Season of Gifts (Neighborly Affection #8)

40. Jay

Chapter forty

Jay

T he thermostat swore the house wasn’t any colder today than on any other day, but it was a filthy liar.

Jay could blame icy legs on the windchill and a long day of deliveries, broken up by a quick game of checkers with Mr. Donovan. The really-real cold outside was the good part of the day. The worst was coming home to the chill that lodged under his ribs and wouldn’t go away. A hot shower did jack-all for warming that void.

Henry’s calendar would’ve had them going out tonight, doing something he called crafting our future together . Couldn’t do that, even if Jay knew where to go. Crafting a future together was a no-go when two of the three together pieces were missing.

He shrugged into sweatpants and a long-sleeve tee. Alice would laugh to see him wearing anything around the house. He should send her a picture maybe, put on a smile and turn his pain into a joke. His skin felt raw, like when he’d gotten the sniffles as a kid and his nose turned red and even the tissues hurt.

Easing open the door to the playroom, he almost expected an intruder alarm to start blaring. He’d finished his wish book entries for the week, and Alice was just about out of days for a room check. He had no duties to perform and no one to appreciate them.

His collar and cuffs still waited in their display case, Henry’s dark initials branded into the leather.

If he could only—he pulled his fingers back. The ownership wouldn’t feel the same if he put them on himself. Tracing the letters deepened the aching void. If he sat here all night, he’d give in, and then he’d hate himself for dirtying Henry’s gift. And he would have to explain to Henry that he hadn’t followed his instructions, that his submission was so weak that he couldn’t be trusted for a few fucking days.

He fled downstairs. His takeout waited on the counter, but it wasn’t even six yet. Dinner wouldn’t be for an hour. Now was the time to keep Henry company in the kitchen. Set the table. Listen for Alice’s arrival.

Except tonight would be the fourth night in a row of silence.

He scrunched his tee in his fist. Hungry, that’s what his skin was. Rituals and objects helped, like how his collection of memory stones had soothed him as a kid, but nothing beat having another person touching and praising him. Acknowledging he existed.

Alice was the real touch fiend; the way she’d casually curl against him and Henry or run her fingers through Jay’s hair was praise in another language.

Not a single person had touched him today. Mr. Donovan wasn’t a hugger, and although Carrie had been in his ear all day with work updates, they didn’t touch. Yesterday he’d seen Danny, but had he—no, he hadn’t shaken his hand. Probably could’ve asked for a hug if he’d thought of it, but he hadn’t. Tuesday, then. Tuesday night, strolling through the dark, guiding his bike with one hand as he walked Emma to the club after dinner. She’d tucked her arm in his, and he’d worn Henry’s confidence, a man important and protective and needed.

Almost forty-eight hours since anyone had touched him.

Four days without Alice.

Twelve days since Henry had gone north, and in that whole time he’d been back home for an hour at the most.

The gift basket on the kitchen table held a void, too, a big empty gap at the front where all the days had fallen through into nothing. Five envelopes left, with the one numbered 20 on top. An even. That made it one of Alice’s, although Jay had opened hers yesterday, and she wouldn’t be home in the morning yet. By evening if he was lucky. Maybe that card would be something he could actually do. Another scavenger hunt.

He pulled out his chair and spun it around. Sat facing the back, his arms crossed on the top, his chin bony against his forearms.

Henry had made the calendar for both of them. Odds and evens was only to make it fair, so they each got to open the same number. But they wouldn’t now anyway, because Alice was on her trip. He could let her open more days next week to even things up.

The envelope was no bigger than his palm. He pressed two corners to his fingers and spun it slowly, a tiny creamy-white pinwheel. Tomorrow would be here in six hours anyway.

He slipped his finger under the edge, and the wax seal lifted with no pressure at all. It wanted to be opened.

The card slid into his hand, Henry’s artwork on the front. Shaded bricks. Flames leaping in the fireplace.

A flicker of fear found him, and he bent back the top before it could stop him. Henry’s words flowed across the paper in a dark ribbon.

My dearest loves.

Months ago, I promised to take you in front of the hearth as the fire merrily blazed away. Tomorrow we will leave for our first Christmas as a family. I think we ought to christen our fireplace before we go, don’t you?

I expect the months of waiting have whetted your appetite; I know they have stoked my own desires. Shall we see if we might outlast the flames?

The card fell from his hand. Tumbling over itself, it fluttered to the floor beside his foot, the false cozy fire a thousand times more cheerful than the dark emptiness of the living room. They wouldn’t have their night by the fire. Wouldn’t have any nights.

He shouldn’t have opened Henry’s gift. He’d gotten what he deserved, like curiosity-seekers and eavesdroppers. The cold in his chest doubled down, and he wrapped his arms around himself. This shouldn’t be so fucking hard. Alice would be home tomorrow night. They would see Henry again Saturday. How could he not hold it together for five lousy days?

“I miss you.”

Danny always wanted him to name his feelings, like he could tame them or something. Get them to creep closer and take nuts and seeds from his hand.

“I’m lonely.”

He hadn’t lived alone in almost five years. And that had been—Christ, what a shitshow. Living in his bachelor apartment after college, bouncing off the walls, saying yes to invitations he shouldn’t have just to have somewhere to go and people to be with. He knew better now, but fuck, it was hard to be alone.

Shoving back his chair, he scooped up the card and set it in front of the basket. The corner had crumpled a little. He smoothed it with his fingers. These were keepsakes, memory stones for Alice. He couldn’t be tossing them so carelessly. He was such a—

“Stop it.”

Movement, that’s what he needed. And Danny’s exercise about finding the good in himself. And light. Why was he sitting in the dark? He could light up the whole damn house if he wanted, not just the eensy spotlight over the table. Starting with the tree.

He’d done a damn fine job on the tree. They’d all been wearing their matching wedding rings that day at the farm, and their forester hadn’t said a word about it. He’d invited Jay back anytime to work the rows. And Charlie, Charlie had said he was proud of Jay, in those moments before the ceremony. Someday he’d be as stable and open as Charlie was about being poly and bi and not giving a shit about what other people thought.

Those were good thoughts, good, positive praise-y thoughts. But his chest stayed as cold and empty as the fireplace.

The tree’s cozy yellow-white glow stretched up to the ceiling. They didn’t have anything under their tree yet. He’d gotten gifts for Henry and Alice, but he hadn’t done anything with them. Would they take them to Maine and open them there? If that was his biggest concern, he had life a hell of a lot easier than his spouses.

The hearth bricks were cold. He sat his ass on the hardwood and let the edges cut into his back. The glow from the tree wavered like headlights shining across a puddle.

The night Henry had promised the someday-fire, they’d been at Master Will’s cabin. Alice had tweaked her back. Henry had needed him then. Counted on him to give Alice a show, to help her stop being embarrassed and frustrated.

What he wouldn’t give to be there instead of here. To be pinned down, Henry’s thick cock filling his mouth, heavy on his tongue. To feel helpless and protected at the same time, unafraid to be the real Jay. To look over and see dazed lust in Alice’s eyes, all love and wonder for him and how he was with Henry.

He was helpless now, too. Just unprotected. Life had stalled in this loop of no one wanting or needing the real him, so he could only be outside-Jay, because the people who knew inside-Jay were far away. They didn’t want him where they were. He wasn’t useful to them.

“I tried.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. They were more ragged than usual; he kept them trimmed for Alice because Henry did. Couldn’t have nails catching on sensitive bits. “I can’t fix this on my own.”

Feelings were feelings. That’s what Danny said. They weren’t good or bad, and beating himself up for having them just sucked away his energy, like using the wrong gear on a hill.

He could sit here and wallow until he felt worse, or he could reach out for help.