Page 29 of Carver’s Craving

“With Baxter, yeah.” I poked at my hash browns. They were shredded—which was not my favorite. Finally, I met Finn’s gaze. “Frank died. About a year and a half ago.” I blinked. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Finn’s bright-blue eyes softened. “I’m sorry for assuming. Life can be shitty like that.”

“Yeah.” I considered. “Did Carver tell you he’s a roadie?” I shoved another piece of French toast in my mouth.

And felt the weight of his glare.

“Uh, no.” Ulysses tilted his head. “He never mentioned that. I know he works in construction now.” He cut a slice of omelet.

“In the past.” Carver sat a little straighter. “New life. New start.”

“Ah.” Ulysses nodded. “Mission City is good for that.” He cast his gaze upon Finn. “Really good for that.”

Finn grinned.

We ate in silence for a few minutes and I replayed the conversation in my mind. Why had I felt so comfortable with these men? From Carver’s stories, both were clearly generous and kind. They were the two who’d adopted the pittie mix. And Ulysses took the dog to work with him. Finn was a firefighter—that was a hell of a noble profession. Still, telling them about Frank wasn’t normal for me. I didn’t talk about him. Hell, Carver and I had talked around his death—but not the man himself. He’d been a good guy. Great friend, fantastic drummer, and…a bit of a druggie. He loved his dope and did speed occasionally. Baxter and I hadn’t been pleased—but Frank never missed a practice or a single beat during a performance—so we’d looked the other way.

“Man, that was delicious.” Ulysses pushed his plate away from him. He caught my gaze.

I nodded.

“So how long are you staying in Mission City? Is this permanent? Oshawa’s pretty big—and also a commuter town for Toronto. If memory serves.”

I nodded.

“Mission City’s growth is mostly because of the commuter train.” The newspaper guy kept a keen eye on me.

“Yeah…Carver mentioned something about that.” Really, I didn’t have anything intelligent to add.

“I’m from Vancouver. You can search me on the internet if you want the sordid story.” Ulysses pivoted his gaze to Carver.

Who shrugged. “Yeah, I can fill him in” He shot me a glance. “Don’t see the point—that was in the past and much of it was false anyway, right? You’ve done good stuff since moving here.” He offered a small smile. “I wouldn’t have Poppin and Walter—if not for you.”

Swear to God, Finn bounced in his seat. “Wasn’t that just the best ever?

Carver chuckled. “Yes, the best. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

He cut me a glance I didn’t know how to interpret. “But life’s complicated. Still, the simplicity of rescuing a couple of dogs wasn’t. Isn’t. They’re…just a joy.”

“Oh my God, yes.” I grinned. “I haven’t spent much time around dogs. Those two are adorable. And quite different personalities. Poppin was all barky barky when I arrived and Walter just kept looking at me—like he was trying to figure me out.”

“I think we’re all still trying to figure you out.” Carver held my gaze. “In a good way.”

I pressed a hand to my heart. “Are you saying I’m an enigma?”

“Yep.” A look in his eye.

The one I was coming to recognize, and that often caused heat to pool in my groin. Was he giving me a sign? Was that heat? Okay, you can’t be attracted to him. At least not in a restaurant. No boners allowed! “I have to run to the washroom.” With that, I slid from the booth and hotfooted my way down the aisle—searching for the washroom sign.

Sarabeth caught sight of me and pointed down a hallway.

I nodded with gratitude and hustled inside. And how long am I allowed to be in here? I pissed, flushed, and washed my hands.

Then I did something rare for me—I looked myself in the mirror.

I didn’t do this. Mostly because I didn’t like who I saw—at least a good amount of the time. I didn’t see the guy who’d gone to university. I saw the guy who dropped out. I didn’t see someone who had worked his fucking ass off to get ahead in the music business. I saw the guy who’d gone quiet. And I didn’t see the guy who could’ve been there for his friends when they needed him. I’d left Baxter to his own grief and hadn’t been there for Carver at all.

He ran away. You didn’t know where to look.