No gifts. No music. No crèche. Only lights. That’s all it took. The push of a button. It shouldn’t have been that simple, but it was. A little more light where before there was darkness. A little more beauty where before there was emptiness. All the bad things that were there before were still there, but at least there was one more small good thing in the world.
“I forgive you,” Kingsley said.
“For what?”
“For dragging me to a cabin with no electricity.”
“Our hermitage didn’t have electricity,” Søren reminded him.
“When you’re seventeen, that’s romantic. When you’re fifty, it’s annoying.”
“Are you annoyed?” Søren asked, obviously attempting to suppress a smile.
“Not anymore,” Kingsley said. “Ignore my moods. It’s been a rough few weeks.” Kingsley sat down in an armchair covered with a wool striped blanket. “I’m not supposed to be fifty years old. I should never have lived this long.”
“You know, I’ll be fifty-one as of midnight tonight.”
Kingsley stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “You’re a priest. Priests are born in their fifties. You were fifty-one when you were seventeen,” he said. “I have a two-year-old daughter. A man with a toddler should be thirty, not fifty.”
“I’m recalling your thirtieth birthday party,” Søren said. He sat down on the ottoman directly across from him, and lifted Kingsley’s feet off the floor and put them on his lap. “And I’m using the word ‘party’ loosely. Orgy would be a more accurate term. And not a pleasant sort of Bacchanal either. People ended up in the hospital. Many of them.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Søren stared at him, not speaking.
“Fine, it was that bad,” Kingsley said. He hadn’t ended up in the hospital, although he probably should have gone. He’d drunk so much that night and smoked so much pot that he’d vomited until blood came up along with everything else he’d ingested. Søren hadn’t spoken to him for two weeks after. Kingsley had broken his promise to take better care of himself.
“Would you really go back to being thirty again if you could?” Søren asked.
“I thought about that,” Kingsley said. This was a hard conversation, but resting his legs on Søren’s thighs was making it a little easier. “And the only reason I would is for Nico. Except I wouldn’t, since I know how much he loved his other father. As much as it kills me, I couldn’t in good conscience take those years he had with his father away from him.”
“Spoken like a true father. You pass Solomon’s test.” Søren pinched his thigh. “I thought you’d be happy to be here with me.”
“I am. That’s the problem. I’m suffering from a parental guilt complex. I’m thousands of miles from both my children. I shouldn’t be this happy.”
“You’re allowed to enjoy your time without them.”
“I know I’m allowed. Juliette even encourages it. I thought having children would be it, though—that I would need nothing, that I would want for nothing ever again,” Kingsley said. “I hate that I still need things they can’t give me.”
“It’s the parent’s job to give children everything they need. It’s not the child’s job to give the parents everything they need.”
“I need you,” Kingsley said.
“And me you have. So stop complaining.”
“I think it’s my liver,” Kingsley said, poking on the side of his stomach.
“That’s not your liver. That’s your appendix.”
“No wonder I’m having liver trouble then. It’s in the wrong place.”
Søren rolled his eyes to the heavens. “God save me from the French and their obsession with their livers,” he said. Then, to Kingsley: “Come on. You need to walk in the woods. It’ll be good for your liver.”
“Or you could beat me and fuck me.”
“How will that improve your liver?”
“It won’t. But it might improve my mood.”
Søren dumped Kingsley’s legs off his lap and onto the floor, and quickly found himself being hauled out of the chair and onto his feet.
“Out. Now.” Søren pointed at the door.
“Going. Going.” Kingsley returned to the bedroom and pulled his new black winter coat and gloves out of the suitcase. He found Søren already standing by the door wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Ready. You?”
Without warning, Søren shoved him against the hallway wall and kissed him. A rough kiss, the sort that leaves the lips slightly swollen and the recipient panting. Oh, and there it was, the teeth. Kingsley loved the teeth, that vicious nip Søren always gave his bottom lip when in the right mood.
Søren ended the kiss but didn’t pull away. He put his mouth at Kingsley’s ear. “I need you, too.”
“Now?” Kingsley asked.
Søren kissed him on his neck at the point his jawline met his throat. “Always.”
Then Søren pulled back while Kingsley struggled to catch his breath.
“Liver feeling better?” Søren asked.
“It’s very hard and throbbing a little.”
“I’d see a doctor about that if I were you.”
“I’d rather see a priest about it.”
“You are seeing a priest about it.” Søren gripped him by the hair and dragged him out the front door and onto the porch. “And he prescribes a long walk in the forest.”
“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Kingsley said.
Søren glared at him, a glare like the fire of a thousand suns.
“It’s a song,” Kingsley said hastily. “I wasn’t calling you ‘Baby.’ I would never do that.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I’m going to walk now.”
“Yes, you are.”
Kingsley walked, Søren at his side but just ahead by a nose, leading, as always. Søren carried the kerosene lantern in his hand, the wick turned down low. It gave enough light to keep their feet from tripping over roots but not enough to dispel the bleak winter’s gloom. The trees loomed over them, branches thick enough to block the sky from view. What light did penetrate the tree cover cast eerie shadows all around them. Kingsley had been joking about the lions and tigers and bears, but the possibility of seeing a wolf or some other dangerous animal existed.
“Aren’t there wolves in Maine?” Kingsley sighed. “I should have brought my gun.”
“I think we’ll survive without it,” Søren said. “Although...remind me, which of us can outrun the other?”
“That isn’t funny.”
“I thought it was very funny.”
“You would,” Kingsley said. “You can outrun me.”
“Don’t worry. I doubt we’ll see any wolves. There aren’t many—or any—of them in the state as far as I know. Now coyotes on the other hand...”
“This is your sadism at work, isn’t it?” Kingsley demanded. “You bring me to the middle of nowhere and force me to stay in a cabin without electricity and you drag me into the woods and expose me to wolves and coyotes for your entertainment and amusement.”
“You told me you used to hunt KBG agents in forests denser and far more dangerous than this one.”
“First, I was in my twenties when I did that. Second, I was nearly killed doing it. Third, I had a sniper rifle on me the entire time.”
Søren shook his head in mock disgust. “You really have lost your sense of adventure.”
“I have,” Kingsley said, not joking this time. “I’m not happy about it either.”
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Søren said.
Kingsley stopped and leaned back against the trunk of a tall cedar tree. He dug his hands deep into his coat pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing I can put my finger on. Earlier today Griffin implied that I’ve changed since we had Céleste.”
“You have changed. For the better, I might add.”
“J’espère,” Kingsley said. I hope. “Since Céleste—and Nico, too, though not as much since he’s already gr
own—I feel obligated to behave myself. I don’t want Céleste growing up without a father. I don’t want her growing up ashamed of her father. I think...perhaps, ah, I’m just feeling my age. If I’m going to get my prostate fondled, I want it to be in bed, not in the doctor’s office.”
“Seduce your doctor,” Søren said.
“There’s an idea.”
“Tell me,” Søren said, serious once more. “What do you think would help you feel better?”
“I wish for one night I could feel seventeen again. Too much to ask?”
“Maybe,” Søren said. “Maybe not.”
“I was wild when I was seventeen. Wild like an animal is wild, you know. Not crazy. Just...free. Having a child tames you. It should tame you. I know that. But there’s a part of me that chaffs at the bit, as they say. I’ve been domesticated.”
“You have two lovers, one of which is a Catholic priest who had you forcibly relocated to a cabin in a forest in Maine. You have a huge fortune, most of it earned in borderline illegal ways. You’re bisexual, extremely kinky, and you’ve slept with about a thousand people in your life. There are people in this world who still dream of killing you and people in this world still terrified you might show up any moment and kill them. And you run a private sex club in New Orleans. You and the dictionary clearly have very different definitions of ‘domesticated.’ ”
Kingsley laughed softly as he peeled himself off the tree. “You may have a point.”
They walked on deeper into the dark wood. Two hours passed, which meant it would take them another two hours to get back to the cabin.
“I hope you know where you’re going,” Kingsley said.
“I’ve been marking a trail. Also...” He pulled something from his pocket and showed it to Kingsley.
“Compass,” Kingsley said. “Good thinking.”
“Christmas gift from Eleanor. She thought I might need it out here.”
“She helped you plan this little escapade?”
“She did.”
“Her idea, I assume?”
“My idea. But I did needed her assistance, which she was happy to give.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Søren asked.
“Why was she happy to help you spend your birthday alone with me?”
“I told her how much I needed some time alone with you. She understands this.”
“Why me and not her?”
“Because when I want you, only you will do.”
“And she wasn’t jealous that I get you alone on your birthday?”
“Eleanor’s never been the jealous type.”
“And here I am, jealous that she isn’t jealous.”
“The only difference between my love for her and my love for you is that she’s secure in it, and you aren’t.”
“Can you blame me?” Kingsley asked, pausing to face him. “Can you?”
Søren met his eyes and Kingsley admired him for that. It took courage to look someone in the face after being asked a question that brutal.
“No,” Søren said. “I can’t blame you.”
Kingsley nodded, and then turned and started walking again.
“In fact,” Søren said, “that’s part of the reason I wanted to be alone with you for a few days. There’s something I want to tell you. Something I’ve held onto for too long. A…confession of sorts.”
“What is it?” Kingsley asked. He would have stopped, but Søren clearly wanted to keep walking.
“You remember when I went to Syria for those few months, what was it, six years ago?”
“Of course I remember. I’ve never checked the news so often in my life. I was terrified every day you wouldn’t come back.”
“You were right to be terrified.”
“You must have been terrified, too,” Kingsley said. “When you came back, you were like a different man. No, not different really. You were like you used to be, like you were in high school sometimes. You know, before...”
“I know.”
“You were closed off. Usually you’re a locked door, but Elle and I, we could usually find a way to pick that lock. After you came back, though, you were an impregnable fortress. And you were cruel like you were in high school. Cruel for the sake of cruelty. What happened over there?”
“Nothing,” Søren said.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Nothing bad anyway. The work was hard but meaningful. I enjoyed the company of the other priests, of the Syrian children and teenagers we worked with. But I wasn’t threatened, wasn’t injured. No one tried to hurt me or harm me. I didn’t see anyone killed before my eyes. It wasn’t what happened over there that changed me. It was something that happened when I came back.”
They had walked to a break in the tree line. Before them stood a snowy hill and atop the hill a solitary tree. And there was the moon and there were the stars. They looked so bright and so close it was if they’d bent low, as eager to hear Søren’s confession as Kingsley.
“Something did happen in Syria. I made a decision,” Søren said. “I wanted to be with Eleanor again.”
“I knew that.”
“And you.”
Kingsley’s eyes flashed open wide. “And me?”
Søren nodded. He put his foot up on a flat rock and turned his gaze to the sky, giving Kingsley his profile.
“I missed you,” Søren said. “And I...I ached for you. And not your friendship. I had that. I ached for you physically. I wanted you in bed again, on your knees again. I wanted to be inside you again. I wanted to own you again. I realized the reason I was so angry at Eleanor when I found out you’d taught her to top was jealousy, plain and simple. If you were going to be beaten, it should have been me doing the beating, not her. And I planned to tell you all that as soon as I came back.”
Kingsley covered his mouth with one hand. He had never...no, never dreamed of such a thing. He couldn’t speak. He could only wait for Søren to go on.
“I flew back and Claire, she met me at the airport. We went back to her house where she’d been keeping the Ducati for me in storage. I changed clothes and kissed her goodbye and rode straight to the townhouse, looking for you. But you weren’t home.”
“Where was I?”
Kingsley realized as soon as he said it how stupid that question was. It didn’t matter where he was. He should have been there.
“Out with Juliette. Someone told me you were at the theater and would be out late. So I went to see Eleanor. I would tell her how wrong I’d been, trying to stop her from being who she needed to be. I would tell her that I wanted her—and you—back, without conditions of any sort. I wouldn’t make her quit working for you. I wouldn’t ask you to give up anything for me, especially not Juliette since I knew you two were planning to have children together when she was ready. If I could only have you one night a month I would take it. I would take one night a year. I felt mad that night, like I would lose my mind if I couldn’t see you both, tell you both. I couldn’t wait for it to all be settled. That’s why I didn’t wait for you to come back from the theater. I couldn’t have sat still if someone had chained me to the floor. I’d never needed you both more than I needed you that night. It happens to me sometimes. Something comes over me that’s more animal than human. I wish there was a word for it. The only word that comes close is ‘bloodlust.’ I’d felt it that night in the woods, the first time with you.”
“When you chased me and ran me down.”
“I wasn’t chasing you, Kingsley. I was hunting you.”
Kingsley shivered at the darkness in Søren’s tone.
“Ah,” Kingsley said. “There are wolves in Maine after all.”
Søren almost smiled. Kingsley could see the hint of it in his eyes.
“What happened?” Kingsley asked. “You went to see her.”
“If you asked me who I trust in the world more than anyone, I would have said you. All those letters you sent me in Syria. But not one of them mentioned that Nora had fallen in lov
e with a college freshman named Wesley.”
And at once, Kingsley understood.
“He was there,” Kingsley said. “Wesley was there when you went to see her.”
“She was helping him move his things into her house. And I don’t know if I had ever seen her looking so happy in her life. She looked like a woman in love. Because she was a woman in love. All those letters you’d sent me, and you hadn’t told me about him. I stood there in the shadow of the tree in her front yard, hiding like a common thief, watching the woman I loved being carried across the threshold of her home, giddy as a virgin bride on her wedding night. My heartache in that moment was as great as my anger was volcanic. In an instant, I turned on you both. Her for replacing me with a younger model. You for not warning me what I was coming home to.”
Søren finally met Kingsley’s eyes. “And that is my confession.”
Kingsley swallowed. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
“I should have told you sooner, I realize that,” Søren said.
Kingsley turned his back on Søren, and strode away from him into the clearing. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just told me?” Kingsley demanded.
“Tell me,” Søren said.
“You just told me that six years ago I won a billion dollars in the lottery and you cashed in the ticket and kept the money for yourself.”
“You flatter me.”
“You have no right to decide what your love is worth to me. None. That is for me to say and only me.”
“You’re right, of course. I apologize.”
“Stop.” Kingsley raised his hand. “The more furious I am with you, the more rational you pretend you are. I’d rather you punched me in the gut.”
“It seems I already have.”
“She fucks up, and I pay the price. Again.”
“She didn’t, as you say, fuck up. She fell in love. But you knew about him and didn’t tell me. Are you going to deny you knew about him and deliberately concealed that from me?”
“I won’t deny it. It wasn’t my secret to tell. It was hers.”
“Of all the times to take the high road.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I’m certain you had ulterior motives.”
“Such as?”
“Such as hurting me?” Søren said. “Do you deny that part of you wanted to hurt me and you knew this would do it?”
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