Page 233 of Untouchable

His dream cabin had seemed so unlikely then, years ago and just after the accident. But he'd never dared dream that he would be spending Christmas so soon with someone like Parker.

Or ever,he realizes with a jolt.

Harp assumed he would live out the rest of his life alone. He’d completely made his peace with that reality.

There's so much that has to change now, he thinks.

He's jolted out of his reverie by a knock at the door. At first he assumes Parker has locked himself out, but when he looks out over the back yard, Parker is out near the farthest fence, throwing a stick for Petunia who bounds after it.

Who the hell...

Harp dries his hands and approaches the front of the cabin, ducking and looking out the picture window that faces the road. There's a car—just a small sedan—kicking up gravel as it climbs the hill back towards town. He doesn't recognize the vehicle. Whoever is here knocks again.

Harp pulls the door open without hesitation, his heart pounding, ready for conflict.

He doesn't recognize the man on the porch at first. He's Parker's age and build but stretched taller and skinnier with dark hair that's fashionably close-cropped on the sides and long at the top. He's got nice jeans and brand-new hiking boots on, dressed smart and understated all over.

"Heya Harp."

"Holy shit." It's his brother—it's Gil—but the last time Harp had seen him, he'd had hair down to his shoulders and a bushy beard. He'd looked like a deadhead wannabe—not impeccable and put together like the man standing in front of him now. He looks so grown up, Harp thinks abruptly.

"Surprise," Gil says with a grin, shrugging his shoulders—and Harp sees his bags now and he understands. The car was dropping Gil—his brother Gil—unannounced at the front door on Christmas morning.

"Gil, what the fuck?"

"Did you end up not having company? I only saw your truck outside. Nice lights, by the way. Can I come in or what?"

"Jesus Christ, Gil. Yeah. Come on." Harp reaches for the bigger of Gil's two bags and ushers him in the front door.

* * *

Parker would happily stayoutside all morning playing fetch with Petunia, bundled in layer after layer of clothing stolen from Harp, but eventually his stomach begins to grumble and he is lured inside by the thought of Harp’s good coffee, mixed with an unholy amount of cream and sugar. He stamps his boots loudly on the deck, kicking off the snow, and opens the door, the dogs racing past him inside the house.

He’s worked up a sweat outside, running around with the dogs in Harp’s high-quality winter gear, and he begins to peel off layer after layer as he kicks the boots off. He doesn’t see Harp in the kitchen and figures he must be upstairs.

“Y’know, Harp,” he yells so Harp can hear him from the second floor. He strips off his shirt as he walks into the living room. “I know I said I’d be up for round two this morning, but I also didn’t plan on my ass being so sore from your monster c—oh—”

Harp isn’t upstairs. Harp is downstairs, sitting on the couch, with another person Parker’s never seen before. Parker freezes in the doorway, his face turning bright red.

* * *

Harp'sglad that Parker sees them before he makes it any further into the house. He’s nude from the waist up when he appears and it looks like he's well on his way to losing his thin sweatpants—Gil's sweatpants, Harp realizes with a feeling like a softball in the pit of his stomach—and Harp knows for a fact that if there's any underwear underneath that, it's a jock strap, which somehow feels more damning than simple nudity would.

"Parker," Harp announces loudly, as if that somehow fixes any of this. He stands up from where he's sitting on the couch, jostling the coffee table and nearly overturning their mugs of coffee. "This is my brother, Gil."

Gil stands up two beats too late. "Yeah, uh, I got here early."

* * *

When Parker can think again,his first instinct is to hug his arms over his chest like a blushing ingenue, and he stares at the two of them, for a moment, his mouth open, before he can manage to really respond.

“Er—uh—hang on—”

He dashes back into the kitchen, retrieving Harp’s flannel where it’s draped over the back of the chair, and slips back into it before coming back into the living room. His face is still beet red. He perches nervously on the armchair and doesn’t quite manage to meet Gil’s eye.

“Nice to meet you,” he stammers. “Sorry about that—I’m Parker.”

Harp's timer in the kitchen starts beeping and all three of them move at once.

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