by J. M. Snyder
As Remy carried a bag to the Jeep, he heard the door leading from the garage to the kitchen open, and a young, male voice called out, “Mom? Is he here yet?”
Kate gave Remy a deer-in-headlights look. “Distract him!” she whispered, taking the bag of presents from Remy. “Go, go! Before he comes out here!”
Remy glanced at Lane and grimaced. He felt like a thief in the night, trying to sneak away with a car full of stolen goods. Ducking around the side of the car, he spotted the open door and eight-year-old Braden in the doorway. “Hey, sport!” he called, clapping his hands together. “I’m right here, kiddo!”
With a squeal, Braden jumped off the steps leading into the house and ran to Remy. “Dad!” he cried, hitting Remy with all the weight his small body could muster. He smacked right into Remy and wrapped his arms around his father’s waist. “Mom said you were coming! What’d you bring me?”
“What?” Remy laughed and took his son’s hand, leading Braden back into the house and away from the Santa presents. “I didn’t bring you anything. Christmas is only a few days away.”
“Four days.” Braden held up his free hand and displayed the correct number of fingers. “Mom says we’re going camping. Are we, Dad? Isn’t it too cold to camp? Where are we going?”
Remy grinned at his son’s eagerness. Guiding his son up the steps, he pushed the door open wider and started inside. “A cabin in the woods. You, me, and Lane.”
Braden stopped on the second to last step. His hand tugged Remy’s, unmoving. “You, me, and who?”
“Lane. You’ll meet him in a moment.” Remy glanced at the Jeep, but couldn’t see Kate or Lane. “You’ll like him, I promise. Come on inside.”
“Who’s Lane?” Braden wanted to know.
Who was Lane? The man of my dreams, Remy thought, closing the door behind his son. The man I hope will marry me. The man I want to grow old with. My everything.
But how could he say that in a way that an eight-year-old might even begin to understand? He’s a friend didn’t quite cut it, and he’s my lover was too much, too soon. What had Kate said about Lane, if anything? How did she refer to Mike when talking to Braden?
He felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see his son staring up at him. Braden had his same dark eyes, the same nose and cheeks, the same thin lips. The blond hair graying on Remy’s head looked bright and unburnished on Braden’s small scalp.
“Who is he, Daddy?” Braden asked.
Remy smiled and tousled his son’s thick hair. “You’ll find out in a minute. He’s outside with your mom right now.”
Chapter 4
With Kate, Lane finished moving Braden’s Santa gifts into the cargo hold of his Jeep. She also had two large tubes of gift wrap that she tucked in, too. “Just in case you guys don’t have any on hand,” she explained.
Lane liked Kate. When he first met her, he had been afraid that he wouldn’t. After what happened with Reggie, Lane had trouble trusting women around a man he was dating, and an ex-wife? He expected to sit through the lunch Remy had arranged for them with a heart full of seething rage and jealousy. This woman had slept with Remy, had borne him a child. Lane wanted to hate her.
But he couldn’t. Kate had a wonderful, throaty laugh and a self-depreciating sense of humor. When their young waiter was obviously hitting on her, Remy pointed out, “He likes you.”
Kate just laughed and said, “Yeah, because I remind him of his mother.”
It helped that Lane had overheard some of the nice things Kate had said about him to Remy. Later, when the two were in their car heading back to work, Lane ventured, “I can see why you guys are still such good friends. She’s wonderful.”
“She is,” Remy agreed. “Just not with me.”
Now, in Kate’s garage, Lane closed the back hatch on his Jeep and gave her a proper hug. “Remy says you’re going on a cruise,” he said, making small talk. “It should be a lot of fun.”
“I think so,” Kate admitted. “But Mike gets motion sickness, so why he picked something like this, I don’t know.”
“Motion sickness?” Lane cried with a laugh. “Wasn’t the cruise his idea?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “You know men and their toys. He swears he doesn’t get seasick, just airsick and carsick, like there’s a difference. Doesn’t matter. I have enough Dramamine packed to last us a month.”
Easing an arm through Lane’s, she guided him to the small set of steps leading into the house. She walked slowly, as if she wanted a moment or two alone with Lane, and he matched his steps to hers. He suspected she had something on her mind that she wanted to say. He wondered if she was going to ask him not to be intimate with Remy when Braden was around. As if she had to say anything about that. Lane wasn’t one for public displays of affection; he would be loving with Remy, as he always was, but he wasn’t about to run around the cabin naked chasing after his man if they had company.
After a moment, Kate quietly asked, “Is this a huge inconvenience for you two?”
“What, you mean your son?” Lane shook his head, frowning. “No, no. Well, Remy’s a little put out but it’s fine, I promise.”
“Remy’s mad because I’ve ruined his plans,” Kate said. “He actually picked a date to introduce you to Braden, did he tell you that? An exact date in May, planned down to the minute.”
Lane smiled. “Yeah. May tenth. He likes to be prepared.”
“He goes a little overboard sometimes,” Kate admitted. “It’s my fault, I know. He wasn’t always this bad. But then Braden came along, completely by accident, and we got married for the baby’s sake—none of that was in his plans. He’s been trying to get back control of his life ever since.”
“Tell me a bit about Braden,” Lane said.
Kate stopped and leaned back against the front panel of the Jeep. “He’s eight,” she said, as if that explained everything. She extracted her arm from Lane’s and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans for warmth. “Sometimes he’s the best little boy in the entire world, and sometimes he’s a beast.”
With a laugh, Lane leaned against the passenger window and smiled down at her. “At least you’re more honest than Remy. He says Braden’s awesome.”
“He is awesome, don’t get me wrong.” Kate blew a stray curl out of her eyes, then shook her head to brush it aside. “But he can be a pill. I’m not sure how he’s going to take you, to be honest.”
“I’m a great guy,” Lane joked. “What’s not to love?”
Kate grinned. “I know, I know, but Mike’s great, too, and Braden refused to even look at him the first time we were all together. Anything Mike said to him was a waste of breath. Braden was pretty pissed when I started dating—in his own perfect little world, Mommy and Daddy would live together happily ever after, and he wouldn’t have to divide his time or his attention between us.”
Lane nodded. “Yeah, well, this sort of thing can be pretty hard on kids.” Personally, though, he was glad Remy and Kate weren’t together. If they were still married, Lane wouldn’t be with Remy, and wouldn’t be so damn happy with his life.
“If he gets pissy with you, just give him time,” Kate cautioned. “He doesn’t know about…you and Remy. I mean, I haven’t told him you’re…you know…”
“Gay?” Lane smirked. “You know you can say it out loud. It isn’t a bad word. I won’t get offended.”
“Yeah, well, he’s eight,” Kate reminded him. “Any word that even remotely smacks of sex, he gets all ‘oooooh’ about. I called one of his video games asinine the other day and you’d have thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head.”
Lane laughed. He remembered his own childhood well, and had been much the same way as a kid. Who wasn’t? He used to keep words like asinine and secular written down on a piece of paper he kept folded up in his pocket. When he and his friends got together, they would hide out of sight of their parents and read the words to each other, lingering over the naughtiness of each.
“So yeah
, I haven’t told him,” Kate continued. “It isn’t really my place. If he hears me say his father is gay, he might think I’m being malicious or mean. You say it isn’t a bad word, but it still is for some kids. It’s a derogatory term they use to put each other down, and I just don’t know how to say it in a way that won’t get Braden upset.”
Lane had expected to find Braden already knew about them. If not, at least he would know Remy was gay. How else did they explain their divorce to their son? But that was too personal a question to ask his lover’s ex-wife, so he kept quiet.
A few moments later, Kate sighed and pushed away from the car. Taking Lane’s hand, she led him to the stairs heading inside. “I don’t know how he’ll take you, to be honest,” she said. “He was mad at Mike because he thought I was trying to give him a new daddy. But you’re obviously not a replacement mom. So this is brand new territory for us all.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Lane assured her. “It’s Christmas, after all. A time for miracles, and all that crap.”
At the top step, Kate turned and grimaced at him. “I just hope I haven’t ruined your holiday. I know it’s such short notice, but Mike surprised me and I really, really need this. I need to get away, I need to not be a mother for like, two seconds, you know? It sounds bad, but—”
“No, not at all.” Lane rubbed her back, consoling. “We all need a break now and then. Things will be great, you’ll see.”
* * * *
Lane entered the warm kitchen behind Kate and closed the door to the garage behind him. The room was dark, lit only by the light over the stove, and despite the hour, it was obvious no one had made dinner. Remy stood at the island in the center of the room, flipping through a catalog. Kate brushed past him as she headed for the fridge. “Where’s Brae? Lane, can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m good,” Lane said. They still had quite a trip ahead, and he didn’t want to have to pull over to pee before they reached the restaurant where Remy wanted to have dinner. Speaking of… “Have you guys eaten yet?”
“Mike and I are going out,” Kate explained. “Our holiday starts a little early, since you two are here for Braden. Jer, where is he?”
Remy glanced up from the catalog and gave his ex-wife a smile. “Upstairs getting his things together. I told him to pack his hand-held games because there’s no TV at the cabin.”
“He’ll live without TV for two weeks, jeez,” she muttered. “Boys and their toys. Drink?”
Remy shook his head. “We’re not stopping until Roanoke. I don’t want to hold it for three hours.”
Kate shrugged and turned on the kitchen light. “What, did you go to night school? Would it hurt you to turn on the overhead?”
“I’m just waiting for Braden,” Remy argued.
Lane stepped up beside his lover and nudged Remy’s hip with his own. “All right, you two, quit your bitching,” he joked. “‘Tis the season, and all that.”
“Braden!” Kate hollered up a set of wooden steps leading off the kitchen upstairs. “Your father’s waiting!”
Lane heard a faint, “I’m coming!” and something above him thudded hard on the ceiling.
“Pick that drawer up before you come down!” Kate added. With a grin to Lane, she explained, “He always pulls the top drawer of his dresser out too far and it falls on the ground. Without fail. Next dresser I buy will have some way to lock the drawers into place. Oh! Have you met Mike?”
When Lane shook his head, she disappeared down a side hall, calling, “Mike, honey? Come say hi.”
Taking advantage of the few moments they had alone, Lane leaned against Remy and rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured.
Remy glanced over at him and smiled. “Hey yourself. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to make like a tree and leave.”
“Hey, you married her,” Lane reminded him. Pulling his hands from the warmth of his pockets, he eased them around Remy’s waist, then hugged his lover close. “The back of the Jeep’s as full as Santa’s sleigh. She even gave us wrapping paper. We just need to pick up some tape when we get groceries, and you and I will have a late date in the next few days playing elves.”
“I’d like to see you in elf tights,” Remy teased. “A cute little green hat with a bell on it, and maybe a bow strategically placed so I can unwrap you on Christmas Eve…”
“Christmas Day,” Lane corrected. He kissed the tip of Remy’s nose, then one cheek, then the other. “All the good presents have to wait until Christmas Day to be opened. Me included.”
Remy’s arms came up around Lane’s shoulders, holding him close. Lane’s next kiss found Remy’s mouth—a gentle brush at first, nothing much, but a second kiss parted Remy’s lips slightly, and a third caught Remy’s bottom lip between Lane’s teeth. With a breathy nibble, he licked out his tongue and rimmed Remy’s lower lip before delving inside. Remy’s hands clenched in Lane’s jacket, pulling his lover nearer, and Lane’s hands slipped up under Remy’s coat to smooth over the small of his back. It was a hungry kiss, all the more delicious because, at any moment, someone might walk in on them.
Then the stolen moment passed. As Lane pulled back, he saw movement behind Remy and glanced at the staircase leading off the kitchen. Three steps from the bottom, a little boy stood in dark jeans and a gray sweatshirt, a duffle bag in one hand and a pillow under the other arm. The boy’s mouth was open in a perfectly surprised O. With wide eyes, he stared openly at Lane.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Lane extracted himself from Remy’s embrace. “Is this Braden?” he asked.
Remy turned toward his son. “Hey kiddo. Come say hi to Lane.”
The mouth was shut now, the eyes narrowed. The surprise so plainly written on his features a moment before was gone, replaced with distrust. Braden threw down his duffle bag and pillow, then sat on the step with a plop. “I’m not going,” he announced.
Uh-oh.
Lane didn’t have much experience with children—his sister’s new baby was the first he’d ever held. Over Thanksgiving, his family had cooed and ahhed over the newborn, but Lane hadn’t had to actually talk to her. Most of the time he had been at his parents’ home, the baby was asleep, or eating, or crying. Or getting her diaper changed, which Lane refused to do. He had no other nieces or nephews, no children of his own, and no real reason to interact with any.
Fortunately, Remy seemed used to his son’s mercurial temper. Crossing the kitchen, he picked up the duffle bag and pillow with one hand. “Well, you can’t stay here,” he said. “Is this all you’re packing? You’ll be gone for two weeks.”
“I’m not going,” Braden said again.
At that moment, Kate entered the kitchen with a man Lane recognized as Mike. He’d never met the guy before, but he knew Mike instantly from Remy’s unflattering descriptions. Slightly overweight, balding, wearing glasses and a hideous holiday sweater, Mike looked unassuming and quiet. A perfect foil for a firecracker like Kate. Maybe opposites did attract; if that were the case, Kate’s second romance would definitely outlast her brief stint with Remy.
Seeing father and son facing off, Kate put her hands on her hips and demanded to know, “What’s going on here?”
Lane took a step back, prudently staying out of it.
With a sigh, Remy started, “He says he isn’t going—”
“Like hell he isn’t.” Leaning over her son, Kate lowered her voice to speak to him, but Lane heard the undercurrent of anger in her words. “Braden, we talked about this. Mike and I are going out of town. Your father—”
“I don’t want to go!” Braden yelled.
Lane winced, Remy too, but Kate didn’t even flinch. “Listen to me, young man! This isn’t about what you want, do you hear me? You’re going to spend Christmas with your father, and that’s the last time I’m telling you.”
When she stood, Lane saw an ignoble pout on Braden’s face. He looked so much like Remy, a study in miniature, that seeing him unhappy and on the verge of tea
rs almost broke Lane’s heart. If they hadn’t paid for the cabin in advance—and if canceling their trip wouldn’t have broken Remy’s heart—Lane might have suggested they stay home with the boy, instead.
Kate took the duffle bag from Remy and opened it. After a quick look inside, she started up the stairs, snagging Braden under the arm as she went so he would follow. “I told you to pack the stuff I put out for you, didn’t I?” Her voice grew fainter as they disappeared upstairs. “Come on, mister. I’m not going to pack for you, but I’m going to show you what I want you to bring.”
“But Mo-om,” Braden argued.
At the top of the stairs, Kate stopped and pulled Braden to her. “Listen, Santa will find you at the cabin, okay? I told you that already. I called him myself. Do you know how embarrassed your father is right this moment? You’re making a scene in front of his friend. You’re acting like a baby. I can call Santa up and tell him to cancel your gifts if that’s what you want me to do. Do you?”
The three men in the kitchen exchanged looks, and Lane had to bite his cheek to keep from snickering. Remy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but not before Lane caught sight of the smile there. Even Mike was grinning; he took off his glasses and wiped them on his sweater, ducking his head as he did, but Lane saw the smirk nonetheless.
Braden said nothing. Lane pictured him pouting on the top step, angry but defeated, knowing he was no match for his mother in an argument. After a long, awkward silence, Lane stepped forward, hand outstretched to Mike. “Hi. I’m Lane.”
“Mike,” came the relieved reply. His handshake was firmer than Lane would have thought, raising him a little in Lane’s estimation. “Nice to meet you finally. Kate’s told me a lot about you.”
He shook Remy’s hand, too, then offered to get them a drink.
“No, we’re good,” Remy said. “We rented a place out in the mountains, so we have quite a drive ahead. It’s going to be a fun one.” He glanced up at the ceiling, referencing Braden’s earlier outburst.