14. Mickey

CHAPTER 14

MICKEY

Mickey was early for his shift. He couldn't stand waiting around any longer, so he bundled up and made the walk across town to The Anchor. Even at first glance, Mickey could tell that the building had gotten a bit of a facelift. When he last saw this place, it had been a dive. The outside had been dirty and run down. It was definitely a place you didn't take a date.

Now, The Anchor gleamed like a crown jewel. Everything about it shone. Mickey gave himself a minute or two on the sidewalk to take it all in. This was it. His new start. If he let himself think about how he was twenty-five and had never had a job, or a place of his own, and hadn't accomplished a single thing, he'd curl up in a ball and cry for the years and opportunities lost and the hardships he'd endured.

Instead, Mickey shoved all that aside and walked in the doors. He'd never been on the inside before, but he had a feeling that it had also been on the receiving end of a renovation. There weren't very many people there. A few couples were scattered about eating an early dinner and chasing it with a beer.

Mickey was used to clubs and strobe lights and thumping bass. Music so loud you could feel it in your bones, and fuck being able to hear anyone. Clubs where Lance would dress him in tiny shirts and skin-tight shorts and parade him around. He'd felt like a prize at first, but the novelty wore off when Mickey realized Lance's affection for him was tied directly to how much money he could make him.

"You must be Mickey."

He snapped out of his stupor and came face to face with a wall of a man. Broad shoulders. Pythons for arms. Tattoos for days, even one that climbed out from under the collar of his t-shirt and covered his throat. Mickey stared at the giant rose on the man's throat before forcing his gaze upward.

"I'm Shane Taggart. We talked on the phone."

Mickey took the hand that Shane offered and they shook. Sometimes Mickey felt a bit like a robot who was pretending to be a person. He knew all the things he was supposed to say and do, but when it came time to do them, Mickey felt awkward and out of place. It was easy for him to overanalyze everything. Had his grip been tight enough? Were his palms too sweaty? Oh, God, they were, weren't they?

If Shane noticed that Mickey had switched into robot mode, he didn't appear to care. He motioned to the back of the bar. "Follow me. I'll give you the grand tour."

Mickey was aware that Shane was talking and he did his best to cling to what he was saying. Shane pointed out the staff room and the different areas of the back, including the kitchen. He introduced him to the cook, whose name Mickey promptly forgot and then led him into his office.

Shane motioned for him to have a seat. "Did you get any of that?" he asked, dropping into the chair behind the desk.

"Not really, no."

Shane grinned at him and pushed a stack of papers his way. "That's fine. I can give you the grand tour again after your nerves have settled a bit. All that right there is standard tax stuff. Just fill it out and I'll pass it over to my brother."

Mickey grabbed a pen and started skimming the paperwork. "You have a brother?"

"I have too many of them sometimes. I'll explain the whole family tree another day. It's a lot. But all you need to know is that my brother Kieran does the books here, which is why you get paid on time." Shane stood and clapped Mickey on the shoulder on his way past. "I'm going to step out front for a few minutes and let you fill those out. I'll be back and then we can go over the house rules and stuff."

That had been hours ago and Mickey was now out on the floor, pouring drinks and doing not much else just yet. Shane said he liked to break new staff in gently, but Mickey had a feeling Shane was taking pity on him and how overwhelmed he'd been all evening.

Shane kept Mickey with him behind the bar and Mickey got to handle pouring beer and fetching bottled drinks from the cooler. Things that required no talent or thought—two things that were in short supply when it came to Mickey.

"I'm sorry I'm not more useful yet," Mickey said, earning him his first genuine scowl from Shane. Promptly, Shane clapped a hand on Mickey's shoulder and steered them away from where the customers were sitting.

"Mickey, you've been on this job for all of two hours. I didn't hire you expecting someone who knew everything. In fact, I'm glad you're aware of how little you know about what you're doing. It means I get to teach you. That you're going to be receptive to learning to do things the way I want them done. I don't mind that you've never worked in a bar before. It means you don't have any bad habits. Cut yourself some slack. Okay?"

Mickey forced himself to take a deep breath. "Okay."

"Come on, I think it's time for your break. Soda is free during your breaks, and you get one meal a shift on the house." Shane took him to the back and ushered him to the small lunch room that sat just off the kitchen. It wasn't much. A coat rack and a set of lockers. A small table with a couple of chairs. A door that led outside, and a door that led… Mickey didn't know where.

"What's that door?" Mickey asked.

"That door's to a separate entrance for the unit above the bar. I lived there for a little while when I bought the place, but I discovered that living above your job isn't the great thing you think it might be when you own the place."

"Is anyone living there now?" Mickey stared at the door and tried to imagine what it would be like to live alone.

"The last tenant wasn't the best I've ever had, so instead of locking the door from that side to make sure other people stayed out, I ended up having to lock it from this side to keep him out of my fucking bar after hours." Shane growled. "He also left the place in not-so-great shape. I cleaned it up, but it could use a coat of paint and it could stand to lose the carpet."

Mickey tried desperately not to hope. "What would you charge for something like that?"

Shane leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ethan mentioned you'd hit a bit of a rough patch."

Mickey started to shrink in on himself, but Shane pressed on.

"He didn't give me details, just said you were couch surfing. If I were to rent it to you, I'd give you a cut rate if you did the work to fix it up. It's mostly cosmetic. I already have the materials, I just don't have time." Shane rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. "Five hundred a month, everything included. Even internet and cable. You can use the bar's Wi-Fi, and I had a cable installed up there at the same time we upgraded everything in the bar."

Mickey didn't know much about rent, seeing as how Lance had taken care of all that, but he knew five hundred was a steal.

"Would that come off my paycheck?"

Shane shook his head. "I'd trust you to pay me. It's not like I don't know where you work."

"I can bring you first month's rent tomorrow," Mickey blurted before he could think about it too much. He needed this. He'd never really stood on his own two feet and he had to know that he could. The last thing he wanted to do was talk himself out of it. So what if it felt like he didn't know what he was doing? It wouldn't be the first time. But at least this impulsive decision would end with him having a roof over his head.

Shane nodded. "Then it's yours. If you show up here around noon, I'll have a set of keys for you."

"Really, Shane, you're renting the new place to the new kid?" The cook, Cyrus, said. "You wouldn't rent it to me."

"You have a place. And a husband who lives there with you."

"That's why I needed the upstairs."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. His husband likes to sneak in the back and they play grab ass when they think I'm not looking."

"You're such a cockblock, Shane."

"Get back to work or I'll fire you."

Cyrus grinned at Mickey. "He threatens to fire me at least three times a day."

"One day I'll be serious. How about you get Mickey something to eat? If his stomach growls any louder, we'll get a noise violation."

Shane clapped him on the shoulder again, something Mickey might never get used to, and told him to take thirty minutes.

"You look like you love burgers with fries, not onion rings." Cyrus squinted at him. "And gravy for the fries, on the side."

Mickey blinked at him. "Is that your secret talent? Guessing what people want to eat?"

"Hell, no. I was just pulling your leg, but who can resist a burger and a side of fries?"

Mickey shrugged a shoulder. "Vegetarians, most likely."

It was truthfully the best burger Mickey had eaten in years and he made the mistake of telling that to Cyrus, who immediately gloated to Shane when he ducked into the back.

"Don't feed his ego!" Shane laughed. "If it gets any bigger, his head won't fit through the door."

Mickey took a piss and washed his hands before returning to work. He hadn't expected to see Ethan there, but he shouldn't have been surprised. He poured Ethan a beer and the first thing he did after that was put his foot in his mouth.

Ethan got a look on his face whenever Mickey said something about himself that he didn't like. It was sort of the face Mickey imagined he'd make if he ate something sour. He was looking at Mickey that way now, with a sad sort of disapproval for talking negatively about himself. For calling himself lazy or stupid.

It wasn't that Mickey really believed those things about himself, but he didn't disbelieve them either. So many of his interactions and reactions to people were colored by how Lance had treated him. Lance believed Mickey was lazy and stupid, and the easiest way to appease him had been to agree with him.

"You're not either of those things." Ethan said.

Mickey nodded. "I know."

He didn't elaborate that he didn't quite believe he wasn't, but he was getting there. Things had been so drastically different since he'd stumbled into the Bennetts, Ethan in particular, that some days it was all he could do to wrap his head around it.

Some mornings he still woke up surprised to find himself in Ethan's house. Warm and safe and well-fed. And soon he'd be waking up in his own place. Yet he couldn't bring himself to tell Ethan here and now. He'd wait until tonight when he got off work, or he'd wake up early and talk to him before Ethan went to work.

There was a small part of him that didn't want to leave the comfort and familiarity of Ethan's place, but Mickey couldn't stay there forever. Yeah, he could have probably rented the basement from him, but it felt too much like a crutch. Besides, Ethan was hot and kind, he was a catch and a half, and Mickey wasn't sure he could stand it if Ethan found someone to bring home. Could he really lay in bed, one floor below, and listen to Ethan go on about his life?

The last time Mickey had made life-changing decisions to be close to a guy it had backfired in the biggest way. There was no way he was going to make that mistake again, especially when he was certain his crush was one-sided. It would vanish with a little distance between them.

That thought didn't bring Mickey nearly as much happiness as he thought it would.