Chapter 10 #2
Mo thought about crawling back into bed and enjoying that cozy duvet for another hour or two.
Would Adam sleep snuggle him again? Actually, Mo probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.
And since the other reason for going back to bed was out of the question—Mo doubted Adam wanted to fuck in his parents’ house at 8 a.m.—he wandered in the direction of coffee.
Katie and Duncan sat at the kitchen table, chatting over steaming mugs and the remains of their breakfast.
“Morning, Mo.” Duncan smiled.
“You sleep okay, sweetie?” Katie asked.
“Um, yeah.” Mo fiddled with the strings of the hoodie, suddenly too aware of the damning Canyons’ logo on the chest and sweater’s extra-large size. “Is there more of that coffee?”
“Of course, dear. And food to eat.” Katie stood up and bustled across the kitchen.
Mo tried to protest that he wasn’t a breakfaster. His stomach simply did not wake up before ten o’clock, no matter what he subjected the rest of his body to.
“Maybe just a muffin and some fruit, then,” Katie said, so Mo found himself sitting in the breakfast nook, picking at an admittedly tasty, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink breakfast muffin, and making small talk with Adam’s parents.
“Sage and I grew up together, so I couldn’t miss their big debut in London.”
“Sounds like the two of you are close,” Katie observed with a smile.
“Closest thing I have to a sibling,” Mo confirmed.
Duncan, who’d been sitting quietly while Katie asked about Sage and Mo’s Instagram pictures of his visit, broke his silent study of Mo to ask, “Pair of theater kids, then?”
Mo almost jerked at the question. People tended not to ask about his childhood—they thought they knew all about it since some details were on record—and those who did wanted to talk about hockey, like Mo was a frustrated jock and not someone forced into a sport and kept there long after they first wanted to quit.
“Sage and me? Uh, yeah, we were. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to try out if not for them, but yeah.”
Duncan chuckled softly. “Oh, I bet you two were troublemakers.”
Katie gently thwapped his arm. “Hush. What productions did you do?”
“Katie’s done her fair share of high-school productions.”
“The curse of the English teacher. Now let the boy answer the question.”
These two were the most wholesome double act Mo had ever seen. “Um, well, it started with Annie—Sage was the lead, of course, but I was Orphan Number Five.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. He hadn’t minded being a nameless orphan—he couldn’t really sing. “Next year was Streetcar.”
“Streetcar Named Desire? Why on earth would anyone want to put that old thing on in the past decade?” Katie snorted.
“The drama teacher was kind of a relic. Sage hated him. Fortunately, he retired and the new teacher was better. So then it was Pirates of Penzance and The Importance of Being Earnest. In senior year, Sage talked her into their vision for Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Sage played Helena and talked me into Hermia.
” He fiddled with a coffee cup. “My Lysander was another boy, but Demetrius was the star of the girls’ field hockey team.
” The student body had loved it. Some of the parents, not so much.
“That sounds delightful!” Katie laughed. “Did you continue acting in university?”
“Oh, no, didn’t have the time.”
Liar. He’d had time enough to go clubbing and get drunk every weekend.
Of course, his parents had been willing to bankroll college and nights out, but not Mo continuing with a ridiculous hobby that was no longer cute.
Being Orphan Number Five at thirteen was one thing.
Playing a traditionally female role at seventeen was quite another.
They’d have been apoplectic if news of that had ever hit the Internet.
Fortunately, any chance of Katie asking follow-up questions was cut short by Adam’s arrival.
He shuffled into the kitchen with a yawn and a sheepish look. “Sorry, guess the time change got to me.” Ever the perfect gentleman, he dropped into the chair next to Mo, pressed a kiss to his hair, and murmured softly, “You sleep okay?”
“Yup.” Like Mo was going to say otherwise in front of Adam’s parents, who were watching them with such fond expressions, Mo almost felt sick.
“Good.” He pulled back enough to catch gazes with his parents, and Mo tensed, waiting for… something. Commentary on their relationship? He didn’t know.
“What would you like for breakfast, dear?” Katie motioned to the food on the table, the muffins and fruit, and the margarine, jam, and peanut butter left over from their own breakfasts, and then rattled off several other options.
Adam grunted. “I should have eggs.” He yawned. “And also a shake.”
He gave another buss to Mo’s head, like they kissed each other in non-sexy ways all the time, before he stood and wandered over to the fridge with Katie.
Which left Mo alone with the enigmatic Duncan.
“Did our boy happen to warn you about the annual hockey game?” Duncan took a sip of coffee, eyes sparkling over the mug.
“Like… watching?” Mo asked hopefully.
“Nope. Playing.”
“Adam, didn’t you tell him?” Katie chastised.
Pulling his head from the fridge, Adam caught Mo’s gaze and winced. “Sorry. I forgot.”
“You forgot one of our biggest and most important Christmas traditions?” Duncan raised an eyebrow.
“No, more like I forgot that it was weird?” He shrugged, sheepish.
“We play a game every Christmas, dear. We’ll have to find you some skates and a stick.”
“That’s if you’re playing, of course. Some folk don’t.” Duncan winked.
“It really is optional,” Adam said earnestly.
He stood in front of the fridge with eggs and cheese in one hand, and oat milk in the other.
“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.
” Maybe he figured Mo would rehash the excuses he’d given at the Canyons’ Christmas party: too hungry, too rusty, too sore from last night’s strenuous activity.
“But people will expect me to.” Mo could read between the lines. Unless he had good reason to avoid lacing up, the family would wonder why a kid raised in the sport didn’t want to play with them.
Anyway, it could be nice to get on the ice with Adam, especially if they were playing against each other. Mo wouldn’t mind having an excuse to have Adam all over him—if they could find time away from the family afterward to have sex about it.
Besides, Adam’s family was nothing like Mo’s. And Mo had loved the sport once upon a time. What could it hurt? “I don’t suppose you have an extra pair of skates in my size?” he said at last.
From the smiles on all the Murphys’ faces, anyone would think Mo had solved world hunger, instead of agreed to a couple hours playing like a kid.
Duncan patted his shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Think we’ve even got a spare stick for you.”
Of course they did. That garage had way too much room for spare sports equipment.
“Now. What skate size are you, son?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Adam asked for the third time.
Mo looked from Adam to the window—where, admittedly, the snow was coming down like a frost elf on the roof was dumping it out by the sack load—and then back to Adam.
Mo was wearing knitted slippers Mom had foisted on him that morning, Adam’s hoodie, which covered him to the tips of his fingers, and flannel pajama pants.
He clutched a mug of hot cocoa to his chest as though it would save him from the perils of the Canadian outdoors.
“I’m good here. Promise. Your mom’s going to let me help decorate. ”
Adam didn’t know how to tell him that was practically a threat. He shook his head. “Suit yourself. Guess us manly men will have to bring the tree back all by ourselves.”
“It’s not like you’re even going to use an ax,” Mo teased. “I saw you load that chain saw onto the sled! What’s in it for me if there’s no sexy lumberjack, huh?”
“The boy has an excellent point,” Mom put in. She pressed a kiss to Adam’s cheek and then one to Dad’s. “And the weather’s not getting any better, so unless you want to hang ornaments from that sad fake plant in the living room, you’d best go out there and rustle up a pine tree.”
Dad turned to Adam and gestured toward the door. “Guess we’ve got our marching orders.”
Despite the snow, the weather wasn’t too bad—a little windy, which you couldn’t really avoid this close to the Atlantic, but only ten or so below freezing. Their outerwear kept them plenty warm while they perused the back part of the lot for the appropriate sacrifice.
“How about this one?” Dad gestured to a decently full six-footer, with sturdy branches and a good clearing around the trunk that would make it easy to cut down.
Any other year, Adam would’ve gone for it. But he was sure now that Mo hadn’t had a lot of (if any) good, real Christmases, with actual family who enjoyed each other’s company and all the trimmings that came with it. He shook his head and pointed to a tree several yards behind it. “That one.”
At eight feet fall, the blue spruce was plump with needles nestled under several inches of snow. The boughs closer to the ground sagged under the weight of it. It’d be difficult to get at the trunk, even with a chain saw. They’d have to take off a few of the lower branches first.
Dad gave Adam a knowing look.
“What?” Adam shifted from foot to foot. “It’s a nice tree.”
Dad snorted. “Mm-hmm.” Then he passed Adam the chain saw. “You want to show off for your man, you can be the one on your knees in the snow.”
One great thing about a New Brunswick winter—outside, no one could tell if Adam was blushing.
At last, they had the tree bound with cord to fit on the sled. Adam certainly felt the weight of it as they lugged it and the saw back to the house, but he didn’t mind.
He should’ve known to be suspicious, though, that Dad hadn’t invited Chelsea this year, because now that Adam had a literal tree slowing him down, he had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
“So this young man of yours.”