Page 30 of A Christmas Harbor

As Paul’s orgasm hit, David felt it to his core, as if he were the one coming. Then hewasthe one, pitching forward, graceless and helpless in Paul’s arms.

Later, after they’d cleaned up, turned off the light, and crawled back into bed to lie together, limbs tangled and heavy, David felt Paul stir against him.

“Is it just me,” Paul asked, “or does the boat rock more here than it does in the living room?”

“The center of a boat always feels more stable.” Drowsiness was pinning down his eyelids, so he hoped Paul wasn’t asking for a physics lecture.

“Something to do with fulcrums, I bet.”

“Are you feeling seasick?” He would stay on land if that’s what it took to be with Paul.

“No, I like it.”

Whew. Dodged that bullet. “I like that you like it,” he murmured into Paul’s hair, which held a faint hint of cinnamon and maybe ginger.

Beneath the covers, Paul slid his toes over David’s ankle. “Whose dog tags are these?”

David opened his eyes, his breath catching.

“Sorry,” Paul said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up now.”

“They were Shawn’s.” He shifted to lie on his back. “I put the tattoo there because we used to go running together. I could outrun him, even when I was ten and he was fifteen. He’d go faster, but I’d always go farther.”

“Stamina is important.”

David smiled, though it probably wasn’t visible in the dim light from outside. “There was this one time, just before his last deployment.” The steadiness of his voice surprised him. “During our run that day, he said he’d known for a long time that I was gay. I almost tripped over my own feet.”

“What was that conversation like?”

“Brief. He said he’d served with a few gay Marines, that they were great fighters, that he trusted them to have his back on the battlefield, same as anyone else. He said that’s all that really matters.”

“Trust.” Paul slid his hand down David’s arm and interlaced their fingers. “For half your career—if I’ve got the dates right—you couldn’t trust that the government wouldn’t yank the rug out from under you just for being who you were. Following the part of you that needed to be someone’s partner meant jeopardizing the other part of you that needed to be a sailor.”

“Pretty much.” How did Paul know him so well, so quickly? Maybe because for once, David had taken a leap of faith and been completely real with someone.

“I try to imagine being told that in order to be a writer I had to remain alone and celibate.”

“For the record, I wasn’t a hundred percent celibate. Just terrified.” David swallowed hard. Those long-ago years sometimes felt like last week. “What would you do if given that choice?”

“I’d go insane at having my soul torn in two.” He stroked David’s thumb with his own. “But you probably have to be saner than average to be allowed on a submarine.”

“They do very thorough psychological screening.” David turned back to Paul. “Funny thing is, the whole me-being-gay thing wasn’t even the best part of the conversation with my brother. Shawn said that my choice to go Navy and work on subs…he said it was just as hard as what he did. Harder in some ways. That submariners were just as elite as Marines.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘No shit, asshole. But thanks.’”

Paul chuckled. “Direct quote?”

“Direct quote. It’s how we talked.”

They fell silent again, motionless but for slowing breaths and hazy caresses. David let his memory flit through his twenty-seven years with Shawn, who’d never harassed him for being studious and independent-minded—two essential qualities of a submariner.

Or rather, Shawn hadn’t done it when they were alone or with Mom. After all, David wasn’t the only one afraid of Dad.

“Will you stay on the boat all winter?” Paul asked.

“No way. If I keep water in her system when it’s too cold, her pipes could burst. Last year I left before Christmas, but this has been a warm December. Next week I’ll clean and drain everything, then wrap her up for two months like my neighbors have already done with their vessels.”

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