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But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I simply repeated, “I’m sorry, Henry.” Then I turned for the stairs, scrambling down them and flying out the front door.

Chapter thirteen

Henry

Mid-October

Tonight was Kink Night once again, and I wished I could get excited for it. Aside from a smile across the dance floor during Daddies and Subs Club last week, I hadn’t heard from Tristan in two weeks, not since our ill-fated morning after, and I’d felt sick to my stomach ever since. I would have skipped the night altogether, but I’d already committed to a demonstration with a boy named Carter. He and I had met at Mix It Up to negotiate the scene last night, and I’d agreed to dish out more pain than I usually preferred to give him what he needed.

I’d met Carter on the Daddy’s Boy app a few years ago, and though I enjoyed our time together, our kinks didn’t match up enough for a relationship to work long-term. We still stayed in touch because he was a regular at Mix It Up, and I knew he worked tirelessly to help foster kids with placement and support during the day and volunteered his free time to help queer youth when he wasn’t working. He didn’t have his own Daddy, probably because he didn’t have a minute to spare in his hectic schedule to find one.

The kind of pain he wanted was the best way for him to relax, though, to get out of his head for a bit, so I was willing to give it to him. Still, I usually had some pretty severe Dom drop afterward—and a plan in place that typically worked after such intense scenes.

“Hey, Henry?”

I groaned at the wary tone of Ben, my bar manager, as he came out from the back and slunk over to where I was slicing lemons behind the bar. We were opening in less than an hour. “Dammit! Another callout?”

He nodded apologetically, but it wasn’t his fault. He knew I didn’t blame him, either. We were on the same team here—we were both trying to get people to work long, odd hours at a gay bar—but that team was currently losing. “Sorry, boss.”

I patted him on the shoulder, knowing he responded well to touch. “Not your fault. Anyone else available?”

Ben shook his head and started stocking the empty glasses I’d brought from the back but hadn’t gotten to yet. “No one’s responding in the group chat, per usual.”

“No worries. I’ve got it.” I always did. “But I have a demonstration around midnight. Can you cover the bar then?”

“Of course!” Ben smiled sweetly. He was kind and dependable but could be a hard-ass when he needed to, which made him the perfect manager. He had a young kid at home and a wife who was four months pregnant, and his family didn’t just support him working at a gay bar—they celebrated it. He and his wife were at every Pride parade and public event we put on or attended, provided they could find childcare for the adults-only events. I’d even met his adorable little girl at our annual barbecue. She’d asked me if I’d found a boyfriend yet.

“You’re the best, man,” I praised.

He shrugged. “Just doing my job.” He hauled the empty tray off the counter, the glasses now in their proper place. “Anything else need prepping out here?”

I surveyed the space. “I think I’ve got it all under control. Can you run the staff circle-up tonight?”

“Already on it, boss. They’re gathering as we speak.”

“Great. I knew there was a reason I hired you.” I’d been saying that since he’d started as a bartender nearly three years ago, not too long after I’d opened. I’d promoted him a year and a half later in hopes that I could take more time away from the day-to-day tasks. That . . . hadn’t exactly worked as planned.

He chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed on his way to the back. “Don’t you forget it.”

***

We were a good hour into Kink Night when Tristan and Cameron showed up. I watched them make their way to the bar, but by the time they’d pushed through the leather-clad throng of Daddies and Doms and scantily clad boys and subs, the bar was slammed, and I barely had time to say hi before handing them their drinks and moving on to the next customer. Seeing Tristan again but having him avoid my gaze made my mood fall through to my shoes.

I forced a smile as Ryden, who was still the rockstar bartender I’d hoped he would be from the beginning, called out to me. When I caught his gaze, he gestured toward the opposite end of the bar in askance. I nodded quickly, scooting around him to catch the customers he didn’t have time for at the moment. Ben was busy running back and forth between the front and back of house, restocking supplies, dealing with customer issues, and managing the staff. I liked to help behind the bar on busy nights like this so he wouldn’t have to try to do the work of three people. He already did the work of two.

Full of gratitude at my amazing bar manager, I found myself smiling genuinely as I worked. That smile widened when every customer we served was immediately replaced by someone else wanting a drink, and a line was forming behind them. This was going to be a good night for our finances.

The bar was actually doing really well in that regard. Thankfully, Ben was a marketing genius, especially online marketing, and Cameron had given me some tips when I found out he’d helped Mountains of Books—the bookstore that two of our friends, Zander and Joey, owned—turn around several years back. Plus, I’d come from a career in entrepreneurial accounting, which had been boring at the time but was helpful now because I knew a lot of the ins and outs of running a business.

Mix It Up felt like a community venture, and I was thankful for all the help I had. I was fortunate to turn a profit the first year, and now I made enough to give a sizable annual contribution to a local LGBTQ+ charity. It was a drop in the bucket, but the more I could help people embrace their queer identities, the better the world would be. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait until they were forty-three to figure it out like I did.

An hour later, the first demonstration was about to start. Kink Night was always comprehensively and thoroughly planned by me with Ben’s help, and tonight was no exception. We knew which acts were going on, who they involved, what exactly they were planning, what time they’d start, and how long they’d last. We also had complete paperwork on all participants, including liability waivers. I had a kink-friendly lawyer help me set up the whole system, someone Ethan had used in a few of his own business ventures and recommended, so everything was legal and safe. Even our code inspectors couldn’t find any fault in our setup.

Regardless, we kept our t’s crossed and our i’s dotted. Just in case.

Timothy, Kink Night’s emcee, approached the bar during a lull to grab the night’s lineup. I always emailed it to him, but he was as conscientious as the rest of us and always checked in to make sure nothing had changed last-minute.

He was a short but solid guy, both in build and temperament. I knew he was gay and kinky, but I didn’t know much beyond that. Dude was a mystery, but I could always count on him to ensure we stayed on time and safe, so I didn’t care. His secrets were his own. He’d never missed a Kink Night since I’d introduced the biweekly events a little over a year ago.