Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

How many times, over the last week, had Paulo Fernández thought I’m almost there? only to be let down every time. It would be so much easier if he could stuff hope down— smother it under a blanket. But as the taxi bumped and jostled along the road, hope wouldn’t die.

  Almost…there.

  What would he do if this didn’t work? Fly back to Miami? Date someone his mother introduced him to? Get on with his life? Right.

  Somewhere between Midday and Omagh, Paulo had realized it. There was no life without Harrison. He’d always known how important Harrison was to him, knew how much he loved him, but this trek across the globe had opened it up to a new level.

  What about forgiving Ashmore?

  Why had that ever been a question?

  Why had he let hating that woman mean more to him than loving Ari?

  “We’re here,” the taxi driver said, and Paulo looked up. A quaint cottage greeted him, warm and inviting. Was Harrison really inside? “Want me to wait?”

  Oh, he’d made this mistake before, hadn’t he? Sent the taxi away before he knew for certain Harrison was inside. But that damn impossible hope roiled inside him.

  “No need,” Paulo said with a smile, pulling the fare out of his wallet. “I’m certain I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

  Interlude:

  Christmas Eve with

  The Williams Brothers

  An evening of singing Christmas carols—what better way to spend Christmas Eve? First up, Patrick, who had drunk too much sherry, crooned his way through “The Little Drummer Boy,” leaving Aidan doe-eyed and gooey.

  “Jaysus, Paddy,” Seamus exclaimed, shaking his head in dismay at his younger brother. “What’ve done to him? I swear he never used to be a soft eejit.”

  “Ha. Says he with the sappy cowboy almost sittin’ in his lap.”

  Seamus glanced down at Chancey’s legs and then up at Chancey’s face. He grinned, feeling warm all over. Their first Christmas together, and they had a house full. Perfect.

  “Right, so, what you gonna sing, then?” Patrick asked.

  “Well…” Seamus’s gaze remained on Chancey as he spoke. “I was thinking I’d sing ‘Away in a Manger’ but with the right tune. You know what I mean, Paddy?”

  “Aye, I do that.”

  “The right tune?” Chancey asked.

  “Yeah. Not that dodgy version yous all sing.”

  “Maybe our version is the correct one?”

  “Aye, and Jesus was born in a stable in Texas, was he?” Seamus began singing “Away in a Manger” in an exaggerated Texan accent and to the “American” melody. He just about made it to the end of the first verse before he was crying with laughter, as was everyone else in the room.

  “Christ, Seamus, you fairly murdered that, didn’t ye?” Patrick ribbed.

  “I’ll sing one for real after Harrison and Pru have had their turn,” Seamus said, with a wink at Pru, who shook her head.

  “Nuh-uh. I sing like a frog with a sore throat.”

  “Aw, come on, Prudence,” Harrison goaded. He, too, had downed a few glasses of sherry, and it had made him chatty and daring. “Any requests?”

  “Silent Night?” Pru suggested, miming pulling a zipper across his lips. Harrison gave her a weary look.

  “I’ll sing with you, Harrison,” Aidan offered.

  “There ya go.” Pru folded her arms and sat back, clearly pleased to be off the hook.

  “You know, Aidan, I think our ‘Silent Night’ would blow ’em all away. What d’ya think?”

  “Sure.” Aidan shrugged and stepped over Patrick’s legs—he was sitting on the floor and leaning against the sofa, with Tess lying next him, on her back. Patrick made a grab for Aidan, and he stumbled, letting himself fall into Patrick’s arms.

  “Don’t you want me to sing?” he asked around the kisses.

  “I’d rather we did more of this.”

  “Later,” Aidan said, leaving Patrick with a chaste peck on the cheek before joining Harrison.

  All things considered—all things being the lunchtime beers and the now empty sherry bottle—Harrison and Aidan were quite tuneful in their rendition of “Silent Night,” although the further they got into the song, the sillier it became. By the last two lines, they were stretching and sliding the long notes until they ran out of breath.

  Sleep in heavenly peeeeeee-eeeeace…

  Slee-eep in heavenly peeeeeeeeeeace.

  They both fell into a heap of giggles, and everyone whooped and applauded. “That was grand,” Seamus praised as Dee skidded into the room, with Michael a step behind her.

  “What’ve we missed?”

  “Aidan and Harrison’s duet.”

  “Darn it. Hey, Mike. We could sing something too.”

  “Um…OK,” Michael agreed reluctantly.

  “What do you wanna sing?”

  “You choose?”

  The house phone started ringing.

  “Saved by the bell,” Seamus said. He picked up the phone and left the room, Dee and Michael’s discussion fading out behind him as he shut the door.

  “Hello?”

  “Seamus? It’s Marie.”

  “All right, Marie? How’s it going?”

  “Fine. You know, it’s Christmas Eve, we’re packed out. Listen, I’ve got this fella here looking for your place.”

  “Oh? Who’s that then?”

  “No idea. He’s from America. Are ye expectin’ any more visitors?”

  “Not that I know of. What’s his name? Do you know?”

  “Something…like…I don’t know. Italian sounding, I think. It ended in ‘O’ anyway.”

  “Hm. Don’t know, Marie.”

  “What shall I do with him?

  “Oh, jus’ send him up here.”

  “He could be an axe murderer, for all you know.”

  Seamus laughed. “Aye, but what are the odds, really? I’m sure between the eight of us we could see him off if need be.”

  “So long as they’re not all as drunk as you, Seamus Mal—”

  “Ahem.”

  Now Marie laughed. Seamus knew she only used his middle name to wind him up.

  “On yer own head be it,” she said, and on those words, she ended the call.

  Seamus frowned and returned to the living room, where Michael and Dee were working their way through “O Little Town of Bethlehem” with quite a few parts hummed because they didn’t know the words. They didn’t seem especially familiar with the tune, either.

  Chancey gave Seamus a questioning look. He returned to his previous location—on the sofa, with Chancey’s legs across his lap—and whispered an explanation.

  “Oh, God, I hope it’s not…” Chancey mouthed “Kaylee.”

  “It was a man. I suppose it could’ve been Isaac and she was waiting in the car?”

  Chancey closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Sorry, Chance. I didn’t think.”

  “Not your fault.”

  The singing continued, and all the while, Seamus and Chancey kept an eye out for the arrival of the mystery American guest, by now both convinced it was Kaylee and Isaac—her manager/ex-husband. Chancey’s ex-wife was impulsive, and it was exactly the sort of stunt she’d pull.

  Headlights flashed across the window. Chancey moved so Seamus could get up, and then followed him out of the room. Seamus opened the front door, squinting through the darkness. The taxi’s engine rumbled as man stepped out of the back.

  “Not Isaac,” Chancey muttered.

  Seamus frowned.

  The man approached and smiled. “Good evening. Are you Seamus Williams?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “Oh, great. I wasn’t sure if this was the right place.” The man held out his hand. “Paulo Fernández. I’m…a friend of Harrison and Pru. I, er, well…You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through looking for them.”

  “OK.” Seamus looked to Chancey, who shrugged, and then back at the stranger on his doorstep. “You’d better come in, I guess.”
r />   “Thanks.” Paulo took a breath, seemingly to steady himself, and stepped inside, rubbing his hands together.

  “So, were you in the area, then?”

  “Sure.” Paulo’s smile was disarming. “By way of Miami and Midday and Pittsburgh.” Paulo paused and scooped his thick black hair back from his face, revealing dark eyes and a stubbled, square chin. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know this is awkward, and maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I just need a moment with Harrison. Then I can go. I’ll, er… Is there a hotel somewhere nearby?”

  “In the town centre, aye. But you’re here now, and you might not get a bed for the night.” Seamus started chuckling. “Just like Joseph and Mary—there isn’t any room and you can’t stay here—well, you can stay here. We’ve got loads of space, so that not a problem…”

  “Shay,” Chancey said in a warning tone.

  “Sorry. I’m rambling. Come and say hello to your friends, have a wee drink, and then decide what you want to do.”

  Neither Chancey nor Seamus had ever seen a man look so relieved. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, I think.” Seamus was too inebriated to make much sense of the situation. “We’re all in here,” he said, opening the living room door and beckoning their guest inside. For a moment, Michael and Dee continued singing—or la-la-ing an unidentifiable tune—and stopped like a needle slipping across a record when Paulo entered the room.

  “Hey,” Paulo greeted everyone at once with a brief wave of the hand, his eyes never leaving Harrison.

  Harrison stood, and his glass of sherry slipped to the floor.

  Chapter Eleven:

  The Surprise

  “I’m way too drunk to clean that up,” Aidan lamented solemnly, his eyes fixed on the shattered glass.

  His husband kissed him on the cheek and said, “I know you are, love. We are all. That’s why we have a designated cleaner. Sober enough to get our spills.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.” Dee sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. As she jumped up and headed for the kitchen to get something to mop up the sherry, she pointed at Paulo and said, “You. Gay or straight?”

  Paulo chuckled and said. “Gay.”

  She was just to the doorway when she caught his reply and shouted, “Goddammit! Why don’t we know any straight people, Daddy?”

  “Deidra!”

  Harrison was aware all of this was happening around him, though his eyes hadn’t moved from Paulo. Almost two years older, he was as familiar and beautiful as the art Harrison liked to visit at the Carnegie Museum of Art every fall.

  He blinked, letting his eyes trace Paulo’s face, the angles of his jaw, his stubble thicker than usual, though not quite a beard. He looked tired, but his eyes were still bright.

  “What…are you doing here?”

  Had words left his mouth? It was so loud, and everyone was bustling, drinking, no one seemed to know exactly what was happening in that moment except for Pru, who stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. That light touch broke his trance and he turned, looking at her.

  “I gave him the address,” she murmured in his ear. Her breath was warm and thick with alcohol.

  “But Pru?”

  But Pru what? What was he protesting?

  Dee was at his feet cleaning up the mess he’d made when he’d dropped his glass. She glanced up at him and made a goofy face, before going back to the dust pan.

  “I’m here for you, Ari.”

  If he’d still been holding his drink, it might have slipped through his fingers all over again. Something had happened to Harrison since the party; understanding? Resignation? He’d truly believed he would never see Paulo again, and all week he’d held his heart in one hand and a needle and thread in the other, making sloppy stitches. It was an awful sort of healing, half rational, half desperate, and none of it very successful.

  False acceptance.

  Everything is fine. No more Paulo. I pushed him away and he…went. And that’s OK. I’m OK.

  Then why did that proverbial needle and thread shake so badly in his hand?

  He could remember flashes of the first night he took Paulo home. That made it sound so simple, like something Harrison had done every weekend. Go out to parties, dance wildly, grab some random guy, and bring him home. But the night of Harrison’s twenty-first birthday was the first time he’d ever invited anyone home. And the last time. He didn’t remember much about that night after stumbling through his apartment door, but he definitely remembered opening his eyes to the blurry figure in his bed the next morning. It didn’t scare Harrison, seeing him there. He’d just reached out and touched the face of the stranger in his bed and shivered as the man turned slightly and kissed his palm.

  “You might be even more lovely in the daylight,” the stranger murmured. Harrison liked his voice, and he smiled, melting into the sound of it. The rich colors of autumn, the hint of an accent, the charm.

  “I don’t remember your name,” Harrison lamented.

  “Paulo Fernández.”

  “I’m Harrison.”

  “Harrison… Ari.”

  Harrison had been about to protest when he realized it was meant to be a nickname. Harrison had been called “Harry,” “Harris,” and Pru always called him “H,” but he’d never been Ari before.

  He smiled, loving it.

  “What would you think if I pulled you close, Ari?”

  Twenty-one-year-old Harrison was not a speechless sort of guy. He was a chatterbug, at ease with conversation of any sort. Talking with others had always come naturally to him. Even with the whirl and rush of his jumbled memories from the night before, he recalled breezy conversation passing between him and Paulo. He remembered flirting. Paulo had made him laugh. There was something about Paulo’s obsession with manatees.

  “If I could keep one as a pet, I would,” he’d insisted the night before, which was somehow irresistibly cute coming from the mouth of the chiseled Latino.

  But lying in bed together? What would you think if I pulled you close…floating in the air like dust motes in the light? Harrison couldn’t form words.

  So instead, he’d licked his dry lips and quietly moved across his cool mattress. He could guess what they’d done together the night before, though he was still wearing his underwear. As he reached Paulo and pressed against him, Harrison smiled.

  “Good answer.” Paulo had kissed him very gently.

  Everyone except Pru said they moved in together too quickly—especially Jill. Sure, she’d tied on a bandana, cleaned their new place, and helped him lug furniture, but not without the occasional, I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry.

  The truth was, Harrison didn’t have a damn idea what he was doing when he was twenty-one, and he didn’t care. He was young, he was infatuated, hell, he’d given his virginity away to a stranger he met at a foam party! Or rather…he hadn’t, he came to find later. Paulo had been gentlemanly that night. But in their first early dawn together, pressed against one another in Harrison’s hotel room, the feel of the cool sheets against his back, Harrison and Paulo made love.

  So, no, Harrison Miller wasn’t acting like himself—and he was more than all right with it.

  “Lemme make my own mistakes, sis,” he’d told Jill. He’d received dagger eyes for his trouble.

  Looking back on it, maybe it was a mistake, but never one Harrison regretted. He and Paulo bickered sometimes, but they always made up. Along the way they learned to like each other for more than what happened in the bedroom. They learned to enjoy making dinner together, holding hands, snuggling while watching a movie—intimacy and closeness. Harrison remembered the moment he fell in love with Paulo.

  His boyfriend was wiping down the counters in the kitchen, but dancing while he did it—an adorable booty shake—and when he got “caught” in the act, he danced over to Harrison, completely unashamed, and pulled him close. They danced and cleaned that night, and Harrison fell insanely in love.

  He told Paulo so, when they we
re wrapped up in each other’s arms, but not without some hesitation. They’d been together for months, but what if Paulo had no interest in love? What if saying that word made Harrison seem needy or clingy? What if…Paulo’s smile bloomed, and he gently pulled the glasses off Harrison’s face?

  “Took you long enough,” Paulo murmured.

  “Long!” Harrison protested as Paulo placed gentle, heart-melting kisses on his face. “Nothing long about it! When did you fall in love with me?”

  Oh. He had not meant to assume that.

  But like the confession, the question was perfect, because Paulo said, “The moment I first saw you.”

  <<< >>>

  Someone must have suggested Paulo sit, because he was sitting, and Harrison was sitting too. Not together, but they were both planted. Paulo had taken a seat at the hearth, Harrison was in front of the love seat Michael and Pru shared. It’s where he’d been sipping sherry before. He could really use another glass. Or no more glasses. He either needed to slip further down into drunkenness or sober up quick. His buzzing head and thudding heart and warm cheeks weren’t helping anyone.

  He should say something.

  What should he say?

  I’m glad you’re here, Paulo.

  I’ve missed you.

  I love you more than I’ve loved anything before, and all I am is this horrible broken heart without you.

  But the Williams Brothers and their husbands seemed to have conversation-making well in hand, and even though Paulo stole glances at Harrison every once in a while, he was irresistibly charming as he kept pace with their drunken questions.

  “Yer a friend of young Harry’s then?”

  “Yes,” Paulo said. “As well as Pru.”

  He felt Pru shift behind his shoulder, her bare toe just grazing his neck.

  “And you flew halfway across the world to—?”

  “See Ari. I missed my opportunity a week ago, and it couldn’t wait.”

  “Sounds like love,” Chancey drew.

  Dee had plopped herself down in her father’s lap like she was five, not fourteen, and she joined in the conversation. “I dunno.” She had a wicked grin that Harrison had learned in the single day he’d known the teenager, meant just about anything was about to come out of her mouth. “He could have traveled all this way just to tell Harry, I’m not into you anymore! That would be the worst romance novel ever.”