Page 18 of Viking Ink

“What? I’m always on my best behaviour,” my brother said around a mouthful of muffin, crumbs spilling down his shirt. I shook my head and prayed that Rhys wouldn’t run screaming once he met the guys.

The bell over the shop door rang and I turned to deal with the customers, putting Rhys to the back of my mind for the next couple of hours.

Chapter 6

RHYS

Doc Cullen’s software was the same that they used at the clinic I trained at—my first and only work experience before Dad had dragged me out of there. His reasons, as always, were convoluted and ridiculous. I knew it was about control—an unhealthy and damaging need to make me bend to his will. The longer I was away from him, the stronger I felt. The people I’d met since leaving had been for the most part good—the arseholes who beat me up last night notwithstanding. My father’s lectures on the outside world, the evil that was in men’s hearts, and the sin that abounded, were all lies. I was not naive enough to believe that all people were good, but most I had met had been good, hard-working people just wanting to get on with life.

When Simon had opened up and said he and his brother were gay, my heart had nearly stopped. I’d never really talked to anyone about sexuality. It was a topic of sin, my father had declared, and those who partook in homosexuality were deviants and evil. My father dealt with any hint of non-conformity swiftly and painfully, and I had long ago learned to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. To hear Simon talking openly about it, saying that his father loved and accepted him for who he was, was both wonderful and terrifying to hear. Could I finally accept who I was without fear of repercussion, and live my truth as my mum had wanted?

It was both a freeing and frightening thought. I had admitted to Simon I’d never had a boyfriend or even gone on a date, but I hadn’t said the words yet—I’m gay—and here I was, falling for Simon.

Fuck.

Whoops! I snickered. Even swearing in my head made me blush. I blushed even harder when my mind went straight to Simon and his scruffy beard this morning. I barely knew the man, but all those feelings and wants I’d kept so tightly hidden just bubbled up. Simon made me feel safe. He’d not even teased me about Mr Ted.

I was tapping my pencil against my lip, humming an Ed Sheeran song I’d been trying to learn, when Doc walked out with Mrs Walker. She had been the first appointment for the day. She’d given me a smile when she’d seen me behind the desk, a quick flicker of concern clouding her expression when she’d seen my bruised face, but thankfully she’d not said anything other than a quiet ‘Good morning.’

I had managed to find her file and tick off her appointment with little fuss, and Doc had seemed pleased, if his half-grunt and nod had been any indication.

“Rhys, can you book Mae in for an appointment next Tuesday?” Doc asked before he headed back into his office.

“Yes, Sir,” I pulled up the bookings page and sorted Mrs Walker’s appointment.

“Tuesday morning at ten a.m., Mrs Walker.”

“Young man, you and I have been nodding good morning to each other for the last month. I think you can call me Mae, just like everyone else in this town. It’s lovely to see you helping out the old bear. Lord knows he needs it. My granddaughter Tess is his receptionist, but she is due to have her baby any week now. Poor girl was worried to death about leaving Doc up to his own devices, but I see now she won’t have to worry.”

I glowed under Mrs Walker’s—no, Mae’s—praise. “Thank you. Doc needed help, and well, I need some work now my guitar is all smashed,” I blurted out without thinking.

“Oh, dear boy. I suppose that has something to do with the state of your face?” Mae harrumphed and fixed me with a concerned look.

“Yes, but it’s okay. Simon is helping me out.”

“Simon Johannsen?”

“Yes, he’s been really nice,” I said lamely. Simon had been more than nice. He’d been wonderful—but Mae didn’t need to hear me gush about Simon.

Mae gave a big smile, her soft, wrinkled face softening with affection. “The Johannsen boys are good men. Mind you, poor Mitch has been through the wars with that boyfriend of his. He needs to find himself a nice lad. But here’s me being an old busybody when I should be letting you get back to work.”

As she spoke, Doc wandered back into the room shooting both of us a disgruntled look. “You still here? Chewing poor Rhys’s ear off no doubt. Let Tess know I’m in good hands and to damn well stay off her feet.” With that he vanished back into his office.

Mae and I shared a look, both of us trying hard to keep from laughing.

She reached over and gently patted my hand. “You’ll do fine here, Rhys. Just don’t let the old bear boss you around too much. And here is Tess’s number. I’ll let her know you’re filling in, but call her if you need any help, or just tips on how to keep him in order.”

I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to move the dampness that had gathered. Simple acts of kindness and consideration were so new to me that I found I was often moved to crying like a kid. Mae offered me a kind smile and another of her gentle hand pats before she left, calling out that she would see me next Tuesday if not before.

I couldn’t believe the last few days. I’d gone from sleeping in the shelter and busking, thinking about the need to move on soon, to this. I had lived in constant fear of my dad or church group finding me. It drove me to stay on the move, never taking the time to settle down. I sat back in the chair and looked around the small office. I could enjoy working here with Doc. I was pretty sure his gruff attitude hid a big, soft heart. I could be wrong, but something told me I wasn’t.

I could even save up for a new guitar. It hurt to think of the trashed mess that Mum’s guitar now was. It was beyond salvageable. But I wasn’t going to dwell on that. I could find another, and keep playing on my days off.

Shit. Was I thinking too far ahead? What if Doc only wanted me for a few days? What if Simon wanted me to move out once I was healed up? What if—

What if.

I had to stop overthinking this. If it turned out that either of those things happened, I’d make do. Six months living rough had taught me how to survive. I hated it, but it was still a better option than returning home. That would never happen while I had breath in my lungs.

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