Chapter 31
morgan
They staggered back, shoulder to shoulder, and though they were no longer clinging to one another, Jack didn’t move far away.
Their shoulders brushed, whole-body shivers shared between them as they went down the road, then turned right to go into the parking lot and from there through the front door.
Everything was slippery, and it was a relief to step inside, though the store was cold and dark.
“We need to build a fire and change our clothes.” Morgan looked up the stairs, realizing that frost had shot through the fibers of everything he wore, and it was now melting. Leaving him wet and cold all the way through.
But if he was cold, Jack was colder. He’d been out longer than Morgan, wearing less. He was slender, and he was shaking so hard his teeth clacked together.
“C’mon,” Morgan said, “let’s go upstairs.”
To his surprise, Jack pulled away. His eyes were sparks, an explosion in the near darkness.
“Stop,” Jack said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop this.” Jack’s hand sliced through the air, an axe made of flesh and bone.
“Okay.” Morgan didn’t know what he was agreeing to, but he needed to get Jack warm, and he couldn’t do that in the chilly downstairs.
Upstairs there were clothes not stiffened in a deep freeze. Upstairs there were embers in the cast-iron stove, and even Morgan, with his bad knee, could put slivers of wood inside and heat the room. For Jack.
“Please,” he said, tugging on the leather of Jack’s sleeve. “We’ll figure this out. Let’s just get warm.”
With a hard sigh, Jack wiped the frost melt from his forehead, pushing back his dark hair. He didn’t want to go with Morgan, that was obvious, but there was nowhere else for him to go.
“Tomorrow I’ll put you on a plane to anywhere you want,” Morgan said, tugging harder. “But right now, let’s dry off.”
Oddly, that statement, meant with all his heart to be comforting, did not seem to help. Jack’s expression was grim, and though he followed Morgan up the stairs, his steps were heavy and dull. Stone on stone in chilly darkness.
In the parlor, Jack took off everything but his jeans and T-shirt. Then, bare-armed and barefoot, he built up a small but sturdy fire.
Morgan sank onto the couch, where he pulled off his galoshes and sat forward to catch the warmth, let it soak into him. They should both change clothes, but for now, the fire would be enough.
Jack leaned against the wall by the stove as his shivers wore away, hands in his pockets as though he were waiting for the bus on a fine spring day.
He didn’t look at Morgan at all. His eyes were focused out the window, at the starlit snow rolling off into the distance, and his head was cocked like he was listening for another train whistle.
“If you were leaving, why didn’t you at least wear the new clothes I got you?” Morgan asked.
“Don’t need your fucking charity.” Jack’s calm, even voice chilled Morgan all over again.
“It’s not charity. You’ve been working for me, and you needed them,” Morgan said. “Then Mabel yelled at me about the way you were dressed. She said she wouldn’t trust me to take care of so much as a stray dog.”
“I’m not a stray dog,” Jack said stoutly, not angry, but clearly affronted that she would think anything like that.
“No, you’re not, but why did you go out there to jump on that train when I said I’d take you?” Morgan asked, confusion rippling through him.
“Because I’m not your fucking doormat, either.”
The words embedded themselves in Morgan. He didn’t have to think hard to know what Jack was referring to. But it was easier to pretend he didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to make you my—” He felt a small, uncomfortable laugh bubble up in his throat. “My jack-of-all-trades. My nursemaid, and cook, and chauffeur—”
“You think that’s what I’m talking about?” Jack pulled his body upright, hands coming out of his pockets as he stepped forward, one foot on the futon like he was about to climb a mountain. “I didn’t mind helping you. Feeling needed.”
Morgan pressed himself into the back of the couch as Jack came closer.
“But you can’t let me suck your dick an’ then throw me away like I’m nothing.” Jack took a deep breath. “It’s not right. And I’m not going to let you do it anymore.”
Morgan opened his mouth to protest, but then snapped it shut, because that’s exactly what he had done.
He had taken a precious celebration of having survived the blizzard together and turned it into something cheap.
This probably shouldn’t happen again, he’d said.
As though he imagined Jack would be okay with being put aside like an afterthought.
As though what they’d shared had been a mistake. As though Jack himself was a mistake.
That was when they’d stopped laughing at each other’s jokes. When Jack’s footsteps had turned into a kind of sad march as he continued going through the motions of looking after Morgan’s every need. For the promise of a thousand dollars that he’d obviously never intended to collect.
Jack, it seemed, had been uninterested in the money or the clothes—or even, ultimately, the roof over his head. But what had he wanted?
He opened his mouth to ask Jack directly. Then he closed his eyes, shutting out the glitter of Jack’s gaze, the trail of dark hair across his cheek. His neck, bare and vulnerable even as warm air swirled around them both.
He’d been about to put the weight of the decision about Jack’s future all on Jack’s shoulders. Rather like he’d put the weight of his own care there. As he’d done with Bradley.
Looking back, maybe his and Bradley’s relationship had been on the rocks anyway, but then, when Morgan got injured, he had insisted that Bradley needed to drop everything else in his life and look after him—rather than doing the rational thing and hiring someone who’d chosen that line of work and felt comfortable doing it.
And now he was doing—had done—the same thing to Jack. Who’d been kind and sweet. Who had laughed off Morgan’s grumpy moods and just gotten on with things. Who’d lifted Morgan up when he fell and tended to him with quiet earnestness.
But it had been more than that. There had been a warmth in Jack’s eyes meant for Morgan alone, and Morgan knew it. Had known it, perhaps all along, and had ignored it, choosing to wallow in bitterness rather than accept that something good was happening in his life.
He opened his mouth, took a breath, and looked straight at Jack.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said, but then the steadiness of Jack’s expression became too much for him to face.
He bowed his head. “But I acted like I wanted that. I even looked at what flight to put you on. And what kind of reservation I should make for you at the Georgian Santa Monica, as though that was going to make up for everything.”
“Reservation?”
Morgan wiped at his eyes and met Jack’s stare again. Made himself look, really look. Jack didn’t have any idea about the hotel he’d picked out, nor would he have cared how expensive the room was. His focus was all on Morgan.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Jack asked with some venom. “Giving me what I have no use for.”
“I want you to stay,” Morgan said, because he had to cut through his own bullshit and get to the heart of it before he lost Jack for good.
“You’re amazing and so sweet—” He broke off, scrambling for a way to say what he meant without coming across like an arrogant, selfish bastard. “I want you to stay.”
He could barely say it, but he needed to; otherwise, Jack would be gone.
“And I’ve treated you like a—”
Jack moved closer, his thigh right next to Morgan’s knee. Close enough to touch.
“Like a servant?” Jack asked quietly.
Morgan’s fingers reached out and then drew back. He didn’t get to touch what he wanted when he wanted to. He also couldn’t stay seated, because what he had to say—what he needed to say—was important enough that it should be said while standing on his own two feet.
He pushed off the couch cushions, wondering where his damn cane was, and steadied himself, even as he saw Jack’s shoulders twitch as though he wanted to reach out and help. Like he always did.
“I’ve never met anybody like you,” Morgan said as clearly as he could. He looked at Jack, looked him up and down and shook his head just a fraction, as though Jack was some kind of miracle. Which he was.
“I needed someone, and there you were. I needed help, and you gave it to me. You gave me a ticket into this damn town. Connected me with all these people.” Morgan stopped the spill of words that weren’t the point, after all.
“You are amazing. I don’t have to be anybody but myself around you. And then I go and treat you badly—”
“Shitty,” Jack interjected. “That’s how you treated me. Shitty.”
“I did,” Morgan agreed. “I’ve been shitty to you. When I didn’t want to be. It was a defense, but that’s no excuse. You deserve better.”
“I do,” Jack said simply. “And you deserve better.”
Shaking his head, Morgan frowned, searching Jack’s face for answers he desperately needed.
“Pull yourself up,” Jack said. “Cut your meds in half if you have to, to wean yourself off them, instead of complaining. Do your fucking exercises and get on with it. Stop wallowing.”
Morgan stopped himself from pouting like a scolded child. Jack was right. So he said it out loud. “You’re right. I want to get better. I want to take care of what I need to take care of. But mostly, I want you.”
He reached out, intending to brush his fingers over Jack’s bare arm, but instead moved a trail of dark hair out of Jack’s eyes.
Jack didn’t pull away. Jack let him do it, which sent a shiver through Morgan, as though he were still cold and only just now warming up.
“I want you,” he repeated. Then he waved at the room. “I don’t know what will happen come spring. But I want you to stay. So I can look after you.”
Jack quirked an eyebrow as though Morgan was once again, as always, missing the point.
“So I can be with you,” Morgan corrected. “Just that. Just be.” He took a gulp of air. “Will you let me? Give me another chance?”
If there were a crowd of people screaming reasons for Jack to say no, Jack didn’t seem to hear them. He stepped forward off the futon, close enough to send Morgan off-balance.
He’d be fine. There was the couch to fall on, after all. But Jack caught him around the waist, the way he had so many times before, sure, quick, confident.
Morgan gasped. Their hips connected, the lines of their thighs creating warmth between them. He had a chance at this. He still had a chance to make it up to Jack.