Eugene and the Box of Nails

by Jaime Samms

  “Stay,” Cullen said again. No question this time.

  Eugene gasped in a short, sharp breath. His cock twitched like Cullen’s deep voice had a direct line to it. That was interesting. The butterflies settled and went still. Even more interesting. Eugene nodded.

  Cullen continued to study him as he ran fingers through his hair and down the side of his face. “I don’t like you living in that trailer. It’s too cold.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.”

  “It’s what I have.”

  Cullen heaved upright, pushing Eugene off but at the same time keeping him close. “Well, now you have me. You have this place”—he waved a hand at the sparse apartment—“for what it’s worth.”

  Eugene snorted, because really, even if they had been waving hello to each other across job sites for months, this was only a second date. And Eugene had been pilfering building materials from Cullen’s site. Surely he had to know that. He had to have seen.

  “I—” It wasn’t right to invade his home as well. No matter how much the offer warmed him in every way. No matter how much he wanted it. “I can’t do that.”

  “Tonight you can.” Cullen rose and held out a hand. “You will.”

  “Bossy much?” Eugene muttered. But he took the hand. He let Cullen lead him to the bathroom and stood still as Cullen started the shower, then held the curtain back for him.

  “Wash. I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

  “Sure.” And he was back to the one not-so-brilliant word.

  Cullen left him alone with his thoughts, which was a big mistake, as they ran almost immediately to guilt. He had to come clean. He had to tell Cullen everything. He couldn’t eat the man’s food, enjoy his body, sleep in his bed, and not tell him.

  But when he emerged from the shower, Cullen handed him a pair of sweat shorts and a T-shirt, pointed him at the bed, and ordered him to lie down. He quickly disappeared into the bathroom, and the shower came on. Fine. Tonight he could stay. Tomorrow he’d come clean. Over breakfast, he told himself as Cullen crawled into bed next to him. It was hard to convince himself it was the right thing to do when Cullen’s warm, mostly naked body slid against his, and for the first time in months, he fell asleep warm to his bones.

  THERE WAS no mistaking that his build site had been invaded again. In his absence, the outside of the house had been wrapped in the wood he’d left leaning to one side. The roof trusses were in place and the roof nearly completely covered in plywood. Tracks from heavy machinery—probably a crane—had gouged the soil. Two huge candy canes flanked the folding coffee table at the end of the trailer, arching over it and trailing tinsel down to pool next to the pot, offering a glittering bed for the tin can the workers used for change. Plastic Christmas baubles as big as Eugene’s head hung from the spruce tree that hovered over the trailer, which apparently pleased his crow to no end. The bird clacked its beak on a gold ball and chucked at him as though thanking him for the new toys.

  It was all slightly gaudy, but oddly cheerful at the same time.

  “What the hell?”

  “Someone has been busy,” Cullen noted.

  “How? It was near dark when we left yesterday. What the hell is going on?”

  “Your brother?”

  “Not according to Tim.” Eugene turned an accusing glare on him. “But you—”

  “I’ve been with you the whole night.” Cullen grinned that sly, slanted smile. “Keeping you warm.”

  Hot, more like, and the thought made Eugene melt a little bit as he recalled Cullen’s mouth around him that morning as he woke. “No, wait.” He smacked Cullen. “Don’t distract me.”

  “You’re complaining that someone is coming by when you aren’t here and working on your house? Making it so you might actually get in there before winter?”

  “It would be nice to know who.” Eugene approached the building, examining the materials. None of the plywood on the walls or roof was new. Almost all the material bore the marks of previous life. “It would be nice to know who I owe.”

  “Maybe someone is just being kind?”

  Eugene shook his head. “Kind is a box of nails.” He motioned to the case tucked safely under his trailer for later use with his slate shingles. “Undertaking half my construction job is—I don’t know, charity or something.” He scowled and stomped towards the house, surprised by his reaction. He hadn’t asked anyone for help, and he wasn’t wild about being the recipient of some anonymous benefactor.

  “Tell me what this is really about,” Cullen said, striding after him and pulling him around. “Because I don’t get why you’re so upset. Someone is doing something nice for you, and instead of saying thank you, you’re trying to look the gift horse in the mouth.” He frowned. “Maybe even pull a few of the old nag’s teeth.”

  “I think you just overstretched your metaphor.”

  “Never mind my metaphors and talk to me.” Cullen pulled him close, and for an instant, Eugene was happy to lean on his chest and breathe in the warmth.

  “You’re doing it again,” he muttered.

  “Doing what?”

  “Distracting me.”

  “All I’m doing is trying to make you see sense. Trying to get you to accept help—”

  “I don’t need help.” Eugene pulled free and stood straight. “I need to get to work. I have a house to build, and I need to do it before it gets any colder. Don’t you have a job site to get to, as well?”

  “More than one, actually,” Cullen admitted, reluctance clear in his tone. “I have to visit a few other jobs this week.” He tugged at Eugene’s scarf, tucking a loose end into his coat. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t overwork yourself. It can be easy to do in the cold.”

  “I know what I’m doing. I grew up doing manual labour.” He pointed a thumb at his chest. “Farm boy, remember?”

  “I didn’t know that, actually. Is Paul’s farm—?”

  “Oh, no. He bought that spread with Deana when they got together. Mom and Dad lost their place when I was just finishing up high school. They had been converting to organic, but then, just when it looked like they were going to turn a profit, there was a bad crop year. They made some poor choices with livestock and suddenly the place was just in too deep. They had to sell. Steve took what equipment he could to get the landscaping company off the ground, but my college money went into making sure they could keep the house.” He shrugged. “I went to work for Steve.

  “And just when it looked like I was getting some traction there, he cut me loose because he couldn’t understand my ‘life choices.’” He made air quotes and sneered. “Convinced Mom and Dad I was a freak. I almost had a chance at site foreman when I got hurt on the construction job.” Eugene sighed. “I need this to work,” he all but whispered as he gazed at his now half-built house.

  “And it will.” Cullen drew him to lean his back against Cullen’s chest. “It will.” He kissed the side of Eugene’s neck and let out a small huff. “And now I have to go. Will I see you later?”

  “I’ll be here.” Eugene straightened and headed for the fire pit. “Have a good day, yeah?”

  “I will.”

  A few minutes later, Cullen had driven off, and Eugene was bantering with his crow as he set his fire. As much work as had mysteriously happened in his absence, there was still more to do out in the cold before he could turn his attention to the inside.

  EUGENE DIDN’T see nearly as much of Cullen as he might have liked over the next three weeks. They had dates, and he spent some time at Cullen’s apartment, but he tried not to be there when it was time to sleep. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed waking up in the man’s bed, but the relationship was going so well. He didn’t want to jinx it by putting too much weight on it, relying too much on Cullen, or hoping too hard that it was the real deal.

  Whenever things started going right for him was usually when it all went wrong. He didn’t want to take that chance with Cullen.

  So he conc
entrated on his house and getting the rest of the walls, windows, and doors installed. Tim stopped by often to help, as installing a window mostly took more than one set of hands. Eugene was happy to teach the kid how to do it in exchange for the help.

  They got all the big windows, as well as the front and side doors, in place while the weather held out. Then Tim ran into exam time, and Eugene was back to working on his own. The forecast was turning ugly, and he needed to get the last small windows in place before the weather broke. If he could do that, the house would be weatherproof for the most part.

  Then he could concentrate on the slate for the roof and thankfully, move his work inside, where he could insulate, then finally—finally—be warm.

  The small windows over the spot he would install the kitchen counter should have been easy enough to do on his own. They weren’t heavy, after all, and he’d worked out a system to keep them in place without another pair of hands while he worked.

  Unfortunately, Eugene didn’t count on his construction job coming back to almost literally bite him on the ass—or at least, his lower back. All it took was one wrong move, one jerking motion to try to save a falling window, and his previous injury crumpled him to the floor of the house in so much pain, he couldn’t move.

  It didn’t help that he landed hard on one knee, bruising it down to the bone and slicing through denim and skin on the broken glass of the fallen window. Between his back and his knee, all he could manage was to lie still and try not to cry. He’d been so close. So close.

  For a time, he watched the slow progress of the square of sun coming in the open window hole as it tracked across the floor and up the far wall. At first the breeze blowing in the gap blew above him, chilling the air but not touching him directly. As the sun lowered and that square of light rose, though, the wind picked up, shifted, and eddied in a frigid curl over his prone body. He was going to have to get up. Or something. It would be hours still before the guys came up from next door to get their vehicles and head home. Already he was shivering, and the tensing of his muscles wasn’t helping his situation. He cast a longing glance at his parka draped over a stepladder on the other side of the little house.

  “Little house. Fucking right.” It had never felt so huge, even when he’d been doing all the work to get it up on his own. “Now would be a great time to show your faces, little elves!” he called. Was it telling that he didn’t even feel the least bit ashamed to be talking to creatures of his own imagination? Or that maybe he was beginning to believe they weren’t his imagination?

  He went back to watching the square of light as it got smaller, faded, and darkness began to invade the house. He was so cold. If he closed his eyes for a few minutes, rested a bit longer, then he’d be able to get up and to his phone to call Paul.

  “EUGENE?”

  Paul’s voice had grown deeper since they had last talked. Eugene chuckled into the phone. “Dude. You sound like—” Wait. No phone. What?

  “Eugene!”

  “Cullen?” Paul sounded like Cullen? Eugene blinked and sat—no. Fuck! He groaned and spread his palms over the floor. Small prickles of bright pain dug into his palms, and he blinked again. It was dark. And cold. Fucking cold.

  “Oh shit! Eugene. What the hell?”

  “Hey.” He drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes again. Hands came to rest on his chest. Not Paul’s—too big. Too strong, too… familiar. “Cul—”

  “Don’t move.”

  “’Kay.” He sighed and settled flat on his back as the dull ache radiated up his spine and down his legs.

  “But speak. What happened? How long have you been here? Talk.”

  “Um.” Sooo brilliant.

  “Okay. Doesn’t matter. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No.”

  “Shut it. You’re getting checked out. Where’s your phone? Is Paul’s number in it?”

  Eugene held up his thumb. “Yessir. Need this to unlock it.”

  “Where?”

  “Coat.” He waved off into the house. “Pocket.” His brain was being slow and stupid. Or maybe that was normal, but sentences seemed hard. Thinking was hard. Moving just hurt.

  He actually felt the warmth of Cullen’s body leave him when Cullen rose to fetch his phone, and he whimpered. He didn’t pay much attention to Cullen’s calls, instead drifting in and out of now to spend some quality time with the backs of his eyelids.

  THE AMBULANCE ride was a vague blur. Hospitals were bright. That much he recognized—and hated—from his first bout with a broken back. At least this time the nod to the holidays in the form of plastic—and therefore easy-to-clean—baubles strung across the hallways at random intervals lent the place a little humanity.

  Plus, he was sure this wasn’t the same situation as that long-ago summer. He’d strained something, definitely, and overtaxed muscles he could ill afford to abuse, but there was no break. He remembered what that felt like, and this wasn’t it. The worst had been the cold, though. He’d been confused, scared, but Cullen had been there, then Paul, and then he’d slept. Morning had confused him, but the hospital staff were pleased with his vitals, so he was optimistic it was only going to be the one-night stay; then he could leave.

  He’d recover. How long it took—and how much his unfinished house would suffer because of this setback—was another issue.

  “You’re not to worry about the damn house,” Paul told him through gritted teeth as Eugene poked at the greyish-greenish mound on his plate that purported to be scrambled eggs. “It’s not going anywhere. Get better first; then we’ll talk about that fucking—”

  “Don’t,” Eugene grated.

  “Euggy—”

  “It’s my home. I know you don’t get it, but you don’t get to—” He waved a hand. Make fun of it might be a bit too harsh, but he knew Paul didn’t understand his obsession.

  “I don’t get why you couldn’t just move in with us and work at a reasonable pace.”

  “And rely on my little brother to support me while I fix yet another fuckup?”

  “Nothing that led to this is your fault.”

  “Mom and Dad lost the farm because—”

  “Jesus! Euggy. Their field flooded and spring waited a month to show up. Global fucking warming is not your fucking fault! Steve being a dipshit asshole? Not on you either, Euggy.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Stop being an asshat.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Home to where?” Paul asked gently. “Because I’ll tell you now, you are not going back to that trailer. And while we have room, I know a certain contractor who’s having fits trying to fix your entire world all by himself.”

  “What?” Eugene straightened in the bed, pushing himself up with his hands and wincing because even that was not okay with his back.

  “Stop.” Paul put a hand on his shoulder. “You have to let this heal.”

  “I have to build a house.”

  “Please trust me on this? The house is not going anywhere. We can make sure it’s safe and dry, and maybe after Christmas you can go back out there to figure things out.”

  He was being reasonable. Eugene hated that more than any other thing. Paul wanted to help him, was being practical, and absolutely, 100 percent, did not get why Eugene couldn’t accept.

  “He’s right.” Cullen’s deeper, warmer voice washed over Eugene, and he glanced past Paul to the doorway. “If you won’t go home with him, come back to my place. Get better. The new year is time enough to finish the build, and then I’ll have time to help you.”

  It was so tempting. Eugene stared at him, heart thudding as Cullen approached the bed. But how could he accept the offer when he had yet to confess where most of his building supplies had come from?

  “I’ll let you guys talk.” Paul got up and patted Eugene’s arm. “Please listen to him? Please?”

  “I’ll listen.” Because he could never completely deny his little brother, especially after everything Paul had done
to help him.

  Cullen settled one asscheek on the edge of the bed as Paul left. After he was gone, Cullen did little more than sit and watch Eugene, face still.

  “What?”

  “You scared me.”

  “I was an idiot. I should have been more careful.”

  “It could have happened to anyone, but seeing you lying there?” He shook his head. “Never want to see that again.”

  “I’ll be more careful.”

  “You won’t work on your own anymore is what.”

  “I have to—”

  “Accept help.”

  Eugene stared at him a long time. “I can’t. Not from you.”

  “And why not?”

  “I—you already helped more than you know.” Heat flared into Eugene’s cheeks. “More than is strictly legal, probably.”

  Cullen cocked his head to one side. “Meaning?”

  “I know that you probably noticed that some of the wood I used came from your site. I mean, that blue paint. Not like anyone could miss it.”

  Cullen shrugged. “And?”

  “I mean. Well, I took stuff off your site without permission. That’s basically theft.” And there—it was out, and easier to admit than he’d imagined it would be.

  “If I hadn’t figured out why my dumpster was taking so long to fill up, I probably wouldn’t deserve the job of site manager, Euggy.” He cuffed Eugene’s shoulder lightly and grinned his lopsided smile.

  “Don’t ever call me that again.”

  Cullen grinned. “It’s cute.”

  “Exactly what I want the guy who’s blowing me to think.”

  “Eh.” Cullen shrugged. “You’re more than cute, and you know I think so. As for the building materials, yes, I know where you’ve been shopping.”

  “And you’re okay with that.”

  Cullen sighed. “Eugene.” He pinned Eugene with a look. “I talked to my boss about it. Talked to the homeowners, even.” He carefully held back a smile, but it peeked through his eyes. “Talked to the crew.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No one had an issue with you using what we planned to throw away anyway.”