Christmas Ghosts Read online

  It wasn’t as if they’d had a dramatic breakup. It was the opposite. They’d simply gotten too busy and moved apart. Steve had focused on work and his family. Troy’d gone into the military, and even with the internet, they’d lost touch. He wasn’t a luddite, far from it, but Steve preferred his relationships (not that he’d had many) be in person, not in pixels.

  Besides, they’d agreed friends without benefits was better.

  He knocked on the peeling green door when ringing the delivery buzzer did no good. He couldn’t hear it make any noise and quickly assumed it was broken. When he knocked, the door swung open an inch or two, which meant Camille must’ve gotten the voicemail they’d left her the night before saying they’d be by with the boxes, or it could have been because the doorknob was in bad, bad shape and needed replacing. Steve pulled on the heavy door and propped it open with a crusty-looking brick that was lying on the pavement near the dumpster, and then started bringing the boxes inside one at a time in the backstage area.

  “Hello!” he shouted out a couple of times when he was done, but no one answered. He knew she was there. Her Toyota was parked in back. He’d know that car anywhere, and he also knew exactly how and why there was a big scratch on the front bumper that showed red primer under the blue paint. Parallel parking was not a talent the twins had, and he remembered laughing when he was folded like a pretzel in the back seat while Troy tried to decide if they should face the music or drive away. Camille was in favor of escape. Troy fessed up, leaving a note with his email on the damaged car, and then they’d driven much more carefully back to the twins’ house.

  With a heavy sigh, he pulled the door shut after grabbing the jewelry from the cab of the truck and went in search of Camille. He was thankful the lights were on. The old theater was in sad shape, and he couldn’t help but track the code violations as he went. There was peeling linoleum in the backstage area, and he had no doubt the industrial-grade squares were full of asbestos. Okay if you left them alone, but dangerous if you tried to pry them up without the proper gear. The wiring he could see wasn’t that great either, and he was surprised the insurance company that covered the place hadn’t insisted on it being upgraded.

  But then again, maybe they had, and Camille couldn’t afford to do it. That wasn’t hard to believe. It happened a lot with the old buildings around town. Instead of going over the stage itself, he went through a side door and up the side of the auditorium to the lobby.

  He heard Camille’s voice but not just hers. Troy was there too. For a few seconds, he thought about leaving the box and slinking off like a coward, but that was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had Troy. They had been barely eighteen when they’d let their friendship fizzle. It happened all the time.

  It wasn’t as if they’d been caught being gay and shamed into not seeing each other. Their families knew. Most of the school knew. Neither of them had been bullied in high school for it. There were smaller targets for the bullies to hunt, which Troy and Steve both knew well since they’d both gotten into it with the assholes to protect their victims. Their parents told them to never be ashamed of helping an innocent in need—no matter that it was against the rules or not. It was probably why Troy had gone into the Army. He wanted to help people.

  The twins were bickering. He was used to that too. The three of them had been pretty inseparable when they were kids, and it was how Steve knew he was gay. He smiled, thinking about telling his dad that it was how he’d figured it out because Camille had kissed him at the movies one night, and all Steve could think of was why hadn’t it been Troy?

  “Yep,” his dad said, reaching over to ruffle his sun-bleached hair. “That’s a good signal. I’m okay if you like boys, Steve, and so is your mom. Just try not to hurt anyone and be careful with Troy. You don’t want to fuck up your friendship by crossing a line you can’t uncross.”

  At the time he’d thought his dad was being silly. Later he decided his dad was speaking the gospel truth, but when he saw Troy standing in a sunbeam in the middle of the lobby, in front of a Christmas tree with more crap on it than he’d seen at the thrift shop, he started to think his dad was dead wrong. Damn, Troy looked good. His eyes were an impossible shade of blue, like the piece of beach glass Steve found on the coast years ago and kept on a windowsill in his room to catch the morning sun.

  Troy’s hair was thick and deep brown, and Steve wondered if it still felt soft when it wasn’t styled with a bunch of product. There was even a smattering of silver at his temples that was a bit of a shock, but then the twins’ dad had gone gray young. Do not start wondering what Troy will look like gray, Steve. Friends do not think other friends are going to be silver foxes.

  “You guys haven’t changed at all,” he said when they’d answered him in unison. “Still sharing that one brain cell, huh?”

  “As if I’d let him have half,” Camille said with a bright smile as she rushed over to give him a big hug and then stepped away quickly, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “I just found the card I sent you and Pete. I forgot to put a fucking stamp on it, and now I feel like crap for sending a card instead of coming to see you.”

  “It’s okay. Neither of us was ready for company, Cammy.” Steve leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and then gave her a hug. “It happened too fast for us to process, and I’m not sure that either of us has yet.” Over the top of her bright red hair, which was no shade of red found in nature, he met Troy’s gaze. “Hey, you.”

  “HEY, YOURSELF.” Troy strolled over, the butterflies in his stomach doubling with every step until he stopped close enough to smell Steve’s deodorant, which was covering almost all of his masculine scent. The years had been good to him. His shoulders were still broad, trim muscles peeked from beneath the sleeves of his AC/DC T-shirt that might be the same one he’d worn in high school, and now that he was closer, Troy could see all the years of labor had been good to his legs too. They were long, lanky, and Troy wished his jeans were a lot tighter for a better look.

  “I called from the back and rang the bell when I got here, but you didn’t hear me.”

  “Yeah, the buzzer’s dead.” Camille looped her arm under Steve’s, careful not to knock the box he was carrying loose, and tugged him over to sit on the wide steps that led to the balcony. “Probably would’ve been easier to call us.”

  “I FORGOT to get your number from Pete. He said he left a message that we were donating some of our mom’s stuff to you for costumes and stuff.” From the blank look on her face, Steve started to wonder if Pete had lied, and this was some weird soap opera setup to make him talk to Troy, which would be sucky since they were dealing with losing their mom.

  “I GOT a new number last month, and I don’t know if he has it. So you’re now a surprise, which is still cool.”

  “You should’ve called us both,” Troy added. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, since he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I’ve had the same number since high school.”

  “We’re lucky it’s not the same phone too.”

  “I see no reason to get a new one if the old one still works. Much like your car, Cam.” He arched a brow at her before finally taking the last step close enough to Steve to take up the space Camille had vacated. There was the usual fumbling while he tried to see if he should reach out to shake hands, but that seemed too fucking stupid—even from his point of view. He plopped onto the steps next to Steve and looped his arm over Steve’s shoulder, pulling him against him tight. “I’m so sorry, dude. She was so awesome.”

  STEVE DIDN’T answer right away. He did twist around on the step to be face-to-face with Troy. It was too nice: feeling Troy’s familiar embrace. It was funny how normal it felt after so long. He swallowed hard, doing his best not to start ugly crying on Troy’s shoulder although he wanted to.

  “This is so stupid,” he mumbled against Troy’s shoulder. “I wasn’t raised to be afraid of having emotions, but I’m fighting a big cry right now.”
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  “DON’T FIGHT it. You’ve got no reason to,” Troy said, his grip tightening as he felt the sobs rack Steve’s muscles while he fought the tears. “We loved your mom, and we both feel like assholes for not being around.”

  “Busy. I know. Me too. Pete came up from school after finals. Mom wouldn’t let him come until the semester was over. My aunt came to help me until Pete came. I wanted to call you. Just didn’t know how.”

  “It’s okay.” Troy’s fingers found the short hair at the nape of Steve’s neck and massaged the area. He loved it when someone did that to him and assumed Steve would like it too. He hadn’t met anyone yet who didn’t. “Well, not okay okay, but it’ll get better. Do you need help with anything?”

  “I’m still in shock. My boss told me to take the rest of the year off, which would be great if that was more than a couple of weeks, but it’ll give me time to get the house ready for Pete to move home. But I’ll let you know.”

  “Promise? No bullshit pride?”

  “Yeah, I promise.”

  “Wait a minute,” Troy said, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “Aren’t you the boss of you?”

  “Mostly. Wait until you meet my office manager. He is one hell of a tough cookie and is pretty much the boss of me.”

  THE THREE of them dragged the boxes into the largest area backstage after Camille turned on the floodlights, so they could see what goodies Steve had brought. Steve sat on the cold tile floor with the jewelry box tucked against his thigh. He hadn’t opened it yet, and he wasn’t sure if he was saving it for last because it was really cool or because he wasn’t ready to let it go. He had a feeling the scale was leaning really far to the afraid-to-let-go side.

  “Most of this stuff she never wore. It wasn’t the right size or not what she thought it would be. Some she got to give to one of her sisters and either forgot to give it to them—she did that all the time—or they didn’t like it.” He pried open a big box and pulled out a really nice fake fur jacket. It was patterned with large spots, and he chuckled. “This one is leopard. Mom loved her animal prints, and she taught us both the difference between leopard, jaguar, and cheetah. There’s another one with cheetah spots somewhere in this stuff.”

  Camille snatched the jacket from Steve and buried her face in the fluff before he could put it on the floor. “Am I allowed to steal any of this?”

  “No,” Troy said with a look that said shame on you all over it. He was sitting in an old director’s chair, since he said his leg was bothering him too much to sit on the floor with them. “This is for the theater, not your closet.”

  “But technically the theater is mine.”

  “Technically. But—”

  “I know Mom wouldn’t have minded, Cam, but I have to agree with Troy. The wardrobe department is not your closet.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” she teased before reluctantly fitting the coat on a heavy-duty hanger and putting it on a long garment rack for storage. “But I might borrow it if it’s suddenly really cold and I forgot my coat.”

  “This is why he’s not opening the jewelry box. You know that, right? It’s because you, dear twin, are a thief.”

  “You were lucky, Troy. We’ve got three sisters! I had to fight tooth and nail for all the cool stuff! Being the youngest sucks.”

  “Don’t bother denying it,” Steve said as he handed over a couple of sweaters to join the coat on the rack. “I grew up with you too. You were greedy enough to be an only child. You’re like the seagulls in Finding Nemo…. Mine! Mine! Mine!”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Shared my most important thing with you, Steven Browning, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  “Jesus, I did not take your ruby slippers! I’m not that kind of gay!” His chin dropped, and he looked up at her through his bangs where they’d fallen across his forehead. “Also my feet were waaay too big for them.”

  “Not the shoes, moron. My twin. I share my twin with you.”

  “Oh, him… yeah, but I don’t know if that’s such a big deal anymore. I mean, I’ve seen him naked.” Steve hoped the joke he was making didn’t hurt Troy’s feelings while at the same time hiding the heat he felt growing in his face. The last thing he needed was to acknowledge feelings for Troy while dealing with his mom’s death.

  “NAKED AND I’m broken,” Troy added, shifting in the seat. The director’s chair hadn’t been a good choice because now his left leg was numb from the canvas seat cutting off his circulation. He’d been worried about needing help to get back on his feet from the floor, and now he’d be falling over because he couldn’t feel his foot.

  “DON’T SAY that.” The words popped out before Steve could stop them. “You’re….” He couldn’t find the words without sounding like a PSA for veterans’ rights—not that there was anything wrong with that—but it wouldn’t be him. “You’ve been through something I can’t imagine, and fuck, Troy, after what happened to my dad and now Mom—I’m grateful as fuck that you got to come home in one piece even if you’re not exactly in pristine condition anymore.” But you’re still fucking pretty.

  “IT’S OKAY. I’m all right.” Troy reached into the box on the floor next to his chair and pulled out a Victorian-style mu mu from a trip to Hawaii the Browning took ages ago. Troy’d housesat for them, feeding the pets, cleaning the cat box, and enjoying the free HBO without parental eyes keeping track of what he was watching. It’d been a great two weeks except for missing Steve while he was gone. “I wasn’t even in combat. I fell out of a helicopter, and it was on the fucking ground! This is because I’m a klutz. Once it has time to finish healing, maybe another surgery, I’ll be good as new. Could’ve been much worse. I need to get in shape before fall semester, though. Pete and I’ll get to go to school together. It’ll be just like the old days.”

  “IT BETTER not be,” Steve said, letting Troy change the subject in a most graceful way. “If I ever hear about you making out with my little brother in a locker room, you and I will be having some words.”

  “Oh, someone’s jealous!” Cam said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “No.” He was lying, and he knew they knew it. “I just don’t want Pete to settle for this loser. Also my little brother is straight. Single but straight. His girlfriend dumped him before Thanksgiving because he wouldn’t fly to Chicago with her.”

  “Good news for Cam, then,” Troy chimed in as he put another dress on a hanger and handed it to his sister. “She can ask Pete to dinner and a movie. Is he into older women?”

  “He is.” Steve leaned back onto his hands and stretched out. All the moving, lifting, and cleaning was catching up with him, and he knew he’d need a few Advil when he got home and a nap. God, he wanted a nap. “His girlfriend was a teacher from a year or so ago.”

  Four

  STEVE LOPED into the house with three big bags from McDonald’s, which he hoped was enough food to feed the two of them, but he didn’t know how much Pete could eat these days. His little brother had been away for school for a couple of years, and the kid had filled out a lot. He tossed the bag with a pair of Double Quarter Pounders onto Pete’s lap in the living room and dropped onto the sofa next to him—or as close as he could get with Ophelia sprawled in the center, belly up.

  “Move, dog, or no french fries for you,” he told her. The old dog slept through him coming home, even him sitting down, but either the smell of the fries or hearing their name perked her right up. She slipped onto the floor, sat down pristinely, and waited for a trio of fries that she took over by the back door to munch on.

  “We thought we were going to die of starvation, Steve. You were gone forever.” Pete twisted on the sofa, bringing one knee up to face his brother while they ate. The dining room table was covered with bins of craft supplies that they’d be donating on Monday morning to the elementary school they’d both gone to.

  “Sorry about that. We got to talking and sorting through the clothes.” Steve peeled the corner off a ketchup packet or three and squeezed them into th
e lid of his burger container to dip his fries in, while he waited for Pete to start asking questions that he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer or process the answers for. “You are an adult with a car. There is also food in the fridge.”

  “I know, but I was promised Mickey D’s.” A frown creased Pete’s forehead as he pulled a fish sandwich from the bottom of the bag. “Dude.”

  “Huh?” Steve mumbled around his first mouthful of burger. He was hungry too. He swallowed fast, nearly choking when he realized what he’d done. “Shit. It was autopilot. I doubled my order for us and ordered Mom’s usual too.”

  “It’s okay. I’d probably do it too. Hell, while you were gone, I forgot she wasn’t here. We can toss it. Neither one of us like the things, and the dog doesn’t need it.”

  Steve nodded and took a deep, only slightly shuddering breath. “The theater’s pretty cool. Hasn’t changed much from the last time I was in it, and that was a long time ago. It needs work, though. Lots of it. Cam’s trying to get a grant. If she does, I promised to put a bid in to get it up to code. It’s not a fire hazard, but it’s far from code.”

  “That sounds good. I haven’t been there in years either. Is that what you guys talked about?” Pete waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t forget I walked in on you guys once, and being the highly advanced youngster that I was—I knew what I walked in on.”