Page 51 of Blown

It all came to a head when he dropped the vase he’d just finished making as he stood to take it to the annealer. The whole thing shattered on the floor, and instead of shrugging it off as another sacrifice to the glass gods, Rafe let out a frustrated shout that had Jake flinching.

“You wanna talk about it?” Jake asked as he put the pipe he was about to gather with down.

He probably meant it to be flippant or confrontational, but Rafe was so grateful for the opening that he nearly shouted again.

“I think you might be right,” he said, as if it was still Saturday morning and Hélène was still there in the shop with them. “I think Hélène was up to no good somehow.”

Jake blew out a breath and let his shoulders drop. Only then did Rafe realize how tense Jake had been for days now.

“She was taking mental notes,” Jake said, striding across the room to stand by Rafe, ignoring the field of shattered class he stood in. “I don’t think she filmed anything or wrote anything down, but she was definitely studying everything we did. We should expect something rotten from her. It wouldn’t be the first time a big-name artist stole an idea from the little people.”

“You’re hardly the little people,” Rafe said. “You’re one of the most talented glassblowers I know.”

Jake huffed and shook his head. “Don’t go buttering me up just because you’re finally sensing the same thing I sensed.”

Rafe’s eyes went wide. Just like that, he was back to seething with anger again, although admittedly, most of it was at himself.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, torn between reining it in and letting his anger vent so they could deal with it. “I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”

“I don’t know!” Jake said with just as much frustration. “I’m trying to be who you want me to be, but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“I don’t want you to try to be someone for me,” Rafe said, pulling off his gloves and tossing them and his goggles aside. “I want you to be yourself.”

“Nobody wants me to be myself,” Jake protested. “Nobody in the history of ever has wanted that.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe crunched his way over the broken glass to stand so close to Jake that he could feel the heat of his body as if he were standing next to the furnace. “You’re the guy everybody loves.”

“Yeah, and how has that worked out for me?”

Rafe clenched his jaw and just stared at him. He could see Jake’s point, in a way, but the trouble he’d gotten himself into wasn’t because he didn’t have a great personality, with or without the lies.

He rubbed a hand over his face then stared at Jake again. “I don’t want you to try to be someone you’re not because you think that would please me,” he said. “That’s as much of a lie as making up stories about being best friends with Dale Chihuly or…or Hélène Rénard.”

Jake looked away quickly. The stung look broke Rafe’s heart. None of this was how he wanted things to be between the two of them. They were so much better as a team, not as adversaries.

He couldn’t think of any way to make things better between them, though. Nothing he could say felt like it would have any impact. The only thing that made any sense to him to do was to grab Jake’s face with both hands, turn his head back to look at him again, and to slant his mouth over Jake’s.

The kiss took Jake completely by surprise. He flailed for a moment as Rafe deepened their kiss and stepped closer to him, their bodies almost flush. As soon as Jake accepted Rafe wasn’t going to let him go, he moaned softly and slipped his arms around Rafe’s sides.

Finally, for the first time in a week, something felt right. Rafe moved his hands away from Jake’s face and embraced him instead. This was what he wanted. This was what made him happy and whole. He didn’t need the attention of a world-renowned artist or even his family’s approval. He just needed thefeel of Jake’s body against his, leaning into him and letting him support him for a second.

“There,” he said when they both came up for air. “That’s better.”

“That’s definitely better,” Jake said, his smile flashing for the first time in days.

Rafe smiled with him for a moment, then turned serious. “We can’t go on like this, not talking,” he said, taking a half step back so he could think more clearly. “You staying in the UK depends on the two of us getting along well enough to convince whatever authority we need to that ours is a genuine marriage.”

A dozen emotions splashed across Jake’s face within the space of a second. “You still want to marry me?”

“You still want to stay here?” Rafe fired back in return. “I’m your only shot, you know. I realize now why you can’t apply for a Global Talent visa.”

“I don’t have the industry connections I would need to get the letters of recommendation,” Jake said, lowering his head and taking another step back.

It was the admission Rafe would have liked to have heard from him from the start. He wasn’t the dazzling wunderkind that he’d made himself out to be in Corning, or during the rest of his career. He couldn’t get what he really wanted, the visa, by lying, he could only get it by reaching out to someone who cared about him enough to go along with a risky plan.

“You’re one of the most talented glass artists I’ve ever known,” Rafe repeated, resting a hand on the side of Jake’s face. “And you’re one of the cleverest people, too. You’re caring and strong, but you haven’t had anyone to care for or be strong for before.”

“I was just trying to help,” Jake said. “Every step of the way since I got here, I’ve only been trying to help.”

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