Jamal glanced to his right when they walked by the little alleyway Ms. Feinstein had been talking about. Between the two buildings and the blizzard, the road fell into darkness. He was glad Matt had vetoed that idea. Surely at least one of them would have broken something going down through there. On they trudged, the wind, more than once, whipping around their ankles and forcing one of them to almost go down. Jamal was a bit ashamed to admit it was him or Matt, more times than not, that was rescued from a hard landing by Ms. Feinstein. He was beginning to wonder who was escorting whom back to their place.
When they passed the large green building that housed a fancy restaurant, the wind caught them in the open area of the parking lot. The viciousness of the storm took his breath away, and he felt the pressure of Ms. Feinstein squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, slightly worried that he was beginning to lose the feeling in his fingers. The wind pulled at his legs, numbing them where they had been wet. The frozen denim cut into his knees, making every step painful. Why hadn’t he, at the very least, put on his thermals before he had set out? Yes, Serik had been hurt, but even so, he never should have stumbled out so unprepared.
Not a moment too soon, Caroline Street came into view. The pavement down the hill was completely covered in snow. The road was a little better. Their line stopped, as they looked at the state of it. Jamal couldn’t stop the miserable shiver that went down his spine. No way could they get Ms. Feinstein down that street in safety.
Matt must have reached the same conclusion. Shuffling until they were once again a little huddle, he shouted over the wind, “We need to get to Lake. That street should be clearer than this one, okay?”
Jamal had no choice but to nod. He tried to close his mind off to the way his legs were feeling like two clumsy blocks from the knee down and instead concentrated on what they needed to do. They needed to get Ms. Feinstein home safely. If she were to fall in this… No, Jamal’s mind just couldn’t go there. There had been enough sadness for one day already. At least the buildings on this stretch of the street had been built close together, and that kept them sheltered from the wind.
The group stopped when they got to Lake Avenue. Jamal squinted, but he couldn’t make out the imposing red brick building that was only across the street. When he looked towards the even more impressive Post Office, likewise, there was nothing to be seen but white snow. The wind roaring up the avenue took the heart out of him. It was— once again— Ms. Feinstein tugging on his hand that woke him from the heavy feeling.
“Come on, we have no choice.” She was also tugging on Matt.
“We could go back,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “I want the warmth of my own bed, and this boy is freezing and needs a hot bath. I can feel his hand shivering through my mitten.”
Matt looked from her to Jamal, his eyes full of concern. “You okay, Jamal? It’s not too long now.” Reaching out, he briefly rubbed Jamal’s arm. Turning his attention away, he nodded, “Let’s get in the middle of the road. No one’s fool enough to be driving in this, and it’s, at least, cleared off.”
Not one to disagree— particularly when he was freezing to death— Jamal shuffled out with the other two, breathing a sigh of relief when the icy footing gave way to firmer pavement. The salt trucks must have been by recently, by the look of the road. The slope of the hill wasn’t severe and they all managed to keep their footing, but there was nothing to stop the full impact of the wind. Jamal could feel it literally sucking the air he needed to breath. Moisture from his eyes was turning to ice on his eyelashes. Lost as he was, he just hung onto Ms. Feinstein’s hand and let them do the guiding. When they got to the intersection, Matt and Ms. Feinstein decided to backtrack slightly, as the smaller buildings along Maple would give them some protection from the wind. Jamal was feeling so sleepy, he barely registered the left onto Caroline Street.
When the shop buildings gave way to homes, Jamal wanted to weep. Maybe they would make it after all. He had been beginning to doubt it. The road became more treacherous, but sheer determination saw them up the rise of the hill. He never saw such a welcoming sight as the two grand old homes that stood sentinel on Circular Street. The wind had lightened up just that bit, so there was more to be seen.
“We’re almost there,” Ms. Feinstein said in his ear. Over her shoulder, he saw the concerned eyes of Matt. As much as he wanted to tell him— tell them both— that he was okay, Jamal just couldn’t muster the energy. And his brain couldn’t seem to figure out the words he needed to say. All it wanted to do was chant “cold” over and over, like some horrid mantra.
“It’s just left of here.” Now it was Matt’s turn to shout in his ear.
Jamal nodded, but once stopped, he found he couldn’t make his feet move another step. His mind was fuzzy, and when he tried to command it to follow Matt’s orders, it was no use. He simply couldn’t walk another step.
There was a shake on his arm, but even that barely registered. Another shake and then Matt’s face appeared slightly below his chin. As he tried to puzzle that out, Matt spoke. “Hey, Ms. Feinstein’s is just down this street. I’m gonna run her down, you stay right here.” He pointed to the ground, like Jamal could actually move from the spot he was rooted to. “Right here, I’ll be right back, okay? Just stay right here, I’ll get you home and warm. We’re only a couple of blocks from my place.” One more pat on the arm, and he was gone.
Jamal blinked when his brain registered that he was alone. How’d that happen? He felt like a drunk man as he tried to piece together what Matt had said. Something about a house— his house? Or Ms. Feinstein’s house? Jamal couldn’t remember. He had said to stay here, hadn’t he? But why? The wind was tearing at him, mocking him. A normal Kazakh would have laughed in the face of this weather, but not him. Maybe his papa was right, maybe there was something wrong with people like him.
But Matt was the same, Matt was like him. And he had seemed to be just fine in this blizzard. So why was that? He stared stupidly at the lemon-yellow building before him and pondered that thought. It really was a pretty building, all of the ones in Saratoga were. It was just the sort of home his mama and papa would want. A huge home where all their children and grandchildren could cluster around them. Grandchildren, that’s really what his parents wanted, lots and lots of grandchildren to fuss over. And marriage, he’d have to marry someone to make that dream come true for them.
Just as he was mulling that over, there came a gentle pressure around his shoulders and behind his knees. Before he could get his sluggish mind to concentrate, he was being lifted off the ground and into the arms of someone much taller and stronger than him.
Matt.
He would have kissed him… if he had the strength. All he could do was say, “You remembered me,” and lay his head against Matt’s shoulder. Matt’s body felt so strong, so safe.
“Of course I remembered you, silly. Like I’d forget. Let’s just get you home and warm, hey?” Not waiting for an answer and stealing away the seconds that Jamal needed to get warm again, Matt headed down the street.
Jamal dully noted that they seemed to be in the middle of the street. There were cars lined up on either side of them, all covered with the same icy snow that hit his body like tiny bullets. But it was okay now, he was safe, now. Shutting his eyes, he concentrated on the way Matt walked, so sure of his footing. Never once did he stumble and jar Jamal’s weary body. A part of his brain registered that he couldn’t feel his legs, nor his hands. All he wanted to do was shut his eyes and fall into sleep. Then Matt seemed to be climbing, he put Jamal down onto his own two feet. Jamal couldn’t feel a thing. His legs were like two blocks of wood that began where his knees ended.
But then they were inside. The wind tearing at him was gone, the bitterly cold flecks of snow gone. In the sudden silence, his ears rang. Ahead there were more stairs. Vaguely Jamal felt Matt’s arms under his knees and shoulders once again, and a slight jarring as Matt fumbled for the lock to his apartment. Jamal had neve
r been so glad to see a soft sofa, as Matt placed him on it.
“Just a sec… we’ll get you all better in a sec.”
Jamal struggled to open his eyes as Matt unzipped his coat and tried to get him out of it. Jamal’s mind lay in a strange haze, rendering thought a particularly odd thing. Layers was a concept too hard for his brain at the moment. All he could think about was the warm air on his face and the feeling of his eyelashes thawing out. Once freed of the coat, he could also feel something soft rubbing against his arm. He opened his eyes as Matt made shooing noises, and saw a huge ball of fur with a tail and two yellow eyes jump down off the sofa.
He thought he said “cute cat” but the words seemed to come out all the wrong way. Matt shot a look up at his face and said, “My god Jamal, I’m sorry I didn’t know before we set out how unprepared you were for the blizzard. I would’ve dressed you up better had I been paying more attention.” He could feel Matt tugging at his shoes and socks. He was grateful he hadn’t died in the blizzard. That would have taken a lot of explaining to his family, had he allowed some American snow to kill him.
“Okay, you lay there a minute, let me get some warm water to put your feet in.” The floorboards creaked as Matt stood up.
“Like I can go anywhere.” Like he’d want to. Jamal closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of just being.
Chapter Four
Poor Jamal! Matt kept stopping and just staring at the guy, even though he knew he needed to get his ass in gear. That coat was just too thin for the likes of the blizzard raging outside— Jamal, what the fuck were you thinking?— and the boy had no hat and no scarf. The only sensible thing he had worn were his gloves. But Matt was appalled when he saw that Jamal had not only gone without any long johns, but he’d also gone without boots, which meant his jeans had gotten wet, along with his socks. When he took Jamal’s socks off, he was distressed to see that Jamal’s feet were ice white.
Please god, no frostbite. Please no frostbite. That was the last thing they could deal with. Even though the hospital was just on the other side of town, Matt doubted they would come out this way in the next few hours to deal with frostbite. He was sure there must be bigger idiots out there in more trouble than him and Jamal.
Sighing, he set about making things better for Jamal. The boy had all but fallen asleep. The only way Matt knew he was still somewhat awake was the fact that his head didn’t fall back onto the pillows behind his back.
At least Ms. Feinstein was okay. Matt had to snort at that thought. He had been so worried about her safety that it had never occurred to him that Jamal had been in distress. No, not until that horrible moment when Jamal had seemed simply unable to move another step. That horrible moment when Matt had realized he had to leave him standing in the blizzard, while he got Ms. Feinstein to her front door without slipping and falling. So much for thinking that everyone from any of the former Soviet states was hard as nails and able to take anything American weather had to throw at them.
He chided himself at his mean little thought. Maybe if Jamal hadn’t fled his place after his asshole dad had just told him his friend had been all but murdered. Maybe then he would have dressed for the weather. More likely, he wouldn’t have come out at all. Shut the fuck up, man.
It was better to think about the task at hand. Like how to keep Jamal from getting frostbite, and how to get him warm again. He got a basin of lukewarm water and placed Jamal’s feet in it.
After a few silent minutes of staring at the slender feet and the way that even Jamal’s toes were graceful looking, Matt looked up at him. “You getting any feeling back in them?”
“Yes,” Jamal muttered through gritted teeth. He looked more awake than he had a few minutes ago, a good sign if Matt ever saw one.
“Any pain?”
“Just a bit.” Jamal opened his eyes to look at Matt, his gaze becoming clear again, that sleepy look from the landing gone.
“Can you feel this?” Matt pinched one of Jamal’s toes.
“Oh!”
“Good, no frostbite then.” Thank god for that. “How’s your fingers?”
“I think I’m going to get to keep them.” Jamal held them up for inspection. As they looked much better than his feet, Matt put them out of mind.
He gave Jamal an apologetic smile. Jamal’s toes were beginning to show some color again. He just needed to get a warm bath running for him. And something hot to drink. And he had to get Jamal out of his soaked jeans. He still couldn’t believe he had walked out with only them. If he ever met Jamal’s dad, there were going to be words.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Uh, what?” Matt snapped out of his vengeful thoughts and looked up. “What’re you sorry for?”
Jamal’s voice was a lot more blurry than his. He seemed to struggle with just the simple words. “For being like this.” He nodded towards his white feet. “For going out so unprotected.”
“Hey, it could happen to any of us. Besides, you were in no state to think about dressing for the weather. And let’s face it, I’m sure this is nothing— weather-wise— for you, if you’re from around Russia.”
“You’d think.” Jamal had enough presence of mind to roll his eyes.
Matt gave his foot a little squeeze. “Hey, you’ve got a lot on your mind. You’re allowed to fuck up like this. At least it ended well.” Yeah, no one died. Maybe he should have insisted they all stay in the store when the storm hit.
Jamal must have been thinking along the same lines. “I hope that couple got back to their place okay.”
“Yeah, me too.” Matt gave him a miserable smile. But what could he have done? Maybe once he had Jamal all thawed out he’d call around to the B&Bs and make sure they had gotten back.
Giving Jamal a nervous look, Matt said, “I’m gonna go make us some strong coffee, but first I need to get you out of those wet jeans.”
Instead of answering, Jamal nodded. Maybe Matt was daydreaming, but he swore he saw a little spark of excitement in Jamal’s eyes at the prospect of Matt taking his pants off. Maybe. Nervously, Matt reached for the buttons of Jamal’s fly. He gulped so loud he was sure Jamal had to have heard it. Trying hard not to brush against the bulge there, Matt got the fly undone. How many times had he fantasized about doing just this thing? It would be just his luck that it was only because Jamal was still too cold to do it himself. Life could be so cruel.
“Okay Jamal, I need you to lift your hips up, and I’ll slide your jeans off. That sound okay?”
Oh, this should have been so erotic. Matt’s cock certainly was thinking it already was. Biting the inside of his mouth, hard, Matt concentrated on just trying to make the guy feel warm and comfortable. The very last thing Jamal needs is you getting pervy on him. Thankfully Matt was hunched up, so the more obvious bulge in his own pants wasn’t noticeable. Jamal gave a little shiver as his jeans slid off his hips, exposing a rather delicate part of his body, separated only by his boxers, and almost in Matt’s face. It was all Matt could do not to bury his face there.
He was in a cold sweat by the time he had Jamal’s pants off. They clung to his legs where they had gotten wet. Matt pulled the last of them with rather more vigor than he meant. Jamal gave a little oof as they landed on the floor with a wet sound.
“Damn, they were worse than I thought,” Matt said, staring at them. It was easier to get himself in some sort of control that way. If he looked up now, from his position on the floor between Jamal’s knees, he knew there’d be no way he could hide what he was feeling. “Let me go get you a blanket.”
Scrambling up, Matt all but fled into the tiny alcove that served as his kitchen. Living on the top floor of one of Saratoga’s various Victorian mansions certainly had its perks… but this wasn’t one of them. Matt would have loved to have a dog— a nice furry husky— but that would have meant broken dishes and toppled furnishings every day in a place as tiny as this one. It was more a glorified studio than a proper apartment, just the living room, this pantry of a kitchen,
a tiny bedroom, and another closet that had pretensions of being a bathroom. But it was home, and Matt loved it.
He rummaged through the laundry basket he had left sitting on top of the counter, until he found what he was looking for. A baggy pair of sweatpants, probably far too big for Jamal, but they were dry, and they were soft and comfortable. And they had a drawstring, so if they were too large, Jamal could always use that to keep them up. As an afterthought, he also grabbed a throw blanket, an old afghan his grandmother had made for him once.
Taking a few deep breaths, he forced his body under control before walking back into the living room. Jamal was watching him, his eyes much clearer than even a few minutes ago. “You can put these on,” he said, holding up the old blue sweatpants. “But in the meantime, I thought you could just throw this over your lap, to preserve your modesty and all that.”
“Thank you, for everything.” A perfect little blush colored Jamal’s cheeks as he tucked the blanket around his hips.
Matt could feel the hot flush of embarrassment on his face. Perhaps Jamal hadn’t noticed him staring as he had placed the blanket around himself. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said by way of escape. That would be better than fantasizing about poor Jamal, in his cute boxers, sitting half naked on his sofa. How many times had he played that scenario out in his mind in the past three years? Listen dickhead, the guy has just found out a close friend had the shit beat out of him, and he’s turned around, and almost got himself in a whole lot of trouble. So reel it in a bit, won’t you, brain?
The coffee beans were the same as at work. One of the perks of working at Uncommon Grounds, in Matt’s opinion. That, and it was a rather fun job. Where else would he have become friends with Ms. Feinstein and all the other regulars that came in every day? The only time it was a pain was during the racing season, when the line to get a drink was out the door, literally. Even when the Starbucks had come to town and set up just a block down from them, there was no dip in their popularity. Score one for the small business.
Un/Common Ground Page 3