Turkey in the Snow (10 page)

Justin’s expression softened and he came closer. He tried to put his hands on Hank’s shoulders but Hank was too agitated; he shot up from the bench, forcing Justin to take a step back while he got this out, laid it into the world so maybe the moonlight could kill it.

“So when I heard your meltdown this afternoon, it was like… it was like wonderful,” Hank said. “Because there you were, and everything in you was there for me to see, and it was okay. It didn’t hurt. I could help you fix it and it made me happy. So I started thinking about those turkeys in the snow, remember?”

Justin nodded, mutely, and Hank wondered if maybe he wasn’t going to be the one who was too crazy to keep. “So, they freaked out with the snowflakes and hurt each other, but… but that wasn’t the deadliest thing. The deadliest thing was the quiet stuff, the fox that didn’t make any noise. With you, I’ll always know where you stand. God, baby, you make a lot of noise, and I sort of love that about you, is that okay? Is that—”

Justin then did something Hank didn’t expect—he grabbed Hank’s arms and pulled Hank’s mouth down for a kiss. Hank opened his mouth and tasted salt, and realized that here he was, the anti-drama queen, and he was the one crying and freezing on his porch, and maybe he should know better.

But Justin was wrapping his strong arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug, and Hank thought that maybe he should wait until he stopped shaking to change anything.

“I love you too, Henry,” Justin said, and Hank rested his wet cheek in Justin’s straight, soft hair, and wondered if he could pull himself together enough to get them inside.

Eventually.

Eventually they got inside and Hank showed Justin the pictures and told him about the plan to have one taken of the three of them.

Eventually Justin told Hank about telling his mother and father the big “secret.”

“So what’d they say?” Hank asked, fixing them some coffee laced with chocolate to warm them up since they were both still cold.

Justin looked aggrieved. “Would you believe it? My mother said, ‘Wait—haven’t you told us this already?’ and Dad said, ‘No, dear, we just imagined he did.’”

Hank found himself laughing as he handed Justin his mug. “Classic,” he said, loving that story. “So, are Josie and I still invited to dinner?”

“Yup,” Justin said, nodding. “In fact, Mom was in seventh heaven. She was like ‘
Ohmygah!
Instant grandchild!’ You may become her favorite son.”

“I doubt it. But good. I look forward to Christmas with her.” They settled into the living room, and Justin brought up the Big Bad and Hank blessed him for it.

“So, your sister. She didn’t even come in?”

Hank breathed out. “No,” he said. “But she may come back after Christmas to sign some custody papers for me.”

Justin sighed. “Henry, you know I’m still a little pissed, right?”

Hank studied his coffee. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be! Going through all that alone. Hurts my fucking feelings, you know that, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank said again. He looked up and clasped Justin’s hand, and for a moment they were silent. “We had history,” Hank said after a pause. “There was stuff that… that I needed to say to my baby sister, that’s all. Next time, I swear. If it involves Josie or involves us, you’ll be in the know.”

“That’s not good enough,” Justin snapped, and Hank jerked back, startled. “Not just if it involves Josie or involves me—what if it hurts
you
, do you understand that? You’re a
mess
,
Henry Calder. Not the kind that drives off and leaves a kid, no, but look at you—you knew this
all day
and you didn’t
talk
to me?” Justin set his coffee down on the table without a coaster, which was good because he was starting to gesture and Hank was worried he’d scald himself. At no time did he release Hank’s hand, though, and that was a better thing.

“What if she’d taken her?” Hank asked. He set his coffee down too, because his hands were getting slick with sweat just thinking about it.

“Yeah, Henry!” Justin let go of his hand long enough to turn around and face him on the couch. “What if your sister had come and taken her away! What about that? You didn’t even tell me to come over after! What would you have done if I’d called? Were you just going to tough it out like a frickin’ man?”

Hank couldn’t look at him. “I am sort of a frickin man,” he said, and Justin slugged him hard in the arm. “Ouch!” Hank whined, rubbing the tender spot, and Justin shook his hand out and yelped.

“God, that sucks! Bitch-slapping is totally underrated!”

“Well, don’t do it!” Hank snapped, taking Justin’s hand in his and rubbing the wrist to make sure there was no permanent damage.

“Well, you were being stupid! I totally care about you—I want to be the guy who throws the pity party and the guy who rides clean up. No ‘toughing it out on my own’ bullshit—next time your world is going to fall apart,
tell
me!”

Hank stopped massaging Justin’s wrist and looked up to meet his eyes instead. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

“I take that seriously, Henry.”

“I do too.”

Justin nodded. “I’m going to live. Can you come over here and kiss me now? I want to skip the preliminaries and get you in bed now. I sort of kind of need to touch you.”

Hank all but tackled him as he sat. They barely made it to the bedroom, and when Hank climaxed into Justin’s eager mouth, he had to bite his palm because he was afraid he’d wake Josie with the sound he wanted to make.

When they were done, and Justin was where Justin needed to be, with his head on Hank’s shoulder and his hand gliding across Hank’s chest, Hank played with his hair and drifted in and out of sleep.

He must have dreamt a little, too, because the next morning, waking up with Justin’s arm around his waist and Josie’s usual request (demand!) for breakfast, he felt like he had glimpsed the future.

Nothing specific, really—just the basics.

He’d seen Christmas Eve, meeting Justin’s parents, and being hugged within an inch of his life. Justin’s mother had adopted Josie on sight, and suddenly Josie had a happy, smiling woman to look to, to maybe grow into, with some love and care to help.

He’d seen Christmas morning, after he and Justin had spent all night wrapping gifts and stacking them under the Christmas tree. Josie had been happy and excited and delighted and joyful, and she’d squealed and shrieked and all of the little girl things that Hank had always wanted for Amanda, but he’d never been able to give.

He’d seen beyond that, to a New Year’s Eve in Justin’s arms, and a Valentine’s dinner when he asked Justin to move in.

He’d seen beyond that, even to Josie’s first day of school and volunteering in her class and hearing her tell him about her day, and even beyond
that
to being in the audience with Josie when they watched Justin get his degree.

He’d seen an entire lifetime in those magic glimpses in and out of sleep, and it was filled with laughter and sadness and joy and disappointment—and, by necessity, drama.

He slept that night secure in the knowledge that he was proud to be part of the human play.

Come home for holiday romance.
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A
MY
L
ANE
is a mother of four and a compulsive knitter who writes because she can’t silence the voices in her head. She adores cats, knitting socks, and hawt menz, and she dislikes moths, cat boxes, and knuckle-headed macspazzmatrons. She is rarely found cooking, cleaning, or doing domestic chores, but she has been known to knit up an emergency hat/blanket/pair of socks for any occasion whatsoever or sometimes for no reason at all. She writes in the shower, while commuting, while taxiing children to soccer/dance /karate/oh my! and has learned from necessity to type like the wind. She lives in a spider-infested, crumbling house in a shoddy suburb and counts on her beloved Mate, Mack, to keep her tethered to reality—which he does while keeping her cell phone charged as a bonus. She’s been married for twenty-plus years and still believes in Twu Wuv, with a capital Twu and a capital Wuv, and she doesn’t see any reason at all for that to change.

Visit Amy’s web site at http://www.greenshill.com. You can e-mail her at [email protected].

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Turkey in the Snow ©Copyright Amy Lane, 2012

Published by

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.