by Meg Harding
Chapter One
THE SNOW was coming down in torrents, covering everything in white. Their driveway needed clearing. All their plants surely had to be frozen. Little light up trees and candy canes poked out amongst the snow drifts. Across the street their neighbors’ yard looked almost identical. Their house was covered in lights, what seemed like thousands of them.
Michael was sure his neighbors’ roof could be seen from outer space.
He let the blinds fall shut on his front window and turned to find Buddy, his massive St. Bernard, sitting there staring at him. His tongue lolled from his mouth, and his head tilted to the side curiously. Big brown eyes looked up at Michael all pathetic like.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Go look at your other daddy like that. He’s the reason we won’t be here.”
Buddy kept right on staring.
Sighing, Michael crouched to tousle Buddy’s ears, scratching behind them just like he liked.
“Did you seriously just try to get the dog to guilt me?”
Michael looked up at the sound of his partner’s voice. Ankles crossed, Max leaned in the doorway to the living room, his lips quirked in a half smile and his arms crossed over his chest. Michael frowned at him and looked back to Buddy.
The sound of Max’s footsteps on the tile was soft, barely audible, but Michael knew he was coming closer. His shadow loomed over them as he stopped just behind Buddy.
“Michael,” he said, “You’ve got to stop pouting. We spend every holiday with your family. It’s time we spent one with mine.”
“Your family hates me,” said Michael, leaning forward and kissing Buddy’s nose. Buddy huffed in his face.
“My family does not hate you,” said Max, sounding exasperated.
Michael looked up at him. “Say that with a straight face.”
Max pulled a face. “Why do you think they hate you?”
“You know why.”
“Michael.”
He sat himself on the floor, wrapping his arms around Buddy, and looked up at Max from over Buddy’s shoulder. “I made you move away from them, and then when we did go visit, I crashed your father’s car. And that was after I broke your mom’s favorite china. Oh! You can’t have forgotten the first time I met them? When the bag broke and the vibrator fell out?”
Max rubbed over his face. “So,” he said, “we may not have the best track record, but we can fix that. They don’t hate you; they just don’t know you.” Michael frowned, and Max gestured wide with his arms. “Are you saying you don’t want to spend Christmas together? I can fly to London myself, and you can stay here?”
Michael buried his face in Buddy’s fur. “I’m not saying that.” He turned just enough so his words weren’t as muffled. “I’m saying if something bad happens, I told you so.”
Max sat next to him and ran his hand through Michael’s shaggy red hair. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We’re going to have a lovely Christmas in London, and then we’ll come back here and we’ll have a lovely second Christmas in Toronto with your parents. Everybody’s happy.”
Buddy pulled away and moved to sprawl out in front of the unlit fireplace. Max moved into his place and sat facing Michael. He leaned forward and kissed Michael’s nose, then his mouth, then his nose again. He went back and forth ’til Michael stopped him, capturing Max’s lips with his own.
“Fine,” he muttered into Max’s mouth, “everybody’s happy.”
When Max pulled back from the kiss, he was beaming, his lips plumper and his cheeks nice and rosy. Michael leaned in for more, but Max pushed him back. “We’ve got to get going,” he said, starting to stand. “We need to drop Buddy off with your parents now, or we’ll never make the flight.”
Michael groaned, theatrically throwing himself onto his back and covering his eyes. Max prodded at him with toes in his side. “Up, up,” he urged. He didn’t stop until Michael had gotten himself upright and moving to where their suitcases were stacked by the door.
“Did you pack your phone charger?” Max called, chasing Buddy around with his leash. The dog wasn’t having it.
“I think so.” He bent and rummaged through his bag just in case. The phone charger was nowhere to be found. He backtracked to his bedroom to find it lying right on the end of the bed. Shaking his head he retrieved it and headed back to the door where Max was waiting for him with a very sad looking Buddy. “I feel you, man,” he said, rubbing the top of his dog’s head.
Max glared at him, and Michael held up his hands apologetically. “I’m done,” he said, “I’m done.”
Getting from the door to the car was a bit of a challenge. Michael had the bags, Max had the dog, and really it should have all been simple. But Buddy hated cars, and he was a large dog.
He was tugging on his leash, trying to pull away from the car. When that didn’t work, he tried to run circles around Max, who was forced to repeatedly step over and around the leash, like he was doing a dance.
Michael went back for Buddy’s bag filled with his dog food and his bowls and his favorite toys. Buddy started howling. Michael loaded them into the car, cutting a wide berth around Buddy.
His teeth chattered, and he contemplated going in and getting another jacket to wear under his parka. Maybe he should have packed a sweatshirt for Buddy too.
He watched, very amused, as Max dug his heels into the snow and pulled with all his might. Buddy didn’t budge. His legs were buried several inches deep in the snow, his fur already starting to curl from the flakes landing in his hair. He kept shaking them off, his great big floppy ears flailing around his head.
Max was swearing at him now, not amused by the display and quickly growing frustrated. “Michael,” he finally snapped, “get your ass over here and make him move.”
Digging around in Buddy’s bag, Michael pulled out a handful of treats and pushed Max aside. He waved the treats in front of Buddy’s snout. “You want these, boy?” he crooned. Buddy inched closer, and Michael inched back. He dropped a treat in the snow and Buddy scooped it up.
He repeated this all the way to the car, placing the last treat on the backseat and smiling smugly when Buddy hopped right on up. Max tossed his leash in after him and shut the door. He held a finger up in front of Michael’s face. “Not one word.”
Michael shrugged and dropped into the passenger seat, buckling himself in to wait.
It took all of three minutes on the road before Buddy pressed his snout to the window and proceeded to drool all over Max’s freshly cleaned car. Michael watched as the slobber dripped down.
He watched as Max flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror and his entire face scrunched up in disgust.
“I can’t roll the window down. It’s too cold,” he said. He acted like he was talking to Michael, but Michael knew he was really trying to convince himself a little drool was better than freezing to death.
Another ten minutes into the drive, Buddy had gotten tired of the window and was leaning over the back of Max’s seat, his muzzle on Max’s shoulder. Max turned his head just slightly and kissed what he could reach of Buddy’s face. “You’re such a baby,” he said. “Go bother Michael.”
Buddy didn’t budge. Max sighed and let him drool on his shoulder for the rest of the drive.
Michael had tried to get his parents to protest his not being there on Christmas day, but they had refused. They thought it was about time the two of them spent Christmas with Max’s parents.
He gave it one last go as they dropped Buddy off. He widened his eyes and clung tight to his mother. “It’ll be so different. What will you do?” he asked her.
He could hear his father and Max snorting behind him. His mother ran her hand over his back and patted him. “We’ll manage,” she assured him. “We
’ve got your siblings, after all.”
Max sounded like he was howling, he was laughing so hard. Michael pulled away from his mom to glare at his partner. “Really?”
His mother steered him around Max and toward the car. “Says the man currently trying to get out of seeing his in-laws. Buckle up; it’ll all be fine.” She practically shoved him down onto his seat.
She patted his cheek once and then shut the door in his face. Max gave her a big hug and kissed her cheek, then he too was sliding into the car and they were pulling away. He rested his hand on Michael’s thigh and squeezed. “Get over yourself,” he said.
Michael rolled his head to the side to stare at him. “That’s your idea of a pep talk?”
“I’m not having this discussion. My family isn’t evil. They’re not to be feared.”
Holding his hands up in supplication, Michael went back to looking out the window, watching the sea of snow fly by.
LONDON WAS rainy. Little droplets streaked the windows of the plane as they started to make their descent. Michael stared down at all the lights and tried to keep his stomach in place as the plane eased its way down. Max held his hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it.
It was as much for his own comfort as it was for Michael’s. Max had a fear of heights that kept him from going on roller coasters and had him avoiding looking over railings, while Michael had a major case of motion sickness.
Michael liked to watch the ground grow closer; the buildings took clear shape as the plane landed. Max hated having the window open. He kept his head turned to face the aisle the entire time.
He could feel the bones grinding in his hand as Max squeezed.
The plane touched down on the runway with the characteristic bump, bump, and Max breathed a sigh of relief. Michael clapped a hand over his mouth and tilted his head back as his stomach gave a mighty jerk.
“We’ll see about getting you a patch for the flight back,” Max said, brushing hair back from Michael’s face. “You’re all sweaty.” He pulled his sleeve down over the palm of his hand and ran it over Michael’s temples.
He left Michael sitting there, while he grabbed their luggage from the overhead. “Come on,” he said, “You’ll feel better once you can walk it off.” He pushed one suitcase in front of him and pulled the other behind, while Michael wobbled after him, holding their packs.
People moved out of his way, giving him plenty of space, so he must not have looked so hot.
“Is it that bad?” he asked Max.
Max turned to look back at him as they crossed the ramp bridging the plane to the airport. “It’s not great,” he said. “Do you feel better at least?”
“No,” Michael said. It felt like the ground was rolling beneath his feet.
“Bathroom’s over there.” Max pointed to the left. “Give me the bags, and I’ll wait for you. Try splashing your face some.”
Michael handed over the bags and made his way into the handicap stall of the restroom. He took Max’s advice and splashed his face with the water, staring at his sallow complexion. He looked like he had just woken up from an all-night bender. He had bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were a bright red, accentuated by the paleness of the rest of his face. His lips were swollen and red from where he’d been biting them, and his pupils were dilated so much the black pretty much hid the blue.
His hair was sweaty and sticking to his face, curling up from all the moisture.
Not his best look by a long shot.
He took several deep breaths, hunched over as he was. Nothing came up. He gave it a couple more minutes to make sure his stomach wasn’t going to revolt. Still nothing.
He dried off his face and headed back to Max, who’d taken a seat in one of the waiting chairs, their luggage all around him, as he texted on his phone.
“All good?” he asked as Michael stopped in front of him.
“As good as it’s getting.” His stomach still turned, but he figured that would stop after a few more minutes. “Could we stop for food on the way to your parents?”
Max stood, giving Michael his suitcase and keeping everything else. “Of course. My parents are waiting for us already. I’ll ask them to stop as soon as possible. Unless you want airport food?”
Michael shook his head. “No, I can wait.” He didn’t want to leave Max’s parents standing around longer than they had to be. Politeness was key here.
The airport was crowded, and people kept jostling into them as they made their way to the pickup zone. Michael almost took out a small child as it darted in front of him, arms flailing and little bag dragging on the floor. The child’s mother hurried after, shouting apologies and the child’s name.
Michael’s head throbbed, and he couldn’t wait to collapse on a nice cool bed and just sleep off the plane ride. Max bumped his shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you get a shower, yeah? I’ll even wash your hair for you.” He smiled, all impish and dimply.
It would have been a lie to say the offer didn’t perk Michael up just a bit. He smiled back. “I’m holding you to that.”
Mrs. and Mr. Stewart were waiting ahead of them, gradually coming into sight as Max and Michael got closer. Michael could see Mr. Stewart’s head peaking over everyone else’s as he leaned against his car.
Michael squinted. “Is that—?”
Max put a hand in the small of Michael’s back and rubbed for just a second. “He got a new car awhile back. Said it was time for an upgrade.”
He carefully didn’t say his dad had upgraded because Michael had dented his Beamer.
As they got closer, Michael could fully see the car, and his eyes almost popped from his head. It was a sleek silver Jaguar XF. “Oh my god,” he said. Max nudged him. He shot Max a glare; he wasn’t going to make the mistake of asking to drive this one.
Mrs. Stewart beamed when she saw Max and hustled over to him, throwing her arms around him and pressing kisses to his cheek. “Oh, I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you could make it out this year!”
Max let go of his suitcase to wrap his arms around her in return. He lifted her off the ground as he hugged her. “Mum,” he said, “it’s great to see you.” When he set her back down, she stepped away with a wide smile on her face and set about straightening her designer pantsuit.
Her smile for Michael was smaller, more contained. “Michael,” she said, bussing his cheeks. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“It’s lovely to see you as well, Mrs. Stewart. How have you been?”
She waved her hand around and said, “Oh you know.” He smiled and nodded, as if he did indeed know.
Mr. Stewart was hugging his son, clapping him on the back of his shoulder and pulling back to shake his hand. “Max,” he was saying, “Good to see you.” He turned to Michael and held out his hand. “Michael.” Michael shook his hand and tried to smile pleasantly.
He was pretty sure it came out more of a grimace. “Mr. Stewart.”
There was awkward silence. Michael fidgeted. Max wrapped an arm around his waist.
“How was the flight?” Max’s mother finally asked.
Next to Michael, Max released a low breath, smiling at his mom. “It was good, not that rough. Long.” He chuckled.
His dad motioned to their luggage. “Let’s get that put away and we’ll head out.” He reached for both their suitcases and went to put them into the trunk himself. Michael made to protest, but Max squeezed his side in a clear message to let his father do it.
“We need to stop for food on the way, Dad. Michael needs to eat.”
Michael could feel his cheeks heating as Mr. Stewart turned to look at him. “That can be arranged,” he said after a moment.
“Thank you, Sir,” said Michael.
He watched as Mrs. Stewart’s lips twitched a little, and he could sense Max rolling his eyes beside him.
As they slid into the car, Max whispered to him, “He’s not a drill sergeant. Loosen up.”
“Easy for you to say,” Michael muttered back
. Both of Max’s parents were lawyers. The best in their fields. His mother was a criminal prosecutor, and his father owned his own corporate law firm. To say they were intimidating was an understatement.
He listened to the small talk as Mr. Stewart started the car and pulled out. He was an aggressive driver, very jerky and fast, as he weaved in and out of traffic.
Michael clutched Max’s hand where it rested on the seat between them. He closed his eyes, feeling his stomach lurch. No, no, no.
Max said, “Oh no.”
Michael’s stomach said, “Oh yes.”
Chapter Two
THE DOOR whispered open and then clicked closed. Soft footsteps made their way across the room, and a warm hand came to rest on the small of his back. Michael didn’t look up, keeping his palms firmly over his eyes. A hand rubbed his back, little tiny circles going clockwise.
After a few minutes, the hand moved to cup the back of his neck, squeezing lightly, just the barest hint of pressure. The body next to his shifted, brushing along his side as the tap was turned with a squeak and the sound of running water filled the restroom.
Michael’s hands were pried from his eyes, but he kept his lids firmly closed. Cool water splashed his face, fingers running over his forehead in a soft caress. A paper towel was yanked from the holder and patted over his face, soaking up water and sweat. His hair was brushed back from his face, fingers combing through it.
“How do you feel?” Max finally asked, his voice low and soft.
Michael just shook his head.
Hands moved him, pushing him up and back from where he’d been hunched over the sink. He let himself be moved, still keeping his eyes shut tight. He heard shuffling as Max hopped up onto the counter and then he was being pulled back and down, his face coming to rest in the crook of Max’s neck. He nuzzled in, running his nose over Max’s cool skin, inhaling the calming vanilla scent that was Max.
Arms wrapped around him, holding firm, and Max’s chin rested on the top of Michael’s head, a sharp point digging in.
“He’s not mad, you know.”