Unwrapping Hank (16 page)

Still Hank said nothing; he just looked down in his lap.

Oh God, I had fucked up. This was bad.

I realized Hank was breathing hard, his face reddening as he fought to get himself under control.

“Oh, baby,” Lilith sighed. She got up and went over to the couch. Micah slid over so she could sit next to Hank. She took him into her arms, and he went, clutching her robe and burying his face in her shoulder, back heaving.

“I need some more coffee,” Kar said quietly.

Micah and I followed his cue and trailed out to the kitchen with him.

I guess my face must have reflected my sheer terror because after he refilled my cup, Kar put the pot down and put a hand on my shoulder.

“That was really thoughtful, Sloane.” His eyes were damp. “Really thoughtful. I knew she’d been doing well, but to have it put like that…. It’s a gift for all of us.”

“A bit heavy for Christmas morning, me thinks.” I chewed my lip worriedly.

“No, Sloane. It was perfect,” said Micah. There was something on Micah’s face, a little regret and a good dose of brotherly well-wishing. I knew what Micah was admitting with that look, that there was something between me and Hank, and he wasn’t going to get in the way of it.

But whether or not it was really true—that was up to Hank.

*             *             *

Hank

I bailed and took a nap after we’d opened our presents. I was a fucking mess. I
cried
, and I hadn’t done that since… well, since my mom got sick the first time. I was still tired from a virtually sleepless night, and my whole body was so heavy after I’d lost it—my mom holding me like I was a little kid again. All this shit bubbled up—anger, fear, grief. She said she was sorry, and I said I was sorry, and those weren’t even the right words.

I never realized how much I was still carrying that around inside me. Like, if I pushed my mom away, it wouldn’t hurt so much if she died. Man, that is fucked up.

After that, I lay down and I was out.

I had heavy dreams, but when I woke up, I couldn’t remember any of them. The whole house smelled amazingly of turkey and pumpkin. Fear that I might be missing the feast got me downstairs fast.

Micah, Sloane, and my parents were in the kitchen, just getting ready to go for a walk.

“The turkey has about another thirty minutes, and everything else is ready to go,” Mom said. “so we thought we’d walk down the lane.”

“Build up an appetite.” Dad patted his stomach.

“Forced exile so we don’t pick at the food,” said Sloane. Micah laughed.

Getting some fresh air sounded good. Besides, Sloane and Micah were already heading out the door and Sloane… he looked better than the turkey smelled. So I put on my barn coat and gloves and went out with them.

This was the dogs’ idea of Christmas, having all of us on a walk together, and they danced around us like they were puppies again. Grinch stayed glued to Sloane’s side. Grinch
loved
Sloane, which was definitely a point in his favor as far as we Springfields were concerned.

The roads and pathways were clear of snow, but there was enough left on the fields to feel like winter. We all walked down an old dirt farm road that ran from our place into town, my mom and dad in front, my dad’s arm around my mom and her head on his shoulder. Micah was behind them, tapping away on his phone, probably sending out Christmas cheer and/or trying to line up a hot date. Sloane and I were bringing up the rear.

“Your gift was…” I tried, feeling awkward.

“Obtrusively personal?” he suggested.

“Yes. But surprisingly… not bad. It was good to know that. About my mom.”

Sloane gave me a wary smile but said nothing. We walked in silence for a bit.

“It’s so beautiful here,” he said, looking out over the fields. “This place has me convinced I want to be a rural vet someday. You’re really lucky to have grown up here with your folks and your brother.” He bent down to give Grinch a quick pat. “And your dogs.”

I looked around me. The field on our right had been corn this past season, and the cut off stalks were golden and stuck out of the snow like brush bristles. The land had a gentle rounded slope, and across the field was the McCleveys' white farmhouse and big red barn and silo—admittedly picturesque. Beyond that were the rolling Pennsylvania hills dusted with snow and the bare branches of a thousand winter trees. The sky was light blue above and pink-white at the horizon, crisp and cold on a winter afternoon. I’d felt trapped here at times growing up. But right then, I believed him: I was lucky.

“You, Sloane. You make me see things differently. You know that?”

“I do?” He looked at me quizzically.

“Yup. You’re kind of like my third eye.”

Sloane blinked at me, then got a wicked grin. “I’d rather be your third leg.”

I laughed and acted shocked. “You’re a filthy boy, Frenchie.”

“I do try.”

I cleared my throat, remembering that kiss and very conscious of the nearby presence of my family. “So… what’s the plan for later today? Anyone said?”

“We’ll probably lounge around slothfully for a few hours after Christmas dinner. Then we were looking at movie listings. Maybe an early showing? Your mom wants to see
Cabin Butcher From Hell,
but I’m thinking a comedy.”

I laughed. “I should have warned you—my parents love horror films. But a comedy sounds good to me too.”

Sloane gave me a look that held the heat of longing, though I only got a glimpse of it before he looked away, self-conscious. Something hot swelled in my chest. And elsewhere.

“Maybe we can sneak some alone time,” I said, my voice low and rough.

“Maybe.” Sloane was playing hard to get, but the bloom of red on his cheeks wasn’t from the cold.

It was midnight before the house finally fell silent. I sent Sloane a text, slipped on my boots, and went outside. He met me on the back patio, wearing his pajamas, a coat, and his boots.

“We’re going out?” he whispered. “Lemme go change.”

“No, you’re good.” I grabbed his wrist. “We’re not going far.”

I led him out to the barn. I’d been out earlier while the family was playing Trivial Pursuit and gotten everything ready. I’d left a lantern hanging just inside the door, and I lit it and held it up. It was much cozier than the overhead lights. Sloane raised an eyebrow questioningly at me.

“Are we cow tipping? That’s a thing, right?”

I smirked. “Wait and see.”

I felt almost faint with anticipation and nerves as I led him down the feeding aisle. Would he like this? Was it too presumptive on my part? It was too late to back out now.

We passed the cows, who were huddled in the back of their free stall for warmth, and into a storage room with stacked wood. I opened an old door on a slatted, box-like structure.

“Are you going to murder me and leave my body here?” Sloane asked, with a not entirely carefree laugh.

“Nope.”

I stepped up into the bin. “Wait here a second.”

I lit the two other oil lanterns I’d put in there earlier and then reached out my hand to pull him up. He looked around in surprise.

It looked good, if I did say so myself. The barn was old, and the bin had been used for hay most likely. But now we stored straw bales in it, close to where we needed them when we mucked the stall. The box was about 4 x 8 and wooden on three sides, but the side that faced the cow stall had horizontal slats only intermittently, so you could see the animals.

I sat down on the wool blanket I’d spread out over the bales of straw. “This was my secret place as a kid. At least I thought it was. I’m sure everyone knew about it.”

“Nice.” Sloane sat down next to me, his back propped against some bales. “It’s not that cold in here.”

“It’s the straw,” I said. “And the heat from the cows.”

He looked up at the distant wooden ceiling and spread his arms out on the straw. “I feel like baby Jesus.”

I laughed. “Thankfully, you don’t look a thing like baby Jesus.”

“Good.”

“Because that would be a turn-off.”

“And thank God for that.”

I smiled and leaned back, stretching out my legs and sharing a bale for our backs. “Back then, we had a few goats and an old horse as a pet. I used to sleep out here a lot. Especially that year my mom was….” My throat refused to say the words. Weird. I shut my mouth.

Sloane’s hand found mine and squeezed. He didn’t say anything. I cleared my throat. “I’d watch the animals until I fell asleep. Which may explain my level of patience with extremely boring television shows.”

Sloane huffed a laugh. “I’ll remember that. You don’t have a barnyard kink, do you? It’s best to know these things about each other.”

“Nope. Just being here with you is already pretty kinky for me.”

Sloane looked at me, his expression unreadable. Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want him to think I was just experimenting with him, the way Micah would have. I sat up, suddenly nervous again. I scooted around to face him, keeping his hand in mine.

“There’s something I want to say.” I took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

His face registered a moment of shock. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Pretty sure. Like ninety-five percent. Which is as much certainty as we get in life, I think.”

Sloane’s face betrayed nothing. “Since when?”

I thought about that. “I didn’t want it. I mean, I was always attracted to guys, but I thought I could ignore it, grow out of it. Something. I… I didn’t want to be like them.”

“Like who?”

“My parents.” It was hard to explain. Obviously, my parents weren’t gay. “I wanted to be… normal. In control. I dunno… grounded, not flaky or… airy fairy. I didn’t want to be anything they’d approve of. It sounds moronic when I say it out loud.”

“I think I get it.” Sloane sat up and cupped my cheek. His fingertips played with my fuzz. “I’ve never told you how much I like your beard. It makes me swoon.”

“Swoon? Really?”

He nodded, his face overly grave. “Yes. So do you think you can be normal and in control and grounded and like rolling around in the hay with males too? Even if your parents wouldn’t object?”

I laughed. “I think so. Honestly, you don’t leave me much of a choice, Sloane. I can’t seem to get away from you. I’m still running, but I seem to be going the other way now.”

He just looked at me.

“Closer.” I tugged on a lock of his hair.

Something heavy turned over in my chest at the act of admitting it out loud—
I want you
. The air felt charged with a million tiny lightning bolts. I wanted to flee and at the same time, felt like if this didn’t happen I’d shatter into a million pieces.

Sloane’s dark eyes studied mine. Then he sat up and pressed me back against the bale of hay and straddled my lap.

Oh God.

He brought his lips near mine in an almost kiss. His eyes were open and sparkling with teasing humor. He was testing me. Or trying to drive me insane. Or maybe letting me make the choice. As if there was one.

I pressed my lips to his.

*             *             *

Sloane

Mmmm. Merry Christmas.

Life does not always turn out the way we want, and that’s a fact. Especially when it comes to mad crushes. Especially when it comes to mad crushes on big, burly men. But Hank Springfield just admitted that he was gay. Either I’d been amazingly perceptive from the start or I was lucky as
fuck
.

His kiss was less tentative than it had been on the dance floor. This time he latched on to me right away with a sense of needy relief. And, damn, that was hot.

Straddling his lap, it was easy to relax into him, press myself against him, lap to chest, as we kissed deeply. My tongue slid lusciously against his. His hands were on my head as if to keep me there, but when I slid my arms around his neck and lay against him, making it clear I wasn’t going anywhere, he let his palms slip slowly down my back.

Damn, he still had that gentle touch, the one that made me want to scream for more. Reverse psychology, I was cognizant enough to realize. The lighter his touch was, the more I craved it. Or maybe it was the idea that Hank could look so tough and yet be such a gentle lover.

I had the feeling I’d be deciphering Hank Springfield for a long time to come. I smiled against his lips.

“What’s funny?” he asked, pulling away.

“I am. I want to do everything to you at once. And it’s got to be fifty degrees in here.”

Hank smiled. He reached over and picked up another thick blanket that had been folded nearby. “Scooch off for a sec.”

I did. I watched as he spread the blanket open and put it on top of the one we were sitting on. Then he took off his coat and shoes and, holding my eyes, his thermal shirt.

On cue, my knees went weak. Damn, those sweet muscles did me in. His skin glowed in the lantern light, the tattoos like an engraved invitation. He flicked open the top button on his jeans and unzipped, still holding my gaze while my heart stuttered in my chest. Then he lay down on his back and flicked the top blanket aside in invitation. He put both arms under his head, looking relaxed, but I could see the tension strung in his body, in his smile.

“How’s that?” he asked. His voice quivered a little.

In answer, I tossed off my own coat, shoes, and shirt and crawled onto the blanket in my pj bottoms.

“If there’s something you don’t want to do, just tell me and I’ll stop. Because—”
Because I am going to eat you alive.
“I don’t want to push.”

Hank reached up and ran his fingers down my bared chest, his eyes smoldering. It was only then I realized I was half naked too, and maybe I had some effect on him.

“I thought you liked to push, Frenchie.” There was a challenge in Hank’s eyes.

I gave in, running my hands over his chest the way I’d wanted to since the first time I saw him. His skin was just as soft as it looked, silk over steel, and he squirmed and breathed harder when my fingers ran over his nipples. The second time I did it, his hips lifted unconsciously. I swallowed at the sight of the large bulge under the denim.