ADULT m/m romance short story
by
Gabbi Grey
Blurb:
Styx
Shock
and grief at the loss of our bandmate have driven Baxter and me from our home
in Toronto all the way across the nation. I want to find some perspective on
the shores of the Pacific, but our ancient van dies in a hick town, one hundred
miles from my goal. There, Baxter ditches me like I'm worthless and vanishes. I
have no money, no home, no friends, and I'm stranded in Mission City. So, of
course, I decide a hookup with a hot stranger in a dark motel room will take my
mind off my pain. Except in the morning, the oddly familiar dude's gone, and
I'm alone again. I have real problems to focus on, so I don't know why some
small part of my brain keeps wondering if I'll ever see that guy again…
Styx’s
Storm is a 7k steamy gay short story with a man down on his luck, and the
one-night stand that might just change his life forever.
Exclusive Excerpt
Styx
“Fucking Baxter.” As I stood in the
middle of First Avenue in Mission, British Columbia, I cursed my friend,
bandmate, and the biggest asshole I knew. With this stunt, he’d landed at the
top of my list of jackasses.
I gazed up and down the street,
desperately searching—yet in my heart knowing that I wasn’t going to see him.
I realized I didn’t even have my guitar.
Nope. Baxter had pulled the clanking, smoke-belching van over, tossed me my bag
of clothes to "hold onto" and told me he’d take care of things. Then
he hesitated, his eyes on mine and said an odd, muffled, "Goodbye,"
before he drove away.
There I was on the side of the road,
staring after him, when I realized I had no idea where he was going. A repair
shop, probably, but why did he make me get out? Why no plans to meet up? Where
was he taking our only ride and my fucking guitar?
Still, I clung to hope, there on the sidewalk.
Waited for his text. Waited for him to respond to mine. Or the next one. Or ten
more after that, or calls that went to voicemail. Till, an hour later, it
dawned on me, he wasn't coming back.
All my hopes and plans melted to nothing
on that gray, November pavement. No van, no Baxter, and no guitar. I wouldn't
even be able to busk for some money, if this pretty downtown allowed such a
thing. I was alone. Right.
The damned camper van had broken down
just two klicks from Mission City. I was incredibly grateful she’d waited till
that moment. Because theoretically she could’ve given up the ghost anywhere
between Oshawa, Ontario and the west coast of British Columbia. Lots of
stretches on that long-ass trip where breaking down would’ve been a nightmare.
Still.
Baxter and I had decided on Vancouver
for our fresh start.
We were not in Vancouver.
I thought about the small amount of cash
in my wallet.
I thought about the commuter train
leaving Monday morning for the big city.
I thought about how expensive that city
was going to be if I tried to live there on my own with no transportation, no
one to share rent.
The math wasn’t mathing.
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