Page 51 of Season of Gifts

His wish book sat on the dresser.He’d been within five feet of the prize before he even started and hadn’t known it.Henry would’ve loved that.His sly smile would’ve come out, and he’d have made some teasing remark, and he would’ve grabbed Jay by the back of the neck and kissed him until he saw stars.His mouth tingled with memories.

The dresser had a bunch of drawers, but only the bottom row locked.Kneeling, he tried the one on the right.It didn’t budge.Center.

The wood glided with a gentle rasp.

Inside the drawer lay two bags, soft flannel in Christmas plaid.Tags dangled from the drawstrings.The one on the left readAlice.He hauled out the one on the right and held it across his lap.The tag readJay.It was absolutely his to open.

The package wasn’t heavy.Lighter than he’d figured from the size.The bag draped around a rectangle, and the rectangle was solid, not squishy.Not sharp or pokey or cold either, though.He ran his hands over the flannel, mapping the edges, the gentle slopes.The tag with his name flipped over.The other side had more writing.

Please remove the outer bag and wait for permission.

He thrust his fingers in the top and dragged his hands apart.The drawstrings whooshed open.Into his hands slid the kind of jewelry box that came covered in fuzzy fabric.Big, though.Maybe a foot wide and half that deep and a good three inches tall.A little lift of the lid would rock back that hinge.

But that wouldn’t be following the rules.

Easing the drawer shut, he left Alice’s gift for another day.

If Henry were here, he’d give permission.Simple as that.But Henry wasn’t here.

The box was proof Henry loved him, though.He’d set up this game for them.He’d set up the whole calendar, and all the games and activities on it, and he’d done it to give them a family holiday.He’d spent so much time—and he’d be disappointed too.Henry was missing all of the wonderful stuff he’d planned.

Fuck that.

If Henry couldn’t be here to play the game, he should at least know Jay was following the rules.

He carried the box over to Henry’s chair and centered it on the seat.Grabbed a floor pillow from the pile in the corner and positioned it in front of the chair.Kneeling on the pillow, he slipped back into waiting pose, settling his ass between his upturned feet.

Waiting for permission didn’t scare him.It was one of the best paths to orgasm.All that aching and wanting.

The photo didn’t have to be artsy.The chair, the box, the front edge of the pillow.The tops of his thighs, below the boxer-briefs.He added text to the message.

May I open your gift, Master Henry?

Sent.

Bowing his head, he waited for a reply.

Chapter twenty-seven

Henry

Henryclosedthecoverand smoothed his hand across the back of the book.The old hardbacks granted a tactile pleasure, the grainy ridges of the fibers a delicate web against his skin.Though they’d amassed a sizeable stack at Mother’s bedside in the conservatory, the library upstairs held countless more.“Shall we choose another?Or perhaps you’d care for a bit of music before bed?”

Mother reached out, her grasp thin but wiry around his wrist.“What I would like is for my darling son to get some real rest.Sleeping on the chair isn’t good for you, Henry.”Said the woman with faint shadows beneath her own eyes.He had no way to assess how often she lay awake in the night, nor what distressing thoughts kept her so.“You heard the doctor today.I’m recovering well.I should resume daily activities.”

“Slowly and cautiously resume.”She’d discarded the most important caveats.Parenting a parent could be particularly challenging when that parent was obstinate and accustomed to her independence.“And as I recall, the stairs are still ill-advised.Would you have me a floor away if you need assistance in the night?”

“I would have you home with your beloved spouses if I could.”Pale green wavered as her eyes watered.She squeezed his wrist.“Once again I am stealing away what ought to be a happy and carefree time.”

He suppressed a shudder, the vibration running along his bones as he projected a neutral mask.The past floated too close to the surface; reopening long-healed wounds this late in the evening would help no one sleep more soundly.

“You are stealing nothing, Mother.My care is freely given, and I have every confidence in Alice and Jay’s abilities to weather a few days apart, newly wed or not.”

Or he had, until speaking to Alice this afternoon.Her departure was not her fault, but it was egregiously unfortunate.Any additional tension could cause fraying emotional threads to snap.Jay, with the greatest amount of upheaval these last few months, would almost certainly be the one to feel the effects most keenly.Though traveling so close to home would be painful and upsetting for Alice as well.And Mother had no one else to manage her care.

Their threads tangled in his mind, forming a growing knot of needs he could not meet.A heavy brushstroke of cheerfulness coated the strain.“Besides, we shall be seeing them soon.I’ll fetch them up Saturday”—perhaps sooner, once he’d spoken with Jay—“and we’ll stay a week or more.You’ll have quite the full house for the holiday.”

Robert might finally deign to make an appearance.A silent grunt pierced the headache forming between his eyes.Such uncharitable thoughts about his brother were a sign of his exhaustion.He’d spoken to his sister-in-law almost daily, and they’d agreed a visit from the boys would best wait for Christmas.The greatest danger had passed; Robert needn’t cut his trip short.

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