Home for the Holidays: Mr Frosty Pants, Mr Naughty List

by Leta Blake

  Casey skated slowly alongside him, speeding up sometimes to take a loop around the rink at a faster pace only to join him again. The moments when Casey left him felt deeply lonely, though Joel enjoyed the opportunity to watch Casey’s body move and to admire the way he’d grown since they were last together. He wondered if he’d ever get over having to look up to meet Casey’s eyes.

  “So,” Casey said, swinging back up to Joel’s side with pink cheeks and shining eyes. “Tell me more about your books. Are you writing one right now?”

  Joel shifted his feet forward on the ice and moved ahead, using his arm strength to get some momentum going without freeing himself completely from the wall. “Yeah, I’m working on one called Zombie Dog, but I feel like it’s not really coming together. I can’t put my finger on why. I think it’s a character development problem.”

  “You can’t figure out the zombie dog’s motivations?” Casey chuckled, taking Joel’s elbow and steadying him before letting go to skate a circle beside him.

  “No, I’ve got the zombie dog nailed. He’s a zombie. He wants to eat brains. I guess I can’t figure out why, in one crucial scene, the main character doesn’t call for help. It feels too easy to say that his cell phone is dead or missing…” Joel trailed off, frowning. “But if he calls for help, that ruins everything.”

  “Maybe the zombie dog ate the cell phone.”

  Joel laughed. “Mistook it for brains?”

  “Maybe the dude—I’m assuming the main character is a guy?”

  Joel nodded.

  “Maybe the dude panics and chucks his phone at the dog, who snaps it up and swallows it whole.” Casey opened his mouth wide, mimicking the dog catching and eating the phone.

  Joel laughed. “Might work. Hell, I can try it. See if it feels right. Writing’s all about it feeling right, you know?”

  Casey shook his head. “I guess. I took a poetry class one semester and, well, nothing ever felt right about what I wrote. I was horrible at it.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me and the fact that I barely passed. I scraped by with a C because I had perfect attendance and this professor was a dick who made that a third of our grade. Thank God.”

  Joel snorted, pausing in his efforts on the far side of the rink near the shining holiday lights on the rooftop of Preservation Pub. “I can’t really see you writing poetry.”

  “I know, right? Do you ever write poetry?”

  “Hmm…horror poetry,” Joel said, tasting the words. “No, but that could be fun. I doubt there’s a living in it, though.”

  “Is that why you write your books? To make a living?”

  “It supplements. I mean, I’m not killing it out in the book market, but it brings in the money that I actually live on. Between the mortgage on Vreeland’s and what it takes to keep the store running, I don’t take any salary from the business myself.”

  “It’s amazing that you make enough from writing to support your needs.”

  Joel shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell Casey that some weeks he was hungrier than he’d like to be. That he had to supplement Bruno’s diet, and sometimes his own, with fish he caught from the lake. One day, things would turn around for him. He just didn’t know when or how.

  “How’s your dad doing?” Casey asked.

  Joel shook his head. “Not great. But that’s life. At least I’m not living with him anymore. That’s the only good thing about it.”

  “RJ said—” Casey broke off, his mouth clomping shut like he was holding back something he regretted bringing up.

  “RJ said what?”

  “It’s not first-date conversation material.”

  Kids swept by them, laughter rising into the night. The stars above twinkled dimly behind clouds that swept over them in a fine haze. The Christmas music bopped around them, and the bright decorations of the square somehow created a sense of intimacy. Enough that Joel leaned closer and said, “Tell me anyway.”

  “He said your dad used to hit you.”

  “Yeah. He did.” Joel’s stomach went heavy, like he’d swallowed lead. The cold night air stung his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. “He suspected I was queer. When he’d had too much to drink, I guess he thought he could punch it out of me.”

  Casey’s eyes darkened, and his cheeks got even more ruddy. “That asshole.”

  “Yeah, well.” Joel huffed, trying to loosen the tightness in his throat. “That was my life. I never wanted you to know about it.”

  “Oh, man.” Casey glanced around them, pain etched into his expression. That look, that pity and hurt, was exactly why Joel had kept the abuse to himself. Well, that and fear that stubborn Casey Stevens would try to do something about it, and while being beaten sucked, the alternative—being put into foster care—had scared him shitless. Casey put his arm around Joel, tugging him away from the wall. “Lean on me. Let’s get a beer, huh? What do you say?”

  Joel had already had more to drink than he normally had in a month, preferring to avoid the substance that had turned his father so mean, though there was no evidence it did the same to him. Still, he could have a soda while Casey had a beer. “Sure. But I pay.” He didn’t know how, but he would.

  “Let me get it.”

  “No. I’m paying. It’s final.”

  Casey lifted his hands in surrender, and then grabbed Joel tightly so he wouldn’t fall on the slippery ice. “Okay, you win. Let’s go.”

  Joel leaned against Casey as they worked their way back to the exit of the rink. His feet threatened to shoot out from under him the whole way, but Casey’s solid presence reassured him. The familiar scent of Casey’s skin and laundry detergent warmed him more than his jean jacket or the cheery lights and music.

  Casey’s strong arm around his middle woke a strange need in him, something he’d ignored for a long time: a need to be cared for, to be protected. It swelled in him, huge and uncomfortable, pressing at his skin and threatening to burst through in a sudden, inexplicable wail. He shivered hard, cold terror creeping into his gut.

  He swallowed again, shoving down the lump in his throat, and stumbled off the ramp from the rink, desperate to get away from Casey’s touch before he did something stupid like let himself need it or, worse, pretend he could get used to it. He hurried to a bench and sat quickly, hoping Casey would keep his distance until he could regain his equilibrium.

  Casey didn’t seem to notice Joel’s reaction as he dropped down beside him and started to casually remove his skates. Joel flipped his collar up on his jean jacket to hide his face as he bent down to work at the laces that had somehow become knotted. He took slow breaths, annoyed to find his fingers shaking again.

  “Hey, about your dad—”

  “Not now,” Joel said. “Drinks first.”

  Casey squeezed Joel’s shoulder reassuringly and then went back to removing his own pair of skates.

  It was a date and nothing more. If he got another kiss from Casey, that would be enough—more than he ever expected to get anyway. Anything else was as impossible as it had ever been. He knew that, and he didn’t really need for it to be anything other than what it was. A holiday fling was plenty.

  Maybe when all was said and done, if he didn’t let himself hope with Casey, he’d finally be able to move on. Though, honestly, deep down, he didn’t want to. In the most secret part of himself, he knew he’d given his heart to Casey forever ago, and he had no idea how he’d ever take it back.

  Once again, being honest was something he didn’t plan to be.

  He’d let Casey have this fling and give himself the gift of having the man he’d never thought he’d be with. It’d be a Christmas present to himself. Surely he deserved that much.

  Maybe they both did.

  And then, when it was over and Casey had returned to New York, he’d go back to his regular life. It wouldn’t be that hard. He’d have memories to savor at least. And this time, he wouldn’t blame Casey when he left. This time, he’d let him go with grace.

 
The knot came undone, and he quickly unlaced his skates. Tugging them off his feet was harder than he anticipated.

  In the end, Casey had to help pull them free, laughing as he wrestled with them. “Some things go on easier than they come off!”

  “Like Band-Aids,” Joel muttered.

  And you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Preservation Pub overlooked Market Square and boasted Knoxville’s only rooftop bar. Once upon a time, Joel had played a few shows with local bands in the downstairs pub, but he’d always preferred the open-air space above. The snow from earlier had turned into the occasional flurry, but there was almost no accumulation, so everyone was bundled up in their coats on the roof, enjoying their liquor and beer.

  Serendipitously, there was an open table giving a great view of the square, and Joel steered Casey into it, taking hold of his elbow familiarly. The overhead twinkle lights strung between the buildings on either side lent a glow to Casey’s skin and hair, making him even more handsome than usual.

  As Joel settled in the seat across from him with his soda, he smiled gently, remembering yet again the night Casey kissed the Virgin Mary figurine. “Do you remember Mr. Maples? I ordered a set of Nativity Blow Molds like his to sell in the store.”

  “I saw.” Casey’s eyes shone as he sipped his pale ale. “Do you make out with the pretty Mary when everyone’s gone home at night? Or is it handsome Joseph for you?”

  Joel laughed, tilting his head back and letting the giddy anxiety he’d been holding back rush through his veins.

  “Oh, so you do.” Casey laughed too, leaning closer.

  “No, I’m afraid you still have the sole honor of having kissed the Mother of God.”

  Casey took another drink of his beer, lips and eyes curved with his smile. “I was an idiot.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.”

  “I pretended she was you.”

  Joel’s heart clenched, and he took a swallow of cola to wash the feeling away, but it didn’t come loose. “Yeah? Funny. I wished it was me.”

  Casey leaned in even closer, eyes drifting down to Joel’s mouth, but then he glanced sideways at the dark figures drinking and talking at other tables. “I’ll save it for later, but I’d kiss you now if I could. Right here.”

  “You could,” Joel said, raising a challenging brow. “It might not be the smartest thing you’ve ever done, but we just established that you’re an idiot.”

  Casey’s eyes took on that stubborn expression Joel knew too well, and he leaned across the narrow table, tilting his head and pressing a kiss to Joel’s mouth. It was fast, lips plush and soft, a barely sticky thing, but it was enough to make his point.

  Joel’s toes curled up in his boots, and his fingers tingled. It was impossible not to smile helplessly.

  “There. But that’s not the kiss you’ve promised me all night,” Casey said, eyes glowing. “That was an extra. A bonus kiss.”

  “Sure. Bonus kiss. For leveling up.”

  “Yeah? What’d I level up to?”

  “At this point in the game, you’re now playing for me to invite you in tonight.”

  Casey’s brows rose. “Oh, that’s on the table?”

  “Maybe. It depends on how you do the rest of the evening.”

  “This isn’t a game,” Casey murmured, tracing the frosted glass of his beer. “Not to me.”

  “That’s good because it’s not a game to me either.”

  A fling, sure, but not a game. The most deadly-serious fling Joel could imagine having. It was the culmination of his life’s romantic dreams thus far and the probable end of them too.

  Casey grinned and reached across the table to take Joel’s hand in his own. Their fingers fit together easily, and Joel tried to remember the last time anyone had taken his hand quite like this. Becca sometimes held onto his arm while they were walking, but no one since his mother had sat with his hand in their own just to feel a connection. He shivered, but he wasn’t cold. His insides burned with joy and ached with anticipated pain.

  But first the pleasure, Joel. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  “I know we left the topic behind on the ice, but the whole reason I wanted to get away from there was so we could talk more privately about what you said about your dad.”

  “Ah.” Joel snarled his lips. “Do we have to?”

  “No, but…” Casey squeezed his hand. “See, the thing is… My dad never punched me, but when I was a kid and I disappointed him, he could be cruel.”

  Joel frowned. “Yeah, he always said such dick things.”

  “That’s not…” Casey glanced away, his chest rising with a deep breath. He smiled ruefully. “I don’t like to talk about this. Or think about, if I can avoid it.”

  “What?” Joel gripped Casey’s fingers tighter, a sharp twist arcing through his giddy anxiety. “What happened?”

  “When I was a kid, I went to see Tuck Everlasting at the theater with some friends. When my dad picked me up, I was still crying. Spoiler alert: it has a sad ending.” Casey tugged his hand free of their connection and drank more beer.

  Joel’s fingers felt cold, but he didn’t move them, keeping his hand outstretched in case Casey wanted them back.

  “When we got home, my dad got out his belt.”

  “No.” Joel’s gut tightened.

  “He spanked me with it. And that day I learned that boys don’t cry, especially not in public, and good boys don’t embarrass their fathers ever.”

  “Casey…”

  “Between that time and the last time he hit me when I was twelve, he taught me some other stuff, too. Men don’t give their neighbors reason to gossip, men don’t make scenes, and men don’t suck dicks. Unless they’re rich, connected, famous dicks, apparently. But that part didn’t become clear to me until college and Theo.”

  “Fuck him.” Joel was flooded with cold. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be for Casey. His dad was a prissy little shit, but he’d never thought Casey’s father hurt him. Now he wanted to find the man and punch him into the ground, punch him until he begged. Punch him and punch him. Never stop.

  “Yeah. After I turned twelve he never belted me again. I’m not sure why. But even after he stopped, whenever he’d give me a look or talk to me in an angry voice, it was like I’d been hit with the belt all over again.”

  “Shit. I didn’t know.” Joel reached out his hand farther, wriggling his fingers, begging for Casey to take hold. He exhaled in relief when Casey did.

  Casey squeezed his fingers gently, his eyes sad but firm. “I’m only telling you because you should know that I get it. I mean, it’s different because I guess spanking, with a belt or hand, is more socially acceptable than a punch. But it affected me. I never trusted that I was safe until I was away from him in New York.”

  “But you’re in his house right now.” Joel would have to seriously hurt Jonathan Stevens if he ever laid a hand on Casey again. Ever. His whole body burned with rage at the thought.

  “He won’t touch me.” Casey shook his head. “I’m big enough to fight back. I think that’s why he stopped, honestly. And my therapist is helping me cope with the past and the way I react to him. I’m getting better at standing up for myself.”

  “I’m glad. That’s…that’s good.” Joel pulled his hand free of Casey’s and ran it through his hair. The intense, scary feeling that had consumed him on the ice swelled again. It had a different feel to it, though. Something ugly.

  “So, I get it,” Casey went on. “The things we did and said back then as kids—and maybe even now—are partly because of what we lived with and where we came from. Who we came from. All of that stuff matters more than we want to admit sometimes.” Casey reached his hand across again, wordlessly asking for Joel’s touch.

  Joel swallowed and blinked hard to get rid of the stinging in his eyes. He took a deep breath and slipped his hand back into Casey’s, wanting to comfort as much as he wanted to ground himself with Casey’s touch. “I can’t make peac
e with my pop. Since the stroke, he’s worse than ever. If he was physically capable of it, he’d still beat me up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get my peace with him. At least you can hope for that still with your dad.” Did Joel even want Casey to have that, though? He didn’t know anymore.

  “Maybe. He’s not too impressed with my life choices right now, and I don’t know if he ever will be.” Casey’s voice dropped lower, and his lips started to tremble. Joel’s heart clenched as Casey’s eyes took on a previously unseen vulnerability. “But if he doesn’t want to accept me as I am, and for who I’m going to be, then I guess it’s better than pretending to be someone I’m not for some version of love that isn’t even real.”

  Joel’s whole body sang with an urge to protect and hold Casey, to heal him from the past and support him in the future. He said, gruffly, “Love. Yeah. What’s that like, I wonder?”

  “To be loved?”

  Joel shrugged, forcing his gaze to fall to the skaters on the ice below. “I don’t think my father ever loved me. My mom, Charlie loved, but me? I don’t know. I was an inconvenience at best.”

  “It was always tense at your place,” Casey said gently, and now he sounded the way Joel felt. Like he wanted to bundle him up and never let the past touch him again. “At least whenever I was there and your dad was around, it seemed really tense.”

  “That’s because my dad knew how I felt about you.” Joel met Casey’s gaze again, his nerves jangling. “He knew it was you more than anyone else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t felt… I don’t feel…” Joel shook his head, searching for the words. “Becca says I’m demisexual, whatever that means.” He rolled his eyes.

  Casey nodded, squeezing his hand again. “I know about that. It means you’re only sexually attracted to people you know well or have developed strong feelings for.”

  “I guess. That’s what Becca thinks. I just know that I don’t walk around wanting to fuck people. The only person I’ve ever wanted was—” He cut off the words.