Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts)

by Annabeth Albert

  “Is it going okay sharing space with Quill—Ranger Ramsey?”

  “Yep. Just fine.” As far as he knew, the only thing Quill had told his friend was that Owen was doing an okay job. And Owen didn’t want to seem either disproportionately happy or sad, striving for a middle line that would get him off the phone as quickly as possible. Which was funny because Owen usually enjoyed the phone, especially on the rare occasions when the reception was decent. Quill might fulfill most of his needs for human contact, but Owen hadn’t had a total personality transplant—he still enjoyed people and socializing. Except when said socializing ran the risk of outing his never-gonna-admit-it boyfriend, in which case he couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. “I don’t want to keep you—”

  “Well, I want to keep you. Until spring at least.” She laughed, but there was a note of stress behind it. “We’ve had three volunteers already not last the season. I’m supposed to be working on summer placements already, not finding emergency replacements for winter. Speaking of, if you wanted me to transfer you back to Chugach, this would be the time to tell me, as they’re one of the sites that’s down workers.”

  “I’m fine. Right here.” God, had that come out too fast? Too clipped? He hoped not, but no way was he going anywhere before he absolutely had to. But something else she’d said had his wheels churning. “How does it work for the summer volunteers anyway?”

  “Same as for the winter positions. We post the openings, then applications come in. We give priority to volunteers with prior experience. More of the summer positions are paid. Not very much money, but there’s a variety of openings, all around the state. Why? I had the impression this was more of a one-off for you.”

  “Oh, you know, my plans aren’t set in stone...” Owen hedged as casually as he could.

  “In that case, think I could interest you in looking at some openings? I’ve got one near Fairbanks that would be perfect for you. High public contact. Paying. And there’s another near Seward with housing. Since your internet is so spotty, I’m going to both email you and put a packet in the mail to you.”

  “Sure. I...uh...” He struggled with how to word his next question, trying to find the line between eager and indifferent. “Any around here?”

  “Well, we’ve got some regular summer volunteers returning, but they still haven’t authorized funding for another ranger, so we’ll likely take on a few extra volunteers and seasonal workers to cover the gaps. I can put those openings in the packet for you as well. And if Ranger Ramsey says you’ve done a good job, that could bode well for one of the paid positions with more responsibility.”

  “Ah.” No way was he telling her or even insinuating that Quill damn well better say he’d done a good job. And he wouldn’t dare imply that Quill shouldn’t be a job reference for him. Friends were references all the time. He’d done it dozens of times back in his old job. It got a little dicier using a boyfriend or spouse as a reference, but unbeknownst to Quill, Owen had scoured the volunteer manual recently, trying to make sure that Quill’s worries about possible ethical implications were bunk, and there was nothing that said that volunteers and rangers couldn’t make friends or that explicitly prohibited romantic contact. Not that the manual really mattered when Quill was intent on absolutely no one finding out.

  Hell, Quill still winced when Owen mentioned his mom or a friend from the Bay Area knowing that Quill existed in any capacity. His mother had sent another care package, this one in advance of Lunar New Year, with carefully packed moon cakes in several flavors and a breezy note with greetings for them both, which seemed to make Quill bristle even as he’d tried the food. The guy could go from being sugar-coma sweet, like on New Year’s Eve with little surprises, to being prickly as a bear interrupted from its winter nap. But all prickliness aside, this call from Hattie seemed like exactly the sort of sign Owen had been looking for about what he was supposed to do next. More time to figure things out, more time to wear Quill down into believing in a future together. It could be precisely what they both needed.

  And later, after he’d ended the call, he found himself with a certain boogie in his step as he finished bundling up to tackle the shoveling. This would be good. Better than good even. Could even be the start of his New Year’s Eve wish coming true. The day’s agenda called for some roof clearing, and he wasn’t at all surprised when Quill showed up post-patrol to help. Oh, he’d never admit that he was worried about Owen up on the roof of one of the outbuildings, but him climbing up, shovel in hand, spoke volumes.

  “Not working fast enough for you?” Owen teased, hoping Quill could see in his eyes how happy he actually was at the midday visit.

  “Nah. You’re fine. Figured we could make quick work of it together, maybe finish in time for you to help me check a few trailheads.”

  “I can do that. Almost done here.” Owen resumed scraping, keeping his tone light as he added, “We make a great team.”

  “We do.” Quill’s voice was more resigned than upbeat, and Owen wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  “Your friend Hattie called me today with exactly that question—wanted to know how we’re working together.”

  “She did what?” Quill’s shovel made a nails-on-chalkboard dragging sound as his footing wavered. Fuck. On second thought, a frozen roof might not be the best place for this conversation, but he’d already started it.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Be safe. I’ve got plans that involve all your parts in working order later.”

  “What about Hattie?” Quill completely ignored Owen’s flirt, which while not surprising was still maddening. Damn, stubborn, paranoid ranger.

  “You can stop worrying. I told her absolutely nothing other than that we work together okay and that I don’t want to be transferred to Chugach.”

  “Transferred?” Quill blinked, eyes glassy against the cold sky. “They want you to leave?”

  “A couple of volunteers have left early. There’s an opening, but I told her I was staying put. I didn’t tell her why though, so stop looking like I sent her photographic evidence and a timestamped play-by-play.”

  “Sorry. If you want to see other parts of the state, though, I don’t want to keep you—”

  “For real? Are you that eager to get rid of me?” Owen threw more snow over the edge, watching it rain down. This couldn’t be going worse.

  “No. Of course not.” Quill’s face softened. “I want you here until spring. I do. I just don’t want to stand in the way of you having more adventures. Maybe a yurt or little cabin are on your list...”

  “Fuck my list. You. You’re the number one item on my list these days, and you should damn well know that by now. You seriously think I’d just pack up and leave because of a yurt?” Owen shook his head. “Or is it that you want me gone so that there’s no chance of Hattie or anyone figuring what we’ve been up to off duty? Hell, would you even miss me, Quill?”

  Quill winced, face drawing up tight. And he took a damn long time answering. “Yeah. I’d miss you. Going to miss you like crazy in May as it is. But I told you going into this that I didn’t want trouble at work.”

  Whatever warmth the first part of Quill’s admission generated froze in the frigid blast of the second half of his declaration, the part where his voice went all firm and hard.

  “I’ve checked the volunteer handbook and DNR website both. I’m not finding any fraternization rules. This isn’t the marines. No one’s coming for your badge just because you happen to be dating a volunteer. Hell, from what I’ve seen, they often place married couples together when they both accept a remote assignment. For all that you’re wed to the job, it in no way requires you to be a monk.”

  “Never said it did. But ethics...”

  “Fuck ethics. It’s not ethics keeping you quiet, and you know it.”

  “I don’t like being the topic of conversation. A spectacle. All eyes on me and my
choices. Gossip. All of that.” Quill’s breath hung in the cold air, steam making him seem even more pissed. “I don’t want my private life up for...dissection. Or it to cost me my reputation.”

  “You do get that if a state agency—in any state—let a twenty-year employee go because they were gay, it would be national news. Like people would be up in arms.”

  Quill’s increasingly sour expression said that Owen wasn’t helping matters. “I’m not cut out to be a poster child of equality. But in any event, I don’t think they’d fire me. Still, though, there’d be gossip, all the same. And besides, this is moot. You’re gone in another four months or so.”

  “So if I stayed, it would be a different story?” Owen carefully took a few steps in Quill’s direction so that he could better gauge his reaction. “Hattie mentioned that she’s collecting applications for summer jobs. Volunteer and paid positions both. That’s why I brought up her call—not to make you all paranoid, but because I think I should apply. And if the only thing that’s keeping you from treating this as a real relationship, something worth fighting for, is the expiration date, then let’s erase that off the calendar.”

  Quill didn’t nod, didn’t smile, didn’t do any more than huff and shake his head. “You don’t want to keep working here, especially not for free. Your list—”

  “Can go fuck itself. Screw my plans. I knew when I started out that eventually I’d need to settle down, figure out a path forward. I can’t afford to be a professional traveler the next forty years or something. So, why not here? Why not stay longer? Especially if housing’s provided, I can conserve my savings while I decide how I’ll earn money in the future.”

  “Your family’s back in California.” Quill’s affect was maddeningly flat, voice as distant as his eyes. “Your parents would want you to put roots down there.”

  “First of all, my sisters are spread all over the country. Cousins too. It’s a big family, yeah, but we’re already flying all over the place for gatherings. And secondly, you are here. Unless you’ve suddenly got a thing for sunshine and overpriced studio apartments, I don’t see myself going back to California.” His heart hammered as he lay his cards on the table, going all in. “I want to stay. At least through summer, and maybe beyond that if you want me. If you’ll give this thing between us a real shot.”

  “It’s not about wanting you.” Quill was already hedging, and Owen’s stomach plummeted, heading for the snowdrift beneath them. “But I can’t be the guy you need—deserve—long term.”

  “You mean you don’t want to try. I’m not asking for you to march into headquarters with a bullhorn. We could start small, like with you not freaking out that people who know only me like my friends know that we’re a couple. Then you let Hattie know. She’s your best friend, and she already knows you’re gay. She’s not going to be pissed, and you’ll feel better, not hiding. Maybe you stop flinching if I stand too close around strangers or say the wrong thing. Baby steps. That’s all I’m asking for. A try.”

  Stone-faced, Quill tossed more snow over the edge before speaking. “It wouldn’t be enough for you. And for all that I love Hattie, she’s a gossip—”

  “And God forbid someone at work start talking.” Owen had heard enough. “Seriously? You’re going to let your fear of gossip stand in the way of us having a future?”

  “You’re yelling.”

  “Damn right. I’m pissed.”

  “This—” Quill gestured between them with his empty shovel. “Is why I don’t do relationships. Drama. Someone always gets hurt.”

  “We’re adults. Adults can disagree. And two someones are both going to get hurt if you don’t get over your fear of coming out. Don’t try to make this about my tone.” Owen was genuinely heated now.

  “Watch it.”

  “Seriously? You can’t handle—”

  “Watch your footing.”

  It was possibly the first time he’d heard Quill yell. For all his firmness, he rarely even raised his voice. Startled, Owen glanced down, but it was too late, he was already skidding, away from Quill. His ass hit the roof, but the slick fabric of his snow pants did little to slow him down, his body continuing to slide right toward the edge.

  “Fuck it all, Owen.” At the last possible second, Quill hauled him back, sending both of them sprawling backward, centimeters from disaster. The roof wasn’t especially tall and surely the snow would have braced his fall, but he still breathed heavily, visions of broken limbs dancing in his head. Still clutching Owen, Quill was breathing equally hard as he took a moment before untangling them, pulling Owen to sitting. “Damn. I thought...”

  “Sorry. This was probably a bad place to have this conversation—”

  “You think?” Quill blinked at him.

  “But on the other hand, if we’d been anywhere else, you would have tried to get out of it.”

  “It’s not a conversation we need to be having today, and we sure as hell don’t need to argue our way into your breaking your fool neck.” Throwing their shovels down, Quill gently steered him in the direction of the ladder.

  “Okay, okay.” Owen could take a hint and he waited until they were both back on solid, frozen ground before continuing. “But like when would be a good time to have this conversation? May? When it’s already too late to get summer work? After the packet from Hattie arrives? Or maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, should have just applied? I mean, there is a chance they won’t have work for me.”

  “Yup.” Quill’s jaw was hard enough to carve ice sculptures. “No guarantees there.”

  “You don’t sound particularly sad about that. Pushing aside the coming-out argument, Quill, do you want me to stay?” Staring Quill down, he tried to see past whatever bluster Quill was about to spew to the truth. And fuck. Quill’s eyes were shuttered, no hints there, no lurking remnants of their months of connection, giving Owen utterly no clue about what his reply would be.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “No.” Quill was proud that the word didn’t waver. But one look at Owen’s face, ash gray and stark, pain evident in his sharp inhale, and the rest of Quill trembled. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about you and your needs and what’s best for you. Which isn’t an indefinite stay. So, no. No, I don’t want you to stay and pin your future on me.”

  “You won’t even let yourself think about us, about a future, about a universe where this works out and we’re—”

  “Life isn’t a fairy tale. We get a couple of good months together. No sense in wanting or dwelling on what can’t be.”

  “What you won’t let happen, you mean.” Owen shook his head as he stomped toward the equipment shed where they’d stow the shovels and ladder. “And I’m honestly not sure what you’re more scared of, coming out or turning into your parents. But you’re forty-something years old. You should have figured out by now that not every relationship is contentious or toxic—”

  “My parents. My siblings. Grandparents weren’t a lot better. Thought things might be different with JP, but not all drama is loud. He was controlling. Not always kind.” He didn’t like admitting how long it had taken him to figure that out about what they’d had. “And as it turned out, I’m no good at relationships. Didn’t want to compromise on city life. And yeah, I didn’t want to deal with coming out, not after how things went down with my dad. So I came here. And I watched Hattie struggle through a decade or so of on-again-off-again with Val. Until finally she had to make a choice.”

  “Which she did freely because she’s an adult, capable of deciding that compromise was worth having a future and family with Val. And I’m an adult too. And if I want to compromise on where I live, that’s on me.” Owen banged his way into the equipment shed, which wasn’t much warmer than the outdoors, but several degrees hotter than the ball of ice currently sitting in the middle of Quill’s chest. Owen’s angry tones and abrupt movements only made the icy feel
ing worse. His usual issues with anger magnified because this was Owen, Owen who seldom lost his head, Owen who was always happy and optimistic. But not now. “And yeah, JP was an idiot, and you were both young and probably didn’t handle things the best. God knows I had enough ultimatums with guys in my twenties, too.”

  “Any of them kill someone?” It wasn’t a fair question, but the more Owen pushed about coming out, the more Quill kept picturing his father’s beet-red face, his angry words and accusations, and his lifeless body. Maybe to others Owen’s demands would seem perfectly reasonable, but they hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen him go from tirade to deathly silence. And they hadn’t heard his hurled insults, deep barbs about how this was all because Quill hadn’t been able to stand up for himself as a kid, blaming Quill’s shyness and his apparent lack of macho bravado.

  The worst part, the part that Quill always tried not to dwell on, was how his father had shifted from being proud of Quill, complimenting his recent grades and internships, the sort of approval Quill had waited years for, to despising him in a matter of moments. That was the part of coming out he couldn’t control and the part that caused the most sick terror in his gut—it forever changed how the other person saw him, for better or for worse. And sure, people were great at giving platitudes like “they’ll come around” or “you’re better off without them.” But they hadn’t had to sit in an itchy black suit, listening to all the praise for his father, knowing that he’d never get a second chance.

  It would have been so much easier if he hated his parents, if all the bad parts of his childhood had crowded out any love he might have had. But as he’d sat there in the church pew that day, all he’d been able to think about was learning to ride a bike, to fish, hitting his first target, a thousand little memories of the man he’d wanted so desperately and failed so miserably to please.