by L. B. Gregg
“I’m not back. I’m visiting. But sure, you too. You look good, I mean.” His eyes never flickered in my direction. Apparently, good meant invisible as well as the same.
“Your mom’s happy to have you home.” Not that I had much firsthand experience with what made mothers happy. Mine had left me alone in a hotel room just before my sixth birthday and vanished into thin air.
But if I had a mother, a normal mother like Robb’s, unlike the host of foster mothers I’d known over the years, and if I’d risked life and limb for my country, I imagined my mom would shout the news of my homecoming to anyone who’d listen. She’d have finally untied her yellow ribbon from the old oak tree and waved it around like a victory flag. She’d have grabbed on to my sleeve at that party, and she’d never have let go.
She’d ease my way, reintroducing me to friends and family alike, making me the center of her attention.
Robb and Sunny’s mom hadn’t exactly done that. I knew she loved him, she seemed concerned about him, but she’d kept her distance, leaving him in the company of a couple of tipsy, chesty, “friends.” She’d spent her evening sampling the Merlot and focusing on the other guests, including me—a nobody.
Shit. She’d also given me that embarrassingly sentimental gift. “You didn’t see a Christmas stocking with my name on it, did you? When we left the yard? I had it earlier.”
“What?” Robb looked at me like I’d lost my marbles, and medically speaking, I probably had.
“Never mind.” I frowned. “I guess your dad’s happy you’re home too. I mean, except for the part where he wanted you to spend time with his lady friends.”
Robb turned his stunned gaze in my direction. His jaw swung. “That’s what Sunny told you?”
“Yeah. She gave me a head-up when I got there.” She probably worried I’d embarrass everyone by throwing myself at you again.
He slapped his forehead. “This is why I can’t live in Cornwall ever again. My family interferes with my life, and I have zero privacy.”
“You had more privacy in the army?”
Ignoring my question, Robb squinted over the dash. “Did you know I was at the house?”
“Not until I walked through the front door. I had no clue. Sunny didn’t tell me.”
“Christ.” Robb yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, and the truck slid onto the shoulder in a spray of gravel and ice. I grabbed the dash as my stomach lurched and my head reeled.
“What the—?” I glimpsed through the back window. Red light reflected on the snow. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Yeah. Indisputably.” Robb set the emergency brake, and bang, he exited the vehicle and vanished into the opaque forest.
Tree limbs clawed at the sky above the road, and a whirling dervish of snow howled across the road. “As God is my witness, I am never going to another Christmas party as long as I live.”
I wasn’t going to chase after him either. I hadn’t then. I wouldn’t now. Mostly because if I fell on a patch of ice, I’d be in that hospital so fast, my credit cards would explode. I couldn’t risk it, so I waited for my deranged chauffeur to reappear, while the flatbed filled with another layer of white. Snow sizzled against the windshield. The windows fogged, and the chill settled. In the densely wooded forest of Cornwall, Connecticut, houses were few, and the blue night closed in.
I’d been through worse.
And clearly, so had Robb. He’d spent his first evening back in the family fold looking like he’d rather face a firing squad, not that I blamed him. And the Sharpe clan had sort of ignored him—which made Robb more of an outsider in his own home than I was.
Some vital piece of information eluded me. Something I couldn’t put a finger on. My drug-addled mind pondered the possibilities. Maybe Robb preferred women now. Our fling could have been a folly of youth—or a phase. Stranger things had happened. Straight guys got horny and had sex with gay men all the time. Young men experiment. Robb looked straight as an arrow to me now. More so than before. Actually he looked straighter than ever.
But he wasn’t. I’d stake my business on it. Lift up, Jase. Up on your knees. Oh yeah, fuck yeah. Just like that. I promise, it’ll only hurt for a second.
That liar. I’d hurt for years afterward.
I stuffed my chilly hands into my coat pockets, but cold seeped in from every crack. Minutes frittered by until the door popped open and icy air dusted snowflakes onto the driver’s seat. A frosted Yeti climbed inside. Robb’s stubbly head hid under a funky wool hat. Braided flaps hung past his ears, and he looked years younger.
Somehow, I managed to keep my voice even. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” The engine roared to life and blessed heat blasted from the vents, but Robb didn’t put the truck into gear. He white-knuckled the wheel. His shoulders hugged his neck, high and tight. “Just forget that happened. Sorry.”
Ice crystals glistened on his hat and melted on his eyelashes. A droplet rolled down his cheek like a tear.
I needed to clear the air or get out and walk. “This entire evening has been one disaster after another. And the painkillers are making me say stupid things. I didn’t mean to offend you. Seriously. I’m not good at reconnecting. Or connecting, for that matter.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He clipped each word. “You’re fine. Except for your head. I didn’t think seeing you would qualify as a disaster. I’m sorry for that too.”
“I didn’t mean seeing you. That fell more under the heading of unnerving than anything else.”
He ground his teeth and blinked wordlessly through the windshield.
“Look. I have a headache, there’s a blizzard brewing outside, I’m tired, I’m freezing, and no shit, I want to go home to my own bed and sleep. So pretend we’re strangers—”
“We are strangers.”
“No, we’re not, but if that works for you, fine. We’re strangers. If you have something you want to get off your chest, you have a captive audience. Literally. And I’ll put anything you say in the vault. Actually—I am the vault. I always was.”
Snow piled on the truck’s hood. Inches of fresh accumulation covered the road, blowing in gusts that wafted across the head beams. The heater’s fan squealed, and my stitches pulsated. I managed to keep my mouth sealed, giving Robb time. Eventually, he cleared his injured throat and said, “I can’t go back.”
“Back? Where? To the Army?”
“Yes.” His hat dripped, and he wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand. “And no. That’s over and done—I thought you knew.”
“No. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t.”
I tried to remember how long he’d served, and how long he’d been deployed, but Robb kept talking. “I don’t want to go back to the house. I can’t deal with my family.”
“That makes two of us. Are you pissed? I’d be pissed.” I think I was pissed on his behalf, actually. They’d provided female companions for their gay son.
“Of course I’m pissed. I’ve been home, what? Six hours? They act like…they’re embarrassed I’ve come home.”
“So why did you come? You never have before.”
“Because…” His voice trailed off, and I felt a lie brewing. “I promised my mother. I didn’t know my father would hire a babysitter for me. Two babysitters. If Sunny knew beforehand, she could have given me a heads-up.”
“You and me both.”
Robb frowned. “I was leaving when you fell. If you hadn’t been leveled in the yard, I’d be gone.”
“Gone? You just got here. Where were you going?”
“I hadn’t thought that part through. Somewhere. Anywhere. Away.”
Who’s running now? He didn’t blink as he watched me from across the cab. In his ridiculous hat—the thing smelled of wet sheep—he looked more like the old Robb. The one I used to know. Strong. Reliant. Real.
“I knew I should have stuck with the original plan and done Christmas by phone. My family works better long distance.”
They certainly coul
dn’t hurt him from afar. “How long distance are you talking? I’d say some family close by is probably better than no family anywhere, if that’s what you’re used to.”
“Yeah, well, I can only pretend for so long.” Robb flung his Yeti hat onto the dash. Icy water slid down the windshield and adhered to the wiper blades. “I couldn’t believe you actually came. I thought you hated Christmas.”
“I don’t hate Christmas. Why does everyone think I hate Christmas? I don’t like family get-togethers, but Sunny begged me to come.” She’d insisted. She’d done so because she wanted me to see Robb. And Robb had wanted to see me.
Now that he was sitting beside me, I was sort of glad I’d gone, head injury notwithstanding. Robb Sharpe and I had always made a weird sort of sense, the weirdest, and God knows I could talk to him. I just couldn’t trust him.
I chewed on that while Robb unzipped his coat and dialed down the heat. The squealing fan slowed to a low-pitched whine.
One thing became crystal clear to me as the seconds ticked by—I could go home. If Robb chose to, he could come with me, in a strictly platonic way. I had a couch. He’d fit if he didn’t mind his feet hanging off the end.
“We should go back to Riley’s.” I cut him off before he could object. “Tell your mother the roads were bad, or tell her I puked in the truck. Tell her you have a flat. Tell her I fainted. Or, we could tell her the truth and say you want to stay the night with a friend.”
A yawn ruined my plan as the pain medication kicked in. I could manage my headache and my stitches, especially with my head resting on the seatback and my eyes closed.
“Friend, huh?”
“Friend. You can sleep on the couch. Make a decision because I’m wiped.”
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Great bedside manner, Dr. Sharpe.”
“I’m not a doctor. Not yet.” I raised my eyebrow at that bit of news. Robb whipped his sadistic penlight out again and did his best to blind me. “Let me check your eyes.”
I snatched his wrist. “Please. Knock it off. I’m totally fine. The doctor said so.”
“No, he said—”
“I took three painkillers. Hand to God. Can we go now?”
“Are you going to puke?”
“Not unless you don’t start driving.”
The threat of vomit pushed Robb into action. The penlight disappeared, and the wipers shuddered before scraping ice across the windshield with a squeal. Snow slid to the hood. This ride would be tough no matter which direction he chose because all hell had broken loose outside.
Robb buckled his seat belt and put the truck into gear. “Hang on.”
We fishtailed onto the lake road and, fuck yeah, he swung the truck around, and we made a beeline back toward Cornwall.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. We’ll probably regret this.”
The road turned into a whiteout as we chugged slowly along. My lids drooped, and the heat inside the tight cab made my limbs feel boneless. Before I closed my eyes and sank into sleep, I placed my paper Rudolph back on the dashboard. “Guide our sleigh tonight.”
Chapter Four
“Jason. Wake up. We’re here.”
“I’m up.” For the second time tonight, Robb Sharpe shook me awake. I took a bleary look out the truck’s window, and a treacherous mix of snow and sleet fell in the amber streetlight in front of the bar. Christmas lights twinkled around mullioned windowpanes. A chunky wreath hung from the door. Riley’s Tavern. I probably should have changed the name years ago.
Despite how welcoming my place looked, when Robb killed the engine I couldn’t move to go inside. Those painkillers had me by the short hairs.
The passenger door opened, and a snow-shrouded Robb held the door. His goofy-looking hat was back in place. “Let’s go.” I tried to climb from the truck, and my loafer slid. He caught my elbow. “Careful. Sidewalk’s slippery.”
His breath made puffs of cloud in the air and, maybe I was stoned or dreaming, but he had more energy than I’d noticed previously.
I shook the cobwebs from my brain. “I’m fine. These shoes are slick.”
“Just don’t fall on your head, or you’ll bust it open for good.”
We shuffled across the sidewalk like two old geezers. Tree limbs glistened overhead. Weighted power lines dipped across the street, spelling disaster for tomorrow’s last shopping day of the season. Ice glazed the wrought-iron railings. Robb held my coat sleeve well after we’d climbed the steps and left the night air and crackling wind behind us.
The shovel and pail of salt I’d left in the portico earlier stood unused. I tried not to let that piss me off too much. As we entered the warm vestibule, the smell of draft beer and French fries made my stomach flip. Welcome home.
“Hey, Jase,” my right-hand man Donnie called over the crowd. I needed him to clear the steps, clear the house, clear the dishes, and handle everything, so I choked back my irritation and gave him a nod. Donnie moved nimble and quick, seamlessly serving beer and pretzels and taking cash, but his gaze hovered on my coat sleeve until I shook free of Robb’s grip.
“You good?” Robb croaked. I guess the smoke inhalation left him incapable of whispering because his next words echoed across the bar. “Where’s your bedroom?”
Every head in the joint turned.
I knew those people and never, not in all these years, had I brought a soul back to the bar. Not a fling or a fuck or an overnight guest. I didn’t entertain men at home. I didn’t bring any guests home. I hadn’t had a friend upstairs in five years—except Sunny—and she’d only been inside my apartment a handful of times.
My privacy had been hard-won, and in some ways, it was all I had.
“Jason? You good?” Before he could dig that intrusive light from his pocket and torture my pupils for the hundredth time, I moved away, albeit slowly.
“I’m fine. Donnie, can you clear the steps before we get sued?” I kicked the snow from my shoes and pretended to be “fine,” but the heat must be set too high—the place sweltered at sauna level. Every pair of eyes watched me, none more carefully than Robb’s. I’d left my ruined shirt inside a trashcan at the emergency room, and now my borrowed hospital shirt itched. I tried to act normal, whatever that meant. “How’s everyone tonight?”
Smiles, waves, and a chorus of “fine, great, Merry Christmas” echoed, but not a single comment regarding my matted hair or my intense new guest.
“How’re the roads? My car buried yet?” Pete Nester gripped a coffee mug and stared balefully at the contents. He should have gone home an hour ago. The snow must have kept Mrs. Nester from retrieving him. “Gonna walk home.”
“We’re gonna slide home on our asses,” someone said, and even I laughed.
“Time to go.” Robb barked and flipped the television off. “Bar’s closed.” Jaws dropped, but he either didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.
“Who the hell are you?” Pete asked as Robb dumped the contents of a full coffee pot down the bar sink.
“I’m an old friend of Jason’s and that”—he jerked a thumb at the sleet and snow hammering the window panes—“is some serious shit.” He pocketed his silly hat, hung his parka by the door, and took control of my business with a single glance. “No last call. Drink ’em or lose ’em.”
I offered a lame, “It’s really coming down,” and every patron bent an elbow.
Robb took in the ancient dartboard, the flat screen TV, the faded athletic photos of townies who’d come and gone over the last fifty years, and the gold-painted name over the window. He put his hands on his hips and gazed back at me from the old mirror above the bar.
He actually smiled when he said, “Looks the same as when Coach Riley owned this place.” I remember everything. “Glad you didn’t change anything. Riley’s really suits you.”
Robb’s kindness absolutely rattled me.
“He saved my life,” I said, and with those words, I stripped myself bare.
Gabe Riley had tak
en me under his wing when the last living situation of my adolescence soured. He’d put me to work, me and Sunny both. The two of us had cleared dishes inside and sneaked beers outside in the alley that entire summer after our senior year. The same summer Robb graduated from college and disappeared for good. When Sunny went on to Amherst, I’d been left behind. “I didn’t want to change things. As sort of a tribute.”
“Great guy. He coached my swim team.” Not the same thing at all, but Robb marched on to the next topic with another croaking call to the locals. “Hats and coats people—Riley’s is closed. Move out.”
I would have added “Merry Christmas” or “drive safe” or “please don’t slip on the steps,” but after hours of silence, my cell phone sprang to life. I answered on the second ring. “Sunny?”
“Are you okay? Where are you? I can’t reach my brother! Is he okay? Did you guys have an accident? Did you kill him? Was he a jerk? He didn’t try to sew you up himself again, did he?”
Mrs. Sharpe’s frantic voice drowned any background noise. “Ask him if they’re on their way. How’s Jason’s head? Is Robb behaving? Is he okay? Tell them to drive slowly.”
Jesus Christ, I’m surrounded by them.
“Jason,” Sunny said, so firmly she practically channeled her brother. “Where are you?”
“Calm down. I’m fine. We’re at the bar. The roads are bad, and we’re stuck here for the night.”
“The night? Well, lucky you. I’m stuck here.”
Mrs. Sharpe said, “Sunny. I can hear you.”
“You call getting five stitches lucky?”
“I do if you’re at home, and I’m at the lake. You have no idea,” Sunny breathed into the phone.
Robb cleared the bar of drinks, empty or not, then hit the dimmer on the overhead. The lights blasted my eyes, burning brighter than the sun. I turned the lights down and went to silence the Christmas music.
Donnie grabbed a coat and ran for the door. “Just going to go clear those steps for you, Jason!”
“Good call,” Robb muttered.
Once inside my murky office, I leaned against the door for privacy, and squeezed my eyes closed. I just needed a second to—