by J. M. Snyder
Coming into the kitchen, Remy said, “You sleep in the dark anyway. Back to bed.”
“But it’s cold in there,” Braden whined. He looked up at Lane, his eyes beseeching.
It was cold in the bedrooms, Lane knew. Though he had hoped for a little downtime with Remy—alone—it would be cruel to send Braden off to his room without a nightlight or heat. All by himself.
Turning to his lover, Lane murmured, “Maybe he can sleep in front of the fire with us.”
Remy’s face fell, but Braden crowed. “Yes! Please, Daddy? Please, please?”
A look passed between the two men. Lane shrugged, and Remy sighed in defeat. “Get your pillow.”
Braden’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Maybe we can open presents, too!”
“No,” Remy said. “If you come out here, you have to sleep. I don’t want you keeping us up all night, and we’re not opening anything until morning.”
As Braden scurried off to retrieve his pillow, Lane took Remy by the hand. A slight tug brought him closer, and then he leaned heavily against Lane. Trapped between his man and the sink, Lane kissed Remy’s chin and whispered, “He said I’m cooler than Mike.”
Remy laughed. “Well, yeah. That’s why I’m dating you and not him. I always had better taste in men than Kate. Quick—kiss me again before he comes back.”
Lane did as instructed.
Chapter 15
Before Remy opened his eyes, he knew it was early—too early. The fire had burned down during the night and the parts of his body not covered by the blanket were cold. The tip of his nose was numb. He burrowed down into the warmth of the covers and snuggled closer to the nearest body. Even half-asleep, he recognized his lover’s familiar smell and feel, and he pressed his nose to the tender skin beneath Lane’s chin to try to warm it up.
The chilly tip stirred Lane, who murmured in sleep and wrapped his arms around Remy. But Remy was already awake—the more he tried to go back to sleep, the wider awake he was. The wood floor was hard beneath his body, making his hips and shoulders ache. He wanted to be back in bed but wasn’t. Why…?
Then he remembered the power going out, and Braden bunking down with them out in the cabin’s main room, where the fire would keep them warm. Only the fire was mostly out now, and Braden…where was Braden?
Remy peeked out from the blankets and his gaze went right to the Christmas tree. The presents were still there, still wrapped. So where was his son?
“Daddy!”
Braden’s shrill cry gave Remy a second’s warning before the full weight of his son landed heavily on Remy’s legs. He had been sitting on the couch—who knew how long?—waiting for someone else to wake up so Christmas could begin. When he noticed Remy’s movements, he had waited for just the right moment to throw himself at the sleeping bundle of blankets on the floor.
Lane groaned and rolled to one side as Remy struggled to get free from the covers. “Braden, hush,” he admonished.
“What time is it?” Lane mumbled sleepily.
Braden shouted, “It’s Christmas time!”
“Use your inside voice,” Remy said.
Beside him, Lane groaned again. “I need coffee.”
Remy sat up and found his son’s excited face right in front of his. Braden practically strummed with anticipation. “Presents!”
“Coffee first,” Remy told him. “Then—shit.”
Lane opened one eye and looked at him. Remy explained, “No power. No Keurig.”
“Shit,” Lane groused. “No Starbucks either, I take it.”
“Not on Christmas Day,” Remy told him. “And not in the twelve feet of snow we got overnight.”
Extracting himself from the covers, Remy padded barefoot into the kitchen. Thin pale sunlight streamed in through the sliding glass door—Braden must have opened the blinds to see the snow. Remy glanced out, glad the storm had ended, but unhappy about the several inches of white covering the back porch. Which would mean trooping out there later in the day to clear a path to the Jeep and to the generator, and then trying to figure out how to get the generator to work. How was he supposed to tackle the day without coffee?
He settled for a glass of water from the tap, and filled one for Lane, too. Given the temperature outside, the water was icy and cool and tasted delicious. Remy went back into the main room to hand Lane one glass—Braden had shifted his attention from his father to his father’s boyfriend, and now sat on Lane’s legs to make sure no one stayed asleep. “I’m up, I’m up,” Lane protested.
“Braden, stop,” Remy said.
Chastised, Braden climbed back onto the couch as Lane sat up, but he propped his feet on Lane’s knees and looked at his father with pleading eyes. “Can we open them now?” he asked, hands clasped beneath his chin. “Please?”
“In a minute.” Remy turned his attention to the fire, which needed to be built up again to stave off the cold.
* * * *
Lane stumbled sleepily to the bathroom. Every muscle in his body ached from sleeping on the floor. The water from the sink that he splashed on his face was bracing, though, and woke him up more than any amount of manhandling from Braden ever could. He, too, would have liked coffee, and he’d savor the first cup they managed to make after the generator was up and running, but first came the presents. He wasn’t sure how long Braden had been up before them, but he was surprised the boy had waited so patiently.
Unless, of course, he really hadn’t, and something he’d done had woken them up.
Either way, they might as well get the opening of the presents over with already. Lane didn’t look forward to traipsing out in the snow to fiddle with something he had no clue how to operate. For the first time since they had arrived at the cabin, he wished they had wi-fi. He was sure there were videos on YouTube about how to get a generator running again.
In the bathroom, he grew used to the temperature and didn’t even notice the chill in the air until he opened the door and the heat from the newly stoked fire drew him back to the blankets on the floor. Braden was already seated in front of the tree, a stack of presents right beside him. Remy was separating the rest of the gifts, piling them up by name on one end of the couch.
Lane sat on the opposite end and pulled one of the blankets up to cover his legs. After a moment, Remy turned to hand him a large pile—or, rather, one large gift topped by a handful of smaller items.
“The big one’s from me!” Braden cried. “You’re going to love it.”
“I’m sure I will,” Lane said, taking his gifts. He noticed a small box not unlike the one he had placed under the tree for Remy, and checked the tag to make sure it was for him. It was, from Remy. He wanted to open that one first, but palmed it instead. He’d wait. Let Braden have his fun.
With his own small stack of gifts, Remy sat beside Lane on the couch. “All right,” he told his son. “Dig in!”
Braden made short work of the presents. He tore into them, flinging wrapping paper everywhere. Lane and Remy shared a smirk as each gift he opened seemed to be better than the last. “A scooter!” he cried, then, an octave higher, “An iPod! A CD! Zelda!”
Nudging a nearby gift with his foot, Remy said, “This one’s from me.”
Braden ripped the paper apart and gasped before he could even get a good look at what was inside. Then he jumped onto the couch, hugging his dad tight. “Oh thank you! Thank you!”
“Do you even know what it is?” Lane asked.
“A Nintendo Wii U!” Braden fell into Lane’s lap and hugged him, too. “Thank you! I wish the power wasn’t out.”
Remy laughed. “Yeah, that’s the only reason why you can’t play it here.”
“Keep going,” Lane said. “I see more gifts under the tree.”
Braden dove back in, ready for more.
* * * *
In the end, Braden was ecstatic with everything he got, and didn’t even seem bothered by the fact that most of it was useless at the moment. Without power, the few things he could play with
—like the iPod—couldn’t be charged.
When all his gifts were open, he scooted close to the couch and leaned his chin on the cushion beside Remy. “Open the one I got you,” he said.
Remy found the present from his son in his stack and opened it. Unlike Braden, Remy liked to take his time, peeling back every piece of tape, unfolding the wrapping paper, and finally extracting the gift. Braden must have had Kate’s help selecting a gift, because when Remy unwrapped it, he found a large sampler pack of Keurig cups to use in his coffeemaker. Another gift that couldn’t be used yet, but he oohed and aahed over it all the same. Most of the cups were coffee blends or flavored coffee drinks, which he’d put to good use the moment the power came back on. Some were hot chocolates or chai teas, and a few were even for soup. “These look delicious,” he told Braden, giving his son a big hug and kiss. “Thank you, kiddo. I can’t wait to try them out.”
“Now you,” Braden said to Lane. On his knees, he hobbled past his father to lean on the couch between the two men. Braden tapped the large box on Lane’s lap. “That’s from me.”
Remy tried to hold back a grin as Lane unwrapped the gift. He didn’t take his time like Remy did, but he didn’t tear into it like Braden, either. But when he tore a large chunk of paper away and exposed the gift underneath, the look of confusion on his face was too funny to resist. Remy just had to laugh. “He picked it out,” he said, nodding at his son.
“Legos?” Lane asked, amused. He looked at Braden for explanation.
“You’re an architect,” Braden said. “You like to build things—design them. So I thought Legos would be perfect!”
Lane laughed as he removed the wrapping paper from around the large box of Legos. “Good thinking. This will be a lot of fun.”
“Yeah,” Braden added, “and you won’t need power to play with them.”
Remy could see the truth in his son’s eyes. Braden wanted to play with them, but they weren’t his gift, and he probably thought it would be bad form to ask. But to Braden’s surprise, Lane handed him the box. “Do you want to use them first?” he asked.
Braden’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Can I?”
Lane winked. “I have something special to give your daddy, remember?”
With a boyish snicker, Braden took the Legos and plopped down on the blankets in front of the fireplace. The plastic bricks rattled as he dumped them out onto the floor.
Turning to Lane, Remy asked, “So, what’s this special gift you two are talking about?”
Lane held up the box containing the ring Remy had bought him. “You should have one like this too, right?”
To be honest, Remy hadn’t noticed, but when he looked through his remaining presents, there it was—a small box the same size and shape as the one in Lane’s hands. He checked the tag to make sure it was to him, and it was. Which meant…
He gave Lane an appraising look. “Is this what I think it is?”
His lover’s grin confirmed it, but Lane simply said, “Maybe we should open them together and see.”
“Come here,” Remy said, moving his gifts to his other side. He patted the cushion beside him. “Sit right next to me.”
Lane slid over until their hips pressed together. The heat between them was palpable in the chilly cabin air. Suddenly all the words Remy had hoped to say at this moment were stuck in the back of his throat. He wanted to tear open Lane’s gift, but at the same time, he wanted to watch Lane’s face as his lover unwrapped the ring he had bought. They had both bought. He knew in his heart the rings were the same, two halves of one whole. The present was no longer a question but the answer, as well.
Staring into Lane’s pale blue, almost colorless eyes, Remy murmured, “I love you. I wanted to ask—”
“I wanted to ask you, too,” Lane said with a smile. He held up the small box with his name on the tag. “So I guess this answers both our questions.”
From the floor, Braden sighed. “What questions? Aren’t you even going to open them?”
With a laugh, Remy tore into his present, Lane a second behind. Unwrapped, the boxes were the same. They shared a glance, then opened the boxes together. The same ring sat nestled in each, glinting in the firelight like beacons of promise. His and his. Yes and yes.
Remy turned towards his lover only to find Lane already leaning in to claim a victorious kiss.
* * * *
Though the power remained out, there was no real rush to head outside to check the generator. Lane was quite comfortable in his PJs, wrapped in blankets on the couch, nestled beside Remy. His ring fit snugly on his finger, and Remy’s was the perfect size for his lover’s hand. Lane couldn’t get over how right the rings were on their ring fingers. He rested his left hand on Remy’s knee and loved the way the ring looked there against Remy’s dark gray longjohns. When Remy covered Lane’s hand with his own, the rings touched and Lane could have sworn he felt a chill of delight down his spine.
Of course, it might have been that the fire needed feeding, but he was too comfortable in Remy’s arms to care.
As Braden played with the Legos on the floor, Remy and Lane flirted playfully between kisses. They made it official—after one particularly lingering kiss, Lane murmured, “Will you marry me?”
“Only if you marry me,” Remy replied.
Lane whispered, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”
Remy grinned. “Then it’s settled. Our next vacation will be spent in Massachusetts.”
“There are other states,” Lane reminded him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Massachusetts is nice, but if we’re going to have to travel anyway, why not pick someplace else?”
With a slight frown, Remy asked, “Like where?”
Lane shrugged. “I don’t know. D.C., California, Hawaii…”
When Remy’s eyes widened with excitement, he looked just like his son the moment before Braden dove into the Christmas gifts. “Shut up. Hawaii? For real? We are so there.”
“Hawaii?” Braden echoed, glancing up from whatever it was he was constructing with the Legos. “I want to go!”
Lane looked at his lover, amused. But Remy shook his head slightly, a small gesture Braden couldn’t see, and mouthed the word, “No.”
“Oh hell no,” Lane mouthed back.
“Dad, can I?” Braden asked. “Can I, please?”
Remy squeezed Lane’s hand. “We’ll see what your mother says.”
Softly, so Braden wouldn’t overhear, Lane murmured, “She better say no.”
“Or she might come out for the ceremony,” Remy said. “He can come if he stays with her. It’s bad enough we can’t do anything on our Christmas holiday. I won’t be cock blocked on my honeymoon, too.”
Lane said, “We can always have S-E-X tonight.” He spelled out the word, not wanting to say it in front of Braden.
“We’ve been saying that the past four nights,” Remy reminded him, “and we haven’t had S-E-X yet.”
From the floor, Braden asked, “Are you guys talking about sex?”
Lane laughed. “Not anymore.”
* * * *
Around ten o’clock, Remy decided maybe he should start getting dressed. As Lane fed the discarded wrapping paper into the fireplace, Remy went into the bedroom to change. The door to the room was shut, and when he went inside, the temperature had dropped drastically. It was frigid in there—no way was he stripping down naked without heat. He wanted a shower, but wondered if the water would even be hot. He suspected not. He settled for pulling a pair of sweatpants over his longjohns and a sweater over his undershirt. That would have to suffice until he could figure out how to get the generator running.
He opened the bedroom door and found Lane standing on the other side, reaching for the knob. With one look at Remy’s clothing, Lane said, “That was quick.”
“I just layered,” Remy told him. “It’s too cold to actually undress in here.”
Lane eased his arms around Remy’s waist and kissed the tip of his lover’s nos
e. “Maybe if I helped warm you up a little…”
“That sounds promising.” Remy took a step backwards, pulling Lane with him into the room, and started to shut the door behind them when a loud knock on the cabin’s front door interrupted them.
Lane sighed. “What now?”
“I’ll go see.” Remy gave him a quick kiss—nothing more than a peck, really, though Lane managed to slip a hint of tongue in at the end. Lane released him, and Remy stepped around his lover to answer the door. Before he left the bedroom, though, he smacked Lane playfully on the ass.
Rubbing his butt cheek through the longjohns he wore, Lane pouted. “Hey! That was uncalled for.”
Remy dropped to one knee and turned to press his lips to Lane’s thermal-covered ass. “Let me kiss it and make it better.”
The knock on the front door came again, louder this time, almost frantic. “Go see who that is,” Lane told him, “then get back here and really make it up to me.”
Remy laughed and hurried out into the main room. Braden was already standing at the door, and as Remy approached, he gave his father a nervous look. “Who is it?” he asked.
“How do I know?” Remy countered. “Step back and let me see.”
He opened the front door to a blast of chilly air. On the front porch stood the old man he had last seen months earlier in the rental office for the campgrounds. Now bundled up against the cold, the man had a large snow shovel in one hand. Behind him, a young girl about Braden’s age peered out from around his leg.
“Clyde Thorn,” the man said, holding out a gloved hand.
Remy shook it firmly. “Yes, I remember you. Would you like to come in?”
Mr. Thorn shook his head. “Naw. The power’s out all throughout the grounds, and I just thought I’d come out and check on everyone.”
He had a pronounced, rural accent—throughout was tru-out, and everyone became ev’r-on. Remy had to listen closely to interpret some of the words.
“Oh, it went out last night,” Remy said. “We’re okay—”
“Your gennie’s out,” Mr. Thorn said.
Remy frowned. “My…what?”