The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (17 page)

“There’s the Schwartzbeeren,” Todd said, then grinned in a way that made Gabe’s stomach all fluttery. “Sit down! Both of you.” He turned and practically scampered back into the kitchen.

They sat on the couch and Peter turned and regarded Gabe, his brow raised once again. “He’s lovely.”

Gabe gulped. “He’s straight, Peter.”
“Preposterous. If that boy is heterosexual, then so am I.” What? Gabe looked toward the kitchen. “Do you think so?” Peter

thought Todd was gay? Not that it made a difference. Todd was a young man in trouble. That was all. He was helping Todd out. Helping him survive. He wasn’t going to help Todd in any other way. The last time he’d done anything more, his life had gone to hell. The last thing he needed was another Brett in his life.

“You are thinking of Brett, aren’t you?”

There went Peter again, reading his mind. Gabe started to deny it, then thought better of it. He sighed. “Yes, Peter. I am.”
“You’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid, Peter. Just getting wiser. I won’t make that same mistake again.”

“What mistake did you make?”
“You know damned well what.”

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose.”
Another quote? It sounded like one. Gabe turned and looked at his friend. “
I
dare not, Peter.”

“You dare not what?” Todd asked, entering the room with two bowls.

 

“Nothing,” said Gabe and looked to see what Todd had brought.

When he saw what it was, he couldn’t help but smile.
“What is that?” Peter asked.
“It’s ice cream with Schwartzbeeren over the top,” Todd

answered. “Dessert.”

Gabe laughed. “Where did you get the ice cream? You didn’t make it out of snow, did you?”
Todd rolled his eyes. “No. I borrowed it from these two guys in the laundry room.”

“They had ice cream in the
laundry
room?” Peter took the offered bowl.
“No!” Todd giggled. “This… well… couple. Cody and—Harry, I think? They let me have it.” Todd handed Gabe his bowl and ran back to the kitchen, only to return a second later with a third bowl.

“That was nice of them,” Gabe said. “They’re a great couple of guys.”

 

“Oh, and this is wonderful,” cried Peter.

Todd stood over them, scooped up a spoonful, and popped it in his mouth. Gabe followed the spoon with his eyes, watched Todd’s mouth open and close, his throat work as he swallowed.

“Those sweet lips. My, oh my, I could kiss those lips all night long,” Peter whispered.
“Hush, Peter.”

“What are you two talking about?” Todd sat down on the corner of the coffee table.

 

“We talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships—and sealingwax,” Peter replied and had another bite of ice cream.

 

“What?” Todd asked.

 

“It’s not important,” Gabe said. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Chapter 9

 

T
HEY all loved the ice cream. The Schwartzbeeren, the wine that had been almost too sweet the night before, really had been wonderful as part of a dessert. Todd was glad he’d thought of it, and glad there had been a little left.

He took the bowls, rinsed them in the sink, and came back to sit with his friends.
Friends? Are they really? God
. The way they smiled at him he could almost believe it.

Don’t let it get to your head; in another day or two, it will all be over. They are the ones who are friends. Just look at them. Sitting there, not touching, and almost touching. Lovers? God. Could they be? Or maybe once? Wasn’t Peter too old?

“How did you two meet?” he asked them.

The two of them looked at each other and Peter bobbed his head to the side, like a bird. His mouth opened, then half closed, as if he were about to say something and then thought better of it. He gave a strange smile. “Ten years ago, this young man saved my life.”

“Your life?” Todd leaned in, his curiosity aroused. “How?” “I hardly saved his life,” Gabe said with a groan.

“Ah, but mayhap you did.” Peter turned to Todd and waved his hand through the air in that curious way of his. “I was shopping—”
“Drinking,” Gabe said.
“Was I?” Peter’s eyes twinkled and he winked at Todd. “Perhaps I was.”

“He was,” Gabe affirmed.

 

“Ah, yes. This awful little hole in the wall. I had wandered in earlier, on a lash….”

 

There was a long pause, his eyes shining like mad—a time during which Todd could only wonder what “lash” meant.

Peter rolled his hand, stirring the air and the thoughts of his audience. “It means to imbibe.”
“Too much,” Gabe added.

“Nonsense,” Peter said, cocking his head toward Gabe in that birdlike manner. “I
never
drink ‘too’ much. I always drink
exactly
how much I was meant to.” He swiveled his head back and focused on Todd. “Relax and understand, boy, whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

Todd shook his head. He wanted to giggle again. What was it about this man? Suddenly he felt good. Really good. What’s more, he realized he’d been feeling good all evening. He looked at Gabe and saw Gabe looking at him (with those country-blue-sky eyes). He felt his breath catch.

My God. He’s gorgeous.
(
“You a faggot or something?”
)
Maybe you’re bi?
Dear God.

For a brief instant, looking at the man all sprawled back and comfortable on the big leather couch, he wondered what it would be like to climb up into his lap.

Maybe I am bi? My God. Could I be?

 

(
“Perverts. They like little boys. They kidnap them and they cut them….”
)

 

But looking at Gabe, Todd knew this man wasn’t capable of such an act. The idea was hideous.

 

Of course it is. Why would you believe anything your stepfather told you?

 

“Have I lost you, Todd?”

 

Todd jerked, Peter’s words bringing him back. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

 

“I could see that.” Peter’s eyes went from mischievous to an abrupt depth. It was like staring into space. And space was staring back.
He’s inside my head again!

 

Peter broke the contact and tossed his head, that great mop of silver bouncing like a child’s. “Where was I?”

 

“Lashing,” Gabe replied cynically.

 

“Ah yes. I had dropped into this little bar, and when it came time to leave, I was seized upon by brigands.”

 

“What?” Todd said with a gasp.

 

“Mugged. I was mugged. Or they attempted to mug me, that is.

That is when yon hero”—he waved toward Gabe—“sprang to my aid!” Todd looked at his host. “You did?”
Gabe shook his head. “I was sitting in this alley—”
“An alley?” Todd furrowed his brow.
Gabe nodded. “I was going to sleep there.”

“In an alley?” Todd said, surprised. “You were sleeping in an alley? But why?”

 

“Because I didn’t have a place to stay, Todd!”

There was another silence. Then Gabe went on, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I
had
a place. I
had
a boyfriend. And I came home and caught him in bed with some guy he’d picked up at a bar.”

Todd twitched. Cheater. Was the world made of cheaters?

“So I packed a bag,” Gabe continued, “and just ran out of there. Left without making sure I had a place to stay first. I’d only lived in the city for a few months and realized pretty quick I didn’t have any place to go.”

“And that,” Peter said, breaking in, “is when he saw the scoundrels attack me. He gave out such a cry that wolves would have stopped to listen, and then he fell upon my assailants.”

“What I didn’t know,” said Gabe, “was that Peter is an expert swordsman.”

 

“Swordsman?” Todd goggled at them both. This story was just getting more and more interesting.

Gabe nodded. Peter gave a single nod and grinned his big toothy grin. He then pointed. “Would you get that for me, Toddy?”
Todd looked and saw the man was pointing at his cane. He got up, retrieved it, and brought it back to its owner. Peter reached out in his quick and graceful way, took the cane, and tugged on its silver head. It began to pull out, and when it did so, Todd gave a gasp. It was a blade!
“I didn’t carve them up too badly,” Peter said.

“He was like Zorro.” Gabe held out his hand and pretended to use an invisible sword.

 

“
W
’s,” Peter rejoined. “Not
Z
’s. Quick and shallow
W
’s. For

Wagner. I may not even have left a scar.”
“It was a good thing too,” Gabe said. “’Cause it wasn’t until I
jumped in that I saw I’d taken on more than I could have handled
otherwise.”
“No, no, no! You were Ares. Gilgamesh. Heracles fighting off the
Hydra.”
“More likely it was Peter here who was Errol Flynn. You could
hardly see him move. And he was toasted.”
“Cabbaged,” Peter said nodding.
“Three sheets to the wind,” returned Gabe.
“Full as a tick,” Peter added matter-of-factly.
“Hammered.”
“Drunk.” Peter rose from the couch. He stepped away from his
companions and raised his sword high. “I was pissed!” He whipped the
blade through the air. “Plastered, blitzed, gassed, pickled!” The blade