Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T he next morning, Patrick woke up with his arms full of Sandy. He blinked a few times to get his bearings. This wasn't good. You tell Sandy you can't get involved with him, and then you go and snuggle him in your sleep. He covertly pulled his arm out from behind Sandy's neck, unwrapping himself from the cuddly body that seemed to fit him just right. As he shuffled off the bed and stood, he glanced down at his pajama pants. Yeah, he was interested in Sandy more than as a friend. At least that's what his dick was telling him.

With fresh clothes in hand, Patrick headed toward the shower. Once the cold water hit him, he woke up for real. He calmly breathed in and out, waiting for his arousal to subside.

Would it really be so bad if they tried dating? Sure, he was Sandy's boss, but it was only a seasonal job. If he could assure his dad the relationship wouldn't have an effect on their workday, then everything would be fine. Or he could not tell his dad and just ask Sandy out anyway.

If he were being totally honest, he'd admit that his dad didn't want to know about his dating and personal life.

Sure, he came out years ago, but it seemed as if his dad never accepted it. They didn't talk about it; sweep it under the rug is what Pat, Sr. did when it came to his son's sexuality.

Patrick wanted to be the bigger man and let it go, but it didn't seem fair. His dad was proud of him for so many things in his life—wrestling, business, and strength—why not love?

His mom was the opposite. She asked questions and joined PFLAG. She even gave him suggestions on his Grindr profile, which should have been embarrassing, but secretly he loved how excited she got when she looked at his finished profile.

But when Patrick asked her if she ever thought his dad would go with her to a PFLAG meeting, she turned silent. Maybe I should just tell mom about Sandy?

He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He couldn't believe he'd only known Sandy for a couple of days. When they were together, conversation flowed so easily. And, okay, yeah, his mom was right, Sandy smelled incredible. He's handsome, funny, and invested in helping me save the store. In a way, Sandy was his Christmas miracle. He shook his head. This guy is making me sound cheesy.

Patrick decided to ask Sandy out. If things went well, he'd tell his mom. She wouldn't tell his dad, but she'd probably encourage Patrick to share the news with him. Patrick knew it was a good idea to keep telling his dad about his life, but it was always so difficult, and it never made him feel happy. It made him feel ashamed. Patrick sighed as he dressed.

When he got to the kitchen, his mother had commandeered the stove along with his dad. They had pancakes in the works with bacon and sausage sizzling on the griddle.

"You didn't have to make all this." Patrick brought a mug down from the cupboard and poured himself some coffee.

"Honey, it's not a problem. You should wake Sandy. He won't want to miss breakfast." His mom flipped a pancake.

Patrick poured a second cup for his overnight guest. If yesterday was an indication of how Sandy felt about mornings, then he assumed coffee would be mandatory. He carried the cup into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand. He gave Sandy's arm a squeeze. "Hey, Mom wants to know if you're going to come eat with us."

"How is it morning already?" He sat up with his hair sticking out all over the place.

"We didn't go to bed that late."

Sandy yawned.

He passed the mug of coffee to Sandy.

The barely awake man, sipped, making a groan at the back of his throat then muttered, "Laptop."

"I need a few more words than that."

Sandy gave him an affectionate look. "Last night I stayed up working on something, so grab your laptop from the chair."

Patrick grabbed the computer. "What am I looking for on it?"

When Sandy made a ‘gimme' motion Patrick slid into bed next to him.

As Sandy clicked into a browser, Patrick wiggled closer to see what he was up to. The GoFundMe page for McCormick's General Store stared back at him.

"It's not live, yet," Sandy cautioned. "I'd like to add a video of you and some shots of the store. I wrote up a sample script last night, but it's subject to your approval."

Stunned, he stared at the page. Again, this man surprised him with his initiative and concern for the store's welfare and future. Patrick turned to look at Sandy. "You're amazing."

Sandy beamed at the compliment.

"Thank you—I never would have come up with this."

Sandy waved his hand in the air. "I don't buy that. Eventually, you would've been brainstorming and come up with something. This won't solve all the financial stuff, but it's a start."

"After we go to the box store groundbreaking, we can get started on the video and then announce the campaign."

Sandy's brows squished together. "Are you sure I should go? Maybe I should be at the store?"

Patrick got out of the bed. "Chelsea's got it. They've filled in before. Besides, I want you there. You see things much more creatively than I do."

"Oh, I see. You're using me for my brain. This is a first."

"You know you're awesome. Now get a move on."

Sandy hopped up. "Aye, aye."

Patrick smirked as he placed his laptop on the kitchen table. "Hey, I need to show you two something."

His parents turned off the stove, carrying over platters of pancakes, bacon and sausage, along with a big bowl of fruit.

His mom wiped her hands on a towel as she took a look at the device.

"A great idea to help save the store," she said, immediately on board.

His father stared at the screen in horror. "This makes us look like a charity case. That's not what we are. Take it down."

In defiance, Patrick placed his hands on his hips. "First of all, it's not live." This time he needed to put his foot down. It was a good plan, and it wouldn't cost them anything. "And secondly, no. We need other sources of income. We can't rely upon customers coming into the store. We need everyone to notice us, and this campaign can do it. I know you hate change, and you never had to deal with outside money in the past, but this isn't thirty years ago. Our stores didn't have online competition. And box stores weren't as common as they are today."

A fully dressed Sandy stepped into the room. "It's all right to be scared of something like this, but is it scarier than losing one of your stores?"

Dad crossed his thick arms over his chest. "I don't want this to harm the brand. We're a mom-and-pop shop, not a conglomerate."

"Dad, a fundraising campaign doesn't hurt us. It'll help us, hopefully, to keep our heads above water until we figure out a longer-term solution."

Reluctantly, his father took a seat at the table. He stabbed a few pancakes off the plate. "Let's eat."

Patrick stalked off with his laptop. He wanted to yell. Why did everything always have to be an argument and a fight to prove that he knew what he was doing? When would his dad trust him enough to listen and approve of his plans?

They all piled into Patrick's SUV for the trip to the box store. Sandy couldn't handle the deafening silence between the two McCormick men, so he dialed around in desperation and found a Christmas pop station on the radio. Sia's "Candy Cane Lane" and Ariana Grande's "Santa Tell Me" helped pass the time.

Thankfully, the drive didn't take long. Sweat rolled down Sandy's back. This was like strolling into the Grinch's cave, and it felt as if he were Max, the poor dog who basically gets smacked for being a loyal companion. Not that they were companions, but he could relate to that foolish animal. He wasn't certain what would happen during this visit. It stressed him out just thinking about stepping a foot into that store.

As the vehicle turned into the busy parking lot.

"Not as many people as I thought there'd be." Patrick pulled into an open spot near the building.

"Who are you kidding? They're busy," his dad grumbled.

Patrick released his seat belt with a snap and got out of the SUV.

Sandy hurried after him, following as he zig-zagged through the standing crowd. Patrick was leading them as close to the ribbon-cutting as possible. Evidently, he needed to look the enemy in the face. Sandy reached out and caught his jacket sleeve. "This is good enough. Your parents haven't caught up to us."

Patrick spun around. "Don't worry about it. They'll find us." Patrick's nostrils flared. It was obvious he was still upset with his dad.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

Patrick shook his head. "Not a good idea. Let's just get closer."

Sandy sighed. What else could he do but follow? He made his way through the crowd and stopped when he almost ran into Patrick's back at the front of the onlookers. Why does this feel like I'm just asking for trouble?

The store manager stepped up to the microphone to begin the festivities. Probably due to the chilly weather, the store leaders and corporate representatives kept the speeches short and cut the ribbon. Everyone flooded into the building, helping themselves to hot beverages and finger foods, all items sold at the box store. Sandy followed Patrick as he made his way to the manager and the other corporate goons.

"How does it feel to put small businesses in our community out of business?" Patrick snapped at the bald man with Art on his name tag.

"Ah, well . . . I didn't get your name." Art clasped his hands together in front of his crotch—the international sign of fearful assholes everywhere.

"Patrick McCormick. McCormick's General Store in downtown Mayfield."

One of the female corporate stooges took that moment to point at Sandy. "Do I know you? Your face is awfully familiar."

Sandy squinted at the woman, trying to place her. He was sort of certain that they had met at the corporate headquarters. He shrugged. Nonverbal denial was best in this situation.

Art adjusted his glasses and turned to two employees. "Mr. McCormick has the shop in the three-story building." Art pivoted back to Patrick. "We're growing the economy for a brighter future for your community. What we offer here at PriceCo will provide consumers with items unavailable at your store. Additionally, if you and your staff open yourselves up to a new opportunity, working for Lance Right might be in the cards—especially for a manager such as yourself."

Sandy turned to see Pat Sr barreling toward Art. "You no good son-of-a?—"

Sandy and Patrick managed to stop Pat before he had a chance to take a swing at the guy. Patrick's mom held onto her husband's jacket, trying to stop him. The heavy man made a lot of ground as he tried to get to Art, dragging them all in his approach.

Grunting, Sandy struggled to hold Pat's arm. "You should run," he said to Art, as he adjusted his grip on Pat's arm.

"Dad, calm down."

Pat's red face turned purple. Sweat covered his face. One minute they were trying to block him from attacking a man, and the next, they were trying to hold him steady.

"I think somethings wrong with your dad," Sandy told Patrick. "Call 911," he told Colleen.

"Oh my goodness," she said with the phone already in her shaking hand.

Sandy helped lower Pat to the floor. Patrick unzipped his dad's jacket. He could hear Patrick's mom providing disjointed information to the emergency services operator.

"Dad?" Patrick squeezed his dad's hand.

"My hands are tingling." Dad mumbled.

Sandy stood and placed an arm around Patrick's mom, comforting her. Colleen shook with worry. He murmured a few soothing words to her, which seemed to work as the trembling stopped.

One of the corporate employees handed Patrick a blanket to place around his dad.

They didn't have to wait long until the EMTs rolled onto the scene. They got Pat on the gurney and pushed him toward the door. Patrick walked with Colleen until she was tucked inside the ambulance with Pat.

As the ambulance drove away, Sandy held an open palm out to Patrick. "Give me your keys."

Patrick's features twisted up as if he were on the verge of tears. Sandy hugged him. "He'll be okay."

Patrick cleared his throat and stepped back.

As they walked to the SUV, Sandy held Patrick's hand. He'd never been in a medical situation this scary before. Feeling the warmth of Patrick's hand in his caused a sweeping rush of affection to gather in his chest. He was here for Patrick, and Patrick appeared to like having him around, too.