Page 28 of Carver’s Craving

Styx shrugged. “Life, you know. I mean Baxter and me? We were going to try again. In Vancouver. Oh, we’re from Oshawa. That’s near Toronto, in case you didn’t know. But we didn’t quite make it to Vancouver. Here I am.” He said that with a flourish and then shoved the bread into his mouth.

I was slower with my waffle—organizing a bite with a bit of strawberry, some whipped cream, and a dabble of syrup. “They’re really good. You can look them up on the internet. For their songs.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Undoubtedly, some news article about Frank’s death would be easily spotted as well.

Finn yanked his phone out of his back pocket.

Ulysses snatched it, put it face down on the table, and gave his husband that look. “I’m pretty sure Carver meant later.” He arched an eyebrow at me.

I nodded.

Styx continued to eat.

Could be worse.

Yeah…he might realize I’m Charles.

The guy who’d drilled him into the mattress on Friday night.

Fuck my life.

Chapter Eight

Styx

And why, precisely, did you tell two strangers—friends of Carver’s no less—that you’re a rock star?

No clue. None. Just…until Frank died, that had always been my answer. Hell, even after he died, I’d tried to maintain that persona.

How’d that work out for you?

Total bomb.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Sometimes I hated my inner voice.

Even weirder that I responded to it as if I were carrying on a conversation with some rational person. Neither of us was all that sane.

“Food’s up, gentlemen.” Sarabeth placed loaded plates before Ulysses and Finn.

The scent reached me and reminded me I hadn’t consumed nearly enough of my own grub. “This is delicious.” I aimed that at Sarabeth.

“I’ll bring the coffee pot for refills.”

I checked my cup. Almost empty. I debated. The more caffeine I consumed, the more wired I got. That worked great for performances—not so much in day-to-day living. I nudged Carver. “Lots of walking today, right?”

He nodded.

“Okay. One more cup should be okay.”

He squinted for a moment, then nodded and resumed eating.

Finn held a strip of bacon in the air. “I haven’t gone far in this wide world, but I can confidently say that Fifties is the best diner in Canada. Hell, the whole earth.”

Ulysses smiled indulgently. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I haven’t eaten at too many diners.” I cut another piece of French toast. “But I checked out some truck stops between Oshawa and here and none come close to the quality of this food.”

“That must’ve been a hell of a drive. Did you make it with Frank and Baxter?” Finn popped the bacon in his mouth.