by Jackie North
Chapter 13
They spent hours on the couch, cuddling and talking, sharing sweet, almost chaste kisses until the clock struck midnight and Kyle almost cracked his jaw on a huge yawn. Clayton's heart had slowed until he could now make sense of his world, and when he said they should go to bed so they could be ready for the road in the morning, Kyle agreed.
"Together or separate?" asked Kyle as he stood up, holding out his hand to pull Clayton to his feet.
"I'd like to—" said Clayton, then stopped to gather his courage. "I'd like to be with you, just be with you."
"Me, too," said Kyle, and it was as simple as that.
They got ready for bed in their respective bathrooms, and then Clayton tiptoed to Kyle's bedroom door in his t-shirt and sweatpants, a little nervous, a little shy.
But Kyle made it easy. Still brushing his teeth, he pointed to the side of the large bed that was further away from the bathroom. Then, feeling like a kid at his first sleepover, Clayton went over and clambered beneath the covers. He watched while Kyle finished brushing his teeth, and sighed gratefully when Kyle turned off all the lights before climbing in himself.
When the glow of the still-lit Christmas tree echoed down the small hallway, Clayton started to get up, but Kyle stopped him with a touch.
"Let's leave it," he said, whispering in the Christmas-lit darkness. "Just for tonight."
"Any time you want," said Clayton. "On or off, whatever, whatever you want."
Kyle moved in the bed, making the bedclothes rustle and it seemed he was turning to face Clayton, so Clayton turned on his side to face Kyle. He tucked his hands beneath his pillow and squinted until his eyes got used to the darkness, until he could see the gleam of light from Kyle's eyes.
"This bed smells nice," said Clayton, swallowing. "You smell nice."
"You smell nice, too," said Kyle, then he laughed, low, under his breath. "It's like you've got on mountain man cologne, or something."
"Could be my soap," said Clayton. "Or—I don't know."
He felt a little hesitant, but moved forward so they could be closer, and then all at once, Kyle pushed himself into Clayton's arms, and sighed as he settled his head against Clayton's chest.
"This is where I wanted to be," said Kyle. "Even from before you showed up, this is where I wanted to be and didn't even know it."
"Me either," said Clayton. He let out a long, slow breath. "This is like the Christmas gift I never even asked for. Never thought to ask for."
"Santa is a wise man," said Kyle with a small laugh that was broken by a faint yawn. "He knew all along what we wanted, even when we didn't ourselves."
"And Uncle Bill, too," said Clayton. "He's wise, and told me to go—" Clayton yawned a huge yawn and couldn't speak until he was finished. "And I forgot to call him, to tell him—"
"Tomorrow," said Kyle. "You can call him on our drive to your sister's house."
"Sounds good," said Clayton, his voice feeling faint in his own throat. "Be warned, he'll want to talk to you and he tends to bluster a bit."
"I am unafraid," said Kyle, though his words trailed off into almost a whisper. Not because he was afraid, but because he was falling asleep right there in Clayton's arms. As if he was always meant to be there, always meant to be in Clayton's life as well as his arms. Then, with the Christmas lights gently shining from the living room, and a wonderful man pressed close to him in the dark, Clayton fell asleep.
Chapter 14
Their drive to Parker in Clayton's car had been uneventful, with the roads plowed and remnants of ice melting in the warmth of the sun. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Kyle held the wrapped Bowie knife and sheath on his lap, with the bottle of wine carefully braced on the floorboards with his booted foot. Their luggage, Clayton's duffle, and Kyle's weekend suitcase, was stowed in the trunk. From time to time, Clayton would look over at Kyle, and Kyle would respond with a smile, his blue eyes very wide and joyful, and everything felt right and good.
The phone conversation with Uncle Bill and gone very well, with Uncle Bill making pithy remarks and comments about the misadventures of the bone-handled Bowie knife and beaded sheath. This was followed by another jigsaw puzzle of a conversation with Brent and Richard, followed by another conversation with Sarah. Which, all in all, made the drive go swiftly, with Kyle's warm presence at his side.
When they arrived at Sarah and Luke's split level surrounded by pine trees, all three of them, Sarah and Luke and Shawn, were waiting on the front porch. They were dancing in their stocking feet and wearing no coats, and Clayton couldn't scold them for laughing.
It was his sister Sarah who reached Clayton first, her arms wide for the first hug. Clayton responded with his arms wrapped around her, holding tightly, his throat thick, his heart lurching with a beautiful kind of pain as they hugged for a long, quiet minute. Then, after they drew apart, laughing, Clayton introduced Kyle, who was welcomed just as warmly as Clayton himself.
They all went inside, a group of people trying to hug everyone at once while at the same time taking off their coats and outdoor things, with Shawn dancing around them in the foyer, throwing himself at Clayton in his excitement.
"Where is it, where's my present, Uncle Clayton?" he asked, tilting his head back, smiling up at Clayton with bright eyes and a loving smile that made Clayton feel warm all over.
"Here," said Clayton, without preamble, and watched as Shawn tore into the gift he'd come so far to give.
But when Shawn pulled the present out of the layers of carefully arranged Christmas wrapping, he saw what it was and then stopped. And then, much to Clayton's puzzlement, he placed the knife in its beaded sheath against his forehead and held it there with both hands.
"What's the matter, kiddo?" he asked, looking up at the collection of people standing around in a half circle who were, like him, trying to figure out what was going on in the ten-year-old's mind. "Don't you like it?"
Shawn pulled the knife away, his eyes bright as if on the verge of crying. But then he sniffed, and hugged the sheath to his chest.
"I didn't even know I wanted it and yet you got it for me," said Shawn. He threw himself at Clayton and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Uncle Clayton, you're the best."
Clayton felt like the best, the very best that he could be. The best brother, the best uncle, the best brother-in-law. And, looking at Kyle, who was smiling at him with very blue eyes and that quirky pull to his mouth, he felt like he was going to be the best boyfriend, the best fiancé. The best husband—and then he stopped and laughed and tugged on Kyle's shirt to pull him closer.
"We've brought wine," said Clayton. "Really good French wine that I know you're all going to like. Kyle's friends from Chicago were supposed to drink it, but we're going to drink it, all of us, today."
Kyle handed over the wine to Luke, who took it and strode off into the kitchen to open it and let it breathe or whatever it was that people did with wine. Sarah followed him and tried pulling on Shawn's hand to get him to go with her.
Which Shawn did, but not before pointing to the archway that led from the foyer to the living room.
"There's mistletoe, if you guys want to try it out," said Shawn. "Mom and Luke have been trying it out for days—"
"Shawn," said Sarah from the kitchen. "Come in here, now, and give those two a minute."
Obediently, Shawn did as he was told, clutching the beaded knife sheath to him the entire time. Which quickly left Clayton alone with Kyle in the foyer, the sights and sounds of Christmas underway spilling at them from the kitchen on one side and the living room on the other.
"Shall we have another Christmas kiss?" asked Clayton, feeling brave.
"Yes," said Kyle, sounding quite assured and very willing.
He rose on his toes, and again, Clayton thought about those new woolen socks he'd get for Kyle, and those hand-beaded leather slippers for him to wear instead of walking around the house with holes in his socks—and he stopped himself.
Now wasn't the time f
or practical thoughts, no matter how engaging the thought of the expression on Kyle's face when he received the new socks and slippers. Now was the time for a Christmas kiss. Clayton dipped his head and pulled Kyle into his arms, and gave over to holding Kyle tight and kissing him soundly and for a good long while, until the world faded away. The only sensation, the only reality was the present, here and now, Kyle in his arms, their bodies warm and close together. The scent of Kyle's skin, the feel of his mouth, the sound of his breath as they pulled apart.
"Merry Christmas, Clayton," said Kyle, his mouth curved in a smile, his eyes sparkling.
"Merry Christmas, Kyle," said Clayton.
He was smiling too, and thought he would never stop. No need to, when there were, very likely, more Christmases like this in his future, more memories to make to reminisce over. More hours, more days, more time to spend feeling like this, to spend with Kyle feeling like this.
He'd had no idea when he'd set out on the errand Uncle Bill had set for him that it would end like this, that it would be like this, but he was glad it had. And surprised for himself, as well, that the gift that was supposed to be for his nephew would end up being a gift for him, too. That a stolen Christmas knife would bring such happiness, to him and Kyle both.
"Merry Christmas," he said again, and hugged Kyle close, and closed his eyes, and imagined they could stay that way together forever, even as the happy sounds came from the kitchen. He went towards that sound with a full heart, pulling Kyle with him.
The kitchen was too crowded with too many people, but it was warm. There was chatter and laugher, the sneaking of slivers of turkey from the platter, noises and giggles from stolen bits of the crumble crust from the top of the apple pie, morsels of cheese eaten, a slug or two of eggnog and rum.
Clayton stood by the fridge with his arms around Kyle, loosely so that Kyle could move away if he wanted. But Kyle stayed close while Shawn danced around with the empty beaded sheath tied about his waist, the Bowie knife carefully wrapped in paper and stored in a box in the closet. He was still growing, so the fringe ends of the sheath dangled all the way to his left knee as he waved his hands about as though at a fireside dance during a trapper's rendezvous.
"You guys want a beer?" asked Luke, as he skillfully carved the turkey that had been saved just for today and that had been sitting on the wooden carving board for the requisite rest before being sliced into.
"Did you just stay you gays want a beer?" asked Clayton, laughing.
"I most certainly did not!" said Luke, laughing in return. He popped a bit of crisp turkey skin into his mouth and smacked his lips. "They're in the fridge. I bought some fancy kinds and some regular ones."
"Oh, because gays only drink fancy beer?" asked Clayton.
"Hell, no," said Luke. He pointed to himself with a vigorous finger. "I like the fancy kind and the wife likes Bud. So go figure."
"You want a beer?" asked Clayton, bending his head to ask the question softly in Kyle's ear.
"Not now," said Kyle, gently in return. "Later, maybe."
The movement and bustle continued as preparations were made, with the smell of melting butter on top of mashed potatoes wafting in the air, the burnt sugar scent of toasted marshmallows on top of mashed sweet potatoes with pecans, their edges baked and darkened.
Sarah came up behind Luke and swooped her arms about his waist, though her hands were dusted with flour from the homemade rolls and his cloth apron was speckled with grease. Neither of them cared, and the intimacy of the gesture was so sweet, so caring, that Clayton's eyes prickled. He tried to stiffen his jaw as Shawn came up to them and joined the hug, tilting his head back so that his silver blond hair trailed across his shoulders. Then Shawn whirled away, hands in the air, like he was going to jump across the room and indeed he did, a blissful smile on his face.
"Look at me, Uncle Clayton, I'm a cowboy, I'm a mountain man!"
"You are, you are," said Clayton, putting as much energy as he could into his voice to stave off the feeling that he was going to start bawling at any moment.
This was the first real Christmas he'd had since his parents had died, the first he'd shared with his sister since the ex had shoved him out of the house, the first family he felt he could really be a part of, where he was welcome, where Kyle was welcome. Kyle, who looked up at him now with those wide blue eyes. Clayton could see that something was filling Kyle up from the inside, where those empty spots he'd talked about were getting smaller and smaller.
On tiptoe, Kyle rose up to land a small kiss on the corner of Clayton's mouth, a soft, warm gesture, then sank back down into the circle of Clayton's arms, turning to watch the bustle in the kitchen once more. They were on the edges of the activity, but they were part of it, part of the warm circle of food, and of the laughter. Where the house around them from roof to walls to floor was expanding with joy and the expectation of many more Christmases to come. And birthdays, and holidays, and lazy Sunday afternoons spent watching football. All with this same kind of feeling, of having found that place he'd not known he'd been searching for, that Kyle had been searching for. And all because of a Christmas knife that had been stolen.
This was love. This was love.
He was home.
The End
A Letter From Jackie
Hello, Reader!
Thank you for reading The Christmas Knife, which I hope you enjoyed.
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Jackie
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Also by Jackie North
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About the Author
Jackie North has written since grade school and spent years absorbing mainstream romances. Her dream was to write full time and put her English degree to good use.
Then she discovered m/m romance and decided that men falling in love with other men was exactly what she wanted to write about.
Her characters are a bit flawed and broken. Some find themselves on the edge of society, and others are lost. All of them deserve a happily ever after, and she makes sure they get it!
She likes long walks on the beach, the smell of lavender and rainstorms, and enjoys sleeping in on snowy mornings.
In her heart, there is peace to be found everywhere, but since in the real world this isn’t always true, Jackie writes for love.
Connect with Jackie:
https://www.jackienorth.com/
[email protected]
The Christmas Knife
Copyright © 2018 Jackie North
Published December 18, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
For permission requests, write to the author at [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, places, or things is completely coincidental.
Cover Design by Jackie North
The Christmas Knife/Jac
kie North
ISBN Numbers:
Mobi - 978-1-94280909-8
Epub - 978-1-94280910-4
Print - 978-1-94280911-1
