Page 5 of Christmas Miracle
THREE
The words, foolish and ridiculous, seemed to hang between them. Brett didn’t regret saying them, but he did regret the way that they came out. He sounded like such an idiot, and this was why he tended to keep his mouth shut, to listen and to watch instead of to speak. It was just easier that way.
Otherwise, he did ridiculous things like that. Bursting out with those words, when he should have brought it up far more tactfully. He would be lucky if John didn’t get offended, or maybe just outright laugh at him.
But he had been thinking about it a lot. He had this house, and it was small, sure, but he didn’t need to pay rent. Just property taxes. How could he ever forgive himself if he didn’t at least offer? So he had decided to do it, but he had thought, or maybe just hoped, that it wouldn’t come out quite like that.
Knowing himself, though, he really should have known better. If there was a way to wreck saying something to another human being, Brett would find it. One of the many things that amazed him was that somehow John was still friends with him, despite that.
“Do you mean it?” John asked, his broad back turned to Brett, a strange tension in his shoulders. It was never easy for John to ask for help, or even to get it without asking, and that was clear in the way his shoulders were drawn up slightly toward his ears, and the muscles under bunched, obvious even through his t-shirt.
“I do.” Brett got up and went to stand just behind John, his fingers aching to touch the other man. To try to offer him some comfort, but despite their years of friendship, they didn’t really touch very much. It had just never been a part of their dynamic, other than a few hugs now and then.
John didn’t say anything, and he didn’t turn around, so Brett kept on speaking. Though he did, at least, manage to keep his hands, which tingled and pulsed with the desire to touch, to seek out the knots and the hard spots, to knead and rub and to bring some sort of comfort to this man.
“I have this house. There’s another room. You could have it. I know that we’ve never lived together before, but you know I’ll give you your space.” It was true, too. Brett wasn’t the sort of person who would usually even want to live with anyone else, because he was enough of an introvert that he needed quite a bit of space of his own. And other people were loud and messy and unpredictable.
“Shut up,” John rumbled, and finally he turned around, his lips tense and his jaw clenched, his throat flexing as he swallowed. He could have looked pissed off, only Brett knew better by now. He saw the look, the suspicious sheen, in John’s eyes. “I’ll take it.”
At first, Brett couldn’t quite make himself believe that he had heard the words that he had. But there they were, as clear as day.
“You might regret making the offer, though,” John murmured, and Brett wasn’t sure, he was no good at this sort of thing, but he could almost swear that there was something nearly flirtatious about the tilt of John’s head. But that was unlikely, since John was straight, so he just did his best to ignore it.
“I doubt it.” Brett looked at the kitchen clock and made a face. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Work?” John didn’t even sound surprised, and Brett sighed softly and nodded. “They call you in too much, and they don’t pay you enough. Massage therapists are supposed to make a lot more than you do.”
It was true. It was all true. But the place he worked was familiar to him, and he had a hard time just throwing that all away. Plus, if he applied other places, who said it would be any better? And he’d have to worry about getting a resume together, references, all of those annoying things that had always stymied him whenever he thought of leaving.
“It’s good enough money,” Brett said, and then turned away. “Sorry. I know it’s last minute. They just called me a half an hour ago.” He headed for the door, grabbing his thick winter coat, his gloves, his hat. “Stay here? If you want. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t drink too much.”
With that, he was gone, off to see the last minute client that had been booked for him.
* * *
It was snowing when he came back, and that made Brett smile a little. Snow meant that there was a better chance that John would still be there, resting his back. Speaking of which, Brett really hadn’t liked the way that John was wincing as he walked, how stiffly he was moving. John didn’t say anything, but Brett knew how much pain he was in.
Despite Brett’s comment about not drinking too much, there were a lot of beer empties on the coffee table. If John were going to move in here, and it seemed that he, by some miracle, was, Brett was going to have to buy a lot more beer. Or try to convince John to cut back, but then, John was an adult.
John was also passed out, Brett’s throw blanket tossed casually over himself, head pillowed on the arm of the couch. He was dead to the world, didn’t even stir when Brett came in, and Brett softly sighed as he settled down on the chair closest to where John was slumbering.
In his sleep, there were lines that relaxed, a peace that came into his face, that never happened any other time. For a moment, it was almost like meeting the boy that had been his best friend, his only friend, really, even before his parents had taken him out of school. Well, no. In school, there had been others, but John, he had always been the closest.
Damned if Brett could figure out why, either. John had always been the jock, the one on every sports team that there was, the one that no one would have been surprised to find out had gone on to have a successful NFL career. And with Brett being the bookish band geek, the chess club nerd, they never would have crossed paths if Brett’s parents hadn’t known John’s father.
Why that friendship had continued, though, that was the mystery. Thoughtfully, Brett reached out, brushing just the tips of his fingers over John’s cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble, the smooth skin beneath it. That was John in a nutshell, all prickles on the outside, hiding a softness that Brett didn’t think very many people put in the effort to see.
John was warm, too, and his breath caressed Brett’s fingertips. There had never been another man for him. No matter how foolish it was, Brett had been John’s since before he was even old enough to understand what that meant.
How could anyone else compare? John turned his head, and his lips, just for a moment, nuzzled at Brett’s fingertips. The rush of heat was instant, and the only thing like it that Brett had ever felt.
John had asked if Brett got hit on at work. The answer was, yes, he did. Mostly by women, but sometimes, a brave man, or one with an exceptionally good gaydar, would figure out that Brett was into men, or maybe just try whether they were sure or not. More than that, though, every once in a while, Brett tried to make something work. Never anyone that he had met through work, he was too professional for that, but there had been a few men who had tried.
None of them had ever been able to interest him. Their kisses didn’t mean anything to him, not like that brief brush of lips against fingers, the rasp of stubble against his palm. Touching John’s cheek was better than anything he had ever tried before.
Not that it was really okay, since John was sleeping, and would doubtless resent the intimacy. Knowing that, Brett sighed and pulled his hand away. John was down for the count, and his back, at least at the moment, wasn’t bugging him too much. Brett would let him rest, and just be glad that John wasn’t stubbornly insisting on going out into the storm which was blowing in.
Before he went up to his own bed, though, Brett reached out and adjusted the blanket over John’s sleeping body. It was not chilly in the house, but with the weather outside, it wasn’t entirely toasty warm, either. So he pulled the blanket up over John’s broad shoulder, smiling a little, not even aware of the tenderness which showed on his face.
