Chapter Eighteen
“You know it’s going to be crazy today, right?” Micah said as he switched off the engine. “I mean, who in their right mind goes Christmas shopping the day before Christmas Eve? And on a Saturday too?”
Greg snorted. “My mom used to go out on Christmas Eve, after about three o’clock. She said by then, all the stores were getting ready for the post-Christmas sales, and she could grab some real bargains.”
Micah stared at him. “Seriously? Tell me she didn’t drag you along with her.”
Greg laughed. “Only if I was really unlucky. Damon hated shopping with a passion, so she’d leave him at home with me. And we’re only doing this now because I finally have the money to do it.”
Micah sighed. “Yeah, I get that, but there are going to be tons of people shopping today. And what if there are no motorized carts around here?”
Greg had already considered that. He’d looked up Powder Basin Shopping Center online, but hadn’t been able to find any mention of such a thing.
“Then we take things nice and slow, all right? I don’t have that much to buy, and if I—or you, for that matter—think I’m getting tired, then we pull the plug. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Then Micah smiled, leaned over and kissed him.
“What was that for?” Greg loved how Micah’s kisses always made him feel warm inside.
Micah arched his brows. “I need a reason now to kiss you?” He grinned. “Am I on your Christmas list?”
“Well, that depends.” Greg kept his face straight. “Have you been a good little boy?”
Micah’s smile grew wicked and he brushed his lips against Greg’s ear. “I recall you saying last night that I was very good. Mind you, I did have your dick in my mouth at the time, so that may have influenced your decision a tad.”
Okay, now Greg was hot. He cleared his throat, trying his utmost to avoid adjusting himself. “Your timing sucks, you know that, right?”
Micah snorted. “You said sucks.”
“How old are you—twelve?” Greg rolled his eyes.
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” First stop was to buy a phone, then he had two stores he wanted to visit, so he had at least one gift each for Naomi and Joshua.
He wasn’t going to buy Micah’s gift, not with him right there.
Joshua was taking care of that task for him.
“Where first?”
Greg pulled out his phone and consulted his notes. “Phone first, then Heaven to Earth. Wherever that is.”
“That’s okay, I know it.” Micah cocked his head. “But what are you going there for?” Then he held up his hands. “None of my business.”
Greg chuckled. “Something for your dad. And you’ll laugh when you see it.” He leaned back and grabbed his crutches, knowing that Micah would be there to help him out of the car. If there were no carts, he’d be leaning on Micah a lot that morning.
Not that that was such a bad thing.
Greg knew when he was beaten. He was dog tired, his leg ached, and he was starving to boot.
“Is there anywhere around here where we can get something to eat?” Micah was carrying his bags: no way could Greg manage them and his crutches.
It was looking like he’d badly underestimated how tiring the shopping trip would be, or the toll it would take.
Micah took one glance at his face and scowled. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? You look like you’re about to fall over right this second.”
The last thing Greg wanted was Micah worrying about him. “I’m a little tired, but I really am hungry.”
Micah nodded. “Then we’re going to Perkin’s, just across the parking lot. If you can make it that far, or do I need to fetch the car?” He gave Greg a hard stare. “Just how tired are you?”
Greg sighed. “Okay, so you can stick a fork in me. Happy now? As soon as we’ve eaten, we can go home.
I’ve got everything I came for.” He caught the brief flash of surprise on Micah’s face.
Micah couldn’t have missed the fact that Greg had bought gifts for Naomi and Joshua, but nothing for him.
Greg had already shopped online for his family, although they’d receive them a little late.
Don’t worry, honey. I’ve not forgotten you. Greg hoped Joshua had been successful.
Micah pointed behind them. “It’s this way.”
Carefully, Greg hobbled in the direction of the restaurant, Micah keeping pace with him, watching anxiously.
Greg knew he’d be a lot better off once he was able to sit a while.
When they got into the crowded restaurant, a server showed them to a table, and finally he could take the weight off.
He stood his crutches against the wall of the booth and sagged against the padded back of the bench, his leg stretched out in front of him.
Micah handed him a menu. “I just want a quick bite. I want to get you home.”
Greg had no problems with that whatsoever.
By the time the server had taken their orders and he’d drunk a glass of water, he was feeling a little better. It must have showed in his face, because Micah smiled. “You’ve got your color back.”
Greg nodded. “I’ll feel even better when I get a turkey and avocado BLT inside me. Although I might sneak a bite of your roast beef and swiss cheese.”
Micah’s eyes glittered. “And I might let you.”
Just then their server turned up with two full plates, and all conversation was forgotten for ten minutes or so.
Greg attacked his sandwich with gusto, and devoured every one of his fries.
Another glass of water, and he was feeling human again.
He relaxed, listening to the excited chatter around him, children talking animatedly about Christmas.
I remember being that age. I couldn’t wait for Christmas morning.
Then he stiffened. Ice crawled sluggishly through his veins and an invisible iron band around his chest constricted his breathing.
“Greg?” Micah leaned across the table, reaching for his hand. “My God, you’re as white as that table top. What’s wrong?”
Greg was trembling. Slowly, keeping his head facing forward, he leaned toward Micah. “Behind me,” he whispered. “Are there two guys sitting nearby? Just two guys at a table?”
Micah looked beyond him. “Yeah. They’re about two tables away from us.” He gripped Greg’s hand tightly. “What is it?”
Greg swallowed hard. “They’re the two men who attacked me.” He still heard their voices from that night, each time they invaded his dreams.
Micah gaped. “Are you sure?”
Greg nodded. “I’d know those voices anywhere. I can’t turn around though. I just can’t.” One look at those guys and he’d break, he knew it. “Does one of them have a reddish beard? Broad shoulders?”
“Oh, God, yes,” Micah whispered.
That ice had finally reached Greg’s heart. “Then yeah, it’s them.” He felt sick to his stomach. “Fuck, just listen to them, laughing and joking. Why not? It’s nearly Christmas, and a month or so ago, they beat up another fag. One less homo in the world, right?”
Micah’s eyes widened. “They’re getting up. They’re going to leave.”
Greg’s heart pounded. “Follow them? See if they get into a vehicle? That way, we can get a license number.”
Micah nodded. “I can do that. You stay here, okay? I’ll be back. I don’t know how long it will take, but you don’t move from this spot, you hear me?”
Greg shivered. “Loud and clear.” He didn’t think he was capable of movement right then anyway.
Micah released Greg’s hand, grabbed his jacket, and walked off. Greg didn’t dare move, rooted to the bench. He reached for Micah’s still half full glass, and drained it. The server approached him and refilled it.
How long he sat there, Greg had no idea. His lunch felt like a bowling ball in his stomach, and swallowing became a chore. When Micah’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Sorry.” Micah slid into the booth next to him. “I’ve got it.” He held up his phone. “Not only that, I took a photo of their car as they drove off.” He squeezed Greg’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely positive it was them?”
Greg nodded. “No doubt at all.”
“Then what do you want to do with this information?”
Greg had been thinking about that very thing. “We go home, and then I call Detective Riley. After that? I throw up.” He felt like he was going to do that at any second.
“I’ll pay the check, then I’ll bring the car to the front of the restaurant. That’s after I get you to the chairs by the door. Okay?” Micah gazed into his eyes.
Greg drew in a deep breath. “Okay.” He just wanted to go home.
It wasn’t until he was sitting by the door, waiting for Micah to appear, that he realized the truth of his statement. That house on Willow Creek Drive did feel like home. And that had everything to do with the people who lived in it.
One in particular.
Micah came into his dad’s office, just in time to hear the tail end of Greg’s conversation.
“Yes, thank you, Detective Riley. Yes, I’ll be sure to give you a forwarding address when I leave here.”
That was enough to make him stop listening, his heart sinking like a rock.
I’m deluding myself here, aren’t I? This isn’t some fairy tale. As soon as he’s well enough to leave, Greg will pack his bag and that will be that. Gone.
It didn’t matter that Micah was already head over heels in love for the first time in his life.
This wasn’t Greg’s home, no matter how much it felt like he belonged there, heart, body and soul.
He had his own family back in California, his own life to lead.
And barring a miracle, or someone sprinkling fairy dust, there was nothing to keep Greg there.
There were no such things as miracles or magic.
“Micah?”
He pulled himself back into the moment. Dad was standing next to Greg, regarding Micah with amusement.
“Sorry, I must have zoned out there.” Micah peered at Greg. “You look exhausted.”
Greg gave him a weary smile. “Gee, thanks.” Then he put his head back against the chair, closing his eyes.
Dad gazed at him in concern. “Micah’s right, you’re all wrung out. Why don’t you go lie down for a while? We’ll call you for dinner.”
“Dad’s right. A nap would do you good.”
Greg opened his eyes and nodded. “Okay.” Dad helped him to his feet, then handed him his crutches. Greg made his way around the desk, clearly fatigued. Micah followed him to his room, then guided him to sit on the bed.
“Lie back,” he said, moving the crutches.
Greg didn’t say a word, but merely shuffled up the bed until his head hit the pillows. Micah removed his boots, then went into the closet. He brought out a thick, soft comforter, and unfolded it, spreading it out over Greg’s prone form. He bent low and stroked Greg’s cheek. “Get some sleep.”
“K.” Greg already sounded half asleep. By the time Micah reached the door, his breathing had evened out. Micah pulled the door to, and walked into the kitchen. Dad was pouring out a mug of coffee. He glanced up as Micah entered.
“He looks awful.”
“No wonder.” Naomi shook her head. “How would you feel, if the assholes who beat you up and left you for dead were sitting a few feet behind you, eating away, happy as a clam? Poor Greg.” Her face tightened. “What did the police say anyway?”
“They’re gonna check the license and find out who the car is registered to. They already have Greg’s descriptions. Then I guess we wait and see what they do next.”
“Will Greg have to identify them in a line-up?”
“Probably. Thing is, what evidence is there likely to be after this time? It’s just his word against theirs.” Dad seemed miserable. Micah totally got that. He’d had the same thoughts all the trip home. Greg hadn’t said a word, just stared through the windshield the whole time.
“Maybe it’s enough to have them identified on record,” he mused. “Because if they did this once, and got away with it, they might get the idea they can do it again. Their next victim might not be so lucky.”
Naomi froze. “What are you talking about?”
It was then that Micah realized Naomi hadn’t been home there when Greg had finally revealed what had happened. He sighed heavily. “Greg was targeted because he was gay.”
Dad’s face darkened. “I’m just glad he finally told the police everything. Not that it was a complete surprise. Didn’t I guess back in that hospital room? Those hateful bastards.” He glanced in the direction of Greg’s room. “That boy didn’t deserve this.”
“No one deserves that!” Naomi yelled. Micah put his finger to his lips, and she stiffened.
“Sorry. I got carried away. It’s just that you think things are getting better, that we’re advancing, but then you only have to click on a news site or open a newspaper to see we’re actually moving backwards.
It makes me sick to think there is so much hate out there. ” Her eyes glistened.
Micah strode across the kitchen and hugged her tightly. “It’s six of one, half-dozen of the other, sis. You see the hate, but I see hope.”
Naomi gaped at him. “Where?”
He cupped her chin. “When you talked about your classmates? I felt hopeful. You painted a picture of a diverse group, who all get along, in spite of what divides them, because they don’t see the differences. That gives me hope, right there.”
Naomi regarded him thoughtfully. “I didn’t see it like that.”
He kissed her cheek and released her. “But you do now.” Micah smiled, then turned to his dad. “How would you feel if we put on a Christmas movie tonight? I was thinking popcorn too.” This had to be Dad’s decision.
Dad gazed at him for a moment. “We haven’t watched one yet, have we?” When both of them shook their heads, he sighed. “Fair enough. Pick one.” He snickered. “We’re not exactly short on movies to choose from, right?” Mom’s Christmas DVDs took up a whole shelf.
“Can I choose?” Naomi asked quietly.
Micah had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“Sure.” Dad smiled. “It’s not like we haven’t seen all of them at least a gazillion times.”
“It’s A Wonderful Life,” she announced promptly, her gaze flickering the tiniest bit in Micah’s direction.
“Why not?” Dad agreed. Naomi beamed at him triumphantly.
Micah gave an inward groan. His sister was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.