by Elle Keaton
Chance doubted that, but before he could say anything, Reed added, “I’m staying with my friends who are here tonight. They’re letting me crash on their couch. Maybe my parents will have cooled down before Christmas Day. They didn’t dramatically throw me out, my mom just said maybe it would be better if I wasn’t around for a few days. I don’t even have a boyfriend or anything. I’m just tired of hiding who I am.” Reed hunched into himself. “Really tired.”
Privately, Chance thought that any shite parents who forced their kid out of the only home he’d ever known during a snowstorm, over the holidays, weren’t likely to come to their senses anytime soon. He also sent a thank-you out into the ether that his parents had been the most wonderful, accepting parents a gay boy could have asked for. “Are you at university? Can you work part-time?”
“I’m at the community college. I can totally work.”
Chance considered Reed’s earnest expression. “You can keep up with your studies? I have a feeling John would be upset if working caused you to fall behind. We’re going to need you to repeat what you did tonight: the social media, and also some of the day-to-day cinema business. I don’t even know what that entails. Are you willing to commit to three days a week for now?”
Reed nodded, a big smile breaking across his face. “Absolutely! And I promise not to fall behind.”
“I’ll make sure you get reimbursed. It may come from me for a little while until we get everything in order.” He stuck out a hand, and Reed shook it. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Reed answered.
“You’re okay staying with your friends tonight?”
Reed nodded.
“Noon tomorrow, then?”
Reed agreed and then went back inside the auditorium to watch the end of the movie. Chance returned to John’s office with dual purposes: check on the kitten and plot his romancing of John Hall.
Chapter Seven
The Bailey family celebrated and sang holiday songs, Zuzu placed the ornament on the huge Christmas tree, and Clarence the angel got his wings. All was right again in their world. While the credits rolled, John could hear the patrons chatting and laughing with their companions as they donned their coats and got ready to leave the theater. John knew he should go downstairs and thank everyone for coming. Instead he stayed where he was, contemplating his life. And the stupid letter that was still shoved into his back pocket because he hadn’t bothered to find a clean pair of jeans when he’d finally rolled out of bed.
Showing the movie tonight made everything worse. He was reminded a big part of his life was over: the ability to take people away from their daily lives, the ability to dream about farmers, astronauts, space pirates, aliens—the list was endless.
He’d seen Gloria Browning and Ted Roberts come in together. They were past civic leaders of Skagit and sworn political enemies. Much to the amusement of Skagit citizens, they’d ended up living in the same senior community in their twilight years, and each refused to move to accommodate the other. They bickered and complained about each other all the time, yet they’d been smiling and laughing together as they came inside, differences set aside for the time being.
Kevin and Angel, Reed’s friends, had held hands and snuggled in the dark auditorium. People he didn’t recognize who’d somehow found out that the theater was open and come out in the snow to watch the show looked happy as they gathered up their belongings. Apparent strangers exchanged greetings: “Happy Holidays,” “Merry Christmas,” and even (in mostly white Skagit) a “Happy Kwanzaa.”
The scene was a little overwhelming. Actually, it was a lot overwhelming. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to force his emotions back. The last thing he needed was an emotional breakdown. It was just a theater, a business. Businesses came and went. He could start again.
He was just so tired.
The customers who’d come tonight wouldn’t be enough to pull the theater out of the toilet. That thought was like ice water. John shook his head. He needed to remind himself what was really happening, not fall into dreaming an alternate reality where a miracle occurred and he was able to save the NorthStar. And nab a blistering-hot English guy at the same time, a little voice added.
John very nearly slapped himself in the forehead. He could not go there; he couldn’t even allow himself to think about going there, especially since he’d proved once again that he had terrible taste in men. Rico was only the latest bad choice.
He snorted and stood, quickly turning off all the equipment. He had to go back downstairs sooner rather than later. But . . . he didn’t want to. If he went downstairs, he would have to face the people he would be disappointing in the near future.
“Jesus Christ, John, you’re forty-seven, not twelve. Plaster a smile on your face, get downstairs, and say goodbye to everyone.”
He shut the door behind himself and made his way to the lobby.
* * *
There were still people milling about. Reed was helping Gloria Browning out to the van. Glancing out the doors, John saw the snow had stopped, and the street outside the theater seemed clear enough. The snow would probably all be gone by morning. One of the great disappointments of the Pacific Northwest was the lack of snow in December. In his lifetime he’d experienced maybe three white Christmases. A white Valentine’s Day was a more common occurrence—but one much less appreciated by the populace.
His heart clenched. It was painful to see these people he knew and respected, who he’d had coffee with. Some he’d done business with over the years, gone to parties at their homes. He spotted the hulking form of Buck Swanfeldt with his husband Joey tucked next to him as they exited. He was letting them all down. Everything was too hard.
Spinning on his heel, John turned toward his office. When he opened the door, he realized he’d actually managed to forget about the kitten. It was curled up on his chair but lifted its head when he entered. John picked it up so he could sit. Its little body was warm, and John enjoyed the way it felt in his hands. He made himself comfortable in the chair with the kitten on his lap.
He was looking down at it when the door banged open, startling both of them.
“What?” John snapped, still looking down at the kitten, petting its soft head and loving the way its entire body rumbled with pleasure. He didn’t feel like dealing with Chance. He wanted to pet the kitten and pretend everything was all right in the world.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
John stiffened and slowly lifted his head to stare at his ex-boyfriend. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Baby, is that any way to greet your lover?” Rico swished into the room, stopping in front of the desk, one hand on his hip. John was all too familiar with the pose. How on earth had he ever thought Rico was sexy or suave or anything remotely attractive?
“Get out.” The kitten abruptly stopped purring. John wondered how cats did that.
Rico came further into the room, shutting the door behind him. John instantly felt sweaty and anxious. He’d never wanted to see Rico again, much less be stuck in a small room with him. Taking a breath, John regarded his ex, trying to catalog what it was that had kept them together for more than two years.
Rico spent hours at the gym every day, something John had kind of admired. He certainly didn’t work out like that. John liked to go for long walks in the woods and ride his bike. That was something they’d argued about in the end: Rico had accused John of letting himself go, of getting old.
“What do you want, Rico?” he’d asked. “I’m over forty; I’m getting older every day. It’s not something I can control, and neither can you.”
“You could at least try.”
“Try what? To be something I’m not? I thought you didn’t care, that you loved me for who I am. Because I can tell you, it’s not going to get a lot better than this.”
John blinked away the memory of just one of their many arguments before Rico had taken off—taken everything, including one of the schedulers at hi
s gym.
Rico moved closer, moving aside a stack of papers and an old coffee cup so he could perch on the edge of the desk.
“I thought I told you to get out.”
“No ‘Merry Christmas, Rico, happy holidays’? ‘It’s great to see you, I missed you’?”
His ex frowned. John watched him closely, continuing to wonder what he’d ever seen in him. The lens of betrayal was harsh. Rico wasn’t the golden man/boy any longer. He’d aged in the past few months. There were lines around his eyes, and his darker roots were glaring against the golden blond he normally preferred.
“Why are you here, Rico?” John had another, darker thought. “What are you after?”
“I want you back, John. I made a mistake.”
There was a horrifying millisecond where John felt himself respond, a trickle of “Yes” from the animal part of his brain that didn’t want to be alone, liked having a man to wrap around (or wrap around him) on cold nights like tonight. Someone to cook dinner for and squabble with about who was doing the grocery shopping. Someone to laugh with. He missed laughing.
“I still love you, John.”
That was a little much from a man who’d left John’s life in shambles. And Rico hadn’t apologized, had he? He’d only said he’d made a mistake. John watched him, still petting the kitten. Unexpectedly, Rico leaned across the space between them, pressing his lips against John’s.
Jesus Christ, Rico’s mouth felt disgusting. Wrong. Foul. John jerked away, and the kitten let out a squeak. There was a light tap on the door. It opened before John could say anything, and Chance poked his head around the doorjamb. Rico straightened with what seemed to John a guilty start.
“My apologies, am I interrupting something?” Chance asked, his blue eyes icy and glittering with an emotion John couldn’t place.
“No,” John answered at the same time Rico spat out a “Yes.”
“Ah.” Chance came into the small room. “The guests have all departed, and young Reed has gone home with his friends, but I’m afraid I’ll need help locking up and getting everything put to rights for tomorrow.”
Rico looked at John. “Who is this clown?”
Chance looked down at himself, miming checking to see he hadn’t accidentally put on a clown costume that morning.
“Chance Allsop.” Chance put his hand out for Rico to shake. “And yourself? I didn’t see you in the audience tonight.”
Rico at least had the manners to stand up and take his hand. “Rico Scott, John’s boyfriend.”
John groaned. The kitten squeaked again, and John loosened his grip. “Rico—”
“John, I know I have a lot to make up for, but you can’t just throw away our relationship.” He glanced over at Chance. “I’ve been away for a few months. John understands that it was just an interlude.”
He did? He’d missed Rico, but not after the truth of what he’d done started floating to the surface.
“I missed you, John. I know you understand. You’ve always understood me best.”
Chance cleared his throat. Rico glared at him; he must have hoped Chance would take the hint and leave the office. John was glad he hadn’t.
“Reed will be in tomorrow noonish to prepare for the afternoon showings,” Chance said.
“I didn’t realize there were going to be afternoon showings. The theater is closing.”
“What?” Rico exclaimed.
John felt a surge of anger that he should’ve felt the minute his ex-boyfriend had dared to show his face.
“Yes, Rico. The NorthStar is closing, and if you can’t imagine why, think about what you did when you left with your new boyfriend. We were supposed to be partners. We did things together. Except you’d been spending money you didn’t have. Did you think I would forgive you for cleaning out the accounts? What did you think I was going to pay bills with?”
Rico whined, “I was going to pay it back, but then things spiraled. I promise, baby, I’ll take care of it.”
John wondered if Rico could hear himself when he lied. Or if he actually believed what he was saying. It was embarrassing to John that Chance was witnessing his stupidity. Rico had never been anything more than a mistake, a two-year mistake that was costing John his livelihood.
“I need you to leave now.”
“But, baby—”
John was beginning to loathe that term of endearment. Chance stepped aside, making room for Rico to pass. He did not take the hint, staying stubbornly perched on the edge of John’s desk.
Chance raised an eyebrow, silently asking John if he needed backup. John shook his head. He wanted to do it himself.
“Rico, hear these words: We are over. There is nothing left to salvage. I don’t think there ever was. What we had together should never have gone past a couple of weekends. Go away and leave me alone. I’d prefer to never see you again, but in the spirit of the holidays I’ll wish you the best for the rest of your life, as long as you understand that it will never involve me. Am I being clear?”
Rico huffed, but he stood up from the desk. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Where I am going to stay?” He had the audacity to summon moisture to his eyes. The acting lessons in LA must have been paying off.
“Stay with Kenny, or Kennan, or another of your group of friends. Surely you haven’t managed to destroy all your friendships in Skagit?”
Rico still managed to stage a dramatic exit—the man really was made for Hollywood. He stormed out of the office, knocking a stack of paperwork onto the floor so papers fluttered in his wake. After handing the kitten to Chance, John trailed behind him, wanting to make certain Rico actually left and to lock the doors behind him. It occurred to John he should probably have the locks to the building changed, as Rico had had a key at some point. Though if the place was closing anyway, what difference did it really make?
Chapter Eight
Chance glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. “Bollocks.”
“What?” John asked as he returned from locking the doors behind his ex-boyfriend. Chance had no idea what John could have seen in that shallow, weak man. He didn’t say anything, though, as memories of several people he’d mistakenly dated rose to the surface.
“I was supposed to check in at the hotel by ten.”
John sighed. “You can stay the night at my place.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“No, but this is Skagit. It’s after midnight on the Saturday before Christmas. The inns are all closed.” John snorted.
“That was a terrible joke.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? It’s late, and I’ve had a really long day. I just want to be at home now.”
* * *
Together they put the kitten in one of the moving boxes. It wasn’t impressed.
“Hush,” John said to the cat. “You’ll be fine. It won’t be for long.”
“You’re going to have to name it, you know.”
“How do you know I’m going to keep it?” John gave him a suspicious look that made Chance want to kiss him again. Everything John did made Chance want to kiss him.
Chance eyed him, and John let out another, longer, sigh. “Fine, yes, I’m a pushover. This beast knew it had hit the gold mine when he saw me peeking under the Dumpster.” The kitten mewed pathetically while they collected the rest of its things: litter and box, the cans of food Reed had brought.
John let them out an exit door that Chance hadn’t seen. It opened right where both of their cars were parked. The streets were clear, but the cars had a layer of icy snow on them. The night was very quiet, the surrounding businesses long closed for the night or even the weekend.
“The fancy SUV is yours?” John held the box with the kitten close as they walked toward the cars.
“A rental, but yes.”
“I don’t want to scrape ice off two cars. Let’s take yours. Who knows if mine will start anyway.”
* * *
Once the snow and ice were taken care of, John direct
ed Chance to his house. “It’s not too far, about a fifteen-minute drive.”
They were both quiet during the drive, and even the kitten stopped complaining. No doubt it had worn itself out and was fast asleep again.
Chance was trying not to focus on the fact that he’d be sleeping in the same house with John, when John broke the silence, saying, “Turn left here, then left again. I’m the third house on the right.”
Even in the dark, Chance knew John’s home was beautiful. It loomed out of the night, a large house for a single man. The style was what Americans called Tudor; it had probably been built in the 1920s. “It’s lovely.”
John glanced out the car window where Chance was looking. “I love it. I bought it for a song. The place sat empty for years; the old lady who owned it was placed in a home after a fall, and there was some property fight between her and her family. None of them wanted to live in it or in Skagit, but they all wanted the money it would bring. She stood her ground, refusing to sell. I ended up paying far below market because of the neglect, and I had to promise her I was going to live here and take care of it. When her family found out about the sale, they were furious, but it was a done deal by then, and Alice Lee was all there—her body was falling apart, but she was still sharp.”
“Did you fix it up like you have the NorthStar?”
John nodded. “I love old things.” Then he laughed softly, quickly looking over at Chance and away again. Chance had the feeling that John was blushing, but he couldn’t tell in the dark. “Anyway,” John drew out the word, “let’s go inside.”
* * *
“I’ll give you the tour tomorrow. Let’s get the kitten set up.”
John opened a door off the entryway. It housed a handwashing sink and a toilet. He bent down and placed the litter box next to the sink, leaving the door cracked. Chance shamelessly admired his backside. John had a very nice arse.
“I have litter boxes; I’ll grab them and put one upstairs and one in the pantry. There’s one in the basement too, but he doesn’t need to go down there yet. We’d never find him.”
