Page 1 of After Hours

Chapter 1

Oscar

“Please, don’t stop. Please. Come on, do it for me.” My fingers gripped the steering wheel as if sheer force of will could somehow make my car drive smoothly for the final ten miles to Uncle Finn’s place. The engine made some weird hiccupping sound and smoothed out again.

It was a lot easier to admit fear about my car than about leaving home or showing up at the Halcyon Inn, a place I’d only ever seen or heard about online, without even a text. Sheer force of will had gotten me that far, but I was running on fumes. I glanced at the gas gauge and sighed. So was my trusty turquoise Spark.

My phone vibrated on the seat next to me. Again. For maybe the twentieth time since Mom walked in on me with Sam Lindquist’s hand down my pants and the shouting started. I checked the first two times and then tried to ignore it in favor of watching the highway traffic and practicing what I’d say to Uncle Finn when I just showed up.

My car shuddered again. “Please,” I whispered. The hot burn of tears filled my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall.

This wasn’t my fault. Being gay wasn’t my fault. Nor was it Satan’s, or whatever my super catholic parents thought. To be honest, I think they were more worried about their reputation than eternal damnation. It was bad enough I didn’t want to work in the family masonry business Grandpa started way back when. Veering from the expected marriage and babies path was worse. Not that gay people couldn’t get married or have kids in the real world. In the O’Donnell world, all the white picket fences and bouncing babies in the world wouldn’t make up for the difference in my partner’s genitals.

Shaking me head, I tried to shove the unpleasant thoughts back into the dark recesses of my brain. All that was over. I wasn’t a part of their limited world view anymore.

I scanned both sides of the road for a gas station. Before one appeared, the road swooped closer to the lake and unobstructed, beautiful views of water and far-off hills caught my attention. The shadows of clouds passing high overhead made patchwork patterns on the smooth surface of the lake. The red and gold of autumn leaves punctuated the deep green of the pines.

A white sign next to a narrow, paved lane read “The Halcyon Inn.” It was decorated with a rainbow-colored kingfisher bird. “We’re here,” I said and patted the dashboard. “Thank you for working so hard for me and hanging in there ‘til the end.”

The first glimpse of the inn almost took my breath away. Cliché, but true. Purple, rust, and gold mums filled the gardensnext to the front walk and wide steps up to the entrance. I pulled into a spot near the back of the parking lot and climbed out of my Spark, stretching and feeling a lot older than my twenty-two years after being stuck in there for three days.

All I had to do was walk inside, ask for Finn, and throw myself on his mercy. “Why am I here?” I whispered, then blushed furiously when a pair of middle-aged men glanced my way. One shot me a smile before I dipped my chin to examine my shoelaces. They had their arms slung around each other, just strolling out in the open air with perfect comfort and no fear.

I wanted that.

I was a grown man, and if Uncle Finn told me to leave, I’d find some way of supporting myself. Life could be good. Itwouldbe good now that I escaped the oppressive cloud of the O’Donnell clan and their backward ideologies. My next breath felt a bit steadier.

The man behind the check-in desk smiled when I stepped through the door. Although the grin didn’t falter, his dark brows twitched together subtly. “You don’t look like Mr. Mburu.”

“I’m not. I’m umm—”

“Forgive me!” The hotel manager, Tomas according to his name tag, shook his head and widened his smile. “Welcome to the Halcyon Inn. How can I help you? If you’re looking for a room, I’m very sorry, but we’re all booked up.”

My curls bounced into my eyes when I shook my head, and I swiped them back as neatly as possible. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not looking for a room. Is Finn, um, Finn O’Donnell available?”

His sculpted eyebrows rose. “I can check. What name should I give, and why should I say you’re asking for him?”

How was I supposed to answer that question? Some wild urge to spill everything all over the check-in desk and this friendly manager came over to me. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath instead. “My name’s Oscar. Finn’s my uncle. I hopedI could talk to him for just a few minutes.” I hoped he wouldn’t toss me out immediately or call the cops on some stranger claiming to be his nephew.

Tomas’s bright smile returned. “His nephew! Oh, how wonderful. Give me one minute.” Instead of disappearing through the door behind the desk, he picked up his phone and tapped around on the screen for a moment. A pause. More tapping. Another longer pause.

Finally, he swiped the screen back off, slipped the phone into his pocket, and looked up at me once more. “He’ll be out in two minutes. He didn’t know you were coming, did he?”

I shook my head. Before I could think of something else to say, Tomas looked over my shoulder. “Mr. Mburu! We’re so glad you made it here at last.”

A dark-skinned man with a tight fade and fierce cheekbones strolled up.

I retreated away from the desk and out of any potential flow of traffic. The sudden thought that I wouldn’t recognize my uncle filled me with a new kind of dread. How would he recognize me? I only ever saw pictures of him when he was in high school before he left home. In one, my dad rested his arm on his younger brother’s shoulders while they sat at a picnic table. That and a tiny promotional shot with the other owner, his partner Carter Bennett, on the inn’s website was all I had to go by. Carter seemed to take a more prominent public role.

Grandma and grandpa mentioned Finn during grace before every Sunday family dinner. Praying for his immortal soul over pot roast or baked chicken was the only reason I knew he existed and had “chosen a lifestyle outside the bounds of God’s teachings” as they put it. It didn’t take much to figure out what they meant. My dad kept the photos but brushed aside any questions about his long-lost brother. I didn’t even know if Uncle Finn knew I existed.

One second before I could bolt back to my car, a towering, muscular man with long black hair and a chambray shirt open over a simple tee emerged from the door behind the desk. His coloration matched my dad’s, but his size surprised me. He looked at Tomas, who tilted his chin toward me, and then turned around to stare down at me, his lips parted and stormy eyes wide in what looked like surprise. They were the exact same color as my father’s and my own.

At least, I hoped it was surprise and not anger or… I don’t even know what.

“Oscar?” His voice was a low rumble, very similar to my dad’s but much gentler.

“Um, yeah. Uncle Finn?” Maybe I shouldn’t even call him that. “I mean…”

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