Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

  I nuzzle against his pillow, shifting my hips because of the erection that’s pushing against my sleek pants. Sure, I wake with a hearty salute every morning, but I swear it’s a little more intense today, probably because of how he took me by that damned fire last night. Or maybe it’s just this silken, sinful state I’m in, like some harem-girl-in-waiting.

  For a moment, I just cozy up to where he’s slept, thinking about how much deeper I’ve fallen for him, just since yesterday. I’m also thinking about how loved I feel, all because of how he handled the heavy shit about my past. He amazes me, period. That he can give this much of himself, and do it so freely, leaves me feeling vulnerable this morning. Leaves me feeling shattered and a little shaky. But I’m not going to step back again, not on your life. I don’t care if I’m scared shitless by all this intimacy with him, I’m right where I want to be.

  His running shoes are discarded on the floor beside the bed, a familiar, comforting sight. Funny how something so practical makes me ache for him a little, reminds me of how much I love that he’s all mine. He’s obviously gone for a run this morning and didn’t want to wake me. We run together sometimes back in L.A., but he’s damned hard to keep up with, especially with all those hills. He just laughs at me too, calls me a couch jock, as I huff and puff along beside him.

  When he does that, I usually quip right back at him, something about how I’ll be the jock of his couch any night of the week. I love teasing him about sex, because he’s so easy to unnerve, and always blushes like some kind of virgin. Something about that turns me flat on too.

  From the living room, I hear his muted laughter and I smile, thinking of all the presents I’ve brought along for him. One or two are hidden here in this bedroom, for later when it’s just us. But it’s going to be fun seeing him discover all my surprises underneath the tree.

  So I roll out of bed, and decide to just waltz right out there in my new pajamas. After all, Leah loves giving me shit about things, so why not give her the perfect fodder?

  I was right about Leah, too, because no sooner do I appear in the living room doorway than she gives me one of her cool, appraising stares. She finally coughs and sputters after what feels like forever. “Wow, Hunter, you’re looking very…” Queer? Gay? Rich and studly? “Satiny.” She offers me an innocent smile and I roll my eyes at her.

  “I’m in my kept man persona.” I invoke my best construction worker posture and point down at the pajamas. “Don’t they rock?”

  “I’m sure my brother thinks they’re fabulous,” Leah teases, lifting a suggestive eyebrow.

  “They look great on you,” Max agrees, not even missing a beat. God, the expression on his face as he tosses a knowing glance my way. That glance is nothing short of a reminder of what he did to me last night by the firelight—that and a promise of what he’ll do back in L.A. My satin and his bare skin once again.

  I drop to the floor beside him, a lot closer than I ever would have dared last trip. “Morning.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he says with a boyish grin, and I fight the urge to give him a sloppy holiday kiss. It’s in my heart, and so I move my lips almost imperceptibly, blowing him one instead. He glances toward Leah and John, both of whom are busy with their own presents, then touches my hand, giving it a warm squeeze.

  “I’ve got something for you to open.” His eyes assume a mischievous gleam.

  “Oh, really?”

  He reaches for a small present and hands it to me. “Something you’ll love,” he assures me.

  I fiddle with the wrapping, tugging at it, and get a memory flash of last Christmas and the tree topper. Maxwell has this incredible way with his gift buying and it always leaves me feeling adored. The paper unfolds and I see a little ornament box, the kind with commemorative lettering.

  “I’ll be damned!” It’s a freaking Harley Davidson ornament, a 1971 model. “Super Glide?” I cough and he just smiles at me, the picture of pure innocence.

  “Well, you’ve always loved the old classics.”

  “Uh, huh.” I tear into the box, feeling like he just gave me the toy I’d been waiting for all year. “Baby, this is amazing.” It’s an actual replica, complete with kickstand and a moving front wheel.

  Leah looks up from across the room, where she’s holding a book that she’s just opened. “What is it with you guys and the Harleys? Is it like a gay thing or what?”

  “It’s a guy thing, Leah,” I say, feeling defensive about my lifelong obsession with bikes. Then I get an idea, and reach under the tree for one of Maxwell’s prizes. “Open this one next,” I advise him. Yeah, I’m gonna get her good.

  Max struggles with my bad wrapping job for a moment, then the package finally opens to reveal his special Harley T-shirt. “Cool!” he says, unfurling it. Then he gives me a conspiratorial look and I nod in agreement.

  “Isn’t that a little bit small?” Leah frowns at the shirt her brother is examining. I’m sure he’s already down at the club in his mind, showing off his beautiful biceps in his brand new Harley shirt, clinging like pure perfection.

  “Just his size,” I say. “No doubt about that.”

  “But it’s so…tiny,” she says, scrunching up her nose.

  “Trust me, Leah, your brother loves a tight T-shirt,” I explain and then I think she gets it, because she stares down into her lap, looking a little embarrassed.

  But then she regains her composure, smiling faintly as she says, “So it is a gay thing, then. Harleys, tight T-shirts…”

  “Leather, you name it,” Max adds, laughing. He’s just giving me shit now, getting even for my T-shirt remarks.

  I’m gonna set the record straight. “Look, the T-shirt’s for my stud muffin, but the Harleys are an all guy thing, okay?”

  “Sure, Hunter,” Leah teases me, grinning at her twin. “Stud muffins won’t have anything to do with motorcycles, now will they?”

  Max sniffs indignantly. “I got engaged on the back of a Harley, thank you very much.”

  Then Leah turns to him, genuinely curious and they begin talking like a pair of girlfriends, exchanging notes on their respective big moments. My heart kind of gives a leap when I see her reach for his hand, examining his ring for the first time as he tells about the Mulholland Drive proposal.

  For a moment, she glances my way, smiling as Max explains how I popped the question and all. It’s funny, but I’m certain that Leah has come to love me a little; I see it in the way she glances at me. And I understand exactly why—she loves me because of how well I treat her brother, because I love him like he really deserves to be. Which is no tribute at all to me, and every acknowledgement of how special Maxwell really is. He deserves the fairy tale, to quote “Pretty Woman”. He deserves to have the whole shebang of a happily ever after.

  I’m nobody special, just an ordinary guy from farm country who’s gonna give him that fairy tale.

  We spend all afternoon laughing it up, watching bowl games, then late in the day, Max throws together a fantastic meal of leftovers that leaves us all ridiculously full. Louisa drops by afterward and cozies up with Max by the fire, sharing a glass of brandy.

  So when the phone rings well after our fabulous meal has settled, it jars us all. John nearly staggers toward the receiver, thick with brandy and wine like the rest of us. He picks it up in the kitchen, mumbling a hello that’s then punctuated by a strained silence.

  “Leah?” he calls, and when he pokes his head back into the living room where we’re carousing by the fire, I know right away that something’s wrong.

  She smoothes out her hair, then her skirt, and I’m sure she senses it too. John’s gaze tracks right to me. There’s a good reason why he’s my new best friend, and when he gives me a slight nod, I’m certain that it’s Phillip Daniels on the line. Hell, it’s almost eight o’clock on Christmas night, for crying out loud. At this point, couldn’t he have let another day
go by?

  From the kitchen I hear Leah’s murmured conversation, a few muted remarks. Max is oblivious, laughing by the fire with Louisa. They’re sipping their brandy and strolling down memory lane.

  “Max,” Leah says. Her voice is thin and Max’s head snaps up in immediate familial recognition. “Will you come here, please?”

  He’s dutiful and doesn’t even question her, just brushes himself off as he rises from beside the fire.

  He’s calm, so why the hell is my heart pounding like a motherfucker? After what feels like forever, Max reappears with the quiet announcement, “Mom and Dad are on their way over. They were in the car.”

  “What?” I bark. “What the hell?”

  Louisa places a calming hand on my forearm, just watching Max. “They want to bring something over. For us, Hunter.” His voice wavers a bit, but he remains composed. “A Christmas gift.”

  No fucking way. What does this mean? Are they serious? I look from Max to Leah and get the feeling they’re sharing one of their Super Twins communication moments, as they kind of nod without saying a word. “Baby, are you sure?” I blurt, feeling my pulse skitter like crazy.

  “I’m okay with it,” Max says with a nod, settling back beside me on the sofa. “Weird, but yeah, I am.”

  No sooner has he said that, then a pair of bright headlights pierce Leah’s front window. “They’re here,” Louisa announces. Tugging at the hem of her hand-knit sweater, she seems every bit as nervous as I feel, every bit as questioning of Phillip’s motives in suddenly insisting upon seeing Maxwell tonight.

  I want to ask her why the Daniels would do this, why they would have rejected Max so completely, seeing as how she’s known them for a lifetime and all that. I want to press Louisa for some kind of reasoning here.

  More than any of that, I want to pull Maxwell right into my arms and hold him fast so his father can’t hurt him one fucking bit.

  Instead, Max stands like the grown man he is and takes that room with confident strides.

  Talk about seizing the situation by the balls. I’ll be damned, but he’s gonna meet his old man right at the front door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It’s a tense scene with Phillip and Diane poised on the sofa opposite us. The Christmas music on the radio seems much louder with their arrival, intrusive, as we all kind of stare at one another in awkward expectation.

  Battle lines have definitely been drawn here. Louisa sits just beside Max, holding his hand. I’m on his other side, wanting to hold his hand, and poor Leah just kind of flits around the room trying to make everyone comfortable. John has vanished into the kitchen, evidently pouring glasses of brandy for the folks.

  “So, did you have a nice day?” Diane asks in a voice that’s far too bright. I feel for her, I really do, because she loves her children. Of that there’s no doubt. She never asked to be thrust into the middle of this dispute, forced to choose sides between Phillip and their son. Then again, maybe if she had stood up to Phillip years ago, we might not even be gathered here like this, so she’s not entirely blameless, either.

  “Yeah, Mom, it was great,” Max says, his voice softer than usual. “Very nice day.” Then he and Leah begin to recount the presents and good times we’ve shared this holiday, while I just sit back and listen.

  I notice that while Max talks, he stares only at his mother, avoiding his father completely. Not me, though. I’m eyeballing Phillip Daniels for all I’m worth, because I want him to know he won’t get away with hurting Max again. Not on my watch, no fucking way.

  Phillip meets my bold gaze, assessing me, and I’m reminded of that time in his study two months ago. The night he tried to send me out on a rail. Hell, I’m still surprised he didn’t pull out a checkbook that day and try to bribe me right out of Maxwell’s life. Just like then, I feel a surge of protectiveness for my lover, only it’s more intense now that I know how deep the hurt really goes between these two.

  Phillip and I are two strong guys, and neither of us is used to backing down, so maybe that’s why I refuse to look away from him. He watches me in turn, silent, maybe even curious about this farm kid who’s managed to steal his son’s heart. I glimpsed that same curiosity last time and it’s in his expression now, but something’s changed. Phillip Daniels is tired, worn out. There’s an undeniable glimmer of melancholy in his weathered eyes that wasn’t there before. Strange, but it makes me want to help him out a little, maybe even broker some kind of peace between him and his son.

  “Mom, look at what Max and Hunter gave me,” Leah says, reaching for an open box under the tree. “It’s cashmere!”

  Diane begins to laugh, lifting the hot water bottle out of the box, examining it. “What on Earth?”

  Max chuckles, rubbing at his eyes. “A hot water bottle wrapped inside a cashmere sweater for cold nights.”

  “It’s even semi-moth proof!” Louisa laughs. “Semi being the operative word in that sentence.”

  “I thought it was pretty ridiculous,” I say, glad for something cheery to distract us. “But Max is the gift czar in this family.”

  “Kind of like Leah and her Christmas list,” John agrees as he enters the room, and presses glasses of brandy into his in-laws’ hands. “You don’t dispute the Mistress of Mistletoe.”

  “Leah and Max always did love the holidays,” Phillip reflects and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look regretful.

  “I loved being with my family,” Max says, his voice sharp. “That’s what the holidays are about, Dad.”

  “Yes,” his father agrees, nodding as he stares at the floor. “You’re right, son.”

  “Phillip, don’t you want to give them their gift?” Diane prompts him, sliding the large package at their feet toward us. “To Max and Hunter? Now’s a good time.” Leah and John’s present had already been nestled under the tree, brought over some time in the past weeks to be opened on Christmas morning. There’d been nothing for us, not a scrap of a mention and I knew it had broken one more bit of Max’s heart. So now I wonder what they’ve got planned, showing up like this at the eleventh hour.

  The gift is a large one—so big, in fact, that it’s kind of begged my attention ever since they plopped it down on the floor beside the sofa. When they entered, Phillip had clutched it close within his arms; almost protective in the way he clasped it in that bear hug. Good thing, because it spared Max the awkwardness of an embrace as he ushered his father into the house.

  “Sure, you’re right. Now is a good time,” Phillip agrees, looking up at Max. “Son, you want to come over here?”

  Max glances at me, then back at his father, uncertain. “You and Hunter?” his father amends and my heart gives a hopeful leap.

  I rise from the sofa first, clueing Max in that it’s okay, that I’m right with him. We cross the floor together, staring down at the box for an awkward moment. I drop to the ground, squatting there as I examine the present.

  “Say, Maxwell,” I remind him, “you can use your new knife.”

  “You’re right.” He reaches into his back pocket. I gave him the knife this morning, wrapped up in one of those little blue boxes that he adores so much, a sterling silver Swiss Army knife from Tiffany and Co. He glowed when he opened it, too, as if I’d given him secret treasure. Like we’d cart it off together to our backyard tree house and use it for slashing vines or something.

  His father leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, interested in our reaction as Max uses his new blade to slice open the paper. When the Williams Sonoma logo comes into view, Phillip explains, “It’s from your gift registry.”

  Max’s head snaps upward. “Really?” I know what he’s thinking because it’s the same damned thing I’m thinking. For his old man to pick something from the registry is a blessing of sorts. There’s nothing else it can possibly be.

  “Well, I wanted,” his father pauses, turning to Diane before he conti
nues. “We wanted to get you something for the apartment. Something you could really use. Something you both wanted.” Both. That word’s not lost on me, not for a minute.

  “We know how much you love to cook, sweetheart,” Diane says.

  “Maxwell’s a genius in the kitchen,” I agree, pride in my voice.

  “Better watch out, Hunter,” John says with a laugh, dropping onto the sofa beside Leah, patting his stomach. “You know what happens in the first year of marriage.”

  “Yeah, man, you get fat. I’m already kicking in overtime at the gym.”

  Max studies the gift box, then cuts the sealing tape with a deft turn of his blade. “Wow!” he cries, staring down into the open package, and I try to peer over his shoulder. “I can’t believe it! I’ve wanted one of these for forever. Look, Hunter, it’s a bread machine!”

  The joy in his voice is undeniable, as is the glimmering look in his eyes. “Mom, Dad, this is amazing. Thank you,” he says, reaching down into the box.

  Maxwell is the one who’s amazing. He has all the money in the world, yet when someone takes the time to buy him something special, even if he could afford it in a heartbeat, it pleases him so damned much. It makes him feel like they’ve put some kind of value on him, because they thought of something he really wants. But as he drags the giant processor onto the floor, and Louisa kneels there, examining it with him, I know this moment represents far more than that.

  His parents have just given us a tentative first blessing. Merry, Merry Christmas to us.

  When it’s time for them to go, there’s an uncomfortable moment at the doorway when I’m not sure if his father is going to shake my hand or if his mother will hug me. We’ve made serious headway tonight, yet things are still far from easy. Max’s mother has already embraced him three separate times and right now I don’t think she plans to ever let go. “I love you so much, sweetheart,” she says, drawing him close.