Christmas Ghosts Page 4

Steve’s body started shaking as he curled into a belly laugh. It felt good to let go, and he didn’t want to stop. “I sure as hell hope so. We were the poster children of the blind leading the blind. We did not read the right books or watch the right porn.”

  “Nope, we were really fucking bad at fucking.” Troy reached over and brushed Steve’s hair out of his eyes and balanced his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “I think we should see how we do now, don’t you? I mean, it’s been years, and I’d like to think we’re a little more experienced now.”

  “Haven’t had any complaints.” Nor a whole lot of experience, but Steve saw no reason to mention that. There’d been hookups. That was normal. He liked to think of them as placeholders until he met the right guy, because he still couldn’t wrap his brain around Troy being the one. That’s how it worked in romance novels and Disney movies—not real life.

  “ME NEITHER, but—and, God, I hate to say this—I don’t know if we should—” Troy’s hand rested on Steve’s chest, where he could feel his heart beating strongly. “You’ve got so much on your mind… your mom… and, God, you’re hurting so bad. I can see the pain in your eyes.”

  “IT’S NOT just pain, Troy.” Steve’s breath hitched, and it wasn’t because of Troy’s wandering fingers that were now on the flat of his stomach. “I feel like I should’ve noticed she was sick sooner. She was losing weight, but she was always on one diet or another. She hurt, but she’d say she worked out too hard. There was always an excuse, and I’m not only mad at me for not seeing what was going on. Troy, I think she knew.”

  “What makes you think that?” Troy snuggled closer, giving Steve the physical contact he didn’t know he needed.

  “Little things. She needed a new computer, which I know sounds weird, but she’d always get a new one. She didn’t this time. Just started using an old tablet and her phone. She put my name on stuff when Dad died. But she didn’t make plans for Christmas. Didn’t even ask me to get the ornaments down from the attic, and usually she’d have me get them so we could decorate November 1. She had me put the Halloween stuff away but said we should wait for Pete to get home before we decorated this year.”

  “It’s possible. Does it make a difference, though? I mean, you eating yourself up because you feel guilty for not noticing or being angry in case she knew… is either thing going to make you feel better?”

  “No. It’s not, but I can’t shut off my brain. She told me she had a dream that Dad came to see her, and he was beautiful like he was the day they got married. I took her to the ER the next morning, and then in a week she was gone.” Steve was flat on his back once more, his tears running down the corner of his eyes and into his hair and ears.

  “That’s what you should think about, then, Steve. Your dad came to get her. She wasn’t alone. He was there when she slept, and you were there when she was awake. You’re the best. Now tell me what I need to do to help.”

  “This helped. Making stuff always makes me feel better. Talking to you does too. I don’t know if Pete’s ready to hear about all of this. I’m afraid if I point out how I didn’t notice, that he’ll get pissed at me, and I can’t.”

  “SHHH.” TROY scooted closer still until he could kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth. His lips tasted like salt from his tears and the sweat of their labor. “No need for you to talk to Pete about it. I’m here. I’ll listen. I’ll do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Love you too,” Steve replied and then cupped Troy’s face with his free hand. “And I don’t think I mean that in a platonic, best-friends-forever kind of love. But right now I’m too messed up to be sure.”

  “I know.” Troy let out a heavy sigh and then decided it was time for a real kiss. “And I think you’re lying. You know what you’re feeling, and I know what I’m feeling. We need each other. I’m not going anywhere without you, and not just because you’re the only one with transportation.”

  “They probably plotted this. Wonder how much they bet that we’d be making out.”

  “Not sure, but since we love them too, shouldn’t we make sure they win the bet? I mean it’s not like we wouldn’t enjoy ourselves. Consenting adults and all.”

  “If we tried to do anything on this tarp, neither of us’ll be able to move come morning. Isn’t there a couch in Cam’s office or something soft in one of the storage closets?”

  “Office.” Troy climbed slowly to his feet, which wasn’t easy with the brace keeping his leg from bending too much. “But that’d be icky. Theater. Casting couch. Much better if you just bring me home. I do have my own place. It’s small, but there’s a shower and a bed. You can probably still fit in my shirts.”

  “Hold still,” Steve said, getting up much quicker and pulling Troy up in front of him. “We might lose the mood by the time we get there.”

  “That’s possible, but that’d be all right. Let’s concentrate on food, a shower because we both stink, and then we’ll see what happens.”

  Six

  INSTEAD OF a drive-thru, Troy ordered Chinese delivery while Steve showered and left him to watch for their order while he did the same. His heart was thudding as he stood under the hot water, running the soap over his body. From the response of his cock to Steve’s presence in the apartment, it was a good thing they decided not to conserve water and share the shower. It was too small for any fun anyway. They’d end up with bruised elbows and dry feet if they’d tried. So he settled for letting his fingers and imagination run wild, which made him ponder if Steve had done the same thing, and that helped him reach his goal much faster than he expected.

  By the time he padded out of his bedroom in sweats and bare feet, the smell of soap and steam had been replaced by the aroma of fried rice and orange chicken. He hummed a yummy noise and settled on his natty old sofa next to Steve, who had his own takeout container balanced on his thighs. “I am so hungry. I thought I was going to die!”

  “Now you sound like Ophie,” Steve answered around a mouth full of noodles that he was deftly scooping into his mouth with chopsticks. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did—finally—I’d have eaten your food and mine. Thanks for the shower and clean clothes.”

  “Least I can do for all you’re doing to help my sister.” Troy closed his eyes and sighed as he chewed on a chunk of sweet breaded chicken.

  “Wasn’t this your grandfather’s couch?” Steve asked as he adjusted his butt on the lumpy cushion. “I’m surprised there aren’t cigarette burns on the arms.”

  “Naw, looks like Granddad’s. This was in my dad’s man-cave, aka my old room. When I came home early, they told me I could take any furniture I’d need. Think Mom was looking at any excuse to reclaim the room for crafts or fix it up for Dad. Not sure what they decided.”

  “So how exactly did you get hurt?” Steve asked, his gaze going to Troy’s leg, which was free of the brace since he was home and didn’t feel he needed the extra support.

  “I honest to God tripped on a seat belt on a helicopter. We were taking off, and I was about to sit when I tripped. Then bam! I was down on the ground with my leg busted in two places. It’s probably a good thing I was hurt enough to get sent home, because otherwise the guys would’ve been giving me shit about it for the rest of my tour. I mean, who does that?” He chuckled and then stole a chunk of broccoli from Steve’s plate and offered his own plate for him to swipe something in return.

  “I do one tour with only a few bruises and scratches. Got real lucky the entire time. Go in for a second round, and I’m doing great until I’ve only got a few months to go and fail my saving throw.”

  “It is a bitch when you roll a one.” Before they got lost in tales of old D&D games, Steve held up his hand. “Nope, if we go down that road, we’ll revert to our twelve-year-old selves and never get back to what we were doing at the theater.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m still game. Hell, we played in the Army. Had to have Cam send me some dice.” He took two more bites of his food, got up, and held his hand out for St
eve’s container, which was nearly empty. “Let me toss this, and then we can pick up where we left off.”

  THEY’D BEEN talking all evening, hanging out and working for three days—they’d nearly had a real kiss at the theater and admitted they had been ready to do it in Cam’s office—so Steve was feeling incredibly stupid that he was suddenly shy when Troy held his hand out to him to pull him off the sofa. “Come on, we can talk in the bedroom. This couch is not big enough for the two of us.”

  “I was worried we’d end up on the coffee table or the floor, and there was a spring pretending it was an alien probe where I was sitting,” Steve told him as he let Troy tug him upward. His eyes traveled from Troy’s eyes to his feet with a moment’s hesitation, but then he noted Troy’s interest and knew it was mirroring his own, although his jeans were doing a better job at camouflage than Troy’s old sweats.

  “Please, I’m much more considerate than that. Besides, I’ve got condoms in there and lube, which is just one of the important things I learned since our first tango.”

  They paused along the way, kissing by the bathroom door and stripping off each other’s shirts. Then Troy hooked his fingers in Steve’s belt loops, walking backward the next few steps into his room, never taking his lips from Steve’s mouth and chin.

  “If you trip, we’re both going down,” Steve cautioned when his feet got caught in some piece of clothing on the bedroom floor.

  “Going down is part of the plan, yes.” He let go of Steve’s pants and took ahold of his hands, turning him around until his back was to the bed, and shoved him over. “It’s a little messy, but I am very graceful.”

  “Except on helicopters.”

  “Except on helicopters.” Troy’s lips covered Steve’s in a long, hungry kiss. He nibbled his lips and then brushed his tongue over the roof of his mouth until Steve responded in kind. One of Troy’s hands went from Steve’s chest where he’d been teasing a nipple, along his ribs until he found the V of his hips and played along the edge of his pants, before cupping him through the faded denim. “Want you.”

  “Want you too.” Steve raised his hips and then sat up to pull his and Troy’s pants down. “Next time,” he mused, “we shouldn’t bother getting dressed after a shower. Although it might’ve been a surprise for the delivery guy—or maybe not.”

  “Good idea.”

  Steve lost track of time after they scooted farther up in the bed, as they explored each other with fingers, eyes, lips, and tongues. Neither of them seemed in a rush to make up for all the years they’d lost, or it might’ve been that they were just too tired and sore from three days of carpentry at the theater. It was nice. Troy moaned when Steve wrapped his longer fingers around them both, stroking their cocks together, and Steve kissed the sound away.

  True to his word, Troy did bite when they both lost control, leaving a mark that Steve wouldn’t regret carrying on his shoulder for a day or two. Troy wrapped his arms around Steve’s torso and pulled him close, running his fingers through his hair. “Spend the night?”

  “Yeah, not going anywhere.”

  TROY WOKE up to discover he was alone and the shower was running. His phone blared with Camille’s ringtone, and he rolled over to snag it off the charger that he’d luckily remembered to attach it to the night before. His eyes were barely focused when he flicked it to answer. “Yes, I’m alive. We’re alive. What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s 7:00 a.m.” She didn’t sound angry, mostly amused.

  “So we’re not late? That’s good. Why are we calling?”

  “Because Pete was worried, and Steve didn’t answer his phone.”

  “Shit. My bad.” Troy felt a seed of guilt sprout and take hold in his gut because they’d forgotten to text or call Pete the night before. “We’ll go pick him up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab him, but you two had better show up with Starbucks and donuts—and not grocery store donuts, real donuts from a real bakery. Understand?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Don’t you Princess Bride me, twin. Get your boyfriend dressed and get to work. It’s painting day, so I can run dress rehearsals tomorrow.”

  Troy climbed out of the bed and headed for the bathroom where he tapped on the door. “Mind if I brush my teeth?” he asked when he popped the door open. It wasn’t locked, so he assumed that meant he could go in. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know what they looked like naked, after all.

  “Nope,” Steve said through the steam-covered frosted glass door. “I’ll be out soon, so you can have a turn. Got bit last night, and I wanted to make sure it didn’t get infected.”

  “I didn’t draw blood, did I?” Troy asked around his toothbrush. “Shit.”

  “Naw, just teasing. I had four messages from Pete on my phone. Forgot to tell him I wasn’t coming home, which is bad, since that was always Mom’s number one rule.” The water shut off, and Steve reached for the same towel he’d used the night before to wrap around his middle. He paused to kiss the back of Troy’s neck on his way out. “I’ll get dressed, and we can head to work.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll move as fast as I can.” Which was not going to be very fast. He was sore in all the right places and smug as hell for it.

  TROY HAD three pink boxes of donuts balanced in his arms while Steve carried a bucket of Starbucks, or whatever they called their catering coffee box things, a bag of paper cups with cream and sugar, as well as a tray with their drinks of choice. The good stuff for the two pairs of siblings while the cast and crew got the normal stuff. It was more than Camille expected, and they hoped it’d put her in a better mood. The closer to opening night they got, the crankier she was getting.

  “I bring coffee for you, sister dear,” Troy said as he handed a cinnamon latte to her while Steve went in search of his little brother.

  “So was it all you hoped and dreamed?” she asked with her cat-that-ate-the-canary smile as she took a long drink of the coffee and broke off a piece of her donut.

  “You are so nosy!” Troy pretended to frown and then let his smile match hers. “And you were faking mad to get us here. Who won the bet?”

  “We decided it was a tie. Besides, it was obvious. Hard to bet the opposite way.”

  STEVE FOUND Pete in the lobby, sitting in a sunbeam in front of the dazzling, chaotic Christmas tree. He handed his little brother the coffee tray that was down to just their drinks, which were both peppermint mochas, and the donuts he’d pulled for them, and then sank onto the sun-faded carpet.

  “Can you imagine what this carpet looked like when it was new? It was probably brighter than Cam’s hair.” Steve ducked his head and bumped shoulders with Pete. “Are you really mad at me? I know I broke the cardinal rule.”

  “I wasn’t scared. It’s not like I called hospitals or anything, wondering if you were in an accident. I was pissed you didn’t take thirty seconds to text me, but I’m happier that you did something for yourself. You suck at that, big brother.” Pete leaned against Steve and then started snickering. “Well, if I didn’t already know what you were up to last night, the bite was a dead giveaway. You might want to work with a scarf around your neck all day.”

  “Thought I’d just ‘accidentally’ get some paint on the spot.”

  Seven

  IT WAS opening night, and the theater had a good-size house. Steve and Pete found themselves in the row Camille set aside for her family in the first row of the balcony. They were a few minutes late, and the house lights had already been dimmed. The most they could do was smile and nod at the twins’ parents and their three older sisters. Neither was shocked that Troy was on the end with two empty seats flanking him, which meant he and Steve would be together.

  Troy’s mom reached for Peter, giving him a quick one-armed hug as he settled down next to her. Then she waved at Steve and blew him a kiss while he took a seat on Troy’s other side.

  “Hey, you,” Troy said, lacing their fingers together as the curtain pulled back on the stage. “We did g
ood work, didn’t we?”

  “That we did.” Steve relaxed in his seat, never letting go of Troy’s hand, while he took in their handiwork. The sets were simple and modern, working with Cam’s vision of a twenty-first-century version of Dickens’ old tale. Bob Cratchit was typing furiously away at an aging PC that they had found in one of the theater storerooms. His cube was made of a real office cubicle partitions Troy and Peter had found scavenging, with stacks and stacks of paper surrounding him.

  Ms. Scrooge was dressed like an uptight businesswoman in a pencil skirt and high-necked blouse that Steve knew came from his mother’s closet. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that he thought it had to hurt, and she had very old-fashioned glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her makeup made the actress look like she’d been sucking on a lemon or eating her employee’s souls—he wasn’t sure which—but the effect was great.

  When the scenes changed, he wished he were backstage so he could watch them swap the props around, turning the stage into Scrooge’s bedroom where she met Marley’s ghost and was ushered on her trip through time and space.

  “It looks really good.”

  “I know, right?” Troy answered, stealing a small kiss on Steve’s ear as he did it. “We couldn’t have done it without you. Both you and Pete saved the show.”

  “Just remember that when I put in my bid to do the reno on this place.” Steve was crossing his fingers they got the grant, because he really wanted to help improve and preserve the theater’s history as much as possible, and he was getting bored with redoing houses for people who did nothing but complain about the bill.

  “As if we’d hire anybody else.”

  There was a shushing sound from behind them, and they went quiet while the play went on until they got to applaud the performance.