Moving Forward - 7. Chapter 7 (2.4)

“And assault with intent to do harm isn’t?” Roy pointed out.

Al made no reply. Jeff set him on his feet and released his shirt. Al jerked away from him, sullen eyes glaring around him as he smoothed out the twisted material. It couldn’t have escaped his attention that no one was willing to stand up for him, and he was alone in the middle of a group of men who wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of him. Especially Lee. Only Jeff stood between Al and a severe beating.

“Aw, who wants to be in a dump like this anyway?” Al blustered. “Lots of other places to have fun in this town.”

“That’s a wise decision, Al,” Jeff commented dryly. “Go have fun. Just do it somewhere else.”

Al snarled. He looked toward Marshall, and for a moment he looked as though he had something to say. He took a step in his direction, but a quick look at Lee changed his mind. With a muttered, “Fuck y’all,” Al turned on his heel and headed toward the door.

Marshall was relieved. He had no doubt Lee would have been more than able to take on Al, and while he would have enjoyed seeing the bastard get his comeuppance, the risk was too great a one to take. Better that it end like this. He knew Jeff would add Al’s name to the list of those who couldn’t get in, assuming Al was stupid enough to make the attempt.

“Okay, guys, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again. Sorry he was such a dick.” He laid a compassionate hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “You okay? Maybe you should go to the doc-in-a-box and get checked out?”

“Thanks, I’m good,” Marshall replied. “Much obliged for your help.” He turned toward Lee, who quickly claimed him with an arm about his waist.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Lee added to what Marshall had said. “We appreciate what you did for us. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Not your fault,” Jeff said. “And it ended peaceful, so no harm done. You guys should be good to keep on partyin’. I’ll send a pitcher round to your table.”

“That’s very decent of you,” Roy said.

Jeff grinned. “Y’all are good customers. Least I can do.” He nodded to them, then headed for the bar.

“Back to the table?” Rye asked.

Lee gave Marshall a look, and Marshall knew without his saying a word what he was asking—did he feel like it or not—and he nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Marshall said. “We have free beer coming.” He grinned to let Lee know everything was okay.

Back at their table, the talk was all about what an asshole Al was, and if any of them caught him alone, how they’d make him sorry he was ever born. Marshall made no comment, just let them talk and listened quietly. Lee’s hand was twined in his, and that’s all he wanted, the comfort of Lee’s presence. He felt good that his friends had stood up for him like that, and he was grateful the fight hadn’t got any worse than it did. But he didn’t want to dwell on it, either.

Eventually, the subject petered out and other topics superseded that one, such as the next day’s Superbowl. A lively discussion ensued on the merits of the teams involved.

Stu rose from the table and stretched, casting a sultry glance at Rye. “C’mon, honey, the music’s calling our name. Let’s you and me shake it.” He shimmied his hips in an unmistakable invitation.

Rye leapt to his feet, conversation forgotten. “I like the way you think.” He placed his hands about Stu’s waist and steered him in the direction of the dance floor.

Dustin, who’d been sitting across the table, next to his cousin Denver, rose and came around to stand next to Marshall. “Why don’t we dance?” he suggested, holding out one hand to Marshall.

Marshall immediately shook his head, without even considering the offer, before he realized how rude he might have seemed. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d rather just sit here. No offense to you.”

“None taken. I can understand your hesitation.” He stood there for a moment, and Marshall got the impression he wanted to say something else, but the moment passed.

“Dustin, I can’t thank you enough for being there for Marshall,” Lee spoke up. “If you hadn’t been there, no telling what that bastard might have done.”

“Right place at the right time,” Dustin replied. “My pleasure, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir, it’s Lee.”

“Okay. My pleasure, Lee.” Dustin grinned at them, before sliding into the chair next to Marshall.

“You from Tucker Falls too?” Roy asked. He sat on the other side of Lee. “And just call me Roy.”

“Dang, I was gonna call you Sheriff,” Dustin quipped. “No, I’m from up near Austin. Little old town no one’s ever heard of. You sheriff here?”

“No, Burnham. Another of those little towns no one ever heard of.” Everyone chuckled.

“Dustin’s staying with me for a while,” Denver volunteered. “We’re heading out on a cruise together in just a few weeks. It’s gonna be fun.”

“A cruise? That’s a coincidence,” Marshall said. “We’re going on a cruise too. Where you all headed?”

“We are going to the Virgin Islands,” Denver replied excitedly. “And not just that, it’s a gay cruise. Wall-to-wall men, do you believe it?”

Marshall and Lee exchanged glances. Was it possible?

“That’s funny, we’re going to the Virgin Islands too,” Marshall said.

“What port you leaving from?”

“Galveston,” Lee answered. “Cruise is going to St. Thomas. And it’s a gay cruise too. Ship’s name is the Wandering Star.”

“Goddamn, it’s a small world.” Denver whistled, then glanced at Dustin. “Cousin, looks like we’ll be sharing a boat with my friends here.”

“You’re right, it is a small world.” Dustin leaned toward Marshall. “Looks like Fate is trying to tell us something, I think.”