Chapter Two

BACK ACHING, hands hurting, and stinking to high heaven, Clay made his way up the back steps. He stood on the porch and removed his boots and his oil-covered clothes. He dropped them in a pile out of the way of the door. He didn’t even have the energy to take them into the laundry room to set them to soak. He’d be lucky if he made it to the shower before he fell asleep on his feet.

The night before, one of the rigs had blown. The engineers and top brass were scrambling to get the mess cleaned up and the rig back online. Meaning, they were working their fucking grunts around the clock. Apparently, it didn’t matter that it was illegal as hell, not to mention dangerous. EOR had orders to fill and coins to collect for their coffers, the welfare of their employees be damned.

The loss of the rig wasn’t the only thing that had the bigwigs scrambling. Oil prices were dropping at an alarming rate. EOR had to pump and sell twice as much in order to make up for declining prices. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this was headed. A flooded market, plummeting value, less profit—bam—smaller refineries like EOR would be bankrupt within a year. However, at the moment, Clay had more pressing concerns than whether he’d have a job in a year from now, like making it to the shower and bed before he passed out.

He quietly made his way through the silent house on bare feet and peeked into the bedroom. With the blinds drawn, the room was dark, but he could make out Elliott’s form beneath the covers on the bed and hear the familiar soft snuffling that had lulled him to sleep numerous nights. He started to enter the room to grab some clothes, but Little Man lifted his head from where he was curled up next to Elliott, his yellow eyes flashing a warning. He didn’t need clothes that bad. No sense waking Elliott by pissing off the stupid cat. Clay sluggishly made his way to the bathroom. He set the taps on the shower to just shy of scalding and stepped beneath the flow. He pressed his hands against the cool tile of the shower wall, hung his head, and allowed the pulsing hot water to beat down on his aching neck and back. After a couple of minutes, the tension in his muscles began to ease slightly. The shower also woke him up enough that he thought he might actually make it to bed before crashing. He’d survived a night of hell. Yay me. At least his humor was still intact.

A man wasn’t made to go thirty plus hours without sleep. The last hour on the job site had been the toughest, and all the coffee in the world wouldn’t help. Fortunately, he’d made it. He wasn’t sure how. The main crisis had finally passed, Elliott’s area had finished up an hour earlier than Clay’s. Elliott had offered to stick around and wait for him, but Clay had insisted Elliott go home. Poor guy had gone even longer without sleep than Clay had.

With the last of his strength, Clay scrubbed his body, washed his hair, and even dried and combed it. Brushing his teeth was a chore, and flossing would just have to wait. His belly growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while, but that would take effort and energy Clay simply had run out of. He was done. Without turning on the light, Clay snuck into the bedroom, ignored the ugly hiss from Little Man, slid beneath the covers, and molded himself against Elliott’s back. The man didn’t move. Not that Clay was all that aware of much. Hell, he barely knew who or where he was. The blackness threatened to take him before he fully settled into the mattress. He welcomed it.

A MINUTE, an hour, or a day later, Clay jerked upright. Heart hammering, he scanned the area, trying to figure out where he was. Relief washed over him when he could make out the outline of his own bedroom. The hint of a nightmare still clung to him. He couldn’t remember what it was about, only the fear, the unimaginable dread that he brought to the waking world. He took several deep breaths, calming himself and letting the last remnants of the dream seep from him. He slid his hand across the mattress next to him, frowning when he found the sheets cold. Elliott had obviously left the bed long ago.

Clay threw off the covers and turned to sit on the edge of the mattress. His back and legs protested with a series of pops and cracks. The bedside clock displayed it was half past one, but Clay had no clue whether it was afternoon or the middle of the night. The window coverings they’d installed sufficiently blocked out all light from outside—an absolute necessity when working the night shift. Not only was he clueless as to what time of day it was, he didn’t even know what day it was. He was stiff and sore, and it could have just as easily been a result of days of inactivity as working at a backbreaking pace. The soreness intensified when Clay finally pushed up from the bed. He stood there for a long moment gritting his teeth, unable to move. He was only thirty-two but felt more like eighty, even more so as he shuffled to the bathroom.

It was slow going, but by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, his morning business taken care of, he felt closer to his age. Still sore as hell, a bit of a hitch in his walk, but a hundred times better than when he’d first awoken. His head was still a bit foggy, time eluding him, but he had a handle on the place. Big improvement. He went in search of Elliott. He wasn’t in the living room nor in the kitchen, but Clay found the next best thing—a full pot of hot coffee. It smelled fresh, which meant Elliott couldn’t be too far away.

Clay poured a cup, added cream and sugar, then leaned against the counter, hands wrapped around his mug. He blew the steaming brew, then took as sip as he looked around for a note or something that would clue him in to where Elliott had gone. There was nothing. Clay’s brain was still muddled, so he didn’t even try to figure it out. Elliott could be at work for all Clay knew. Hell, maybe he was supposed to be at work. At the moment, he really didn’t care. He just needed caffeine. From the light streaming into the kitchen from the small window, he now knew it was afternoon. Time taken care of, his last obstacle to being completely oriented would be to discover the day of the week.

He was halfway through his coffee before he thought to check the back deck. Elliott often sat out there since he liked to smoke cigars occasionally and Clay hated the smell in the house. Clay topped off his mug, headed toward the door, and then realized he was naked. Clay was far from a prude, but he didn’t think his neighbors would appreciate it. That was one thing he looked forward to: moving to their cabin in the middle of the woods, where he didn’t have to worry about neighbors’ prying eyes and clothes would be optional, not a necessity.

After slipping on a pair of cutoff sweatpants, he headed out the door, coffee in hand. Elliott wasn’t there, nor was his truck in the driveway. The idea that he’d slept through his day off was a great possibility, and Clay gave no fucks. If he was supposed to be at work, oh well, they could just fire him for all he cared.

Settling on the rocking chair, Clay finished his coffee, enjoying the afternoon sun warming his face. He closed his eyes and rocked, taking in the tranquility. Fully caffeinated, his brain was finally catching up, and he supposed it was time to figure out what day it was and what he should be doing. He was just about to get up when Elliott pulled into the drive. He parked, stepped out of the truck wearing a short-sleeve blue button-up shirt, matching plaid tie, and suspenders over his broad shoulders and attached to tight skinny jeans. His hair was pulled back into a neat bun. He looked good, damn good, and was obviously not coming from work dressed like that.

“Where have you been?” Clay called out.

Elliott was all smiles while he rushed around to the passenger side of his truck, opened the door, and retrieved a large pink box with white scrolling script. Even from this distance, Clay knew exactly what it said—Park Avenue Bakery. He also knew the box contained a variety of flavors of cupcakes. He fucking loved cupcakes.

“He lives!” Elliott exclaimed. He bounded up the stairs and held out the box.

“Barely,” Clay chuckled. He accepted the box. “What were you doing in Milford? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Just curious.”

“I finally got the chance to get over there and pick up the mud flaps I ordered over a month ago.” Elliott sat in the rocker next to Clay. “Downtown was crazy, like everyone just disappeared. I was talking to Steve at Auto World, and he said business is down over 50 percent, and remember how you couldn’t get an apartment to rent to save your life last year?”

“Yeah,” Clay responded absently while staring into the box and trying to decide which cake he wanted to try first. He grabbed one with white chocolate and raspberries atop dark chocolate frosting. “Is it like it is here now?”

“Yeah, signs are all over about apartments for rent. The parking lot at the Motel 6 was nearly deserted.”

Clay couldn’t say he was surprised. The economy in North Dakota, which had once boasted the lowest unemployment rate in the country, was changing, and fast. A few years back when the rest of the country was in an economic slump, the oil rigs were booming. Thousands of people flooded into North Dakota looking for work. A lot of the natives remembered the oil bust in the late eighties and were nervous about the huge influx of people. However, the younger crowd was much more optimistic, believing this time the boom would last. Clay wasn’t one of those, and he damn sure hadn’t invested his entire future in oil. Thankfully, his skepticism had been warranted, and he hadn’t invested in the growing population. While many were putting their cash into restaurants, apartment buildings, and hotels, Clay had quietly saved his money and kept working hard. He figured the boom would last long enough to set himself and Elliott up for the rest of their lives. Oil prices had sharply declined last fall and Clay wasn’t as hopeful. It appeared time was running out.

“Are you listening to me?”

Clay gave himself an internal shake. “Sorry, was just thinking about what you said. It’s kind of scary, isn’t it?” Clay tore the paper from the cupcake and took a big bite. The chocolate cake was infused with raspberry swirl and so good. Clay chewed happily.

“It’s really fucking scary. When I was waiting for my mud flaps, there was a paper lying there and if Steve was hoping to drum up business, the article was sure to drive them away.” Elliott plucked a cupcake out of the box. Clay didn’t give him shit about it since it was the same flavor as Clay had chosen. Elliott didn’t say anything further. Instead he rocked in his chair, eating his cupcake.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What did the article say?”

“That amid the worst bust in a generation, our economy is shrinking, employment is falling fast, and the state is imposing the deepest spending cuts in its history to help plug a billion-dollar deficit.”

“Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Clay remarked.

“Sorry, but we gotta start thinking about it. It’s only a matter of time before EOR goes belly-up.”

Clay nodded. “I fear you’re right, but I’m thinking if we can survive another six months to a year, we may just weather the storm. Now that a lot of the implants are fleeing, things just might get back to normal around here.” Even as Clay said it, he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Hey, and if I’m wrong, when EOR stacks their rigs, we have twenty-one weeks of unemployment to look forward to.”

“I have been saying we need a vacation.” Elliott smiled, but Clay didn’t miss the concern in his eyes.

Watching some businesses struggle, still others already closing, people fleeing, was unsettling. They were going to have to make some hard decisions in the not-too-distant future. But not today. Today they had the day off together and cupcakes. Life was all good in Clay’s world.