by J. M. Snyder
Braden’s next snowball held together better, and pegged Remy right in the stomach. Braden laughed at the impact. “Got you!”
“Braden!” Wielding the broom like a baseball bat, Remy knocked the next snowball away. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to get any work done if Braden kept pegging snowballs his way. “Help me clear off the porch, will you?”
“This is more fun,” Braden said, squatting to scoop up more snow.
Remy pointed at the porch. “There’s plenty of snow on the steps. Just brush it off to one side and you might even get enough to make a snowman, or something.”
Well, no, Remy knew he wasn’t going to get that much snow off the porch steps. Maybe enough for a good-sized snowball, tops. Even all the snow around the cabin wouldn’t be enough for a snowman, and Remy didn’t think it would hold together anyway. Still, Braden jumped at the idea and started brushing off the lowest porch step with his mittened hands. At least it stopped Remy from getting battered with snowballs for the moment.
Stepping over his son, Remy climbed onto the porch and waved at Lane on the other side of the sliding glass door. “It’s snowing!” he said, raising his voice so Lane could hear him.
Lane smirked and called out, “No shit!”
Remy scooped a handful of snow off the patio table and, mashing it into a makeshift snowball, threw it at the sliding door. It smacked the glass and fell apart as Lane laughed. “Missed me!” he cried, his words muffled through the door.
With a grin, Remy began sweeping the snow off the patio furniture and the grill, then moved to the wood pile. He brushed it all in the same direction, making a small drift in the middle of the porch, then brushed it to the edge of the steps. Braden had moved onto the second step, still focused on piling up as much snow as possible. “We’re going to have a white Christmas this year, aren’t we?” he asked his father.
“Looks that way,” Remy said, brushing the snow down the steps. “But don’t get your hopes up. This will probably all melt away by tomorrow.”
As he cleared off the porch steps, he pushed the snow onto the steps Braden had already cleaned off. “Hey!” Braden slapped at the snow fluttering down around him. “You’re making it dirty again!”
“It won’t stay clean anyway as long as it’s still snowing,” Remy pointed out.
“You don’t have to make it worse,” Braden said with a pout.
Setting the broom against the porch railing, Remy told him, “Help me get some wood for the fireplace, will you? Before it gets all wet and won’t light.”
“I can’t,” Braden replied. “I’m going to make a snowman.”
Remy didn’t think the snow was the right consistency for building—if it fell apart as little snowballs, how would it ever stay together in the larger ones needed to construct a snowman? But he knew it would be no use arguing with an eight year old. The best he could hope for was that Braden would grow bored from the effort soon enough.
In the meantime, Remy would restock the firewood inside the cabin. If the snow lingered, then a blazing hearth would be cozy on Christmas Eve.
* * * *
By the time darkness fell, it was obvious the snow wasn’t going to let up any time soon. Lane and Remy took turns going out to sweep off the porch steps and the Jeep. At first Braden followed, and though the ground was completely covered with snow by sunset, it was difficult to build anything with the snow because it just kept coming doing. As Remy brushed off the snow from the roof of the Jeep, he told his son, “It’ll stop overnight. Tomorrow you can build all the snowmen you want.”
“Yeah, because I won’t be able to play with most of my presents,” Braden grumbled.
Remy stopped in mid-sweep and stared at his son. “What do you mean by that?”
Braden shrugged. “Most of the stuff on my Amazon wish list was video games and music. Nothing to listen to CDs on out here. And nothing to play video games on, either.”
“Your DS,” Remy pointed out.
Up on the porch again, Braden stomped his shoes to get the snow off his feet and legs. “The game Lane got me is too big to be for the DS,” he said. “So it’s either for the X-Box, which is at home, or it’s for whatever gaming system you bought me.”
“How do you know I bought you one?” Remy asked, hoping the surprise in his voice didn’t give away his gift.
Braden brushed back his coat’s hood and laughed. “Dad, please. I spent all morning shaking the gifts under the tree. If you didn’t get me a new system, then you got me a boom box or something like that.”
“Braden!” Remy cried. “You could have broken it trying to find out what it was!”
“As if,” his son said. “Those things are packed up tight. That’s how I guessed it. I couldn’t hear it rattle or anything.”
“Yeah, well, stay out from under the tree,” Remy warned. “This snow won’t be enough to stop me from taking your gifts back to Wal-Mart and getting my money back if I find out you peeked.”
Braden’s face scrunched up in fear. “I didn’t peek!” he yelled. “I guessed! You can’t take them back because I’m smart!”
Remy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter.
* * * *
Lane made the last trip to clear off the snow, shortly after five o’clock. Though it wasn’t very late, the world beyond the cabin’s sliding glass door was pitch black. When Braden sat at the kitchen table to play with his DS, he asked Remy to turn on the porch light outside. “So I can watch it snow,” he said.
“You’ve been watching it snow all afternoon,” Remy replied, but he turned on the light anyway. He had dinner to cook, and if watching the snow kept Braden from suggesting another course of SpaghettiOs, Remy could leave the light on.
The front door opened and a whoosh! of cold air raced through the cabin to curl around Remy’s legs. Lane had left the broom out on the front porch, and he quickly shed his damp coat and boots, leaving them by the door with Remy’s and Braden’s snow clothes. As he came into the kitchen, he shook the melting snow from his hair. “I think it’s about time we gave up on keeping the walkway and Jeep cleared off.”. He had brought the cold in with him, and Remy shivered as Lane leaned in to kiss Remy’s cheek. “This storm won’t be letting up any time soon.”
“You never know,” Remy offered.
Lane shook his head and opened the fridge to get a beer. “When I was out at the Jeep, I turned it on and found the weather on the radio. It’s supposed to snow all night long, probably all morning, too. Won’t let up until noon on Christmas Day.” He popped open the can of beer and took a long swallow. “I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere for a while.”
“I have all I need right here.” Remy caught a fistful of Lane’s shirt and reeled him in. Lane came willingly, and their next kiss tasted like hops and cold beer. Wrapping his arms around his lover, Remy murmured, “All I want for Christmas is you.”
From the table, Braden made a sound of disgust. “You already have him,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to want things you don’t have for Christmas.”
“Mr. Sentimental,” Lane teased.
Remy kissed him again. “If the snow’s not going to let up any time soon, I guess that means we can’t grill out those steaks I bought.”
“Cast iron gets pretty damn hot,” Lane pointed out. “You could do a mean sear on the stove. Some potatoes, some beans…sounds yummy to me.”
“Yuck,” Braden said, sticking out his tongue.
Lane rolled his eyes. “Don’t forget to heat up a can of SpaghettiOs for Mr. Picky. I wouldn’t make him a steak if he won’t appreciate it.”
“That just leaves more for us,” Remy said. “Do you want me to open another bottle of wine?”
Now it was Lane’s turn to make a face. “Yeah, no, thanks. I’d rather not have another hangover any time soon. This is going to be my only beer of the night.”
“Well, sit down and relax,” Remy told him. “Savor that can, if it’s suppos
ed to last you all night.”
Before Lane could move away, though, Remy whispered loudly, “I still want you for Christmas, though.”
“Hopefully you’ll have me tonight,” Lane whispered back.
At the table, Braden called out, “Are you guys talking about me again?”
Remy laughed. “Again?”
* * * *
Even without using the grill, the steaks were delicious. Remy and Lane lingered in the kitchen at the table long after their plates were empty. Braden took his video game into the main room, where he sat on the sofa in front of the fire. When Lane’s beer was finished and Remy’s wine glass empty, Lane cleared the table and washed the dishes while Remy closed the blinds and turned off the porch light. Then he plugged in the Christmas tree and found a comfortable spot beside his son on the couch. This time, he made sure it was he who sat in the middle. He wanted Lane beside him on Christmas Eve, and didn’t want to lose another opportunity to cuddle with his lover.
And, if they were lucky, maybe they could finally manage a little more than just cuddling later.
“Shouldn’t you be thinking of going to bed soon?” he asked Braden, running an arm across the back of the couch behind his son.
Braden didn’t bother looking up from his game. “It’s too early.”
“Santa won’t come if you’re up too late,” Remy warned.
“I’m eight,” Braden reminded him. “I know Santa isn’t real. Just like I know all my gifts are in the room next to mine. When I go to bed, you and Lane will bring them out.”
Remy tried to think of some response to that and could only come up with, “When did you get so damn cynical?”
That turned Braden’s head, and he gave his father a quizzical look. “What’s that mean? Damn cyclical.”
“Cynical.” With a laugh, Remy tousled his son’s hair. “It means you don’t believe in anything.”
Braden went back to his game. “I believe in stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like ghosts,” Braden said with a shrug. “And pirates. And Pokemon.”
“Oh, yeah,” Remy joked. “Pokemon exist but Santa doesn’t.”
Suddenly Lane appeared, sinking into the space beside Remy. “Leave him be,” he murmured.
Remy turned to lean back against his lover, and Lane draped an arm around Remy’s shoulders. “I’m just saying, who believes in Pokemon but not Santa? I don’t even know what Pokemon are.”
Holding out his DS so they could see the screen, Braden said, “See? Pokemon.”
“So because it’s in a video game, it must be real,” Remy said.
Braden gave him a weird look. “Well, yeah.”
Fortunately, Lane changed the subject. “Hey, Rem, did your family ever open gifts on Christmas Eve?”
Remy leaned his head back against Lane’s shoulder and looked up at his lover. “What? No. Christmas gifts are opened on Christmas Day.” Remy glanced at Braden, who was staring at them with undisguised excitement shining in his eyes. “Which is tomorrow. Not tonight.”
Braden’s face fell. “No fair.”
“Yes fair,” Remy said. To Lane, he added, “Stop it, will you? You’re just getting his hopes up.”
Lane kissed Remy’s hair just behind his ear. “When I was little, we used to open all our family gifts on Christmas Eve, and then Santa gifts on Christmas Day.”
“No,” Remy said.
Braden pouted. “My friend Bobby Mitchell said he can open one present on Christmas Eve.”
“No,” Remy said again.
Braden started, “But—”
“No buts.” Remy pulled his son into a headlock and growled menacingly as he hugged Braden tight. At first Braden resisted, but his struggles turned to giggles when Remy began tickling him. “Presents tomorrow. Ask again and you can go to bed now.”
“But I don’t wanna!” Braden cried. “I want to stay up all night with you guys.”
With a laugh, Lane reminded him, “If you don’t go to sleep, Santa won’t come.”
“Santa might not come anyway,” Remy added, “seeing as how someone doesn’t believe in him. Someone who even thinks he knows where his presents might be hidden.”
Braden pushed free from Remy and scooted over to the end of the couch, out of reach. “If my presents aren’t in the other room, then why’s the door locked?”
“Maybe there’s a ghost in it,” Remy said.
Braden’s eyes went wide. He looked at his father, then his gaze shifted to Lane, then back to Remy. “A ghost? Really?”
Remy couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. Over his shoulder, he told Lane, “Yeah, because ghosts are real, and Santa isn’t.”
“Ghosts are real!” Braden glared at his father. “Stop making fun of me.”
Remy said, “Stop sneaking around the cabin trying to find out what you’re getting for Christmas. I’m telling you, it isn’t too late to take everything back. Wal-Mart’s open twenty-four hours, you know.”
“They close for a half day on Christmas,” Lane murmured.
“Then I can take everything back when they open again.” Remy watched Braden pout at his game, waiting for a retaliation that didn’t come.
After a few tense moments, Lane said softly, “Don’t worry, Braden. If it keeps snowing, none of us are going to be going anywhere any time soon. And you…” He wrapped both arms around Remy and held his lover tight. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re all mine.”
Playfully he nipped at Remy’s ear and neck. His lips and nose were ticklish, and Remy squirmed in his embrace. “Braden! Help!” Remy called out.
At first, he didn’t think his son would respond. But then Braden set down his video game and launched himself at Remy’s legs. He hugged Remy’s thighs, pinning him to the couch. “I got him, too!” he cried, triumphant. “You’re not going anywhere, Dad! You have to stay here with us all night long.”
Remy laughed as he twisted and turned, pretending to try to break away. But he was having too much fun to end it too soon.
* * * *
Before long, it really was Braden’s bedtime. He put up little more than a token resistance—for all his complaining about Santa, Remy knew he really wanted morning to come so he could open his gifts. This evening when Remy tucked him into bed, Braden didn’t even ask for a book. He closed his eyes tight and promised, “When I open them again, it’ll be Christmas!”
“Well, don’t open them for eight or nine hours, then.” Remy leaned down to give Braden a kiss on the forehead.
“Is six too early to wake up?” his son wanted to know.
Remy knew whatever he said would make no difference. He remembered waking at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day as a child and waiting breathlessly in the living room, staring at the presents so prettily wrapped beneath the tree, willing his parents to move faster. His father would stumble from the bedroom, grumpy and still half-asleep, while his mother made coffee and tinkered around in the kitchen for the longest time. It seemed to take forever before they made their way back into the living room and settled down comfortably in their seats—Dad in his recliner, Mom on the couch, coffee mug in hand. Only then would they nod and let Remy open the gifts.
“Just wake us up before you start tearing into anything,” Remy told Braden. “Promise?”
Opening one eye, Braden grinned up at his father. “Promise.”
Remy laughed. “Ah! It isn’t Christmas yet.”
“I only opened one,” Braden pointed out. “Night, Dad.”
“Night, kiddo.”
He shut the door to Braden’s room behind him, and rejoined Lane out in the main room. First, though, he checked the front door to make sure it was locked, then flicked off the light switch. The lamps by the couch turned off, but the room was still intimately lit by the fire in the hearth and the Christmas tree.
His lover was still at the end of the couch, but when Remy approached, Lane reached out and took his hand. “Come here, you,” he whispered,
pulling Remy down to him.
Remy knelt on the edge of the couch as he kissed Lane. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he murmured into Lane. “I’ve been waiting for this all damn day.”
“Hmm? Waiting for what?” Lane asked with a grin. He moved his legs up onto the couch and stretched them out. “Lie down with me.”
Remy obliged, nestling into place atop Lane. Their bodies fit snugly together—they’d fit even more snugly, Remy thought, if the clothing separating them was no longer in-between. He wanted to feel Lane’s bare skin against his, feel the warmth of hidden flesh and dip his fingers into tender places, lose himself in his lover. But Braden wasn’t asleep yet, and they weren’t in the privacy of their own room. This full-body cuddle would have to suffice.
Lane hugged Remy against him and sighed. “I could lay like this forever.”
The words rumbled through Remy, who folded his hands across Lane’s chest and propped up his chin to smile down at his lover. “You know,” he said softly, “we really could exchange gifts tonight. Tomorrow will really be all about Braden—”
“Rem!” Lane laughed, surprised. “Like father, like son. Now I know where he gets it from!”
“What?” Remy asked, grinning. “I’m just saying—”
“I’m just saying no.” Lane raised himself up slightly so he could kiss the tip of Remy’s nose. “Like you did earlier. You made him wait, you can wait, too.”
Remy sighed and eased his arms beneath Lane. Pressing the side of his face to Lane’s chest, he could hear his lover’s heart beat, a steady, soothing rhythm. “Well,” he murmured, “it was worth a try.”
Chapter 14
The silence between them after Braden went to bed was so peaceful, Lane didn’t want to ruin it. The only sounds in the darkened cabin were the fire crackling and the soft sigh of both their breaths. Everything else seemed so far away at the moment, everything but the heavy warmth of the man Lane loved lying on top of him.
After a while, Remy slid off into the space between Lane and the back of the couch. Lane repositioned himself on his side facing his lover to make room for the both of them. Trailing a hand down the front of Lane’s shirt, Remy plucked at his belt buckle and said softly, “It feels like years. Isn’t that how you put it?”
