Chapter Four
“No, that’s all right.” James cleared his throat, but his voice still came out thick with frustration and arousal denied.
“I can switch to a later date. New Year’s?
That’ll work.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cillian, who’d withdrawn to their kitchen like a shot when the phone went off.
They had an open plan apartment and he could see everything, and nothing at all because Cillian had his hair down and had hidden his face behind it.
With his face out of sight, I can’t read him at all now , James realized. “Yeah, you too,” he said slowly, barely listening to the ticket agent on the other end, who really didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Merry Christmas to you as well. Thanks.” Click .
James slipped his phone in his pocket, grimaced, and took it back out to toss on the sofa.
Sturdy smartphones and sensitive erections, still at half mast, didn’t play well together.
He narrowed his eyes at Cillian, searching for a clue as to what they should do now.
The last thing Cillian ever was, was shy, but that made twice now he’d hopped away from James like he was a hot potato wrapped in lava.
Just didn’t make sense.
Go slowly then, he decided. Feel his way through this whatever-it-was. Figure out if… if he’d been wrong all along. If Cillian didn’t want him and had just gotten caught up in the excitement of the night. Trust and believe, he didn’t want that to be the case. But if it was…
He needed to know .
“Everything good in there?” James called in the general direction of their kitchen.
He wasn’t the best cook in the world, no, and Cillian liked to tease him about his protein shake habit -- but Cillian?
He would have lived on beer and Ramen if left to his own devices.
He wasn’t even sure Cillian knew where they kept the plates, but he’d leapt on the Instacart grocery delivery like manna from heaven.
After that, nothing but rustling bags and silence.
“What?” Cillian lifted his head, visibly startled. “Oh.” He looked down, as if confused by the sticks of butter and one pound bag of flour he held. “Fine, yeah, thanks.” He shoved both butter and flour into the microwave instead of the fridge, not closing its door. “You doing okay yourself?”
Lord help. James shook his head, but rather than criticize suggested, “Trade you? The decorations showed up while I was on hold with the airline.” He’d tipped the Uber deliveryman either a one or a ten while trying to juggle phone, door, and bags.
He couldn’t remember which, but figured either curses or blessings were coming his way.
Cillian took a couple seconds to process that, then made a face at the canned goods sitting out.
“Might as well, at that.” He stepped out of the kitchen and performed an exaggerated bow, gesturing for James to come forward and take his place.
“Take your coat off first, though, you’ve still got pine needles on your shoulders. ”
Did he? Figured. As James shrugged out of the heavy garment he checked the pockets -- habit -- and came up with a handful of cinnamon-sugar-crumbed napkins. Without meaning to and without thinking, he snorted a quiet chuckle.
Cillian’s forehead furrowed. “Something funny?”
“Not as such.” James showed him the handful. “Just remembered the person who told me they had free snacks. Really adorable older lady. Said we were a cute couple, that she loved seeing people in love, that kind of thing.”
Whoops . Cillian flinched. “And what did you say to that?” he asked, very carefully standing up from his fake-courtier’s bow.
James held very still, then shoved the napkins back in his pocket. Shit . Looked more and more like he’d gotten things entirely wrong, didn’t it? “They’re just words,” he said after a moment. “She was being nice to a stranger. One of the reasons for the season, isn’t it?”
Cillian didn’t reply but raked a hand through his hair a few times. “You never did answer my question.”
“Thought I just did.” Hands tucked in his pockets, James sashayed a couple of careful steps toward the kitchen. Slowly. Slowly. Just in case. But also, concerned. None of this was still anything like normal, everyday Cillian behavior, and it worried him.
“Not that question,” Cillian said impatiently. “I meant the one about why you wanted to go home for Christmas.”
James frowned, lost now. “Because… I always do?”
“ No , you blockhead. I asked why. Specifically, why. What’s at the other end of that airplane ride for you?”
“I usually call it home,” James said, still stumped. “The place where I grew up.”
Cillian was going to end up half bald if he kept yanking at his hair like that. He inhaled deeply. “What is home, then?”
“Where you live?” James could see that wasn’t the answer Cillian wanted. “I don’t get it. Are you asking how I define the concept of ‘home’?”
Cillian fixed him with a stare that was frankly not more comfortable than his earlier avoidance. “Yeah, that’ll do for a start.”
Okay, didn’t make sense, but James could roll with it. He gave his own hair a frustrated tug. “Home is where the people who love you live, I guess. The people who are always there for you. That’s not always blood. Sometimes it’s definitely not blood.”
Cillian, listening, made a “go on” gesture.
“I don’t know what else you want me to say!”
Something snapped and crackled in Cillian’s eyes. “What about this place? Our place. What about this isn’t home?”
“This is as much my home as anywhere else.”
Cillian pounced. Mostly metaphorically, but he came a few steps closer to James, still just out of arm’s reach but drifting nearer as he jabbed the air with his forefinger. “And why is that?”
James started to answer, then stopped. This was like swimming through molasses, but he was starting to get glimmers of daylight. Trouble was, answering honestly might get him out of the molasses and into hot water.
But what did he have to lose?
“Because people I love are here too,” he answered quietly. “One people. I mean, one person. You.” He took the last couple of steps needed to get himself inside Cillian’s bubble. “It took me too long to see it, I’ll own that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’d expected Cillian to seize upon that, but he wasn’t done yet. His eyes flashed fire instead. “And why did you kiss me?”
“Excuse me?” James would have asked whether he heard that right, but he had good ears and a fuse rapidly shortening from frustration.
“It takes two to tango, buddy, or step dance, or whatever you want to use for a comparison. I wasn’t the only one doing the kissing.
” He moved closer and took hold of Cillian’s chin so he couldn’t look away. “I wasn’t the only one who got hard.”
Cillian inhaled sharply, but James had him caught. He couldn’t or wouldn’t look away. “I know,” he said, quieter still than James had been. “I know that all too well.”
“What do you want from me?” James asked, frustration making him harsh.
“What answer are you looking for? If you regret it, if you wish it’d never happened, then fucking say so already.
And while you’re at it, how about you tell me why you spent years keeping me at arm’s length, bringing home a new boy toy every week -- that I kept quiet about, because it’s your life and I love you enough to let you enjoy it -- then pulled me in, then kept pushing me back away?
Help me understand it, Cillian, because I swear I don’t have a clue. ”
Cillian let out a frustrated noise as he pulled out of James’ grasp. “Because I loved you too, you great idiot!”
Silence. James blinked. Then: “Loved, past tense?”
“Oh, you would seize on that one,” Cillian groused.
“No, you dingbat. Present tense. And for the past? I did all that because I loved you. I just didn’t think you loved me and it fucking hurt less to have new faces with no expectations except a good time!
Almost every one of them, I imagined it was you.
I didn’t dare make a move because if you pushed me away, I wouldn’t know how to go on. ”
“I wouldn’t have done that…” James stopped. “You never made a move because you were protecting yourself?”
Cillian wasn’t listening. He paced in a tight circle. “Keeping Christmas started out as helping you feel better, but then you kissed me and -- and it became real. I thought you’d be embarrassed at getting caught, but once I’d run I couldn’t figure out how to come back. I still can’t.”
James’ jaw had dropped somewhere in the middle of that speech and stayed that way until he tried to shake his head hard enough to clear it. “You. What?”
“Love you. Have loved you.” Cillian waved his arms in wild, sweeping jerks.
“There. Now you know everything I know. And where the fuck do we go from here? Because if it took you this long to figure it out, and me this long to find the balls to do something about it, what comes next? What do we do about it without ruining everything?”
* * *
Silence .
Outside, the wind picked up. James’ ears pricked despite himself, catching a hint of graininess as their windows rattled gently.
Felt just like his bones, vibrating under muscle and skin, and like his ears, buzzing with what Cillian had just said.
Outside, snow. Inside… something that could be much warmer.
He licked his lips, unable to look away from Cillian, just as unable to find words.
The right words, the ones that would fit and work and ease the way.
A jolt of music nearly made him -- and Cillian -- jump out of their socks.
They turned as one to frown or stare at the window until the noise resolved itself into silver-sweet carols being sung with as much talent as enthusiasm.
He couldn’t make out the words, but the joy in those voices lifted his heart out of the briar patch long enough to break free.
“Beautiful,” Cillian murmured, drifting toward the window as if to hear better.