Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ru lingered in his room until well into the afternoon, a book he’d picked up from the living room open on his lap.
He’d read the same paragraph half a dozen times without absorbing a word.
The muffled sounds of Jake moving about the house—the occasional footstep, the distant clatter of something in the kitchen—drifted through the door, each noise a reminder of the man he’d spent most of the last day and a half avoiding.
Jake’s revelation about Phil had both shocked and saddened Ru. Angered him too, if he were honest. The breaking of trust… He got that, right down to his bones.
Since then, they’d kept themselves to themselves, by unspoken, mutual consent.
Jake was bruised by what he’d revealed and Ru understood the need for retreat, leaving them to bare bones conversations limited to practicalities, and avoiding the raw emotion that had surfaced between them.
All that had been painful enough, but what was worse was pretending that what had happened in Jake’s bed was something they could set aside.
Ru’s stomach tightened. He’d never be able to set aside what had bloomed between them, he could never forget it, even if Jake decided that once the snow had cleared it was time for Ru to leave for good.
Ru threw the book aside. It was Christmas Eve, and he was skulking in his room. It was time he showed his face, even if it did mean stilted conversations and side stepping everything they needed to talk about.
As he made his way downstairs, a delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen, something savoury and rich that made his stomach rumble. On his way to the kitchen, an unexpected sight stopped him in mid-step outside the living room.
In the corner near the window stood a small Christmas tree, not the grand, fresh cut pine of festive adverts, but a modest artificial one, no more than three feet tall.
“Well, that wasn’t there yesterday,” he muttered to himself.
He made his way in to take a closer look, curiosity edging out his hunger.
It was wonky, and its branches were straggly and threadbare, or what he could see of them, because each was hung with an eclectic assortment of decorations: faded glass baubles alongside small wooden figures, glittering tinsel next to what appeared to be dried herbs tied with red thread.
A few pinecones dangled from lower branches, painted in silver and gold.
At the top, instead of a traditional star or angel, perched a figure of the Green Man, his face composed of leaves and vines.
“It’s been in storage a while. I had a hell of a job straightening the branches. Not sure if I really succeeded.”
Ru turned to find Jake standing in the doorway, looking stiff and awkward. Next to him, Monty wagged his tail in greeting. Jake held two mugs in his hands.
“It’s lovely,” Ru said.
Jake’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He crossed the living room floor, offering a mug to Ru. “Tea. I’ve just made it.”
Their fingers brushed in the handover, a fleeting, casual contact that to Ru didn’t feel fleeting or casual at all. Jake’s eyes met his with a flicker of something, of acknowledgment, perhaps, before he looked away.
“Thank you.” Ru cradled the mug between his palms. “I didn’t expect…”
“A Christmas tree? Wasn’t sure I’d put it up. Haven’t for a few years.”
Ru put his mug down to take a closer look. “Some of these ornaments look old.”
Jake nodded. “Most of them came from my nan. She always said they’d been handed down the generations. She didn’t leave a formal will because she had bugger all, but she did write a letter specifying I was to have them.”
“Which makes them valuable. Emotionally, I mean.”
“They’re priceless.”
Ru bent down to examine the strange assortment.
Plaster Santas which didn’t look like any that had adorned his family tree growing up, they were pared down and primitive rather than jolly and cuddly.
Ru peered at one of the little wooden figures.
A naked man, with giant horns sprouting from his head.
“Cernunoss, sometimes known as The Horned One,” Jake said. “He was an important god in the old Celtic religion and was associated with nature, wild animals, and fertility. The Christians turned him into the devil, because of the horns. Biggest piece of character assassination in history.”
Ru straightened up and turned to Jake. “They’re incredible. Wouldn’t let the local vicar see them, though. They’d have a fit.”
Jake smiled, his features relaxing a little.
“You should see St. Bridget’s, up on the high moor.
It’s more of a hermit’s cell than a church, and its stone carvings don’t have much to do with anything in the Bible.
It’s a site of pilgrimage for some. You can’t get a vehicle within about five miles of the place,” he added.
“I’d like to see it, when the weather’s better.”
If I’m here, if I’m around… if you want me to be…
Their gazes met, before sliding away.
“I never put it up when Phil was here,” Jake said suddenly, his voice loud in the otherwise silent room.
“He called it a piece of tat, said it looked like something from a charity shop. That really pissed me off, because my nan had given it to me, when she upgraded to one of those pre-decorated silver tinsel ones.” He smiled at the memory of his nan, but almost immediately it fell from his lips as a frown creased his brow.
“He said we should get a ‘proper’ tree. A real one. Because it was more stylish.”
Jake ran the fingertips of his free hand over the wonky, near threadbare branches, his touch as tender as though he were caressing a lover. Ru’s chest tightened and his skin tingled, knowing how Jake’s touch could feel.
Ru cleared his rough, dry throat. “I’m glad you decided to put it up, because it’s perfect.”
Jake’s eyes met his. Something shifted in his expression, a softening around the edges. “Thought you might like it, being Christmas Eve and all.”
Ru reached out impulsively. It was the lightest of touches, Jake’s thoughtfulness catching him unawares. “Thank you.”
His throat thickened. It would be so easy to take a step forward, to lean in and press his lips to Jake’s, to wrap his arms around him, to feel Jake’s strong body hard against his.
To sweep aside this strange no-man’s-land that had arisen between them.
Jake’s eyes darkened as a flush crept up his face. Tilting his head, Jake licked his lips.
Monty broke the moment. Whining and yelping, as he balanced on his hind legs.
Ru and Jake stumbled back a step at the same time.
“Bloody animal never stops begging for food.”
Ru nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“I’ve, erm, made soup,” Jake said abruptly. “Nothing fancy. But it’s ready, if you’re hungry.”
“I am, thanks,” Ru said, finding his voice, not missing the uncertainty behind Jake’s gruff offer, as though unsure whether his invitation would be accepted, as if the careful distance they’d maintained might extend to finding an excuse to not share a meal.
Jake nodded, a small smile lifting his lips. “Come on, then. Before it gets cold.”
They ate mostly in silence, not strained yet not quite comfortable. Monty’s determined attempts to convince them both that dog food was clearly inferior to whatever they were eating helped ease the tension.
“Does that ever work?” Ru asked, as Monty placed a paw on Jake’s thigh, big brown eyes wide and imploring.
“More often than I’d like to admit,” Jake confessed, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he absently stroked the dog’s head. “He’s a persuasive little sod.”
“He’s got you wrapped around his finger. Or paw. I think it’s sweet.”
Their eyes met across the table, holding for a beat too long. Jake looked away first. “I shouldn’t indulge him the way I do.”
Ru said nothing, as he spooned up some soup. A piece of yellow pepper sat in his spoon. “Same colour as my bruises are turning,” he said, gingerly prodding his nose with his free hand.
“They’re fading. They’ll be gone in a few days.”
Jake reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly over the discoloured skin. The touch was gentle and Ru’s breath hitched. Jake’s eyes widened, realising what he’d done a moment too late, his hand freezing against Ru’s skin, eyes meeting Ru’s with sudden, stark awareness
“Almost healed.” Jake said, his voice soft.
Almost healed… Ru nodded, his voice lodged in his throat.
Monty chose the moment to roll onto his back and demand belly rubs from Jake. Ru let out a long, quiet breath, unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed at the dog’s antics. He raked his hair back from his face with an unsteady hand.
After lunch they retreated to the living room.
“I’m so glad you put the tree up. Christmas doesn’t feel right without one.
Cooper would always insist on having an urban, contemporary tree,” Ru said, air quoting the words.
“In other words, a big bundle of twigs with a few plain white lights hanging off them. I’d take the piss, because it was the only way I could get my own back on him, and ask if he was waiting for Hello!
magazine to knock on the door to do an emergency photoshoot of the rising star’s home at Christmas.
He’d get the right hump with me, so much that I’d wonder if I’d hit a nerve.
Wouldn’t have minded so much, but it was my flat, not his.
“It’s funny,” Ru said, his lips twisting in a wry smile, “how all that feels like a lifetime away. Cooper, too, for that matter. Just a few weeks ago, I was still licking my wounds, but now…” He looked away, into the fire. But now… Everything had changed, revealing a new and different landscape.
“It’s stopped raining.”
Ru turned to see Jake standing at the window, peering through the curtain. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed Jake get up.
Jake flexed his shoulders before planting a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers squeezing and rubbing.
Ru’s eyes narrowed. “Are your neck and shoulders sore?”