Christmas Angel

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “Why?” April brought him back to the problem of her reading his email.

  “Why? What do you mean why?”

  “If you’re not interested, why string the man along?”

  “I’m not…” Jay broke off, exasperated. “I made it clear to François I’m in a relationship.” For goodness sakes, he hadn’t even taken the man’s card when they first met. They might never have conversed again if, several weeks later, had their paths not crossed in the business world. The second time they talked, Jay took the man’s business card, but not for personal reasons. Neither had he kept it a secret from Dean.

  “As you’ve read my private correspondence you understand why. Being gay isn’t the only thing we have in common. François provided me with several business contacts.” Jay saved the email and then minimised the programme so she couldn’t read any more. He swivelled his chair to face her.

  “Care to search my history? Browse the cache? Check my passwords?”

  April’s well-known show of irritation—narrowed eyes, face tightening, small frown, lips flattening out—came over her face. “Of course not.”

  “Could have fooled me. Don’t pretend you don’t understand.”

  “Excuse me. I was only—”

  “Being bloody rude. And no, I won’t excuse you. I often wonder if you can be this obtuse or you only pretend to be.”

  He’d put her on the defensive, as the crossing of her arms, the squinting of her eyes, and subtle leaning away broadcast. Did she know he read her so well? Not that it took much brainpower to guess her reaction. Fine, let her have her say. He sat back and waited. Silence always prompted April to fill the void.

  “I find it strange, that’s all. That you are in touch—”

  On second thoughts, he’d heard enough. “Most of that email will be work, but if it weren’t, it’s no concern of yours.”

  “Really?” Her mouth twisted. “Wouldn’t it be ironic if we all focused our doubts on Dean and you were the one to play around?”

  “Wouldn’t it just. Still not your business, and before you ask, yes, Dean knows I keep in touch with François. It’s ninety percent business, ten percent friendship, and yes, dead sister…” He realised what he had said. “Yes, dear sister, I may have gay men as friends.”

  “And if Dean kept in touch with old girlfriends?”

  “There are a couple of women he says hello to. One, not an ex just a girlfriend sends him photos of her baby as she does all her friends. Actually, she sends them to both of us. See, Dean talks to my friends and I talk to his. We’re a friendly bunch that way.”

  April was shaking her head. “You get absurdly sensitive about everything. Just because I saw what was on the screen—”

  “You leaned over my shoulder and read it. That’s bloody rude by any definition. It’s also extremely like you.” He spun back to face the laptop as good as dismissing her. “It’s typical behaviour I expect.”

  During the ensuing stunned silence, he brought the programme back into focus and typed again. Let her read. She’d see how boring most of this email was.

  “You never used to be so outspoken.” She sounded surprised.

  “No. Well, I guess I never felt as confident as I do now. I’ve never been a pushover, but I put up with much. Maybe owing to age. Maybe being happy. Possibly, it’s Dean’s influence. I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore, and I decidedly don’t care what others think.” He’d learned the hard way, sick and ever tired of opinions on his relationship, and whether he and Dean would succeed or fail. Dean and he were doing well, and he wouldn’t give up the last three years for anything.

  “I’m not suggesting—”

  “Yes, you are. And I thought we’d done with that shit.” Jay’s fingers continued to fly over the keyboard even as he talked. The knack to dealing with April had plenty in common with the computer work he did, and the companies with which he dealt. Almost every place where he’d worked was a mess. The trick was to get into the rhythm of the mess and meet the deadlines. The distinction here was April wasn’t a manager he had to bullshit. He’d done that too long, treating her as if she might adversely affect his future if he didn’t agree. “Take fair warning. You’ve used up most of your reboots.”

  He finished the email, and hit send, before swinging his chair back to face her. He reached for his coffee and drank. “How’s Brian?” If he wasn’t mistaken, she stiffened.

  “He’s fine.” She killed several seconds taking small, careful sips of coffee, a growing frown furrowing her brow. “Why do you ask?”

  Ah. Trouble in paradise.

  “No reason. We both like him. Best man you’ve dated in a long while.” So what are you doing to fuck it up this time? April turned her attention to his love life every time her own was in trouble, which might explain a great deal.

  “Just…with Christmas coming up and everything, I’m not sure what to do.”

  “I’m sure Mum will allow him round for dinner.”

  “It’s not that. She will. Everyone got on so well the other day, she’s invited him.”

  “And?”

  “And he said he’ll see what he can do.”

  He wanted to ask what that meant, but April didn’t always respond well to direct questions. “Can’t he make it? Is he working?”

  “Noooo.” She drew the word out. Slurped coffee. Stared at the floor. “I dunno. Should I go with him, perhaps?”

  “To his parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s asked you?”

  April’s frown tightened so much he winced. Surely, that hurt. The way she held herself reminded him of a gargoyle. “I don’t think he has.”

  “You don’t think?” Didn’t she know?

  “I mean, I believe he has but…” She waved one hand. “I thought he had, but it’s vague. We talked about spending the day, just the two of us.”

  “Where?”

  “We never got around to discussing that. I said how much hard work Mum puts into Christmas so…”

  Jay took a stab with an invisible pen at a number of the blank spaces. “So you both danced around each other leaving everything sketchy, nothing decided, and you didn’t even talk enough to make the options simple.”

  April chewed on her lower lip. To guess by the tension in her jaw, she might make it bleed. He was glad when she stopped gnawing on her own flesh to talk. “I don’t get why he has a problem going to Mum and Dad’s.”

  “Maybe he wants to go to his mum and dad’s. Maybe he wanted a romantic Christmas for two.”

  “Too soon for that. Just the two of us I mean.”

  “You’ve been seeing him for a few months.” Some might find it strange she’d taken so long to introduce Brian to her family but Jay didn’t. Considering his mother’s expectations and wish to see April married and with child, he didn’t blame her taking the introduction slow. A few months wasn’t too soon to spend a Christmas together, though.

  “I think my going to spend the day with his family is a big commitment.”

  “But you want him to come to spend the day with ours.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “He’s a man.”

  Her expression told him she really didn’t get it. Did he have the energy to explain? “Sexist.”

  Her frown bloomed. “Brian’s not—”

  “Not Brian. You. You’re being sexist. Don’t lay blame on him for not being ready or willing to do the things for which you’re not ready. You know what your problem is?”

  “No, but you’ll tell me.” April directed her gaze to the other side of the room, her whole posture taking on an aloofness he knew so well. Great. Sarcasm and sullenness. A wonderful combination.

  “You’ve been alone too long. You want everything your own way. Scrub that. You lived with me for many years while we grew up in the same house together and you still wanted everything your own way.”

  “Pot kettle black.”

 
He had to ask. “Meaning?”

  “You and Dean. You always wanted him and you had to have your own way though he’s no good for yo—”

  “Finish that sentence on the way out.” He wasn’t angry, positive she brought things up to deflect the focus from her, but he wouldn’t listen. Jay stood to carry his cup through to the kitchen. “You’re right. I always wanted Dean.”

  What was there not to want? Even now, a smile tugged his mouth to one side as he brightened on an image of Dean. The blue eyes. The wicked grin. A shock of hair falling into his face. The way he made as many a faux pas as April.

  The man’s loyalty. His compassion. Many never thought of those things, focusing only on the negative.

  Caring in the bedroom, too.

  Lust curled low. Jay had to concentrate on washing out both his and April’s mugs, breathing slowly, until the desire eased. He didn’t want a hard-on with his sister in the room…not that it would be the first time. Had happened often when he was young because being a teen was difficult for any boy, let alone one who got hot over many of the handsome male movie stars his sister grew up squealing over. Best not to reflect on how his body reacted the times Dean had been around. Though always free not to hide his sexuality, Jay had wanted to share none of that with his sister when young. Not much had changed though he’d been upfront with her when pushed. He even told her how much he enjoyed sex with Dean when she made him angry one time, but he wouldn’t share any longer. Not because of embarrassment, either, but what went on between the sheets and on top of them—in the bedroom, in the hall, the kitchen, on the sofa, or on the damn stairs—wasn’t her business. Damn but he was smiling again.

  “You’re right. I wanted Dean. And I got what I wanted though I never dreamed I would.”

  “Quit being such a…such a girl.”

  “Pardon?”

  April glanced up and down. “Looked in the mirror of late?”

  What the hell? Was she talking about the fact he wore his hair long? She used to once, and besides…”I can’t believe you’d make such a sexist remark. To me.”

  “I mean you’re letting him be the man in this ‘relationship’.”

  He swore quotes hung in the air around the last word. “I am not. And if I were, it has nothing to do with you.”

  “You’ve no reason to be smug if it backfires on you.”

  “Smug?” Jay dried his hands. “I don’t think I am.”

  April snorted. “It’s every gay man’s dream to turn a straight man gay.”

  “Weren’t you leaving? And thanks.” Jay let his voice go hard at the end. “I don’t believe gay for you bullshit. If Dean was open to sex with a man, then it was always part of who he is. Maybe I knew without realising. Maybe I spent that time waiting for him to realise and for him to accept who he is.”

  “He hasn’t come out, though, has he?” April slipped on her coat, and then picked up her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. Her movements were jaunty, teasing almost. She was the one who looked smug, cocking her head to one side, compressed lips curling.

  What the hell was she on about? “We’re living together.”

  “Nice way for him to avoid putting his feelings into words.”

  “He’s said the words. To me. Besides, actions speak louder.”

  “He’s fucking you and sharing the bills. Whoop di do.”

  Enough. “Get the fuck out of here, sis. And don’t come back until you can talk about your own relationships without shitting on everyone else’s.”

  * * * *

  “We thought you were ill.” Despite the surprise factor and concern in John’s voice, Dean did nothing more than wave a hand in his direction. The man was an employee and Dean was the boss; the workers had no say when Dean came and went. He managed not to slam the office door behind him, but only just.

  Dean dropped into his chair, aware that his thoughts were yet again unfair. He didn’t know what he needed to talk to his therapist about more—his sexuality or his disposition. Why did he react with such aggression? If the men had noticed his mood, maybe they’d give him a few moments of peace before bringing him their problems of the day. Hope ruled. He needed quiet time.

  His therapist. Ha! Therapist and bloody counselling contract. A counselling contract! He’d looked to Ms Candice Hemingway for advice and what did he get? Nothing but a blooming form to sign. He hadn’t expected contracts. In his scenario, she ordered him to lie on his back, got him answering a few questions, provided the answers he didn’t have. To have a pretty blonde woman—he’d looked her up online and seen a picture of her—explain his life to him was the only agreement he’d envisioned.

  Well, fine, he hadn’t expected that, precisely. He hadn’t expected a contract, though, and he’d not given one thought to what the woman charged. Her costs hung somewhere in the middle of the going rate, but seeing him once a week it ran into three figures a month, and he would attend more than that.

  “Can’t we speed things along?” he’d asked.

  “Counselling takes time.”

  “I realise that but Christmas is only three weeks away.” He’d realised how idiotic that sounded before she stopped writing, folded her hands on the desk in front of her, fingers entwined.

  “Is there a reason your life must be sorted by Christmas?”

  “Well…no, but I wouldn’t mind. Anyway, you hinted things were slower at this time, and January is busy.”

  She gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head, maybe she didn’t realise she did. “Let’s start with one session, see how it goes, and judge the best options then.” Although she was writing again, she had sounded interested and focused on him.

  “And when could that be?”

  “It sounds as if you want to scurry over to the sofa.”

  He still couldn’t work out whether her tone hinted at amusement or disapproval, but she agreed to see him the following day, and Dean had sat there nodding, because…What else could he do? He didn’t like the sense of unease, the torn emotions that picked him up and wrung him in an unyielding grip without warning and without any leniency.

  Dean picked up a pen but instead of writing with it, he twirled it in his fingers.

  He loved Jay. He did. Jay wasn’t the problem.

  Dean stared out of the window. Jay deserved the best, so it was up to Dean to sort out their issues. Seeking help was a start. Hard to believe he’d pushed so hard to get in to see Candice. The thought of the following day’s appointment weighed heavily. He might as well place a neon sign above his head. Wouldn’t everyone stare if they knew he was in therapy?

  Stop being so stupid.

  Dean threw down the pen and rubbed his hands over his face. No reason anyone should find out and to hell with them if they did. The important thing here was he had taken a first step. Next…Dean stifled a laugh. Until the next day rolled around, he needed to survive the evening with Jay, act domestic. Or was that domesticated? He needed to remember what amounted to normal behaviour. His world felt everything but normal. The axis of his existence threatened to tilt and pitch him aside. He couldn’t let Jay learn any of this, so a blissful, happy, domestic family they needed to be, even if that meant faking it. Dean didn’t know whether he could. He might pop with anticipation or nervous vexation, or a bunch of other emotions. Dean needed a few moments in which to sit. He longed to pace. Both urges remained in conflict, much like his needs.

  Chapter 4

  With Dean’s body pinned beneath his, the position struck Jay as an illusion. Any moment, Dean could grab hold, tuck Jay in against his body, and spin them. No wonder people assumed Dean remained in charge.

  Illusion? Truly?

  With one push, Dean had fallen back on the bed without argument. He lay still and compliant as Jay straddled Dean’s hips. No. More than acquiescent. Complaisant. What went through the man’s mind?

  Jay trailed kisses along Dean’s jaw. When their mouths met, Dean’s lips parted and he let their tongues entwine with lazy detach
ment. Could it be disinterest? Jay fought to keep the frown off his face. He moved on to press small pecks along Dean’s collarbone, latching on skin to suck. Would be so easy to raise a hickey on Dean’s neck—he marked more than seemed proper—something the big man didn’t like because of the open neck T-shirts he so often wore at the garage. Yet Jay heard no demand to stop. He encountered no resistance.

  From day one, the first time they’d had sex, Dean had never been less than eager. Even when uncertain, desire won out.

  Sure, some of his behaviour had been typically ‘Dean’. Insistent, taking charge, demanding, bossy, arrogant. Jay’s lips twitched under the threat of a smile. To hell with this.

  He sucked a small measure of skin between his lips and nipped enough to make Dean hiss, in part to make him writhe, in part as payment for turning moody and silent. Dean twisted but went motionless as fast. Jay bit harder.

  Yanked back by his hair, Jay stared into blue eyes cool with anger. Dean’s gaze softened at once; the man frowned. The bite, out of keeping, hadn’t escaped his lover’s attention.

  His lover.

  Lover didn’t mean lifelong companion. A life without Dean? Jay no longer knew if he could survive such a thing. Maybe one day he’d have no choice. People grew old, had to face the inevitable. Until then…in no other scenario did Jay picture a future without Dean. Not a selfish thought, either. Sure, he wanted the man to stay, but Dean looked so right here, in their house, in their bed. Most days, during the last three years, he appeared at peace. What the hell had happened the other day to upset Dean’s hard-earned equilibrium?

  Come to think of it, why had April acted so funny earlier? As the months passed and Dean settled in, April had cut back on the bitter criticism. Couldn’t be coincidence both Dean and April slipped back into their old habits within days.

  They should discuss the situation, but he didn’t want to. April’s brand of dislike had wormed its way into his mind. He shouldn’t let it. Had she upset Dean? Again? After all this time?