Chapter Eight
Sal and Jack sat side by side on the couch before the electric fire, close below the same blanket, sipping from mugs of hot chocolate, yet touching only for mutual comfort.
It was Christmas morning, maybe 3 o’clock, yet neither had noticed. Outside, it was snowing again.
They simply gazed in mutual fascination at the flames for so long, their drinks grew cold.
Finally, Jack said, “You know, I always thought all the families wanted war, to one degree or another. Just like humanity always seems to be ready for the next war. That’s why it’s so fucking stressful being the peacekeeper. Isn’t that what we all should be doing? Not one or two in thousands? And tonight…”
“You met one of your own kind?”
Sal tore his gaze from the flames. Whatever he read on Jack’s face made him smile, set aside his mug, and wrap Jack into a gentle embrace. “Here’s to Christmas miracles.” He kissed Jack’s brow. “Bed.”
At long last, they went to bed. But they were asleep nearly the moment they touched the sheets.