by Jodi Payne
He followed Colt toward the kitchen, though a lot more slowly. “This is a lovely surprise. Did you know when we talked before the show that you’d be here tonight?”
“I hoped. I didn’t want to disappoint you if I was wrong.” Colt came back to him, helped him sit down. “What you want to drink?”
“Just water is fine. Thank you.” He watched Colt move around his kitchen, smiling slightly just because he liked it so much. He’d been thinking about this moment for a couple of days, but he didn’t know Colt would be here so soon, and he hadn’t decided how he needed to handle it. The only thing he knew for sure is he’d done a lot of talking and not enough listening. “Pizza smells so good.”
“It does. It’s good here.” Colt got his foot propped up, got him a plate and a glass of water.
“I’m okay. You don’t have to fuss over me. You’ve had such a long drive. You must be tired. Sit and eat something. Grab a beer if you want one. Come tell me about home.”
“I am. Eat your pizza.” Colt leaned against the counter, watching him. “It was weird, being home. I did a lot of busking in Houston, Shreveport, N’awlins.”
“You enjoy that? Busking?” He absolutely refused to read too much into Colt’s careful distance. The man was here, right? He’d let it be on Colt’s terms. He picked up his pizza and took a bite, the pepperoni rich and spicy on his tongue. “Mmm. So good. Thanks for bringing this.”
“Sometimes? Every so often it’s good to play for tips, just so you remember how. I like to watch you eat.” Colt grinned suddenly. “I swear to God, cher. My ass hurts so damn bad. I never want to sit down again.”
That made him laugh, grinning right back. Of course that’s why Colt was standing. God, he was such an idiot. He tried to just stay in the moment. “Right? I know just how you feel.” He’d been sitting on his ass for two weeks except for a few numbers a night. “I can’t believe you bought a Mustang.” Like, really couldn’t believe it. He didn’t understand Colt’s finances at all, but he obviously was doing better than he let on. “So were you able to record anything with Norv and Ryder or…?”
Colt shook his head. “I stayed a couple of days. Then I hitched to Houston. I needed to be out of my head, you know? I needed to drive with the Devil a while. The Mustang was at the right place, so I grabbed it. It’s a blast to drive.”
He nodded. He did know. He hadn’t been able to make it through one show. He let himself dance in a bad state of mind. His concentration was off, he wasn’t focused, and he got injured. Totally his own damn fault.
“I’m sorry.” He put his pizza down. That came out because it needed to be said, but it wasn’t enough. “For not trusting you could handle things, deal with your own shit. For not giving you enough credit.”
“I’ll take that.” Colt came to him, close enough to touch his hand. “I don’t need a boss or a daddy. I…. Next time, if you think I can’t do something, talk with me. I ain’t book learned like you, cher, but I ain’t too stupid to live.”
“Too stupid? Oh, baby. I was honestly trying to help. You were so tired, and you were trying to be everything for everybody all at once, and I thought your energy was better spent on what you do best, instead of on a theater show that was going to tie you down seven nights a week. I was wrong. That was your decision to make, not mine. But I never once thought you were stupid. Jesus, Colt. You’re brilliant. You don’t have anything to prove to me, or to anyone. You shine so bright, it’s blinding sometimes. I am so incredibly proud of you.”
“It was being with you, making music with you.” Colt stepped closer to him, and Kyle grabbed his lover, reeled him in. “Well, hello, cher. Don’t let me hurt you.”
“That’s the magic, right? Making music together? That’s what we need to find again.” He let that hang between them a minute and then grinned slightly. “And I want to tell you one more thing.” He hooked a hand behind Colt’s neck and pulled his Cajun even closer. “I don’t care who you think wants me. I don’t care if you’re right. I want you.”
Colt rested their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “I could set my burdens down here, with you.”
Yes. Yes, please. “I’ll take yours if you’ll take mine.” He brushed his lips against Colt’s. “May I kiss you?”
Colt laughed for him, the sound merry, warm. “You’d better. I need it like breathing.”
“More important than breathing.” He took a light kiss, and then another, just for a taste and maybe for the sake of being polite, but that didn’t last long. He felt Colt’s hot breath and took advantage of Colt opening for him, claiming more of what he really wanted. Colt’s hands were heavy on his thighs, the kiss going molten, his Cajun holding nothing from him.
He leaned back in his chair, twisted his fingers into Colt’s T-shirt, and tangled his good leg around Colt’s thigh. Being stuck in this chair was bullshit. If he had two good feet, he’d have Colt on his kitchen table or up against the wall in the foyer by now. He groaned, kind of loving the tease of that image. “Colt.”
“Need you, cher. Can we? I need… fuck!”
Didn’t that feel good? Knowing Colt was right there with him.
“Fuck, yeah. We… ah, shit.” He shoved the heel of his hand against the base of his cock through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. “Christ. We totally can if….” He wrapped a hand under Colt’s bicep. “Not in this goddamn chair.”
“No. I won’t risk you. Bed? Sofa? Where do you want to be?”
“Bed. If I can dance on it, baby, I can walk ten feet.” Okay, it was a little more than ten feet and up the stairs, but… semantics. And the little twinge in his foot that cut through the pain meds was worth it. He could stay in bed all damn day tomorrow, Colt along with him.
Colt looked apprehensive, but once he was up, it was all good. He threw an arm over his lover’s shoulders and found a grin somewhere. “See? You’re the perfect height.”
“Good. I’m gon’ get you upstairs. Then I got to get my guitar and all from the car, just real quick.”
He nodded. “Yeah. That’ll cool us off a minute.” It would cool Colt off for sure. It was something like twenty-five degrees out. “Take my coat.”
“I’ll be quick as a bunny. I swear.”
He was laughing before Colt got his butt down on the end of the bed. “Go on. Tell me you packed some patience in your suitcase? I could use some with the heat you’re giving off.”
“I packed olive salad, pralines, and chicory coffee from the Café du Monde.” Colt kissed him again, hard and fast.
He grinned and slapped Colt on the ass. “Kiss me again and your shit is staying in the car, baby. You better run.”
“I did miss your smile, cher.” Colt disappeared in a rush, leaving the echo of his laugh behind him.
He flopped on the bed, smiling at the ceiling. Something brought his music man back. There was no question Colt wanted to be there with him. Really with him. Whatever they still had to work through, they would. They had this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
COLT SLEPT some, but his days and nights were broken, so he ended up eating cold pizza and slipping into Kyle’s kitchen to play at the crack of dawn.
He started with the blues, but as the sun began to fill the air with light, the Christmas carols wanted out, so he let them come. The good Lord wanted what He wanted, and this morning He wanted Colt to give praise.
Colt needed to call Timmy, the guys, let them know where he was and that he was… trying. Kyle had said his sorries, and he’d said his piece. He knew he ought to apologize too, but he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. He needed to think on that.
What should he have done? Should he have told Kyle to fuck off about the show? Should he have never said yes?
Colt wanted to say yes. He liked for things to be easy. Everything was always so damn hard, all the time. For once, things were going good, but they weren’t at the same time.
The only good thing he had was this gift that God had blessed him with, this magi
c. There wasn’t a single other thing about him that was real or right. Kyle saw that, got it. Hell, without the music, even Kyle knew he wasn’t anything.
Except God had blessed him. For whatever reason, this was his, and there was joy in it. All the way.
Maybe it wasn’t none of his—why things were the way they were. Maybe he just needed to play his music, love his man, and be thankful for it.
“Venite adoramus….” He heard Kyle singing long before his lover made an appearance in the kitchen. In fact, the chorus was over, and he was on to the last verse before Kyle hobbled in, wearing green leggings, a big red flannel shirt, a Santa hat and a big black boot-contraption on his foot.
Kyle stuck a matching hat on his head and pulled up a chair, still singing with a big Merry Christmas grin.
“Mornin’, cher. How goes?” That smile damn near lit the room.
“Merry Christmas!” Kyle kissed him right over top of his guitar before taking a load off. “Let me see. It’s Christmas Day, the sun is out, you’re here, and I woke up to the sound of your guitar in my kitchen. It really can’t go any better.”
“When I make you pancakes and bacon, then that will be better.” Their supper ought to come tonight. “You okay with me inviting Timmy to supper? He ain’t got no one.”
“Mmm. Bacon sounds like nirvana. And Timmy’s welcome anytime. He’s so sweet. He needs a someone.”
“He does.” He put his guitar away, grabbed his phone to text Timmy, and then started the bacon, stealing kisses between each thing.
“I’m sorry this place is so unfestive. I mean apart from your beautiful tree. I couldn’t deal with all the hobbling around to decorate. The doc wanted me off my feet except for the show.”
“It’s just fine. I got supper coming, we got Timmy, and we’re together. That’s festive.”
“It is.”
Every time he looked over, Kyle’s eyes were on him, following him, watching.
“You happy, cher?” He hoped so. He wanted them to be.
“Yeah. I’ve been a little… off. No, that’s not even fair. I’ve been very off since Thanksgiving. I knew I missed you. I was telling myself I’d get over it, but I knew I wouldn’t. Having to cancel my exhibition felt like karma. I had a lot of time to think about how if I were you, I probably wouldn’t come back, so I didn’t feel like I should call. I don’t know. It’s been a bad few weeks. Today, I’m beyond happy. I’m just trying to appreciate it.”
“I wanted to be a part of your show. Bad.” He kept his eyes on the bacon. “I want to be good enough for you to dance to. I really thought I was; then I didn’t. Now, I think I should have told you that you were wrong and I could do it, even if I had to lose some gigs at the studio.”
Norv and Ryder? They were his big money, so they would have worked, but he could have said no to Timmy. Timmy would have heard him.
Arms slipped around him from behind. He hadn’t even heard Kyle get up. “There’s a space we lived in for a while where we just trusted. It’s like you said, my body, your guitar, they always tell the truth. I’m hopeful we can find that again. And then we have to extend that trust to everything else.”
His lover took a deep breath and hugged him close. “God, Colt. You’re so much more than good enough. I try so hard to do your music justice when I dance.”
Colt leaned back into Kyle’s arms. He wasn’t sure if he understood, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t, really. What he did know was music—Kyle’s music, his music—and when that got caught up, so did everything else.
“I love you. And this feels right. That’s all I know for sure right now, but it’s making me happy. Oh! That, and I have presents for you.”
“You do?” He had one for Kyle too, a mask from home—there was a man painted on the white emptiness, a dancer arching over the eye socket.
“I do. Bought them on hope. Turned out to be a good call.” Kyle kissed his neck and let him go, heading for the coffeepot.
“You sit, cher. Rest that foot. I’ll fix you up.”
Kyle looked at him and then went back to his seat. “I’ll let you do that today, but I’m not dancing right now. I can walk. And while I can, tonight after dinner we should go see things. Skating and the big tree.”
“So long as you don’t hurt. You’d pet me, if I was sore, huh? I know that. I seen it with your dancers.”
Kyle waggled long fingers at him. “I would. I do try. You like my hand massages.”
“Love.” Hell, they were magic all on their own. “You want eggs?”
“Not if you’re really making pancakes.” Kyle sipped his coffee.
“I’m really making pancakes. Spoiled man.”
“So spoiled. So lucky. Did you have good Christmases, growing up?”
Colt shrugged. “I guess. Some. I left home at fifteen, so….”
He’d had some fun ones as a grown-up, that was for sure.
“Yeah, me too. Some. I was just thinking this is already one of the better ones. It’s not snowing, though. I wish it was snowing.”
“Maybe it’s waiting. It’s sure fixin’ to come up a cloud.” He started his pancake batter, humming gently.
“I’ll take a sniff outside next time I get up.”
The kitchen went quiet for a bit, and Kyle sipped his coffee. He sang while he worked, going through “Silent Night” and “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” “Blue Christmas,” and “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” When Kyle jumped in with a slightly jazzy version of “The Christmas Song” and forgot the words, he picked those up easily enough too.
And then it was piles of pancakes and bacon and Kyle telling him stories about why he should never, ever go ice skating.
“It’s fun to watch, though. I mean, if you want to try, you go right ahead, but I’m a complete disaster.” Kyle stuffed in another bite of pancake. He’d figured Kyle was up to six or seven and wondered where his lover was putting them all. “And don’t tell me that just because I’m a dancer I should be good at ice skating. I wonder if Timmy skates?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.” He didn’t think he would be good at that, and ice was slickery and hard.
“These are really good, baby. I haven’t had pancakes in forever.” Kyle picked up a piece of bacon and offered him a bite. “What’s your tradition? Midday dinner, food coma, and then a late-night snack? Or do you like dinner at dinnertime?”
“They gon’ bring supper at three. You watch football?” He didn’t care one way or the other. He sort of loved all the Christmas cartoons.
“That is amazing. You are amazing. Thank you again.” Kyle grinned and slid a hand under his and tickled his palm. “Nah. The Grinch doesn’t play football. Oh, but if that’s what you and Timmy want to do, that’s okay.”
“I like The Grinch, a lot. And Charlie Brown and the Prep & Landing one too.”
“Frosty. Oh, and The Island of Misfit Toys. The Year Without a Santa Claus.” Kyle chewed bacon, grinning like a kid. “I guess I know what we’re doing.”
“You and me and Timmy, snacks and blankets and cartoons.” He bounced on his toes, tickled as a pig in shit. “Hell yeah.”
He pushed over, stealing him a hard kiss.
Kyle made a startled sound and grabbed on to him, but settled right down, letting him have it all. Mmm… salty and sweet and….
“Merry Christmas, cher.”
“Merry Christmas, baby.” Kyle’s eyes flashed. “Presents?”
“I have one for you, yes. I brought it from home.”
“Aw. Thank you.” Kyle kissed his cheek and pushed him back lightly, trying to get up. “Yours are under the tree.”
“Well, thank you. Come on. I’ll help you get to the sofa.”
“Walking boot,” Kyle reminded him but took his arm anyway and smiled. “I’m not helpless, but the help still makes me feel special.”
“I just hate knowing you’re hurting.” And he loved touching, loved having Kyle close. The last few weeks had been so soul sore.
“It’
s not that bad. Actually, in the boot it feels pretty good. I just overdid it at the show last night. I think I was pushing because I don’t know when I’ll dance again and….” Kyle sighed and coughed gently. “Hey, I forgot to bring my coffee, would you grab it for me?”
“I will, and you’ll dance again soon. ’Til then, you’ll choreograph. Hell, we’ll go do things that ain’t music or sex.” He winked at Kyle, both of them cracking up.
When he got back, Kyle was on the couch with plenty of room beside him, the tree was all lit up, and Nat King Cole was on the stereo.
Merry Christmas to him. He grinned and went to snuggle, Kyle folding him right in. They sat there for a bit, just being close, Kyle all excited and smiling and telling him all about the people who had come to deliver the tree.
He opened a couple of large, brightly wrapped boxes that were under the tree for him, finding a warm coat, a hat, and a pair of thick-soled winter boots to keep his Cajun toes warm. Kyle really had been hoping he’d be back. Those were good city-walking boots.
“It gets so cold, cher?”
“Mm-hm. The wind is evil. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” Kyle pointed. “That flat box is from Timmy. He was so cute when he gave me the box last night. He said you told him you needed what’s in it.”
“Must be gloves.” He’d found Timmy a great glass pipe. It was a beauty. “My hands get freezy.”
He handed Kyle the mask. “For you.”
Kyle held it up and admired it, ran a finger over the little dancer with a smile. “This is so sweet. I love it. I’m going to put it in my studio. Is there a story? Did you get it somewhere amazing?”
“There’s a shop in the Quarter. They sell all these masks, and I stopped in and this guy from Italy was there, painting them, just right there.” He’d been missing Kyle like breathing, so he’d sat to watch, telling the guy all about his dancer, how fine he was. At the end, he had a mask. “He did this for you, because you’re….” He didn’t have words, so he shrugged, hands held open. “You’re worth painting.”