Mistletoe at Midnight

by LB Gregg

  Shit. I was pussyfooting. Twenty minutes ago I’d been happy flying through the fields alone with the elements, and now I was at a crossroad and I needed to find the courage to take this step.

  “Fine. It’s because Keith, in the long run, didn’t matter.” That sounded unbelievable callous, even to my ears, but I’d been biding my time with Keith. Waiting.

  I set my empty glass on the mantel. The fire didn’t need it, but I moved the screen and threw another log onto the inferno. Sparks flew in every direction. “It wouldn’t have changed anything in our relationship to tell him about you.”

  “That’s because you weren’t invested in having a relationship. The poor guy—although he should have seen it coming.”

  “He was happy enough.” For a time. I took the poker and jabbed the fire with more energy than necessary—more sparks popped and hissed around my head. “Anyway, he ended it.”

  “You never began it, Owen. You don’t really have relationships. Even with your family. You’re safe on the perimeter.” Caleb capped the whiskey and set his own empty glass on the table. He got up and I had to look away from the sight of him stretching languidly in the firelight. His skin was pale, but flawless.

  “Are you always this…”

  “Honest? No. But I still can’t believe you’re actually here—and I don’t want to fuck this up.” He moved close enough that his shirt brushed against my back. He was right there, just within my reach. “I want to know you again. I never met anyone who made me feel the way you do.”

  I took the leap. “Then why did you leave?”

  “Owen. You dope. I didn’t leave—I was a terrified kid. My father found it easier to break my nose than to have a queer kid for his son. He sent me away. And the longer I was gone, the more I believed every lie he told me. That you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

  “I always wanted you.” I had to slug scotch to wet my throat, and I gripped the mantel hard enough to turn my knuckles white. The storm mocked me from the window. There’s nowhere to hide, Dr. McKenzie.

  “I used to believe that what happened between us was all in my mind. That to you, I was inconsequential.” His breath touched my neck, and I couldn’t turn around.

  “You can’t possibly believe that.” I see you everywhere. “I was embarrassingly committed.”

  “You announced it to your family last night. You said it meant nothing. I wasn’t even interesting enough to mention to your lover. But May was right earlier, because what she said? That’s exactly how I felt. It was special. I hoped it was to you, too.”

  “It was.”

  “You know, I used to wait just to catch a glimpse of you.”

  “When?” This time, I did look at him. He was close enough to see the yellow striations striping his irises.

  “That entire first half of the school year, before you ever spoke to me in the library. I saw you standing in the hall on my first day and I had to know who you were. I needed to find out everything about you. I couldn’t…not look at you.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I know. I used to watch you come up the stairs—I didn’t even have a class on that floor and I failed history because I was late for fifth period every single day for an entire month.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “I can’t imagine how. I stood at your damn locker. And I waited in that parlor last night for you to come through the door, as sick to my stomach as I was every day fifteen years ago. We’ve come full circle because I’m still waiting for Owen McKenzie to notice me—and you’re waiting for me to make the first move. So. Here it is.”

  I swallowed hard, and I waited.

  “I’m sorry I left you.” Caleb’s hand settled on my shoulder and he squeezed. I closed my eyes, but it didn’t help. He crept under the edges, and slipped inside me. His palm stroked my sweater in a warm circle right over my heart. “I didn’t really leave you. I was eighteen and he shipped me to South Carolina because he was through with me. My mother died, and I was a disappointing fag, failing classes and fucking around with the most beautiful boy in the world, who I loved with all my heart—and he sent me to hell. Military school. I repeated the twelfth grade and it was brutal. I wanted to tell you beforehand and then it was too late. It kept getting closer and closer…and I was afraid. And you were so kind. So…safe. I was a kid and I thought if I didn’t deal with the unpleasant things they’d go away.”

  I knew exactly how he felt. “But they didn’t go away, because I thought if I could be the best—the perfect son, the valedictorian, if I never made a wave or caused a problem—my father wouldn’t be sick anymore. And then you left me.” I choked. “I loved you. I was all alone and I had no one. I didn’t know what happened to you. It was like…nothing mattered, and it mattered so much. To me.”

  “I’m sorry.” His breath tickled my neck and his voice changed. “I wish I could change it all, but I’m glad for who I am. And you turned out pretty fucking fine, Dr. McKenzie.”

  I snorted, and then I tensed as his hands snuck under my shirt and robbed me of my pride.

  “So tell me, why are you still wearing this sweater? Aren’t you hot? It’s like a furnace in here.”

  “That’s the lamest come-on I’ve ever heard.”

  “Relax.”

  Caleb’s lips touched my skin, just below my ear, and a tiny burst of electricity shot between us with a pop and that was all it took for me to finally snap.

  I was gone.

  I fell fast and hard, leaping to snatch him by his shoulders and we stumbled until we landed unchecked on the sofa. Without a second to think or yield or take a breath, I crushed him underneath me.

  He was ready. Mouth open, eyes bright, hands digging into my hips, Caleb was as willing and able as ever.

  I licked into his mouth and tasted whiskey. “God, you taste so good.”

  Caleb grappled for hold on my hair, my ass, my shoulder. He bit and sucked and his hands touched everything at once. His heel hooked my knee and as my swollen dick collided with his erection, he made a noise. “Christ, Owen, what took you so long?”

  “It’s only been a day.”

  “And I see you’re still as rock hard as ever.”

  The pillows scattered. I snagged him under his ass and hiked him flush against me. Crotch to crotch we rocked together, thrusting and kissing and working ourselves in perfect unison.

  He bit my chin and yanked at my sweater. “Take this off.”

  “You take it off me.” Jesus. I had no idea who was in control, because neither of us had any as we tore at buttons and zippers and struggled for a handhold on each other. I wanted everything all at once. Right now. I’d been denied for too long. When his fingers worked my belt, I searched his face. The stubble-covered jaw, the bump on his nose, the pale green eyes so perfect and clear, that tangle of impossibly thick lashes—he was here. Caleb Black was with me at last.

  Caleb smiled evilly and his smooth hand slithered inside my pants. He manhandled my cock like a pro. “I want you. Since you walked into the room last night, all I wanted to do was slide right inside you. Tell me you want it too.”

  “I do.” I shut my eyes and fucked into his waiting palm as searing, blistering heat turned my balls into hard stones. I did—I wanted him inside me. I’d never had him—never had anyone inside me. It was as if I’d been waiting my whole life for Caleb.

  He ground long and thick into my hand.

  “Take your pants off.”

  “You want me, you take them off me, Owen.”

  I laughed and licked his neck, following a trail of bayberry scent from his clavicle to his pectorals to his armpits. His hair was light and his soap was spicy. And I was still terrified that he’d pushed me into this—this needy wide-open gut-wrenching, disastrous thing that I hadn’t felt since I was eighteen. That one and only time and I’d been so badly singed I never stuck my heart into that particular fire again.

  He’d exposed me skillfully, completely, and I was so grateful,
I nearly said thank you. Instead, I nipped a path to his nipples, pebbled hard just like old times and I sucked that little nugget right in as he stroked my cock. “Squeeze.”

  He did. He worked my cock rough, jacking me with skill. He wasn’t tender, which was a good thing, because I couldn’t handle any more tenderness. I needed to come.

  I wasn’t a scared virgin anymore. I was thirty-three years old and I knew exactly how to bring a guy off. So I worked Caleb’s tit between my teeth as my thumb rasped over the fat crown of his dick. It was slippery and when he moaned, my voice went pitch-black with need. “You think I’m still that same kid, Caleb? You can’t just walk away this time.”

  He grabbed my wrist. “Is that what you think this is? I don’t want you to leave, either.”

  “I won’t. I never did. That was all you.”

  I yanked his hand off me and wriggled his pants down to his thighs. His erection sprang free, beautiful and eager and thick. That was about all I could contemplate before he pushed into my mouth with a heavy, “Oh yeah.”

  Salt and spice. His fingers tightened in my hair and Caleb made noise. He made a lot of noise—just like I remembered. He moaned like it had been as long for him as it had for me. Which was probably wishful thinking on my part.

  I sucked the cap of his penis and then he nestled inside, almost to my throat. He was hobbled by his pants, which turned him on tremendously if his noise level was anything to go by. He howled and it took no time at all. He didn’t blow because we were new at this or stupid kids who could get off if the wind blew hard—he exploded without hesitation because this was us. This was Owen and Caleb, and we were supposed to be together. He shuddered and stiffened and semen shot the taste of sea and cream onto my tongue. His juice poured into me. I held on and nudged him to the very edge of bliss, until he slumped into the cushion.

  His fingers caressed my hair and he laid a wrist over his eyes. “Wow, Dr. McKenzie. You’ve improved substantially in the last fifteen years. Where the hell have you been my whole life?”

  I scaled his body slowly until our chests aligned. “Hey, I never went anywhere—I’ve been in Boston. I just grew up.”

  I kissed his wrist, where the veins delivered blood back to his heart and he moved to kiss me back.

  “Was that too much?” I should have been tender or something. Caring. Loving. I should have slowed it down and showed him how much I wanted him.

  “It’s been fifteen years. I’m not going to complain about coming in your mouth. Jesus, it’s even better than I remembered.”

  “I…I feel like I should read to you now.” What a foolish, sentimental, revealing thing to even think. I blushed saying it aloud. I traced the bump on his nose with my index finger, and forged ahead because I meant every word. “What would you like?”

  “Later. I would love that. No one’s read to me in a long time. Why don’t you let me…?” He slid my pants down, nibbled my neck, and I swear to God I heard sleigh bells ring.

  Bells.

  No. Not bells. It was a series of jingles. Jingle-jingle jingle.

  Fuck, fuck—the noise came from the mantel and it took me two more rings to identify my cell phone. It chirped intrusive, insistent, invasive and…jingle-jingle jingle.

  I slumped. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Get it.” Caleb kissed my chest, and then he moved. “It’s okay.”

  The first time I’d had sex in nearly a year with another man—this man—and it ended with me scrambling for the phone. I was on vacation. I panted, “Hello?”

  “Oh thank God! I’ve been calling for an hour.”

  My mother. Of all the people to disturb me when I was finally having sex, why did it have to be my mother? The heat level in my groin dropped twenty degrees.

  “Hello? Where are you? Ryan came back and said he’d lost you in the storm.”

  “Ryan’s back. That’s good news. We’re fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  Caleb grabbed his shirt. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder with a grin and mouthed, bathroom. I nodded and he disappeared.

  Outside, dusk forced its way through holes of gray sky. It would be dark soon. The snow had stopped. Maybe Caleb’s orgasm had blown it from the clouds.

  “Owen? Hello? This goddamn phone never works—”

  “Mom. I can hear you. It looks like the storm’s clearing. We stopped at…I have no idea where we are.”

  “Listen to me. It’s your father. Did you get any of my messages?—he—an—Dad. We’re at the—doctor says—and—I need you—”

  “Hello? Mom? I can’t hear you.”

  The phone beeped as the signal dropped and I was alone staring as snow whipped across the covered porch. My heart froze.

  Something had happened to my father and I wasn’t there.

  It seemed unreasonable and unlikely that there was an emergency, yet I couldn’t still the myriad of medical scenarios flickering through my mind. Not one of them positive. He could have had a seizure or a bleed or a heart attack.

  I saw his face clearly from last night as he’d stuffed himself silly on ham, laughing with his brothers, feeding my dog tidbits under the table when my mother said not to.

  Pants. Coat. Helmet. I was still cramming my feet into warm snowmobile boots when I stumbled through the door and into the bitter wind and unspoiled snow.

  I needed to get to my father.

  Chapter Nine

  It took forty-five minutes to travel a scant two miles because I’d gotten lost in the forest of snowy trees. Just like my goddamn dream. I hadn’t a clue where I was until I passed the covered bridge, and therefore Caleb arrived ahead of me. His vehicle was parked by the Winterses’ big gray barn, and I felt more like an ass than ever.

  I ripped the front door wide and the sleigh bells clanged and swung and then, those idiot jingle bells dropped to the floor with a clatter. I traipsed into the house with my boots on and kept going, right through the entry, under the Christmas ball, down the papered hallway, striding purposefully toward my mother’s off-kilter voice as she warbled through “Deck the Halls.” They were singing. All of them. The house smelled of cinnamon and clove, and, I couldn’t see anything except absolute red.

  I entered the parlor. I didn’t linger at the fringes as I usually did. I blew in like a blizzard—bringing my cold fury right into the center of the family circle. My mother ended the song on a predictably flat note. My uncle Archie glanced away from his chess game with my uncle Duncan. Katie served Christmas cookies and eggnog from the wheeled trolley. Like everything else at Evergreen, the scene was picture-postcard perfect.

  I just couldn’t believe it. “What the hell is going on here? I thought there was an emergency.”

  My father sat on the couch with a glass of eggnog in his pale hand and a stack of snickerdoodles perched on his knee. “Owen! We were about to send a search party.”

  He was ready for dinner in his favorite Christmas tie and a herringbone blazer. He was alert and on task—and evidentially, he was hungry. I should be happy about this. I was happy about this, but my family didn’t look concerned for my welfare. Not in the least. I’d been lost for hours in a damn snow squall and they were caroling in my absence. They hadn’t even known I was gone—not really.

  I should have stayed at the cabin with Caleb.

  It was unfounded, but I glared at my father as if he had the audacity to be well while I’d been driving laps through the forest on a ski machine. I was coming to his rescue—needing to do something practical and earnest to save him. And from what? The only thing he needed was a napkin. He had crumbs on his chin.

  “Did you people even notice that I was missing?”

  My mother clapped a hand to her bosom and said, “Owen! We were so worried about you.”

  They were all dressed and ready for dinner. Ties. Jackets. Shiny shoes. Lipstick. May and my mother both wore red holiday dresses and black heeled boots. “Really? You look like you were going to eat dinner without me.”

  “Of cou
rse we were not! If you hadn’t just arrived, Ryan was going to search for you.”

  My brother didn’t look like he was going anywhere. He had reindeer horns on his head and a glass of eggnog in his hand. He was in his bare socks. “Caleb just got here ten minutes ago, bro. We assumed you were together. He said you were bringing up the rear.” He blinked innocently.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Owen.” Mom snagged the helmet from my hands and set it on the coffee table. “You’re overwrought. Calm down. You’re always late—there’s no reason to get testy about it.” She reached for my coat zipper and I wrenched away.

  “I thought Dad had a medical emergency. A TIA or a seizure…or worse.” I raked my fingers through my hair until I had a handful and I just…held on. I must have looked like I wanted to yank my hair out, but I was keeping myself from flying apart. “I thought there was an emergency—I got lost in the fucking woods and you’re all in here impersonating the Von Trapp family.”

  “Good Lord. I wouldn’t call to tell you bad news over the phone like that,” Mom said. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  My father set his eggnog down. “I’m fine. Not fine obviously…but I’m not dire. I’m just having trouble with my iron. Long-term effects from my illness. My medication needs to be adjusted. Otherwise, I’m fine. I’m just old.”

  “You’re not old.” But he was old and no longer the hearty man I remembered from so long ago, when he’d been larger than life—and filled with such passion. He was small, and thin, and older than he ought to be.

  My mother said firmly, “Dr. Larson wanted to deliver good news as soon as he heard. For Christmas. That’s what I was trying to tell you before the phone cut out. We weren’t going to have dinner without you either, Owen. We love you. Now, take your coat off and go get ready. Everything is fine.”

  Why wasn’t I fine? One hour with Caleb and the walls I’d constructed as a young man—they’d crumbled. I’d been so afraid of losing Dad, so terrified of losing every person I’d ever loved, that I hadn’t let them inside for years. I’d kept them all at arm’s length.