrow went up even higher.

His neck lengthened as he must've realized how this sounded. "In a good way, though."

"How can it be a good thing that the place where I work every day is scary enough to be the set of a horror movie?"

"That didn't sound as flattering as I thought, did it?"

"Not really."

"I sometimes forget that not everyone loves scary movies."

I didn't know what to say. This place didn't look like a horror movie set to me. It was just an aging gas station in the woods, surrounded by mountains… okay, maybe I understood where he came from.

He sipped his coffee without adding cream or sugar. "Sorry, I thought you were into it, too," he said, looking at the eye patch again.

One thing I hated was when people asked me about it.

Yes, I only have one eye. No, I don't want to talk about what happened. Yes, I also have a prosthetic—four of them, to be exact—and could wear them to avoid questions. But since the tissue in my eye socket healed strangely after I lost it, the prosthetics are uncomfortable to wear.

"And why would you think that?"

"You've got all these decorations up," he pointed at the severed hands, "much more gory than most stores for Halloween and—" he pointed at the eye patch when suddenly his eyes went wide as if he had an epiphany. "Oh bloody hell, the patch isn't a costume?"

"No, it's not."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Please accept my apology."

I waved him off. "Well, you're not from around Seastone. You couldn't know that my sister gouged out my eye with a pencil and fed it to our dog."

That was a lie. I don't have a sister, and my family never had a dog. People asked me so many times that I started telling the craziest shit to get them off my back. Seeing their faces freeze in shock felt like all the retribution I needed. Was I an asshole for it? Maybe. But people should learn to mind their own business. It was not like I was running around and asking everyone about their medical history.

I opened the till, tossed his ten dollars in, and grabbed his change, preparing to see his horrified face when I handed it over—only to find him smiling.

"That is so disgusting. I don't even care that it's a lie." The grin on his face was so broad that my heart skipped a beat.

"It's not. I only have one eye," I replied.

"That I believe. Not the part about your sister feeding it to your dog."

"Why not?"

"Scary things happen in real life. But most of the time, it's not as entertainingly gory."

"Guess you got me there."

He chewed on his lips, trying to hide a grin. "So you like to shock people to get them off your back?"

"You haven't heard the half of my stories."

"Oh please, tell me more."

"More, huh?"

"Yeah? Who doesn't like to hear scary stories?" He leaned one arm on the counter and focused his gaze on me, eager to hear more of my bullshit.

"Well, my parents always told me that carrots were good for my eyes. So…" I made a jabbing motion as if sticking a carrot in my eye. "Boy, were they wrong."

He laughed, showing all his teeth as if I had made the greatest joke in the world—and I couldn't deny that his genuine reaction spurred me on.

"Oh, wait. Another one of my favorites is this." I stood up, craning my neck as I pretended to talk to someone behind him. "Yeah, this?" I pointed to my face. "I sold an eye to pay for my mail-order husband. Turns out he was just a blow-up doll."

He laughed even harder. "You're hilarious, man. Did anyone ever believe it?"

"Most of them did."

"I can imagine them slowly dying inside when you tell them. I'd pay good money to see that."

We stared at each other for a moment. Somehow, in a matter of seconds, we went from being creepy to almost acting like best friends. It was probably my imagination, but… was this gorgeous guy interested in me?

"What brings you out here to Seastone?" I asked him.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't plan to come here? That I just followed a hunch and am on my way to nowhere?" He was still chuckling, but I wasn't sure what to make of his answer. "Who knows? Maybe I'm a cereal killer ?" he said, standing up, now towering over me. He grinned as wide as he could, like he was trying to show off his beautiful teeth to get cast as a vampire. "You know? As in cereal ? The food?"

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. "That was the worst joke I ever heard."

"Well, at least my joke died. If that doesn't count, I don't know."

"You're weird."

"Says the guy who tells people that a dog ate his eyeball."

"My morbidity doesn't make you any less weird."

The guy chuckled competitively. "Well, you don't know the half of how weird I am."

"True," I replied, dropping back onto the stool. I crossed my legs, leaned against the counter, and smirked at him. "Try me."

"For starters, I once slept in a cemetery for a dare and liked it so much that I stayed for a week."

"That's it?"

"I also almost became a dermatologist because I loved watching those pimple-popping videos."

"You're not even half as weird as me. I scare people on Halloween by showing them my empty eye socket."

He made a face that was both disgusted and amused. "I can only fall asleep listening to true crime podcasts, even though I often sleep in my car."

"Every pizza I've had since I was twenty has had a pineapple topping."

The bell of the door rang again, announcing the next customer. Both of our heads flew up as if it were clear that we shouldn't be having this conversation in front of another living being.

A familiar yellow raincoat caught my eye. Jack—the only other gay guy in town, and therefore my friend—walked in with two boxes of donuts.

The cereal killer turned back to me. "Well, you win this round. Pineapple on pizza is gross." He laughed at me. "Two more questions. First: Would you mind if I took some photos and videos around here?"

"Why would you do that?"

He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm not a creep, even if I come off like one."

He obviously didn't get the memo that I was still talking to him because he was the most fascinating guy I had met in years.

"I drive around the country and have a MyTube channel where I document my journey. It's not big, few followers, but it's close to my heart."

"And why would you want to film a gas station in the middle of nowhere?"

"Because it made an impression on me," he said with a smile that could have melted my heart if I didn't know he was just saying that to get a yes out of me.

I gestured behind him. "Knock yourself out." My eyes darted to Jack, who watched the spectacle with curiosity. "And the second question?"

"Do you have a restroom?"

I took a deep breath and pointed to the small hallway next to the coffee station to my left. "Down there on the right."

I reached under the counter, pulled out what I always affectionately called ‘the brick,' and placed it in front of him. It was a three-inch key with a twenty-inch clay tag that weighed two pounds. "Please bring it back."

"Will you hunt me down if I don't?"

"You can bet your ass I will."

"Then maybe I'll keep it," he said, taking the key but setting the half-finished coffee on the counter as if he wanted to make sure I knew he wouldn't leave without talking to me again.

I looked after him and couldn't help but stare at his firm ass as he strolled down the small corridor, looking at everything as if he were in a museum.

Jack stepped up to the counter and stared after him as well. "That was… what was that?" Jack asked, handing me the two dozen donuts. He sometimes comes by to deliver them when Sienna from the Mountain View Cafe doesn't have the time to bring them over before they open up.

"Don't ask me. Found him sleeping in a minivan behind the building this morning."

"Gay?" Jack asked.

I shrugged. "Everyone is assumed to be gay until proven otherwise." I pushed some buttons on the coffee machine to make Jack a cappuccino.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say he was flirting with you," Jack said, a little louder so I could still hear him over the coffee machine working its magic.

I put on a rubber glove and moved the donuts from their box to the refrigerated display. "He's just passing through."

"Even better. Nothing to worry about if he's straight."

Jack and I had known each other since he moved to town four years ago. Like everyone else, he came here regularly for coffee, probably to have someone to talk to who wasn't at least half a century older than him. But the ten years that were in between us were enough that it took us two years to figure out that we were both gay. At that moment, we both thought we should go on a date—just because. But after an awkward minute, we unanimously agreed that we weren't each other's type and that we'd be better off as friends.

The coffee machine beeped, and I handed Jack his cup. He put his credit card on the counter, but I slid it right back to him.

"Do you know how it makes me feel when you never let me pay?" Jack asked, shaking his head.

"Loved and cherished as a friend?"

Scowling, he took the card and coffee.

With a creak, the restroom door swung open, tacitly ending Jack's and my conversation. The brown-haired giant ducked into the corridor. I tried not to stare too obviously at him and focused on getting the donuts into the display. Jack blew at his coffee, studying the merchandise as if he had no work today, while I could see him glancing over his shoulders.

The guy put the restroom key on the counter, leaving his hand on the clay tag. "Or do you want me to keep it so you can hunt me for fun?"

"My friend and I…" I nodded toward Jack, who pretended not to hear us. "… we've already gathered our pitchforks and drummed up the townsfolk."

"Thank you for your kindness." The guy laughed as he withdrew his hand.

I left the key where it was as I had twelve more donuts to get into the display.

The guy watched me, taking a few steps back as if that enhanced his view. He pulled out his phone and lifted it to snap a picture of me.

I glared at him. "What are you doing?"

His eyes grew wide. "You said I could take some pictures?"

"As long as I'm not in them."

He stuck his lower lip out in front of the other. "Oh, sorry. I thought it was clear that I wanted to take a picture of you."

I still couldn't tell if it was because he was gay and into me or if it was just weird, straight-guy talk. I glanced at Jack, who pretended not to hear our conversation by inspecting a chocolate bar.

The guy scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. "I can delete it. But…" he turned his phone around and showed me the picture he had taken. "Your face isn't even visible."

When I squinted, he moved the phone closer to me. A donut hid my face. The angle at which he had held the camera did indeed make the store look like something out of a movie. Maybe I was never looking at it from the right perspective.

Jack glanced over his shoulder, biting his lips as if he wanted to tell me that this guy was most definitely flirting with me.

I sighed. "Pictures with a face are ten dollars. Fifteen if you want an autograph."

"How much to tell one of your scary stories on camera?"

"Oh my god, I was kidding."

"Me too, man." He winked at me with a smile that made it clear this wasn't just casual guy talk. "I couldn't pay you even if I wanted to. Though I would love to hear more of your stories."

I waved at his phone, trying to save this conversation. "You're welcome to take pictures. Just… tag the station online. It might bring in some customers."

"I'll be happy to do that." He went to the counter and got his coffee and snacks. "Thanks for being so open-minded." He wandered around the aisles, examining everything and snapping some interior shots.

Jack and I exchanged glances. He nodded in his direction and mouthed, "Go for it."

I glanced back and forth between him and the guy. Our excitement wasn't going unnoticed. The guy put his phone down and looked at us.

"Ask him out on a date," Jack mouthed, not realizing we were caught.

"What?" the guy uttered, the hint of a smile adorning his face.

Jack's eyes widened. "Have a good one," he said, pushing the door open and rushing out of the store.

"What did he say?" The guy asked as we watched Jack jump into his old baby-blue truck, only to hop out again to get some gas.

I shook my head. "Don't mind him."

"I swear I heard…" He looked out at Jack and then back at me. He pursed his lips, nodding as if he had an epiphany. "My ears must be getting old."

We stared at each other for another second before he raised his phone to signal that he wanted to take more pictures. I went back to stacking the last of the donuts while he photographed the Halloween decorations, the faded ‘Help Wanted' sign in the front window, and, for some reason, the ceiling fan. When he was done, he headed straight to the back corner where the car accessories were displayed and returned to the counter with a thirty-ounce fuel storage bottle. His cheeks flushed as if he felt embarrassed to buy it.

"What are you planning to do with that?" I asked him because I've seen people buy them before. "If you want to get extra gas and store it safely in a shed, I'll sell it to you, but if you want to carry it around, I'd hardly advise against it. Unless you want it to explode."

"No, I know. Flammable fumes and stuff. It's…" His eyes darted to the counter as he took a deep breath. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if we weren't the only ones in the store. "When I said I was out of gas, I meant it literally . I need a small starter to get me to the pumps."

My eye closed for two seconds as I finally understood why he was parked in that awkward position. "Why didn't you say so? I have a canister in the back I can lend you so you can save some money."

"And not risk blowing up my car." He laughed. "That would be awesome."

We stared at each other for another second before I motioned to the back. "Just follow me."

When I got the canister out of the little shed behind the building, I tried to explain how to use it.

So many people get it wrong. They either forget to open the vent cap, don't make sure that the pump nozzle is touching the side of the canister to prevent static electricity from building up, or somehow knock the entire thing over when they pull the nozzle out.

But before I could explain all that, he said it wasn't the first time he'd used one and that he'd be careful not to set anything on fire.

I watched him from my window, ready to jump out in case he was one of those big mouths afraid of looking bad in front of other men. Not that he'd given that impression yet, but I couldn't be too careful. To my surprise, he actually knew how to handle the canister safely. He even opened the spill-proof spout on the first try, something even my employees sometimes have trouble with.

Five minutes later, his minivan slowly rolled up to the pump farthest from the entrance.

After pumping gas, he strolled back to the store but stopped in the doorway, only sticking his head in. "I'd walk around the building and give it to you in the back?"

Damn. He even thought far enough to realize that it might not be a good idea to carry a canister with some gasoline left in it through a store.

Without waiting for my answer, he made his way around the building. I hurried through the small hallway and pushed open the back door as he turned around the corner.

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver," he said, handing me the canister.

As I grabbed the handle, our hands touched briefly, and the smile on his face as it happened was to die for.

"Just doing my job," I replied.

He kept his eyes on me. I wanted to look away, but after all the flirting this morning, I just couldn't. What if Jack was right? Should I ask him to meet me later? It's not like anything bad could come of it.

He took a deep breath. "I know. I've asked a lot of questions already, but I have one more." The wind blew some strands out of his hair and onto his forehead.

Damn. I'll eat a broomstick if he asks me out now.

"Not to add to my account of weirdness, but…" He sighed. "There's a Help Wanted sign by the front door. Do you think I could apply?"