Page 77 of Season of Gifts

Chapter forty

Jay

Thethermostatsworethehouse wasn’t any colder today than on any other day, but it was a filthy liar.

Jay could blame icy legs on the windchill and a long day of deliveries, broken up by a quick game of checkers with Mr.Donovan.The really-real cold outside was the good part of the day.The worst was coming home to the chill that lodged under his ribs and wouldn’t go away.A hot shower did jack-all for warming that void.

Henry’s calendar would’ve had them going out tonight, doing something he calledcrafting our future together.Couldn’t do that, even if Jay knew where to go.Crafting a future together was a no-go when two of the threetogetherpieces were missing.

He shrugged into sweatpants and a long-sleeve tee.Alice would laugh to see him wearing anything around the house.He should send her a picture maybe, put on a smile and turn his pain into a joke.His skin felt raw, like when he’d gotten the sniffles as a kid and his nose turned red and even the tissues hurt.

Easing open the door to the playroom, he almost expected an intruder alarm to start blaring.He’d finished his wish book entries for the week, and Alice was just about out of days for a room check.He had no duties to perform and no one to appreciate them.

His collar and cuffs still waited in their display case, Henry’s dark initials branded into the leather.

If he could only—he pulled his fingers back.The ownership wouldn’t feel the same if he put them on himself.Tracing the letters deepened the aching void.If he sat here all night, he’d give in, and then he’d hate himself for dirtying Henry’s gift.And he would have to explain to Henry that he hadn’t followed his instructions, that his submission was so weak that he couldn’t be trusted for a few fucking days.

He fled downstairs.His takeout waited on the counter, but it wasn’t even six yet.Dinner wouldn’t be for an hour.Now was the time to keep Henry company in the kitchen.Set the table.Listen for Alice’s arrival.

Except tonight would be the fourth night in a row of silence.

He scrunched his tee in his fist.Hungry, that’s what his skin was.Rituals and objects helped, like how his collection of memory stones had soothed him as a kid, but nothing beat having another person touching and praising him.Acknowledging he existed.

Alice was the real touch fiend; the way she’d casually curl against him and Henry or run her fingers through Jay’s hair was praise in another language.

Not a single person had touched him today.Mr.Donovan wasn’t a hugger, and although Carrie had been in his ear all day with work updates, they didn’t touch.Yesterday he’d seen Danny, but had he—no, he hadn’t shaken his hand.Probably could’ve asked for a hug if he’d thought of it, but he hadn’t.Tuesday, then.Tuesday night, strolling through the dark, guiding his bike with one hand as he walked Emma to the club after dinner.She’d tucked her arm in his, and he’d worn Henry’s confidence, a man important and protective and needed.

Almost forty-eight hours since anyone had touched him.

Four days without Alice.

Twelve days since Henry had gone north, and in that whole time he’d been back home for an hour at the most.

The gift basket on the kitchen table held a void, too, a big empty gap at the front where all the days had fallen through into nothing.Five envelopes left, with the one numbered 20 on top.An even.That made it one of Alice’s, although Jay had opened hers yesterday, and she wouldn’t be home in the morning yet.By evening if he was lucky.Maybe that card would be something he could actually do.Another scavenger hunt.

He pulled out his chair and spun it around.Sat facing the back, his arms crossed on the top, his chin bony against his forearms.

Henry had made the calendar for both of them.Odds and evens was only to make it fair, so they each got to open the same number.But they wouldn’t now anyway, because Alice was on her trip.He could let her open more days next week to even things up.

The envelope was no bigger than his palm.He pressed two corners to his fingers and spun it slowly, a tiny creamy-white pinwheel.Tomorrow would be here in six hours anyway.

He slipped his finger under the edge, and the wax seal lifted with no pressure at all.It wanted to be opened.

The card slid into his hand, Henry’s artwork on the front.Shaded bricks.Flames leaping in the fireplace.

A flicker of fear found him, and he bent back the top before it could stop him.Henry’s words flowed across the paper in a dark ribbon.

My dearest loves.

Months ago, I promised to take you in front of the hearth as the fire merrily blazed away.Tomorrow we will leave for our first Christmas as a family.I think we ought to christen our fireplace before we go, don’t you?

I expect the months of waiting have whetted your appetite; I know they have stoked my own desires.Shall we see if we might outlast the flames?

The card fell from his hand.Tumbling over itself, it fluttered to the floor beside his foot, the false cozy fire a thousand times more cheerful than the dark emptiness of the living room.They wouldn’t have their night by the fire.Wouldn’t have any nights.

He shouldn’t have opened Henry’s gift.He’d gotten what he deserved, like curiosity-seekers and eavesdroppers.The cold in his chest doubled down, and he wrapped his arms around himself.This shouldn’t be so fucking hard.Alice would be home tomorrow night.They would see Henry again Saturday.How could he not hold it together for five lousy days?

“I miss you.”

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