Redemption (27 page)

“Well, I used the money I’d saved for a down payment on a house, so now I’ll have to save up again before we can buy. You do still want to buy a house, right?”

Oh. That.

“Besides, I had it done at a vocational school. They did a great job if you don’t mind one teensy paint run on the right fender.”

Lucky’s phone chimed, and Bo turned it so they both faced the screen. There sat Mrs. Griggs on her front porch swing in a red robe and a Santa hat. Cat Lucky lay sprawled on her lap, and the empty end of the swing sat at an angle, to allow for Moose’s bulk underneath. Both pets wore bright red bows. The antlers strapped to Moose’s head listed to one side.

Lucky met Bo’s gaze. “Pack up our breakfasts. We’ll take ‘em to go. It’s time to catch a plane for home.”

***

“Eggs.” Lucky opened his mouth for Bo to shovel a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into his mouth while he turned onto the interstate ramp.

Bo dropped the plastic fork into a Styrofoam container. “All gone. Now, since it’s been a month and you haven’t volunteered the information, now that the case is over, I want to hear the rest of what Nestor said to you at Thanksgiving. And why you disappeared with Graciela.” He dropped his voice to a mere whisper. “Victor wasn’t there, was he?”

Might as well ‘fess up. “In a manner of speaking. Graciela showed me a fancy box like they put people’s ashes in. It was empty.”

“What does that mean?”

“How the hell should I know? Maybe Vincent flushed Victor’s ashes down the damned toilet and Graciela kept the box in remembrance.”

“Or he might still be alive.”

“That too. But either way, if I haven’t seen him in the flesh by now, I doubt I will.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If Victor wanted to see me, he’d send his minions. End of story.”

It was so like Victor to fake his own death long before the idea occurred to Lucky to do the same and make a fresh start. But if so, why hadn’t he acted against Stephan sooner? Maybe, like Lucky, he’d not been free to act until recently. Or perhaps Vincent’s death changed the rules to whatever game he played.

Then again, with his calculating mind, it wasn’t out of the question to wait until Lucky, the man Stephan had taken great pleasure in tormenting, was in place to be the instrument of his destruction.

The world might never know.

Bo tapped his fingers against his leg. “And you turned down his fortune.” He sounded fascinated, but not disappointed. Good.

“It was never mine. It should have belonged to Graciela all along.”

“Nestor’s right. You are a good man. A helluva good man.” Bo’s smile stretched into a yawn.

Lucky reached over and patted Bo’s thigh. “Try to get catch some shuteye on the plane.” Come hell or high water, they’d see their home tonight, if they got there one minute before midnight.

Home. They were going home.

***

“What are we doing here?” Bo snapped out of his semi-doze, raised his head, and peered out of the truck window.

“Got something I wanna show you.” Lucky punched in the code, opened the gate, and drove through. Lights shown from house windows, and most yards sported gleaming Christmas lights. Lucky pulled up to the only house with dark windows and turned off the truck. No need showing his hand too soon.

“Who lives here?”

“You’ll see.” Lucky stepped out of the car, wrapped his jacket tighter around him, and breathed in the chilly air. Wood smoke peppered the breeze.

Bo stepped out of the car. Lucky took his hand. “Remember all the times over the past month or so I’ve been gone and never told you where I was?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re about to find out.”

Lucky’s breath formed swirling fog before his face. One arm around Bo—and damn, didn’t that feel good?—he led the way up the sidewalk and to the front steps. The wreath from Johnson’s photo adorned the door. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and punched in the alarm code before the bleeping turned into a blast.

Please, God, let Bo like the place.

A massive Christmas tree stood by the newly replaced sliding glass doors, the only thing in the living room. “I told you a lie, but one of those surprise kinds you said was okay.” Lucky turned to face Bo.

Bo stood a few feet inside the door, mouth hanging open. “This house would be awesome with a little work.”

Pride chased back the sinking feeling in Lucky’s gut. “I didn’t want you to see the place like this. I’d hoped to get everything perfect and spend our first Christmas in our own home.”

“Our… Whoa! This is the house you told me about in Mexico? The one you said was sold?”

Bo wouldn’t chew him out for a well-intended lie, would he? “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape. Still needs work. Lots of work.”

“You bought it, without telling me.” Was that a growl?

Oh shit. Here came the blowup Lucky’d feared. “I tried, really I did—”

The anger on Bo’s face melted away. “And every time, I said something stupid, like how I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, or I wasn’t ready.”

Lucky shrugged, still braced to run if need be. “Something like that.”

Silence stretched between them, tension growing by the minute. At last Bo murmured, “I’m sorry.”

What? Bo apologizing? “I’m the one who’s sorry.” The first time Bo mentioned permanence, Lucky ran. He’d stopped running. “I wanted it to be perfect the first time you saw it, and convince you to want the house and picket fence again.”

“Lucky, if this is our house, I want to help. You shouldn’t have to do all the work alone.” Bo took a few steps toward the middle of the room and turned in a circle. “Oh my God. This place is incredible. In a gated community.” He spun and faced Lucky. “But I wish you’d have told me. I’d have helped with the down payment.” His smile fell. “I spent my savings. This is your house. Not ours.”

Fuck. “No, that’s not true. It’s ours. Wait right here.” Lucky dashed into the kitchen for the paperwork he’d hoped to present to Bo over dinner, and back out to the living room. “You were going through enough without added anything else.” Lucky shrugged. “And I wasn’t alone. Johnson helped, with a foot up my ass occasionally. Turns out she’s good with a hammer.” And her fists. The only thing she couldn’t give was more time.

He held his breath and handed over the folder. Let Bo be okay with this.

Bo opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out while he leafed through the documents. A refinance agreement, adding Bo to the deed, bank forms to sign for joint checking and savings accounts, and insurance paperwork, everything the lawyer said Lucky needed to protect Bo from the worst.

“Talk to me, Bo. Did I screw this up? This place is ours.”

Bo’s eyes shimmered. “I don’t…”

Time stopped—Lucky hit restart with a good hard swallow. “You don’t like it.”

“No! I love it. I don’t… I don’t deserve it. I’ve been crap to you ever since Mexico.”

“With reason.” Lucky wrapped his arms around Bo and yanked him closer. One more minute of Bo’s hurt might kill him. Time to make the pain leave, whatever it took. “It’s over now. It’s over. The good guys won.” Lucky, a good guy. Who’d have ever thunk it?

Bo rested his head against Lucky’s. “While I was drowning in ‘poor little me’, you were making us a home.”

“You dealt with things your way, I handled ‘em mine. But I gotta tell ya, some days I wanted to tear out walls with a sledge hammer. There’s still a lot to be done.”

“We’ve got time. We’ll come by after work and on weekends. Move in and keep working till we get it right. Can we light the tree?”

“No. That means I gotta let you go, and after the song and dance we’ve been putting on, now I got you here, I want to hold you a while.”

“Then why don’t we turn the tree on right quick, then get back to business.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Lucky dropped down under the tree, found the power cord, and plugged it into the outlet he’d rewired two weeks ago. Hundreds of white lights glowed from within the fake tree’s needles. Gold and white ornaments hung from the branches, nothing like the tacky, mismatched, homemade baubles hanging from the Lucklighter tree of Lucky’s memories. But pretty. No telling where Johnson of the tiny apartment tree had gotten the beauty, but he likely owed her a fortune.

The gorgeous tree stuck out like a sore thumb against the crayon-decorated walls, and badly-in-need-of-ripping-out carpet.

Bo wrapped his arms around Lucky from behind. “Beautiful.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Next year, I promise, we’ll spend our Christmas here, together.”

“Wanna give me a tour?”

“In a minute.”

They stood for several moments, admiring the tree and drinking in each other’s warmth. Bo’s breath tickled Lucky’s ear. “I like the fireplace.”

“There’s another in the dining room.”

“Show me.”

Lucky took Bo by the hand and made his way into the kitchen.

“Oh my God! Look at this kitchen!” Bo dropped Lucky’s hand to ramble through cabinets and peer into the double ovens.

“I got the money set aside for a new range and stuff, but wanted to wait and let you pick ‘em out.” All the features rattled off by an overeager salesman meant diddly squat to Lucky. If the fridge kept beer cold, life was good. “Energy ratings” and “cubic feet” didn’t figure into the equation. “But the garbage disposal can shred small trees.” Okay, it was only a few Popsicle sticks someone had left in the drain, but Lucky rewiring the thing to make it work was one of his crowning achievements, house-wise.

Bo opened the door leading to the garage. “Your car and my truck will both fit in here, with room left over if we ever get a bike.”

Yes, and door now opened all the way, another small job crossed off the to-do list.

Bike. They’d left the department-issued Harley Davidson down in Mexico when they’d fled. No telling who had it now. One day they’d buy their own.

Bo dashed from room to room. Lucky followed the trail of “Oh my God!” and “This is fucking amazing!” until he came to the master bedroom.

Fuck. The one room Lucky had wanted to be perfect before Bo saw it, still in shambles. He opened the door slowly, braced for disappointment.

Bo darted in and turned a slow circle in the middle of the room, mouth hanging open. He grabbed on to Lucky, crushing the breath out of him. “Now I know why you kept asking me about paint colors.”

Lucky fought to hide his shock. Every inch of the formerly filthy master bedroom walls now sported new paint. An inflated air mattress, covers turned down, took up the spot where Lucky planned to put the bed.

On a makeshift table crafted of cardboard and paint cans, sat a candle, a basket of fruit, two glasses, a bottle of sparkling cider, and the Christmas cactus from the office.

“You planned all this? You wonderful, wonderful man!”

Wonderful? No one had ever said that to Lucky before. “Yeah, well I’m afraid there’s some assembly required. Most of the paint’s been bought, it just ain’t on the walls yet.” Except for that one room Johnson had taken time away from her family, at Christmas, to paint.

He didn’t deserve her as a friend, but he’d keep her.

Bo ran a hand over the tan walls, painted to create lighter and darker spots, a technique Johnson tried to explain but Lucky hadn’t quite understood—until now. “We’ll make memories painting the rest of the house together. Seeing the rooms is giving me ideas. This wash effect is gorgeous.”

“Yeah, well I can’t take full credit. Johnson helped. C’mon, you gotta see the bathroom.” Lucky wriggled loose from Bo’s hold and opened the double doors wide—one of the few rooms in the house he’d finished himself. “I did a lot of work in here, but it’s fixed now.”

The best part of the house, and Bo didn’t even look. He grabbed Lucky again and held on. And on. And on.

“It’s perfect. It’s more than I ever hoped for.” He let Lucky go, eyes a bit misty, and nodded toward a door in the far wall. “What’s in here?”

“Nothing. I’m using it for storage.” Lucky braced for the worst.

Bo opened the door to the nursery. With Johnson’s help, Lucky had repaired the faded walls. Now all the elephants and giraffes were whole again, and a goose grew back her missing wing.

For long moments Bo stood in the doorway. He took a step back and closed the door. “One day,” he mumbled.

“Do you forgive me for not telling you?”

“I wish you’d have let me help.” The smile returned and brought The Dimple. “But I understand why you didn’t.”

Good. Lucky might get forgiven after all. “Don’t worry. Right after Christmas I’m sticking a paint brush in your hand and putting you to work.”

“Deal.”

“It’s late, or early. Wanna get some sleep?” The last few days had taken a toll on the poor guy. It certainly had on Lucky. And neither had gotten much sleep in the past two days.

“Not yet.”

“No? Ain’t you tired?”

Bo turned to face Lucky. “This will be the first night in our new home, but it’s also Christmas. Help me get the bed into the living room.”

***

Lucky remade the bed while Bo turned on the fireplace. The moon shone through the sliding glass doors, adding light to the living room. He stripped down to his boxers and settled on the air mattress. Not the most comfortable place he’d ever slept, but not the worst either.

Air mattresses were made for guest rooms, to encourage guests not to stay too long.

Bo shimmied out of his clothes and slid under the sheets beside Lucky, captured Lucky’s face between his palms, and brought their mouths together. “I hope you brought supplies.”

Supplies. Condoms and lube. Yes, Lucky’d brought them in the overnight bag he’d taken to Texas just in case, hoping he’d only need the lube. He wouldn’t ruin the mood by bringing up serious topics now. They’d both been tested twice since returning from Mexico, and the results came back negative both times. Damn the six month wait.

If at any time the reports said “positive” for either one of them? They’d deal.

Lucky watched Bo’s face in the dim glow from the fireplace and tree. Christmas. Together. “I love you.”

He didn’t give Bo time to answer. Instead he cut off any words with his mouth on Bo’s, running his fingers through the patchy hair on Bo’s chest, and traveled lower, to work the foreskin up and down the man’s hardening cock.