short & horrific

Title: The Last Baker [21]
Author: shorthorror
Pairing: Brian Haner & Zachary Baker
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This beautiful asshole just came around and started ruining everything for me. I was the last Baker, and I'd promised my father our name would not die with me.
Disclaimer: I am confident the readers can distinguish between what is real and what is fiction. I need not state the obvious.

0.5|One|Two|Three|Four|Five|Six|Seven|Eight|Nine|Ten|Eleven|Twelve|Thirteen|Fourteen|Fifteen|Sixteen
Seventeen|Eighteen|Nineteen|Twenty



I locked up Milan Verde that night, shoved the keys into my pocket and went to my car. It had been a good twenty minutes since Brian had left and I had broken it off between us. I stayed in the front seat of my car replaying everything that had happened. I couldn't believe Nancy saw us, and I couldn't believe I had let my guard down for something as trivial as a hand job. I should have trusted myself. I should have trusted my own judgement like I always had before. Those were the days when I was in control. When I was steering my own life and making the right decisions. Brian was a distraction, and I had gotten thrown of my path by us meeting. Enough was enough. I had to stand my own ground, even if that meant saying goodbye to Brian.

Even though I was furious at him, I couldn't help the tears flowing from my green eyes. They came down to wet my face, and each time I took a swipe at them, leaving my skin red and irritated with the sultry liquid. I sniffled and sobbed and wished Brian would have listened to me, at least that once. But no. Everything had to be Brian's way or no way.

My heart was pounding harshly against my chest, making me ache and wheeze. Now what was I supposed to do? Hire a new assistant chef? And what was I supposed to say to the people who questioned about Brian and why he wasn't coming in to work? If I told everyone I fired him, they'd start to get curious and ask of my reasoning. I could have told them he left on his own terms, but that would have been a lie. And I didn't like myself as a liar.

I thought of him. I thought of him looking at me and telling me right to my face that he loved me. And I couldn't help but wonder if he'd really truly meant it. Did Brian Haner really love me?

I wanted to deny it. I wanted to make a connection to some evidence, any evidence that would prove Brian had been lying just so he could continue to sleep with me. But I knew that wasn't true. Since the moment I met him, Brian had been straight up and honest with me. Brian never held anything back. Brian was never disgraced and always spoke his mind. Especially to me. Brian had never lied to me before.

I wiped my hands across my eyes once more before sniffing and catching my breath. I could feel that inner battle exploding and destroying me on the inside. I tried hard to think of a way to escape my own thoughts. I needed to get away from myself. I hated myself. I would never be anything close to what my father was, even if I tried the rest of my life. And I would never be good enough for Brian. Brian didn't need a basket case like me and I didn't need him. I needed a vacation and a good shrink. Brian needed someone stable that he could build his life with.

I sighed harshly and turned the keys in the ignition. The need to do some serious venting was in order, otherwise, I was afraid I was going to implode into myself or die of a heart attack. I needed to take action and quickly try to heal my self inflicted wounds. Brian, well... he could find his own way to heal without me. It would be for the better if we weren't together anyway. I kept telling myself that.

I pulled out of the back parking lot and onto the street. I stopped at the light and deliberated between making a right or left. The right would take me home. Back to my protective threshold but also to the place where I could do the most thinking and reflecting. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to forget. If I took the left it would lead me to Greta's house.

Once I thought about Greta and her smiling face and comforting arms and soothing words, I clicked on my right signal and drove when the light changed to green. It was a ten minute drive to Greta's house and I filled it out with blaring music from my car speakers as I wept and sucked back excess phlegm. The thought of Brian, that look on his face, the look of pure and complete heartbreak. Fuck. I knew I had been too cruel. But at the same time, I felt sympathy for myself. I would have to spend a while trying to regain my dignity, even if Nancy didn't say anything. Even if the whole thing was never spoken of again. My pride was wounded terribly.

When I pulled up in front of Greta's home, I frowned. There were no lights shining through the windows. Nevertheless, I got out of my car and scaled the walkway quickly until I reached the front door. There was a heavy brass knocker that I took hold of and banged three or four times. I stood there with anticipation and guilt for showing up out of nowhere this late. Greta was probably asleep. And the fact that I hadn't made contact with her in a while didn't ease my situation.

I waited a minute or two before knocking again. This time, I heard somebody unlocking the door and Greta appeared out the crack of the doorjamb after she'd opened it.

"Zack? What are you doing here?" She asked, clearly having come out of a good sleep.

"I'm so sorry, but... I need to talk to you, or somebody. I need to do something. I need to just... can I come in? Do you mind? I can leave if you want, it's just I-"

Greta held up her hand to silence me. "Just come in Zack."

I nodded gratefully as I stepped into her warm house. Greta turned on some lights and then faced me before we went anywhere besides the small foyer of her contemporarily decorated Victorian house.

"Are you alright?" She asked me first and foremost.

I nodded. "Yes," I stopped. "I mean no! No, I'm not alright."

"What's wrong?"

I thought of the issue, opened my mouth and then closed it. I pictured Brian. I envisioned what he was doing right now and after thinking of him in his apartment crying over me made me tear up again.

I took a slow and rickety breath in. "It's Brian. Or... me. I don't know. It's us? Well there is no us right now- Well there was. But now there isn't."

"Zack! You have to calm down. Take some deep breaths." Greta interrupted.

I nodded, shutting my mouth and trying not to look like I was shaking with impending tears. Greta could see my inner struggle and looked down upon me with sympathy and utter concern. The way I wrung my wrists, anxiously trying not to let my tears spill again. I looked pathetic.

Greta sat down on her sofa and patted the spot next to her. "Come sit down."

I nodded and followed, sitting down next to her and then pausing to take a deep breath.

"What about you and Brian?"

I took in a deep and exaggeratedly shaky breath, like the way you breath after just coming out of hyperventilation. I couldn't fight it. My insides were under pressure.

"Well... I started seeing Brian. Everything was going great until just earlier. I tried not to let him touch me... but he wouldn't listen and I got really mad. And then... Nancy came in and saw everything. and I just can't," I slowed to take another deep breath, pacing myself. "I just can't face either of them now. I fired Brian and told him that I didn't want to see him anymore."

"Fired him? Why would you fire him?"

"Because!" I exclaimed. "He made me a promise. He told me he would keep our personal lives away from our professional lives and he didn't listen to me again. He never listens to me. It's always his way. He hasn't listened to a thing I said since he started working for me!"

Greta laid a hand over my knee. "Zack, maybe he doesn't belong in your kitchen, but that doesn't mean he doesn't belong in your life."

I shook my head as I felt the warmth of tears return in a flash flood of guilt.

"Do you love him?" Greta asked.

My eyes shot up. "What?"

"Do you love him?" She repeated.

"Well I... I... I don't know. I really like him."

"Does he make you happy?" Greta then asked, determined to get that little something out of me. That little confession that I didn't want to make, and she knew it too.

"He does... or he did."

Greta looked at me in that way of hers that meant to tell me I was realizing something. "Zack, I think you need to go back to him and tell him how you feel."

"But Greta! The restaurant! What am I supposed to do?"

"You have to make that judgment call. If you want your life to be with Brian, happy and fulfilled, or if you want to work for a kitchen instead of in one and be miserable and wonder what you could have had. That's up to you Zack, and nobody else."

I sighed, defeated, exhausted. One hundred percent tired of the world, or rather... my world. I didn't want to think, I just wanted to do. But the catch was, I didn't know what it was I was supposed to be doing. Was I supposed to keep my kitchen in order and continue on being successful, or was I supposed to throw everything to the wind, tell the world fuck it and be with Brian? It was a rough decision.

"I don't know Greta. I can't ever get my thoughts in check. Lately, I've just been a mess."

She yawned, though still interested in helping me, I could tell she wished to go back to bed. She had no make up on and her hair was thrown in a messy bun. She sat beside me in her bathrobe and stared at me, into my eyes. At first I thought she was trying to bore a hole into my very soul, until she sighed and clapped her hand on my knee again.

"You know Zachary, if you need me to come back, I will. I don't want to see you like this. You promised me that the moment you started having problems, you would tell me and I would come back and help you fix them."

I frowned profusely. "I know, I know but, you're retired. You've worked your whole life and now it's time for you to kick back. Not help some sketchy dude with OCD like he's your son."

Greta lifted her delicate hand and ran the back of her fingers down my face. Surely she could feel the moisture and how hot I was.

"But that's the thing Zack. You are like my son. I would do anything for you, and you know that. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here."

I looked down and faintly smiled. "Now I'm going to make you some tea, and then you'll be on your way. I will be at the restaurant tomorrow to help you."

"No, Greta... it's alright. You don't have to."

"I don't care what you say. I'm coming. I don't want to say this, but it looks like you really do need help. You have bags under your eyes and it doesn't look healthy."

I fidgeted with my fingers. "Actually... that's mostly Brian's fault. Do I really look that bad?"

"Nevermind." Greta dismissed. "Now wait here and I'll make you some tea to help calm you down."

"Thanks Gret." I smiled up at her as she left the sitting room.

A few minutes later we both sat down with a cup of chamomile jasmine tea. I was never too big on tea, but Greta insisted that it would help me unwind and get to sleep easier. And God knows I needed the sleep. After we both finished, I gave Greta a hug and she told me we'd further discuss my situation tomorrow. I felt relieved to know she was going to come back to Milan Verde, at least until I could get all my shit sorted out. But that still left the issue with Brian. Was I to assume that was it for us? I mean, I did break up with him and told him to leave, but surely that couldn't have been it.

Could it?

The next morning I got ready promptly and made it to the restaurant before opening for once. I confined myself to my office, just so I wouldn't have to face Nancy and relive the fact that she had walked in on Brian playing with my cock up against the counter they worked on. If I were her, and had witnessed my boss getting fist fucked by another employee, I would never be able to view my work surroundings the same again. Only in my mind would I come up with the notion that they had probably fucked on every surface of the entire establishment and probably even jizzed in some of the ingredients. I could see why Nancy would be appalled to see me at all after last night's incident.

Greta arrived at Milan Verde around the peak time of the lunch rush. A lot of vinaigrette had to be made because the women coming in on their lunch breaks really liked the salads and bread sticks. There was an office right down the street that really fancied my restaurant. So we were serving a lot of businessmen and women during the hour of twelve until three. Of course, I was in my office for all of this until Greta came in, looking more concerned than ever.

"Why aren't you out there cooking with the rest of your team?" She asked me.

I looked up from a letter I was reading and grimaced. "I would be, but I have paperwork to do."

"I want you to get up now, and go out there and work. You can do paperwork at home."

"But I..."

"Don't make excuses. You have your pastry chef cooking entrees right now when it should be you or a head chef. And since you fired your assistant, it's your job to take over."

I sighed obediently and left my office. Greta came out behind me, shut the light off and closed the door. I wasn't dressed to cook, but I didn't have my uniform at the restaurant since I hadn't been doing much of anything lately. Nevertheless, I walked into that kitchen, my observant eyes wandering.

Nancy was in front of the main stove and as much as I didn't want to talk to her, let alone let her see me, I stepped up beside her and cleared my throat nervously.

"You can go back to the pastry kitchen. I'll take over from here."

Nancy almost jumped when I appeared beside her. She made the briefest of eye contact before she nodded and rushed away. She was probably so happy to be relieved of working the main stove. After all, speed was another element of being a great chef and pastry chefs were used to taking their time.

During a rush, you had to be focused and swift because you had at least four meals to cook at a time, and once you were done with those, another round came, and then another and another. Stamina and pure concentration was required not to mess up any of the dishes. I hated wasting food, but if an entree wasn't good enough, you had to start again. No questions or compensation.

I went to work boiling pasta and keeping a pot of my own signature sauce stirred alongside sauteing vegetables and making meatballs. It took me fifteen minutes to finish one plate and then I had more orders, all of them different. But let me tell you, it was some kind of rush being back in the kitchen cooking my own food in my own restaurant for my customers. I had almost forgotten the feeling of serving up a beautifully constructed dish.

Lunchtime came and went and the night had cut the day short. Couples and parties of five, six or seven were coming in and ordering mass quantities of food. I was on a roll, having not scrapped anything all day, until a voice whispered in my ear and I dropped a pan of searing hot shrimp on the floor with an electrifying clatter that made everyone stop. I watched as the oil from the pan pooled into the cracks of the tiles and ran down. A prep boy went to grab the pan but I stopped him.

"Don't touch it!" I exclaimed. I then snapped my fingers at the kid. "Go find the grease cleaner and wait until the pan is cooled down. I know you learned that in safety training before you started working here. Don't ever grab a pan that has fallen on the floor."

"Sorry sir." He said with a slight bow before he went off to do as I told him.

I gritted my teeth together and turned around, coming face to face with the voice that had caused all the commotion. It was Brian. He wasn't dressed in chef's uniform so I knew he wasn't here to demand his job back.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, shifting my eyes to look at all the people around me, but none of them were paying attention.

"Listen, Zack. I just wanted to come here and ask you a question."

"You're not an employee here, you can't be in the kitchen." I told him, folding my arms.

I wasn't willing to make an exception for Brian, even if I had hurt him and his feelings. He had hurt me and mine, but I wasn't going to give any type of special treatment just because of our history.

Brian bit down on his lip, suppressing something I knew he wanted to bite back with.

"I know you hate me and you never want to see me again, but I had to ask you..." Brian took a moment to breath and allow me to register his words. "Do you read the newspaper?"

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"Just please!" He exclaimed.

I took a step back from him, minding the oily mess on the floor. Our eyes were locked. Intense cocoa brown connecting with my rich aquamarine. Those eyes that had looked at me and appreciated every shape and contour of my body. Those eyes that told me so much with so little. I tore away from his gaze. I couldn't be sucked in by his charm ever again.

"Do you read the newspaper Zachary?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes. Why?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Greta. She nodded at me sternly, as if to say I should give him a chance and listen to what he had to say. But why would I listen to him, after he had blatantly ignored what I had said to him? I folded my arms again and looked at him crossly but allowed him to continue on with what he wanted to say or ask.

"I think you should read the newspaper. It has a lot of really valuable information."

"If this is you wanting me to read your cheesy reviews than you can just leave. Because I've read them, and they're just as good and just as biased as any other review."

"So this is it then huh? We're back to square one where you hate my fucking guts and I have to bend over backwards to get you to take me seriously?"

"This is not the place and time to talk about our personal issues, Mr. Haner. So could you please leave and let me return to my job."

"Alright. Fine." Brian looked at me, not angrily but despondently, full of sorrow. "I didn't think you had it in you to throw something away that was so good. Maybe I misread you the whole time.

"Yeah well, maybe I misread you the whole time too."

Brian nodded curtly, ending our discussion then and there before he turned to leave. He whisked passed Greta and that's when our eyes met and I nearly buckled underneath the weight of my entire world crushing me. She came to me and held me in her arms. By that time, some of the chefs were watching us, but I really didn't care anymore. I started to cry, so I buried my face in Greta's shoulder to muffle the sound of my sobs and hide my reddening face.

"Greta, how can you love someone you hate?" I asked her as I shook and whimpered, already missing the smell of Brian.

Greta pulled me away and brushed my hair out of my face.

"Zachary... how can you hate someone you love?"