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

by Leta Blake

  RJ went on. “But I’m still here in town, and I’m going to be right here at home for Christmas Day. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” But neither kid seemed happy, and both shot Aaron suspicious glances like it might be his fault. So much for making a good impression on his lover’s siblings. Good thing this wasn’t going to last more than a few weeks, tops.

  Oh God, had he already decided on letting it go on for a few weeks? That seemed risky as hell. But could he really give it up any sooner? He didn’t think so. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

  Lauren would have something to say about that. Maybe she’d be able to talk sense into him. In the meantime, he was going to enjoy this like an elf enjoyed Christmas: feverishly and ready to crash when it was over.

  Betsy packaged up the cookies and sent them off with a thermos of coffee. She grabbed them both in firm but awkward hugs on their way out the door.

  “Good luck with Chip, hon,” she said. “I believe in you.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “I believe in Santa Claus,” Beau said from behind his mom’s knee.

  “So does Aaron,” RJ said with a shit-eating grin. “He’s on Santa’s naughty list.”

  “Oh RJ,” his mother said, rolling her eyes and turning away.

  “I’m sorry, Aaron,” Beau said, seriously. “I hope you don’t get coal in your stocking.” His brows rucked with worry.

  “It’s okay. I love coal,” Aaron called out, opening the door to the SUV and preparing to climb inside. “Under pressure, it turns to diamonds.”

  RJ squeezed his hand before starting the motor, and Aaron waved at the kids as they backed down the drive.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Let’s hear it,” Chip said, sitting back in the control room of his small studio in the middle of a nineteen-seventies strip mall. He gestured at RJ and his guitar. “I wanna know what we’re working with here.”

  Aaron stood behind Chip, both of them visible through the plexiglass separating the small recording booth from the control room. Chip was a robust, furry guy of somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-nine. It was hard to tell for sure since he was covered in a beard and a beer belly. But he was a nice guy and had always treated RJ well, even when the Old Skool Millennials were still playing back in high school, and he’d offered ages ago to help RJ with a new demo.

  “Gonna puss out on me now?” Chip said, laughing. “C’mon, RJ. Hit me.”

  RJ licked his lips nervously. He hadn’t thought this part through when he’d asked Aaron along. Was he ready to sing the song he’d written just the other day in front of the man who’d inspired it? Christ, he had balls. He knew that. But did he have balls this big? He was about to find out.

  RJ cleared his throat, got more comfortable on the creaky stool set up in front of the mic, and started to strum. He let it rise in him, the lyrics starting out quiet and unsure, and then picking up power as he got to the bridge. He crested with the chorus and dropped back into a verse with ease. He opened his eyes, his gaze landing first on Aaron, and he let himself smile, allowing himself to project the song lyrics at the man himself.

  Aaron swallowed visibly, broke eye contact, and stepped back into a shadow behind Chip, arms crossed protectively over his middle. RJ sang on. He had no choice. No matter what Aaron thought, he was halfway through this thing now, and he had to see it out.

  When it was over, Chip whistled. “Got more like that?”

  “A couple,” he lied.

  “Okay. We’ll book it for next week. I kept those days blank on my schedule ’cause I thought I’d spend that time with Anna, considering she’s done with classes and all, but she’s a bitch so…” He shrugged.

  RJ cocked his head. “There’s a story there.”

  “Fine. I’m the asshole. But whatever. My girl’s spending the holidays with her mama in Tampa, so it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll book you in.”

  “I can pay for the hours. Your usual rate.”

  “Good for you. Because I’m not giving you a friend’s discount.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Chip rose and stretched, his beer belly popping out from beneath his vintage Metallica T-shirt. “If it all goes well, you should have something good for your agent to hand around. Who knows? Maybe next year you’ll be a rising star on the alt-rock scene.”

  RJ huffed a laugh. “I just want to make something of my own. Screw the rest of it.”

  “If only that was how it worked, bub.”

  “There’s always Spotify,” RJ said, mentioning Casey’s idea from the rehearsal the night before. His friend had mentioned the streaming service, pointing out how times had changed since the last time RJ had tried his hand at making his own music.

  “It’s like self-publishing Joel’s horror books,” Casey had said. “You don’t have to get anyone’s permission to make music now.”

  Casey was right. RJ had other options aside from the traditional route.

  “Sure, sure. It’s a new world of opportunities to make pennies,” Chip said sarcastically.

  Aaron still lingered in the darkness of the corner, one arm hanging low, the other crossed over his waist. He didn’t meet RJ’s eyes even when he came into the control room and made further plans. He also walked a few steps behind RJ and Chip when they all went back out to the lobby to say their goodbyes for now.

  Aaron was dressed sweetly casual today in soft, faded blue jeans, a long-sleeved, green Henley shirt, a loose, forest green jacket, and a pair of black, high top converse. His ass was still magnificent, but RJ also knew it still hurt. He’d practically winced when he sat down on the folding chair in the control room before leaping up to stand again, and then skedaddling to hide in the shadows behind Chip.

  Was it RJ’s voice that had scared him? His lyrics? What had pushed Aaron to want to disappear? RJ supposed he’d have to wait until they were in the car to find out.

  Grabbing his own jacket from the coat rack by the door and slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he shook Chip’s hand and watched as Aaron did the same. Then they were in the blacktop parking lot, approaching the shining, stupidly big SUV together.

  Aaron suddenly reached out and took hold of RJ’s hand and twined their fingers together. RJ almost asked why, but he bit the question back and didn’t mention that Chip could surely see them from the windows of the lobby. He just gripped Aaron’s fingers in return until they got to the car. Then he used his fob to unlock Aaron’s side and let him in first.

  When their hands broke apart, Aaron smiled at him.

  “It was a good song,” Aaron finally said once RJ had climbed in behind the steering wheel. “Was it…. Am I overthinking it or is it about…” He blushed. “Never mind.”

  “It was about you and that magical ass, Mr. Danvers.”

  “Really?” He blushed even more, dimples blossoming, and RJ’s heart clenched at the sweetness of it. “I thought so, but that seemed egotistical. I second-guessed myself.”

  “You should be proud. It’s the first song I’ve written in over a year. The well was dry. Then I got to unwrap that sweet butt of yours, and suddenly I’m chock full of inspiration.”

  Aaron chuckled. “Well, as my kids at school say, don’t get all extra about it.” His blush extended down up to his hairline now, and his dimples kept popping. “But, still, I’ve never had a song written about me before.”

  “I admit, when you went to go hide in the corner of the studio, I was surprised.” RJ played up his ego rather than reveal how vulnerable he’d felt. “I expected a full-on swoon when you heard it.”

  Aaron shook his head. “I don’t swoon. I just got really embarrassingly hard watching you play, and I had to hide myself so Chip didn’t see it. I didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen.”

  RJ whooped, laughter shaking him as he pulled out onto the highway toward the address Aaron had plugged into his GPS earlier. He didn’t know what to expect for the rest of the afternoon, but he was excited to go meet Aaron’s da
d.

  RJ wondered how Aaron planned to introduce him. He knew it was too much to hope he’d introduce him as his holiday lover. But a guy could dream.

  As they drove deeper into the countryside, heading toward the gray Holston River and the winter-brown farmland that ran along it, Aaron finally spoke again. “This is all Danvers family land now. Starting about here. It used to go out even farther, but a lot of it was sold to pay my grandfather’s estate taxes, and then to provide the monetary inheritance for us kids that didn’t want to take a house out this way.”

  “Take a house?”

  “Yeah, there are houses all over the property. Some old, like from the eighteen hundreds, and some newer. The cousins who stayed all took one. It’s the way it’s been for generations now. I wasn’t the only one who left.” Aaron shrugged. “Though that wasn’t really my choice.”

  “Oh?”

  “The divorce. My mom got custody.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Doug was divorced from his first wife (who claimed that was all Betsy’s fault, but RJ stayed out of that discussion; he didn’t want to know), but Carter spent one week a month at his mom’s, and three with Doug and Mom. Mainly because Carter’s mom’s job required a lot of travel. But RJ knew it was unusual for parents not to get fifty-fifty custody anymore. Of course, when he and Aaron had been kids times were different. Heck, times were always different.

  “Mom moved into Knoxville proper, became a teacher first, and then a principal. She insisted I attend her school. My dad couldn’t easily get me into Knoxville and back every day for classes, not from all the way out here anyway, and especially not with his farm duties. Plus, my mom was…the mom.” His voice took on a flatter note. “The judge agreed with her that I needed consistency with my schooling. So, that was that.”

  “Ah. And your grandfather died when you were a kid?”

  “No. I was grown. And when he died, I could have taken land out here, but I didn’t.” Aaron gestured toward the green rolling fields. “Don’t get me wrong. I love it, but being a farmer isn’t for me. And you can’t live out here on the family farm and not participate in some way. It’s just not done.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, all of my cousins chip in. Plow fields, sow and pick crops, or they deal with cattle, pigs, horses, and goats. Gather eggs from the free-range chickens. Mend fences. Read up on the latest and greatest family farming techniques. None of that is really of interest to me. I’ve never been into getting dirt on my hands.”

  “Prissy.”

  “Tidy.” He nudged RJ with an elbow. “Also, my job’s in town. I don’t want to drive all that way every day either, so I can’t blame my dad for not wanting to do it back when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was more to the story of the divorce, RJ could tell. But that kind of personal information was always a tender thing. RJ didn’t push.

  Speaking of tender.

  “How’s that sweet ass feeling?” RJ asked. The roads out this way were rough at times and Aaron was holding himself a little stiffly.

  “Bruised. But I’m fine.” He smiled shyly at RJ. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll worry about you, and I’ll thank you, and I’ll spank you all I damn well want. You can’t stop me, Mr. Danvers.”

  “I don’t want to stop you.”

  RJ reached out and took Aaron’s hand again, feeling the rightness of the slim fingers fitting between his own. It was like a shock of joy to the heart, and he didn’t want to let go. But at the next curve, he needed both hands on the wheel, so he did.

  “This driveway, up ahead,” Aaron said quietly. “This is my dad’s place.”

  The bare, brown trees rolled past them as they approached, and then suddenly dropped away, opening up a vista of brown and light green rolling hills, several barns to the left, a farmhouse up ahead, and the sparkling river delineating a boundary behind it all.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. My dad got one of the best pieces, but that was way back before Papaw died. Uncle Jokey got another good strip by the river.” He indicated with his thumb. “That way.”

  “Uncle Jokey?”

  Aaron flushed a little. “My family’s got a thing for nicknames. I guess I should tell you now. My dad’s name is Rutger, but they call him Rutty. I’m Cracker.”

  “Cracker? Like the insult?”

  Aaron laughed. “No, like a saltine. I ate a whole sleeve of them in my bed when I was a kid and then cried because the crumbs were all itchy and I couldn’t sleep that night. I’ve been Cracker to my family out this way ever since.”

  “Makes my mom’s ‘hon’ seem completely tolerable.”

  Aaron snorted gently. “Yeah. Well, here, pull up by the barns. Watch for the goats.”

  The farmhouse was beautiful. Freshly painted white with black shutters, and fresh, green wreaths with red bows hung over each window. The front door was graced by a thick, woven, pine garland also punctuated with several bright red bows. Festive. Pretty. RJ wondered if Aaron’s father had picked them out.

  “Cracker!” Aaron’s father was a tall man, broad in the shoulders, with a face that had clearly seen a lot of sun over the years. RJ estimated that he was probably only in his mid-fifties, but on first glance he came across as older given his cotton-white hair and sun-deep wrinkles.

  He strode down from the wraparound porch at the house, wearing actual cowboy boots and a plaid shirt tucked into jeans, all strapped into place with a belt buckle the size of Texas.

  “Cracker, who’ve you brought with you?” he asked with a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Rutty.”

  Aaron groaned almost sub-audibly, but RJ heard it anyway, attuned as he seemed to be to all of Aaron’s noises. “This is RJ Blitz, Dad. My…friend.”

  Rutger Danvers registered that slight hesitation all right. His smile sharpened and his eyes dug into RJ with an intensity beyond curiosity. It wasn’t hateful at all. RJ had seen hateful, was familiar with its gleam, and this wasn’t it. But it was definitely protective, and RJ could respect Rutger for that. This man loved Aaron, and why shouldn’t he? Aaron was his son, plus Aaron was utterly amazing.

  Oh crap.

  He wasn’t falling for Aaron was he? The last time he’d thought anyone was amazing was his ex, lead singer of Pearl Necklace, stage name: Pan Soldier. After they’d been fucking for a few days, RJ had looked over at him, sprawled out boneless and submissive on the bed, and felt that awful squish of affection in his chest. Helplessly, he’d thought, “This guy’s amazing. This guy’s worth the fall.” How wrong he’d been.

  But Aaron was nothing like Pan. Obviously. And aside from being in the closet, and running a little hot and cold, and really not being the kind of person RJ should ever start a relationship with for so many reasons (but especially because RJ couldn’t stay and be a domestic partner to a teacher, for fuck’s sake)…Aaron was amazing.

  So Papa Danvers was right to be worried for him. RJ was a dick who had only come into his son’s life to fuck him silly for a few breathless weeks and then hit the road.

  So, yeah, glare at me, stare me down, Rutty. Fair’s fair.

  “Good to meet you, sir.” RJ put out his hand and they shook. Again, Rutty seemed to be testing RJ out in some way, but he didn’t hold his hand longer than any other man would.

  “Nice manners. You a country boy?”

  “Knoxville proper, actually. Through and through.”

  “Too bad. Not that Knoxville’s a terrible place to be from. There’s just something about a country boy that you know you can trust.”

  “Dad…” Aaron hissed in warning.

  Rutty grinned. “You boys want some coffee before we head out to the barn to see that thing I found for ya, Aaron?”

  Aaron shook his head. “We had plenty of coffee in the car, actually. RJ’s mom sent some along this morning.”

  “In fact,” RJ said, with an embarrassed chuckle. “Speaking of all that coffee, is there a restroom I could
use?”

  “Heck yeah. Come on inside.”

  Following Rutty into the hallway of the farmhouse, RJ blinked in amazement. It was set up beautifully with old, burnished wood floors and wood-burning stoves in every room. Rutty led them toward the kitchen, which boasted glossy, brick floors and wide windows that looked out on the river. It was from there that RJ was pointed toward the bathroom down a back hallway.

  The entire house was tidy, and so was the bathroom. RJ wasn’t sure what he’d expected from a solitary farmer, but it wasn’t this. Quickly, RJ did his business and washed up. As he stepped back out into the short hall that led to the kitchen, he heard Rutty’s deep voice. “He’s a handsome one, Cracker. So you’re sleeping with him?”

  Aaron squawked and a crashing noise followed.

  “Now don’t go droppin’ the plates. I asked you to help me put them away, not break them.” Then Rutty laughed gently. “Look, son, I’ve known you were gay since you were a young’un. Just because you never saw fit to come out and tell me directly to my face doesn’t mean I didn’t know.”

  “Dad, I…I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

  “Yeah, you should have.”

  Aaron voice shook slightly. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it and—”

  “I don’t give a shit. That’s how I take it. You’re my son and I love you.”

  Aaron grunted oddly, and RJ held back, waiting a minute before striding out into the kitchen. Aaron was in his dad’s arms, accepting a giant, warm hug. They broke apart as RJ came in. “Nice wallpaper,” RJ said, gesturing with his thumb back the way he’d come. “In the bathroom, I mean. Floral. Pretty.”

  “My mother chose it in the nineteen forties. It’s aged well. So’ve the rest of her choices.”

  Aaron went back to putting the plates from the drying rack into a cupboard, and Rutty gripped him by the neck and shook him gently. “Never mind that now. I’ll get it later. Let’s head out to the barn. Candace found something of your gran’s in the basement out in that old house she and her husband are wanting to fix up. They want to use it as some Airbnb or somethin’. Anyway, she said you could have it. We both figured you’d want it for sure.”