by Amy Lane
“That sounds perfect. What do you want?”
“I get you in the morning, to open like a present,” Crispin said, surprised he could speak, his chest hurt so much. “And you’ll be here in the afternoon when Todd and Millie come. It will be my first year with someone. It’s a windfall Christmas for me.”
“For me too, love. Please believe that. I want….”
“What?”
“I want to give you the world.”
Still only want you.
FOOTBALL WAS… muddy. Apparently that whole “Crispin gets to sit on the sidelines” thing was as much bullshit as “ache is better than pain.” Crispin was called in to play as a kicker at first, because somebody remembered he’d played soccer as a kid, and then he was called into service as a receiver, because some asshole—Cameron—said, “It’s just two-hand touch, Crispin, how bad can it get?”
It got so bad.
They’d invited Todd and Jamie, and Millie, Darla, Maritza, and Ray’s wife, Cathy, all cheered on the sidelines. When they asked Nick where Marcy was, he’d grunted and looked away.
Nick was back on the project list again, and Link proclaimed that grunting in the mud like testosterone-fueled pigs was the best way to reclaim his happy singlehood.
Cam said that was crap, and they were playing for fun and they’d fix Nick later, and Link narrowed his eyes and proclaimed Cam the captain of the opposing team.
Crispin, Cam, Nick, and Luka all trotted to their end of the field in the squelchy mud, wiping water out of their faces as they went.
“Well done,” Luka said, his good humor never failing. “You managed to piss off the biggest guy on the field.”
“We’re so screwed,” Cam muttered. “If the girls weren’t all dressed nice, I’d invite them out here to protect us.”
“It’s two-hand touch, right?” Crispin had been drafted under that exact stipulation.
Cam and Luka patted his back. “Yeah, buddy. Two-hand touch. It’ll all be good.”
“You know what would fix me, though,” Nick said, eyes lighting up.
“If we beat Link and Ray?” Cam knew exactly what would fix him.
“Todd and Jamie are on the team too,” Crispin said, and he got that double pat on the back again.
He was beginning to read those pats for what they really meant.
What they meant was Crispin was toast.
It seemed okay at first. Nick snapped the ball to Luka, Luka threw to Cam, who juggled it like a hot potato and accidentally lateraled to Crispin. Crispin held the ball to his chest and went charging toward the finish line, erm, goal line, thinking, I’m doing it! I’m doing it! Right when he felt two hands on his shoulder blades.
He stopped, because that meant he was done, right? But those two hands kept pushing and Crispin went sprawling into the mud. He rolled over, indignant, only to face his bewildered brother-in-law, whose feet were flailing like a cartoon character’s while he tried to keep himself upright in the mud.
He fell right on top of Crispin while the girls squealed in the background, and the mud threatened to suck Crispin into the fetid depths.
He could hardly catch his breath. All he knew was that one minute Todd was rolling around on top of him like a pill bug, and the next minute Luka had both his hands and was pulling him up.
“You’re okay?”
“Uh, yeah—Todd—”
“Is fine.” Luka looked over his shoulder to where a bewildered and bedraggled Todd was getting high-fived by his teammates. Jamie looked over his shoulder, nose wrinkled in apology, and Crispin rolled his eyes.
“So that’s two-hand touch,” Crispin said, counting bruises.
“It is.”
“In the mud.”
“Yes, indeed. In the mud.”
Cam and Nick came trotting up, both of them looking apologetic. “Uh, Crispy? You good?”
“Let’s kill them,” Crispin said calmly. “I will personally bake cookies for whoever mashes Link’s face in the mud.”
“Not Todd?” Nick asked making sure.
“Todd was a pawn. I’m looking for the real evil genius here. Are we all in?”
“Kill Link on three,” Cam said, dead serious, putting his hand out in front of him. “One, two, three—”
“Kill Link!”
And the mud bath was on.
Cam claimed there was something of a score—in Link’s favor, of course—but all Crispin knew was that Link was the quarterback, and they took every opportunity to sack the quarterback they could possibly find.
They pretty much let Jamie and Todd score unmolested, just so they could tackle Link and Ray in the mud.
After an hour even Luka’s teeth were chattering, and Link actually dropped the ball and squealed like a frightened Chihuahua because he was so tired of getting jumped on and mashed into the mud.
“Truce!” Ray called, picking himself up for the umpteenth time. “Truce! I mean, time-out! I mean, time!”
They all stood, panting, bleeding, and dripping with mud and grass, and Link grinned.
“That was amazing,” he said, his teeth and eyes the only part of his face they could actually see. “Who wants to do that after Christmas too?”
For a moment there was stunned silence, punctuated by their desperate bids for oxygen, and then Crispin started to laugh weakly. “Yeah, sure,” he said.
The women had already retired to the cars, and as the guys walked up from the playing field to the parking lot, Luka caught Cam’s thoughtful look at the car where they all sat, heater on, sipping coffee.
“Cam?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “What’re we doing next?”
“I say we go home, shower, and all meet at Crispin’s place for hot chocolate and brandy,” Link said, and as Crispin glanced up, he saw Link’s thoughtful look at Cameron too.
Link saw it. Maybe not all of it, but he was a good friend. He saw that one of his people wasn’t happy.
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Crispin said. “Todd, you and Millie have clothes at my house—and a guest bathroom. First one clean goes for supplies!”
As impromptu Christmas parties went, it was warm and cozy. Except for Millie, who drank chocolate and hot tea, the rest of them drank wine and ate soup and bread, and then cookies, and talked and played silly games, including the ones they could find on their phones.
Nobody said anything—Nick’s breakup, Cam’s confusion, Ray and Cathy’s unsuccessful attempts to have children, Crispin and Luka’s unpredictable situation—all that was off the table.
What was on the table was the good stuff. They talked about Munich and Comic-Con and Vegas and the Kings and what was coming to the theater and who got to choose the next trip. They talked about friends in college and their first pet and what Christmas had been like when they’d been kids.
The good things.
People stayed in the guest bedrooms, on the couch, on the floor, and the next morning, Cam and Jamie got up early to bring in donuts. When people left for home, it was reluctantly, to sleep, to clean house, to finish preparations for Christmas.
Nobody wanted that magic moment of calm, of camaraderie, to end.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and people had their own places to go. Todd and Millie went to Todd’s family in the early part of the evening and then came over later—usually to drink heavily and complain about Todd’s family.
This time they lasted about half an hour at Todd’s family’s house, and alas, there was no alcohol for Millie.
Todd drank his share, though.
“I hate them,” he babbled, three tumblers of scotch into Christmas Eve. He and Luka sat on the couch, Luka’s arm companionably over his shoulders, while he tried to explain that his parents were so incredibly awful, he didn’t want them near the baby. “How can they… I mean, everything they think is wrong. Everything. It’s like the idiot in charge said, ‘Yes, letting people go hungry and children go without their parents and factories destroy the planet—this is
all okay!’ and they just bought it, and anybody who tries to say, ‘Uh, maybe we shouldn’t…’ is shot down.” He looked at Luka with red-rimmed eyes. “You and Crispin—you’re our best, happiest family. They asked me if we were okay with you guys around a baby, and… and I made Millie leave. That game in the mud was the happiest I’ve ever been that didn’t involve Millie. I fuckin’ love you guys.”
Luka was looking up at Crispin, eyes troubled. “Crispin loves you both very much,” he said. “I am so happy to call you my friends.”
It was enough for Todd, because he tilted his head back and floated in the fading misery of scotch and family, but Crispin saw the fear there.
Later, after watching Christmas movies until Todd cheered up and Millie fell asleep, Crispin and Luka put them to bed, laughing quietly at the fact that the two of them had brought matching How the Grinch Stole Christmas cotton pajamas.
“It’s funny,” Luka said when they were back on the couch alone. “They are so adorable, such beautiful children in the woods, but they’ve had their hearts broken so many times. You forget, sometimes, how strong people are. All your people. Your friend Ray and his wife—so heartbroken but so ready to try again. Nick, looking for love. Cameron—he is uncertain about his fiancée, but he mostly wants to be kind to her, no matter what happens. You have chosen good friends, Crispin.”
Crispin wrinkled his nose and leaned into Luka’s strength. “I think we’ve established that they chose me.”
“Yes—perhaps. But I think it would have been very easy for you to back out of all the things they plan for you. And you don’t. You go along for the ride, and you enjoy yourself, and they continue to love you with all their hearts. It’s a good system. I would not drag you away from it.”
Oh. Christmas Eve, and they were here again.
“But it’s okay if I leave as long as I come back,” Crispin told him, trying to stay nonchalant. “Link and Maritza go on trips without us all the time. They come back, and Link tells us where we should go and where we shouldn’t.”
“So you would be okay, going on trips with me?” Luka asked thoughtfully.
“And I’d be okay if you left without me sometimes,” Crispin said, although that hurt more. “As long as we ended up back here.”
“Mm.” Luka pulled him close, and he rested his head on Luka’s chest. “There are far worse places to be.”
Crispin couldn’t help himself. “Merry Christmas, Luka. I love you.”
“Merry Christmas, Crispin. I love you too.”
He closed his eyes and held those words to his heart, fed himself hope to make himself strong. He knew it might be false hope, but it was like a picture of what could be.
He would need it there, he knew this, in case things all fell apart.
The next morning they exchanged gifts, and Millie got the lion’s share, of course. Clothes, books—all things cute. Crispin used to wonder about Todd treating his sister right until he realized that together they managed to give her a haul that would rival any sixteen-year-old girl’s.
Apparently it made their world brighter to watch her twinkle at something silly, like a purple phone case or a new PlayStation switch box.
Fair enough.
Crispin and Luka had talked about it, and together they’d gotten Todd a rucksack like Luka’s, for his fieldwork. Luka spent part of the morning explaining where all the pockets were and how you could fasten it in different ways. Of course Crispin had already done this when he’d emptied it out the first time. As far as Crispin was concerned, the damned thing was a magic rucksack that could pretty much carry an entire wardrobe and library. It was the Swiss Army Knife of backpacks.
Crispin had, good to his word, gotten Luka clothes, meticulously replacing everything in his backpack with a newer, less frayed version without holes. He’d also bought him the entire Harry Potter series to put on his phone.
And then he’d taken a chance. He’d gone into his own bookshelves and pulled out The Stand, and The Talisman, and It, the much-dog-eared paperbacks in his collection, and inscribed each one of them.
Read it and think of me. Then trade it in for the next one. Wherever you are.
You are loved.
Crispin.
It was as close to a promise as Crispin could fathom.
He didn’t miss the way Luka bit his lip and rubbed his finger over the inscription, and his eyes, when they met Crispin’s, were bright and shiny and threatening to spill over.
“Open yours,” Luka ordered.
It was a small box—a jeweler’s box—and Crispin opened it curiously.
It was a symbol of some sort, wrought in sterling silver, suspended on a stainless steel chain.
“What is it?” Crispin asked, tracing his finger along the curves.
“It is Hindi,” Luka said, blushing. “I… I bought it in Aurangabad for you. It was hidden in the backpack—we are lucky it survived the wash.”
“It’s beautiful. What does it say?”
Luka shifted as he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree. “It says—it is probably not good enough.”
“But no—what’s it say?”
Luka looked sheepish. “It says, ‘I once loved.’ It’s for faith, yes? That no matter what happens in your life, you were strong enough to love once, you have that as part of you. You will love again.”
Crispin caught his breath. So hopeful—but not for them. “Oh,” he said, trying not to cry from bitterness.
“It… if I had it to buy again, I would make it the one that’s just for love,” Luka said, not looking at him. “Because… because that one, I thought, I would send it to you, and tell you what it means, and it would be very bittersweet but good. But now… now I find I… I want it to say more.”
Crispin’s heart healed a little. “We’ll take it on hope,” he said. “Because we once loved people who were taken from us. And now we have hope to love again.”
Luka met his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
It was as close to a promise as Crispin saw himself getting for a while.
He counted it his best Christmas present ever.
Reckoning
“BUT YOU will get less mud in your car!” Luka urged, laughing. “I even got another helmet and a leather jacket for you!”
It was Mud Ball Two, and Luka had plans for them this time.
“But… but it’s a motorcycle!” Crispin laughed. “Maybe we should… you know… save the motorcycle for a day when I feel like my life is flashing in front of my eyes and I don’t have anything to lose.”
“But Crispin! It’s so much fun! Please? Just once. If we crash and die, I promise I’ll never make you get on the bike again.”
Crispin laughed, knowing he’d be unable to say no. “Fine. But, you know—remember. I’m a big wobbly mess on the back, okay?”
Luka stepped into his space and rubbed his lower lip with a work-roughened thumb. “Just hold on to me and it will be fine,” he said. “You’re very good at that, yes?”
“It’s the thing I’m best at in the world.” Because yeah, right? It had worked so far.
They kissed then, darkly tender as all their kisses had been since Luka’s awkward gift at Christmas, and Crispin followed him out into the garage.
The day was bright and crisp instead of dreary and damp—in reality, it felt like the reason people would ride a motorcycle in the winter. A brisk wind tried to stir what was left of the leaves, and the thin sunshine was razor-sharp in its attempt to make up for not being summer.
Crispin put on the borrowed helmet and leather jacket and even the solid pair of boots Luka had borrowed from a coworker at the bar.
“Does Jamie know you planned this?” Crispin asked, because Jamie had become another member of their little group, and he was, if anything, more overprotective than Link and Cameron.
“No,” Luka said, grimacing. “I’m sorry. He still has feelings for you, and I try to not be an asshole about not letting you go.”
Crispin nodded—he got that.
“Okay, so… slowly, right? We’re not hitting the freeway, no speed records—”
“As safe as possible,” Luka promised, hand over his heart.
At first “safe” felt wobbly, as Luka negotiated the stop signs and turns of Crispin’s small old suburb. Crispin held his breath every time he accelerated from a stop and breathed again every time they came to a halt. Stop and go, stop and go—sitting at an intersection was a master’s course in core work—Link would be very proud.
But then—then—Luka hit Fair Oaks Boulevard, timing the lights just perfectly, and they zoomed for a good three miles, the wind whipping at their leather jackets, the bike straight and steady in the tame traffic.
For those three miles, Crispin felt like he could fly.
“Oh my God,” he mumbled against Luka’s back, eyes wide open. “Oh my God, this is amazing. Oh my God! Luka! You do this every day!”
“I do!” Luka called back. “It frees my heart so I can walk on the ground with you!”
Oh! Crispin understood. This was how Luka had managed to stay for so long. He’d reminded himself every day that freedom was a choice—his choice—and that he was free to remain with Crispin as long as he wanted.
The necklace at his throat was suddenly bright, glittery indigo sparkles of promise. Crispin had loved. Crispin had been loved. And here, in this freedom, the man he loved warm in his arms, he would continue to love.
They were free to continue to love.
He closed his eyes then, drinking in the hope and the promise, so he never saw the truck that decided lane sharing was for assholes and swerved hard into the bike to force it out.
Luka did, though—they were right in front of the park, and Cam told him the whole thing. Luka’s only other option was the oncoming lane, which would have killed them both, so Luka hit the brake and spun the bike into a controlled slide across the road, missing a minivan by a good six feet and sliding right into the parking lot of the park where they were playing ball.
Crispin’s head hit the ground about then, and thank God for the helmet, because although he got knocked out with a hell of a concussion, the alternative would have been worse.