Gambling on Love

by Jane Davitt

  For fuck’s sake. “Three,” Abe said and opened his door.

  The road ended in a large turning circle, with the trees crowding in, eager to reclaim the land. A few hundred yards before the dead end was the lane leading up to Abe’s cabin. Gary trudged along it, his legs heavy, Abe beside him in not much better shape. They were walking close to each other, their shoulders bumping every few steps, but Gary didn’t make more space between them. Getting separated wasn’t an issue now, but if Abe collapsed, Gary wanted to be close enough to grab him.

  “Round the back,” Abe said.

  Gary gave the front door a longing glance, but followed Abe to the back of the cabin. It was bigger than he’d expected, though it was difficult to gauge its dimensions when looking up earned him a faceful of snow. It had an upper level, he could tell that much. Its roof sloped sharply, a pointed A, and there was what looked like a garage to the right, built on to the house. A porch swept around the front of the cabin, winter-bare now, though Gary guessed in the summer it would have a table or deck chairs set out on it. To the left, where Abe was leading him, there was a single-story room with its own roof jutting out from the main house.

  A door at the back of the cabin led into the addition. Abe unlocked it and let the wind blow it open once he’d turned the handle. Gary stumbled through the door on Abe’s heels. He caught his breath on a sob of relief when Abe reached past him and slammed the door closed, shutting out the roar of the wind and the silent snow.

  Gary panted, raw, hoarse sounds, breaking up the newfound quietness. The warmth and light of the mudroom they were in made his face tingle and his eyes tear up, but the rest of him was so numb with cold, it didn’t register. He knew he needed to get out of his jacket and get dry, but when he fumbled at his zipper, he realized he was still wearing his bulky gloves.

  Gloves. Needed to come off. Zippers, buttons. After all he’d gone through, the simple tasks were like calculus, not two plus two. He stood still, looking at his gloved hands with a dull bewilderment. This wasn’t like him. He was tough, resilient, but he’d never been this tired before. Too much had happened to him recently, and a lot of it had happened today.

  Abe already had his own gloves and coat off. He shot Gary a puzzled look, then moved closer and started undressing him. He tugged the hat off Gary’s head as matter-of-factly as he’d put the other one on it, then slid off Gary’s gloves and tossed them into a laundry basket on a wide shelf. Gary let him do it, not moving while Abe unzipped his jacket, eased it back over his shoulders, and hung it on a peg.

  When Abe went to his knees to remove Gary’s shoes, though, Gary protested, guilt halting his downward slide into utter helplessness. He saw the blood on Abe’s face now, a dark stain against tanned skin. “No, don’t. I can do it.”

  Abe ignored him, easing Gary’s shoes off slowly, head lowered, too focused on his task to be halted. Gary stared down at a snow-capped hat and, moved by the need to reciprocate, reached out. Before his fingers did more than brush against it, Abe jerked his head away.

  “I’ll see to it. Go inside.” Abe tilted his head back to look up at him. “Get warm. Try not to drip on the rugs, and don’t run into anything.”

  Gary gave him an exasperated frown with no force behind it. Making his mouth shape words helped him shake off the feeling of unreality. Part of him felt as if he were still out in the storm, fighting to reach shelter. “Would you believe me if I said that I’ve never been in a car accident before today? Except the time you taught me to back up and I ran over your bike.”

  “You want me to be honest or kind?” Abe rose with an effort Gary could feel, his leg muscles cramping in sympathy. He waved Gary past him. “Go on. Sit before you fall over.”

  Too exhausted to argue, Gary walked down the narrow room, his steps blessedly unhampered by ice-laden shoes or deep snow. The space was painted in a shade he’d call café au lait, and Abe probably still called brown, a rich tone echoed in the expensive slate tiles and glossy chestnut-stained woodwork. The color scheme was practical for a mudroom, but far more sophisticated than he’d expected. A door at the end stood ajar, and he glanced into a small but well-equipped laundry room, with a stacked washer and dryer in one corner and a deep sink set against the far wall, cabinets providing storage overhead. To his left, through a door paned with glass, was the kitchen.

  Nice. Not his style—once he’d gotten to the point where he could have a preference, he went for minimalism in theory and clutter in reality—but he could tell when something worked, and the butter-yellow walls and gleaming black cabinets made a statement. The floor was a checkerboard of black-and-white tiles, and heavy yellow blinds covered the picture windows. Everything was clean to the point of qualifying as pristine. He trudged over to the kitchen table, simply and elegantly designed, combining functionality and beauty. With more effort than it usually required, he pulled back a chair and sank into it with a groan.

  He didn’t know why Abe had jerked away. Wasn’t that taking a grudge a bit too far? Hearing water run, he got to his feet and retraced his steps, his damp socks leaving smudges on the tiles. Abe was inside the laundry room, bent over the sink. The width of his shoulders was more impressive without the bulky jacket, which didn’t make sense. Gary was dazed from his ordeal, but he’d have had to be dead not to appreciate the lean, muscular body in front of him and the taut ass showcased by well-fitted black denim jeans.

  Dead. Funny his brain had supplied that word, reminding him of Peter even as he scoped another man’s ass. He’d been faithful for five years, and he didn’t know what it would be like to sleep with another man after all that time, but Peter had been explicit on the topic: “While I’m still breathing, you’re mine, but if you want to mourn me by putting a black ribbon around your dick, I hope it festers and falls off. Your dick, not the ribbon.”

  Of course, he’d found the one ass in the world he was least likely to get past ogling with. Abe would hardly be interested in a one-night stand to help Gary get back on that horse. Not after the way they’d parted, or after the way their reunion had gone. The odds against that particular jackpot lining up and paying out were astronomical. Even contemplating it was ridiculous.

  Hi, Abe! It’s me, Gary, the guy who got you outed and left you to deal with the fallout after you threw me under the bus to save your rep with Coach. Can I crash into your truck? I can? Thanks! And can I drive it into a tree and make you walk a quarter mile in a blizzard with a concussion you got from moving my luggage from point A to point B, because I went into a meltdown over losing it? Hey, don’t back away! I also want to have sex with you for old time’s sake . . . and did I mention I’m fresh from a kinky affair with my boss who died a month ago?

  Yeah, maybe Abe wasn’t the only one suffering from a concussion. Gary cleared his throat quietly. “Do you want me to—” He broke off when Abe waved him away without turning.

  “I’m fine. Why don’t you make some coffee?”

  Instead, he walked forward. “I will after I help you get that hat off without taking skin with it.” God, he won the award for self-centered son of a bitch tonight. He’d seen the blood, he’d let Abe undress him, but it hadn’t occurred to him to help Abe clean his wound. His brain was divided into segments, his thoughts trapped in boxes, not flowing freely.

  “It isn’t bleeding now, but what there was froze and this fucking hat is stuck to it.”

  “Don’t tear it off. Let me get some warm water and soak it first.” There was a first aid box open on the counter, packed with supplies, and a roll of paper towels in the open cupboard over the sink.

  Abe held up his hands to ward Gary off. “No offense, but I’ve seen the damage you can do when you’re trying to be helpful. You always were a klutz.”

  Gary ignored him. He tore off a few sheets of paper towel and ran them under the tap. The water felt warm, but his hands were still so cold he didn’t trust what they told him. “No offense, but you’re an idiot. Stop being a baby and hold still.”


  Abe sighed and leaned forward to make Gary’s task easier.

  “Fine, but—”

  “Be gentle with you?”

  Abe narrowed his eyes, but after a moment he nodded. “It’d be a nice change.”

  The water Gary applied with a lavish hand trickled down Abe’s face and inside his collar, making him shudder—probably wasn’t warm after all—but he didn’t say a word or do more than set his teeth when Gary gingerly peeled the hat free of the wound. The cut was messy with crusted blood, but it didn’t look deep.

  “I don’t think it needs stitches.” He spoke more out of hope than conviction. “Maybe some of those butterfly thingummies to hold it together? I’d better clean it first, though.”

  “It’ll bleed again if you do. Not gonna pass out on me, are you? You always did turn green at the sight of blood.”

  “No, but you might when the antiseptic goes on.” Gary rummaged through the box of supplies in search of something that would sting.

  The only reaction he got when he dabbed the antiseptic on was a hissed-out breath. It didn’t surprise him. Abe had always been the tough, manly type who could probably take out his appendix with a spoon if needed. Gary preferred to get vocal. Stoicism was all well and good, but if he was in pain, he wanted the world to know—and get busy fixing it.

  Still, by the time the cut on Abe’s head had been disinfected and the edges drawn together with Steri-Strips, Abe was pinched around the mouth and the counter was a mess of spilled water and torn wrappers. Gary had actually been as gentle as possible, but his hands were shaking too badly for dexterity.

  “Leave it,” Abe said when he began to tidy up. “Your hands are freezing and you’re shivering. You need to warm up.”

  “I’d love a shower.” He thought longingly of the sort of bathroom a house like this must have. Hot water. Lots and lots of it, pouring down over him . . .

  Abe shook his head. “When you’re this cold, it’d be too much of a shock to your system. You need to warm up gradually.”

  “There’s always sharing body heat.” Gary cursed himself. Way to go with the flirtatious comments.

  Abe’s expression didn’t change, though Gary was conscious of a distance reopening between them, one not measured in feet and inches, but degrees of warmth. They’d gone from flash-hot anger with Abe’s fist plowing into Gary’s face to the shared ordeal of the struggle to find shelter, but Abe had retreated again, hiding behind a remote courtesy. Gary would’ve preferred another argument. He was on solid ground there.

  “Yeah, if you don’t have access to dry clothes and heat.” Abe’s voice was noncommittal to the point of being flat. “You do.”

  Abe headed out of the room, and Gary followed him back into the main part of the house. A staircase led up from the kitchen, and an archway opened out into the family room. Like the kitchen and mudroom, the family room was decorated in a style as far away from rustic casual as it got. The floor tiles gave way to wood here, dark, wide planks of it, and the walls were painted the acid green of spring leaves, the shade vibrant enough to make Gary blink. The room felt huge because it was open to the roof; a balcony ran around it, accessed by the stairs.

  Gary was incapable of walking up a short flight of steps. Crawling up them, possibly, walking, no. He hoped wherever Abe planned to get him warm was nearby.

  Two interior doors led out of the family room, and to Gary’s relief, Abe gestured at one of them. “That’s mine. Both of the bedrooms down here have bathrooms attached, so take the other and make yourself at home. Shout if you need anything, but it’s kept supplied. I’ll bring you some of my clothes to get changed into, and there’s a blanket in the chest at the end of the bed. Wrap it around you.”

  Gary hesitated, processing the instruction list slowly. God, what was wrong with him that he couldn’t snap out of this lethargy?

  A painting of a pond in the woods hung on the wall nearby and he stared at it, vaguely recognizing the style but unable to put a name to the artist, though he felt he should be able to. It was an original, the colors glowing with a richness that made it difficult to look away. The subject was mundane, the treatment anything but. He’d expected the normal cabin decor of stuffed fish, or a moose head, red cedar walls, and musty dustiness. Not this. It didn’t fit Abe at all.

  “This place isn’t what I expected.”

  Abe glanced around with the indifference of familiarity. “Yeah, it’s pretty flashy, I guess. Comfortable, though. Not a place where you mind putting your feet up on the couch.”

  Gary gave the couch in question a cursory look. It was black, and he’d have put money on it being Italian leather, soft and supple. It was wide and long enough to sleep on, and angled to face the window, not a television. The room didn’t seem to have one of those, though there were bookcases scattered around, the shelves full. “Uh, yeah. It’s a nice couch.”

  He wasn’t sure where to go with what he wanted to say. Abe wore faded jeans and a green cotton shirt that had probably set him back twenty bucks, if that. They matched the man he was now and the Abe Gary had grown up with. They suited him. The cabin didn’t. Abe didn’t belong in this place, and this place didn’t belong in the woods. The outside was a traditional cabin, but the inside resembled an upscale loft in the city.

  Abe took pity on him. “In case you’re wondering if I won the lottery, I don’t own the cabin. I’m the caretaker. I live here when the owners are away, which is most of the year, and take care of it for them. The rest of the time, I stay with my parents.”

  “Caretaker, huh? That’s a sweet deal.” He opened his mouth to ask another question, but a spasm of shivers distracted him.

  “You need to get changed,” Abe said. “I’ll heat some soup for you. If you finish it, you can have a cookie.”

  “What about you? Don’t you want to get changed?” It was a weak pro forma protest. Everything he had on was damp, if not soaked through. Peeling it off and exchanging it for something dry, no matter how lacking in style, was so tempting, he wanted to undress where he stood.

  Abe grinned and clasped Gary’s hand briefly. “I’m already warmed up. See? That’s because I dressed for the weather, unlike you, city boy.”

  “I had ski clothes on.” That casual grip of Abe’s hand had done more to warm him than a shot of vodka.

  “Yeah, but you were already freezing when you put them on.”

  Abe shepherded him into a medium-size bedroom with an unused scent to it. The bed was a queen size, the comforter crisp white cotton with an abstract design in black-and-green swirls that made Gary dizzy.

  Abe followed his fascinated gaze. “Linda chose that. I think she did it to see my face when she put it on the bed.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Abe shrugged. “Not my choice, but this isn’t my house, remember? I got to pick out what went on my bed, at least when I’m sleeping in it. The cover that goes on when they’re here and I move out makes this comforter look boring.”

  Gary reconsidered his initial impression that Abe had landed a cushy job. It had to suck being surrounded by someone else’s idea of home and kicked out when the owners dropped by.

  After a moment of contemplating the mind-boggling comforter, Abe shrugged. “I’ll go get you those clothes.”

  Gary reached for the top button on his shirt. Abe left the room before he started work on the one below it.

  Getting undressed was an exercise in compromise. He wanted the clothes off, but his hands would barely cooperate. He removed his shirt with most of the buttons still fastened and left it in a heap on the floor, inside out, the sleeves tangled. His pants were somewhat easier.

  A robe hung from a hook by the bathroom door, thick, fluffy, and as white as the snow outside. He put it on gratefully and huddled the plush fabric around him, but it might as well have been made of snow too. Nothing could touch the cold inside him, and his hands and feet ached, a vicious throb when his sluggish blood tried to circulate around each frozen extremity.

/>   Abe rapped on the bedroom door. “You decent?”

  Gary walked back into the bedroom. “If you mean am I naked, no. You’re safe.”

  The door opened and Abe entered, some clothes draped over his arm. He’d changed into a pale gray sweatshirt and black track pants, thick white socks encasing his feet. It was a casual outfit, and Gary didn’t think he owned anything comparable. Peter hadn’t allowed him to wear jeans even on weekends, though he still owned a few pairs. What Abe wore . . . no. Peter would have stripped him naked and kept him that way for hours if he’d tried to get away with track pants.

  The clothes were baggier than the jeans and shirt Abe had been wearing, but they couldn’t hide the fact Abe matched his truck for power and strength. He’d filled out without getting muscle-bound. Gary spared a moment from enduring the itch and burn building up in his thawing skin and distracted himself with a brief, illicit fantasy of Abe on his hands and knees, channeling all that strength into bracing himself while Gary fucked him to the point of whimpers and moans. And wasn’t that a nice thought. Gary could remember the last time he’d fucked someone, because he hadn’t gotten to do it since, even though he liked to top. The week after that encounter, he’d met Peter, and Peter didn’t bend over for anyone.

  Abe arched his eyebrows and raised his arm, offering Gary the clothes: a duplicate of his, from what Gary could see. They would be two sizes too big, at least. “You want these or not?”

  Gary cleared his throat, uneasily aware his renowned poker face might have slipped a little and revealed the fact he’d been picturing Abe naked and writhing. Abe looked uncomfortable behind the surface calm, a flush burning his cheeks.

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  Abe’s gaze dropped to Gary’s feet, and he frowned. “Get on the bed.”

  “What?” Gary stepped backward, panic replacing the mild glow of misplaced, mistimed erotic speculation. It was one thing to fantasize about fucking Abe, but it’d been a long time since he’d seen him or been with anyone casually, and the abrupt order was too much, too soon.