by L. B. Gregg
“Son of a bitch. Not again.”
Minutes flipped by. The scent of old booze and fresh vinegar lingered in the air. Tick. Tock. Total fucking darkness. Soft shadows poured in from the front windows, but the lights stayed defiantly off, including our emergency light. I guess I should have changed the bulb.
I headed to the bar to retrieve a flashlight, feeling my way through the settling gloom with outreached hands and careful footsteps. Through the window, the snowy world remained dark. The sidewalks were empty. Not a single light shone in our postage stamp-sized town. One in the morning and the quiet town slept. Cold crept under doors and between the cracks, and soon, pipes would freeze in time for the holiday.
We’d have the lights back by morning. We always did.
I’d almost made my way to the end of the bar when the front door blasted wide and a frigid breeze blew a shadow into the vestibule. I nearly crapped myself with fear.
I stopped dead, cursed silently, and pulled myself together as the door slammed. A shape dissolved into the murky corner.
Maybe Santa Claus had come to deliver my heart’s desire, but I didn’t believe in Santa anymore.
A pair of heavy boots stomped on the rubberized entry rug. “Anyone home?”
I found my voice. “We’re closed.”
“Oh. Well, the door was unlocked, and the light was on when I came up the hill. I figured you were still open.”
“Well, I’m not. The bar closes at one. It’s after one.” Not to mention it was Christmas Eve. Normal people were in bed, dreaming of sugarplum fairies or credit card bills or whatever normal people dreamed of, before getting ready for the big day ahead. I sighed. “Can I help you? I can’t do much with the power out.”
“Yeah. Actually, I’m looking for a ride.”
I looked toward the window. “A ride?”
“Home,” he clarified. “For Christmas. I’m trying to get home for the holiday.”
“Uh. Maybe you should call someone? Like a family member.”
“It’s supposed to be a surprise.” Green light flared—a cell phone—and my heart skipped so hard I took a full step back.
What the hell was wrong with me? I needed to chill. Sunny had filled my mind with all that crap about hopes and dreams, but this guy was just some poor slob trying to catch a ride home.
By the phone’s glow, a bearded jaw appeared. Curls swept over a broad brow line. A pair of serious eyes absorbed the green light like a predator as he waved the phone. “No service.”
No way. Sunny couldn’t be right.
The light disappeared, and the room blackened. “Can I come in?”
Right. Where were my manners? I should let the guy in. Come in, sit down, warm up. Can I get you something? Where the fuck have you been? Where are my stupid birds?
But he wasn’t Robb, Mr. Ready For Action. This guy just waited meekly in the doorway.
I found my voice. “Sure. Landline’s down. It’s usually the first thing to go. Is your car stuck? Do you need a push?”
“No. My ride didn’t show. I had to walk from the bus station.”
“Bus station? What bus station?” There wasn’t a bus stop for ten miles at least.
“New Milford.” His boot scraped.
“You walked? Here? The whole way? That’s a hike.” He must be half frozen and soaked to the skin.
“I had someplace I wanted to be.” His outline approached, a purple shape against the darkened window. A chair wobbled when he bumped the back. “Ow. Shit.”
The closer he came, the more my skin prickled, until he hovered unthreateningly near the bar. He leaned against the railing, like Riley’s was open for business and he wanted to order a round.
I stalled. “Can I get you a drink? Something warm? I have some coffee leftover.”
“Sure. I’m freezing.”
Honestly, if I weren’t scared and alone and tired and suspicious as hell, and if this night wasn’t Jesus’s birthday, I’d be irritated. The bar was closed. It was Christmas. Officially. And Robb Sharpe was a million miles away, folding cranes from Christmas cards, or soaking sun in Mexico, or sleeping happily beside some other man. “Are you…where did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t,” he whispered. Definitely not Robb. His voice would have ricocheted across the bar like gunfire.
I slid behind the countertop and searched fruitlessly for a flashlight. Not finding one, I gave up and managed to pour lukewarm coffee into what might be a clean mug. Who could tell? My eyes adjusted to the interior of the room. I should still light a few candles. Chase away the ghosts. The bartender in me had to ask, “You want a shot?”
“No thanks. Don’t drink.”
Backlit by the blue of the window, he moved on soldier’s feet, and when he rounded the end of the bar, his pace increased.
“What are you doing?” I retreated until my ass hit the sink.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
He was on me in a blur. I couldn’t run, or leap over the counter. I couldn’t overpower him or dodge past him. Not because he had inches and pounds and muscle on me. No. I couldn’t run because, damn, I didn’t want to.
Cold air clung to his coat, and ice seeped into my skin. He found my wrist and pressed me to the back wall. Hot breath scorched my ear, and even before he said a word, my body knew him.
Robb.
“Jesus Christ, Jason, don’t you even know me? This is the second fucking time you didn’t recognize me.”
“The lights are out!”
“I came halfway around the fucking planet, carried your Christmas present ten miles through a goddamn blizzard in the middle of the night, and you offer me piss-warm coffee and try to knock me out? It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s been long enough.”
He laughed, and his beard scraped my neck. Hair brushed my cheek. His voice—he had a voice and not that crow-like caw from last year—broke me.
My heart hiccupped against his chest and relief made my knees rubbery. “Goddamn you. You could have called.”
“And ruin the surprise? I didn’t know my ride wouldn’t show, and the phones don’t work. My parents are having their party. I didn’t want them to know I was back yet. I wanted to see you first. I wanted time alone.”
Robb held me by the wrist and by the chin—by the nuts if you want the whole truth—and I still couldn’t believe he’d come home. “Where did you come from?”
Snow sizzled against the window. “School.”
“What?”
“Med school. I told you I wasn’t a doctor yet. I planned to rectify that. I started in September. I’ve been a little busy.”
“And…how are you?”
“I’m good. Almost great. And I want to start fresh, Jason.” My shirt was soaked, but I held tight. “I’m here, and I’m asking you if you want to try again.”
“I didn’t think you’d come back.”
“I know.” He twisted to reach into his coat and placed a small package in my hand. “Did you get my message?”
“Which one?” I’m thinking of you. I miss you. I’m coming back for you. “There were so many. Nine hundred and eight seven.”
“Now there’s a thousand.”
His lips were warm. His frozen jacket fell from his shoulders, and I dug my fingers into the glory of his newly grown hair. He had hair. He smelled of winter, of trees, of night, of peace and security, of snow and stardust. He was the light filling my darkness, and he radiated the thing I desired most in the entire world—the warm comfort of home.
I opened my heart, and, finally, I let Robb Sharpe all the way inside. Exactly where he belonged.
About the Author
When not working from her home in the rolling hills of northwestern Connecticut, best-selling author L.B. Gregg can be spotted in coffee shops from Berlin to Singapore to Panama—sipping lattes and writing sweet, hot, often funny stories about men who love men.
Website: http://lbgregg.com
Twitter: http
://twitter.com/lbgregg
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lb.gregg.1?fref=ts
Email: [email protected]
Other titles by L.B. Gregg
The Men of Smithfield Series (also available in audio)
Mark and Tony
Seth and David
Max and Finn
Adam and Holden
Sam and Aaron
The Romano and Albright Series
Catch Me If You Can
Trust Me If You Dare
With This Bling (December 2015)
The Cornwall Novellas
Dudleytown
Other Novellas
Mistletoe at Midnight
How I Met Your Father
There’s Something About Ari
Waiting for Winter