Chapter 9
Had you asked either of them when their anniversary was, they’d have shrugged and pretended to have no idea.
After all, they hadn’t exactly followed the traditional path of courtship.
They’d fucked first, refused to talk about it, and then pretended that everything was all well and good for months before Beckett had finally called Hayes his boyfriend and made it official.
The only thing they knew for certain was that the previous Christmas had been a major turning point for them.
They hadn’t talked about their relationship over Christmas, but Hayes had gone to bat for Beckett’s family without a second thought.
Their relationship had most definitely changed by the time they’d returned to their condo from the ensuing chaos of celebrating the holidays with the Théraults.
While the Théraults usually got together at Christmas, they’d celebrated the holiday earlier than usual this year because everyone gathered to attend Jackson’s store opening in November, which meant Beckett and Hayes were spending Christmas at their condo this year.
Neither one of them minded, as they weren’t all that sentimental or old fashioned about how they spent their time during the holiday season.
Beckett woke to the mingled scents of fried bacon and freshly brewed coffee, their bedroom bathed in sunlight, and a hand gently rubbing his back.
“Morning,” Hayes greeted him with a shy smile Beckett only ever saw when his partner had done something romantic and was feeling self-conscious.
“Hmmm—morning,” Beckett replied, his voice rough with sleep.
Hayes had one knee on the bed, leaning slightly over Beckett, as he began to lightly trace random designs on his skin.
“Breakfast is ready,” Hayes said, leaning forward and kissing Beckett tenderly.
He began to pull away, but Beckett wasn’t nearly satisfied with that quick peck.
Faster than his sleep-addled brain could process, he’d grabbed Hayes around the waist and spun him around to lie flat on his back on the bed.
It was Beckett’s turn to lean over Hayes, smiling devilishly.
“Is anything cooking on the stove?” Beckett asked and started kissing Hayes’ neck. The retired SEAL looked baffled for a second before shaking his head. The tips of his ears were turning pink with desire and Beckett wanted to bite them.
“Good,” Beckett mumbled against Hayes’ skin.
“Would you like your first Christmas present of the day?” he asked, still peppering the side of Hayes’ neck with kisses.
Most were soft, and quick, while he lingered on others, sucking the skin gently.
Never hard enough to leave a mark—at least not where anyone could see—but enough to make Hayes squirm with desire.
“Please,” he said, increasingly turned on.
“Good,” Beckett replied, planting a big, sloppy kiss on Hayes’ lips. Then, he rolled completely off the bed, leaving Hayes looking confused and hard enough to hammer nails.
“What in the bloody—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Beckett admonished, gesturing for Hayes to remain calm as he threw their closet door open and began digging through its contents.
“Why are you back in the closet? Pretty sure we were done with that step—” Hayes commented with a smirk.
Beckett rewarded him with a well-deserved “Har, har,” and just kept digging.
Hayes wasn’t sure what his boyfriend was looking for, but whatever it was, he’d hidden it quite well. The colorful, non-stop swearing in French meant he wasn’t having any luck. Finally, he backed out of the closet, holding a small black box as he spun to face Hayes, looking very self-conscious.
“I bought it last year before we went to my parents’ house, but then I couldn’t find it, and then we got caught up with the whole purge incident so—” He was clearly nervous and uncomfortable.
He padded towards the bed slowly and, sitting down next to Hayes, offered him the black velvet jeweler’s box.
Hayes was suddenly nervous, too, but then reminded himself that it was a gift Beckett had bought for him the previous year. It couldn’t be anything as crazy as an engagement ring, right? Hell, he hoped not, because he had absolutely no idea how to handle that.
“Don’t sweat it, Nancy. Pinky promise I’m not proposing,” Beckett said, reading Hayes’ mind with ease, as usual.
Ironic, really, since Hayes had always thought he was hard to read. Turns out, he’d just never been around people who cared before.
Hayes calmly lifted the lid of the little black box, struck speechless as he gazed in utter fascination at the golden glow of the signet ring resting on a black velvet cushion. It was small enough to wear on his right pinky finger and his initials were engraved in elegant cursive: H.M.
“I thought it was fitting since we started hooking up after you branded me with a fireplace poker.” Beckett smiled uncertainly, which was an odd expression for his usually assertive partner.
“I did not brand you. I cauterized your wound,” Hayes refuted while running his thumb over his initials. He was hypnotized by it. Couldn’t look away from it. And he was genuinely touched by Beckett’s thoughtfulness.
“You say tomato, I say shut up and put it on already,” Beckett said, with his usual blunt style of sass.
Hayes chuckled and complied. Carefully removing the ring from the confines of the velvet cushion, he slipped it onto his right pinky finger. It fit perfectly.
“It kind of made more sense last year when that big-assed scar was new, but—I don’t know. Felt like it fit with the James Bond aesthetic.” Beckett gazed thoughtfully at the ring now adorning Hayes’ pinky.
He continued to look uncertain—and Hayes suddenly realized the reason. He hadn’t said anything yet about his gift.
“It’s perfect.” Hayes swallowed against the wealth of emotions caught in his throat. It was beyond perfect, really. And it carried far more weight than Beckett would ever know.
“My father had one just like it,” Hayes explained, his voice barely above a whisper. “My uncle took it when he died, but—” He shook his head and set aside the sad memory. He looked back up at Beckett, feeling both overwhelmed and cherished.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Hayes said, hoping Beckett would know he meant every word.
Beckett squirmed, looking awkward and uncomfortable, as if he really had asked him to marry him. “Glad you like it,” he said with a hesitant smile.
Hayes reached up to grasp the side of Beckett’s jaw, then pulled him forward to give him a soft kiss.
“I hate when you call me that,” Beckett whispered against Hayes’ lips.
“What? Sweetheart?” Hayes asked, momentarily confused. His boyfriend had never commented one way or the other about the nickname before now.
Beckett gave a brief nod.
Hayes pulled back to study Beckett’s expression. “Why?”
“Because every time you call me that, I forget how to fucking breathe,” Beckett confessed.
Hayes smiled at the crude choice of words for such an incredibly moving, heartfelt confession. A perfect representation of who Beckett was.
“Well, then—” he whispered huskily at the corner of Beckett’s jaw. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart—” he breathed out, before kissing him once. “Let’s go have breakfast,” Hayes said, pulling back and heading towards the door.
“Only if I can eat bacon right off your ass,” Beckett growled, chasing after Hayes in hopes of pulling him back into the room.
Hayes laughed exuberantly, totally unlike the tight ass, buttoned-up Brit he used to be, as he gave Beckett a one-armed hug. “But no homo, right?”
Beckett ducked his head and frowned. “Yeah, okay, somewhere along the way, I went from rugged bisexual to desperate twink, and I’m not—like—super proud of that progression.”
“I think you’re ten years too old, and ten inches too tall, to qualify as a twink, Beck,” Hayes teased, releasing his hold on Beckett when they reached the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, but who made you captain of the Sour Puss Club?” Beckett replied in mock offense.
“You. Wasn’t the signet ring supposed to make that official?” Hayes asked, finding their banter as natural as breathing at this point.
Beckett muttered something indistinct, most likely in French, before he proceeded to pour each of them a cup of coffee and placed them on their small dinner table.
“You’re lucky you’re hot,” was all Hayes caught as he set the plates down.
“Careful, so is the plate,” Hayes cautioned, even though it fell on deaf ears, since Beckett had already started eating the very second Hayes set it on the table.
“Jeez, Haysie! This is incredible,” Beckett commented in between bites. How he managed to speak so clearly with his mouth stuffed with food was anyone’s guess.
“Figured I’d try a couple of new recipes,” Hayes said with a bashful shrug.
“I bagged myself a homemaker!” Beckett replied in amazement.
Hayes merely rolled his eyes as he attacked his own food.
As usual, breakfast was spent talking about work.
They’d been called to testify at Campbell’s trial in a couple of months but had yet to hear back from the prosecutor.
Typically, the prosecutor would schedule a time for pre-trial prep and to review their individual testimonies, but it had been radio silence since they’d returned from New York.
Beckett was convinced there was something not quite kosher going on, while Hayes remained cautiously optimistic that Campbell wouldn’t get out of this quite so easily.
“Anything you wanted to do today?” Beckett asked him, as they finished cleaning up.
Hayes didn’t mind cooking, but he absolutely refused to do anything else until the kitchen was spic and span again.
Early on in their domestic partnership, it had been a major source of friction.
While Beckett was generally tidy, he was more of a go-with-the-flow type of guy when it came to housekeeping, and preferred to leave the dishes until he felt like doing them.
“The gym, maybe, but nothing other than that.” Hayes hadn’t planned anything beyond surprising Beckett with a nice breakfast.