Saving Mr. Bell

Chapter Eleven

Rudolf

Normally, I would have been up and about by this time. Instead, I lay naked beneath the duvet and listened to Arlo move around the cabin, pondering whether he’d shout me for breakfast. Apparently not, the time where we’d normally have had it long past. Which meant…

Actually, I didn’t know what it meant. It could mean anything from him being considerate enough to let me sleep, to him postponing the moment he had to face me again after our kiss of the night before.

The kiss I’d forced on him. Not that he’d put up much of a fight. The kiss that had been incredibly enjoyable, and that I hoped, Arlo willing, would be a precursor to more kisses. If I was going to be stuck here, I may as well enjoy myself. And now we’d gotten any possibility of Arlo’s husband being an impediment out of the way, I couldn’t see any reason we shouldn’t. Two gay men who liked each other trapped in a cabin together. It would be a travesty not to go there.

I let my mind stray to the other stuff. Other stuff like my life. A life I was currently taking an enforced break from thanks to Arlo’s misjudgment in rescuing me. I wasn’t craving alcohol, which proved I’d been right all along when I’d insisted I didn’t need to go to rehab. I wasn’t craving drugs either. Just sex. Was I a sexaholic? I gave the thought more consideration than it deserved before reaching the conclusion that it was sex with Arlo that interested me, rather than sex itself. If I’d found myself snowed in with an aging lumberjack, I seriously doubted I’d have lusted after him in the same way. Although, he might have been able to give me some useful axe tips.

I’d been gone two days. Had anyone informed the police of my disappearance? Would my father be worried, or would he just assume I’d taken myself off somewhere and that I’d turn up when I was good and ready? I’d bet everything that I owned Jade would be furious rather than concerned. Would Nelson get it in the neck? Much as the bodyguard’s presence as my permanent shadow grated on me sometimes, I didn’t want him getting flak when the fault for my disappearance was all mine. It’s not like he could have tied me down and forced me to do anything against my will.

I was supposed to be scheduled for a TV appearance tonight. And a few hours after that, I was supposed to be on a plane to… I thought hard. Nope. I didn’t have a clue where I was supposed to be flying to. Was it normal to have so little knowledge of your own movements? What did that say about me? Jade would probably be keen to answer that question, her disdain for me never far below the surface, the civility that hid it paper-thin. Besides, like she’d pointed out the last time we spoke, in her head, she answered to my father.

Wherever I was supposed to be going, my no show at the TV studio, and then the airport, would definitely ring alarm bells. No matter how drunk, or high, or just plain unbothered I was, I’d never missed an official appearance.

Tired of my company and thoughts, I swung my legs out of bed. Arlo was nowhere to be seen when I crossed the hallway to reach the bathroom. After a quick shower and shave, I returned to the bedroom and pulled sweatpants on, forgoing Arlo’s underwear to truly go commando this time. Halfway to putting a T-shirt on, I paused. Grinning, I left it on the bed and went out into the cabin with my chest bare. If Arlo didn’t like it, he should have thought of that before he kidnapped me. Actions have consequences.

Sure enough, when I found him in the small kitchen area staring into the fridge, a furrow appeared on his brow when he glanced my way. “You realize,” he said, “that the rules of strip poker only extend to the evening it’s played on and you’re allowed to get dressed now?”

I leaned against the kitchen counter—the same one we’d kissed against the previous night—and smiled at Arlo. “You sound like such a prude. It’s not like I’m wandering around here with my cock hanging out.” I gave a deliberate pause. “I mean… I could. You only have to ask.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ve been informed on many an occasion that it’s a very nice cock.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Don’t you want to know what makes it nice? Whether it’s length, or girth, or just plain old-fashioned artistic appeal?”

Arlo’s lips twitched. “I’d hoped I’d get breakfast before being forced to discuss your cock.”

“I figured you’d already have had it. Breakfast, that is. Not my cock.”

Arlo shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”

“Well, you’d have to for my cock. It’s attached.”

Arlo’s glare went on for longer than necessary. “Do you think we could stop talking about your cock?”

“Are you regretting, kid… borrowing me yet?”

“Yes.”

I clapped a hand to my chest suitably dramatically. “Ouch! The man’s words are like a barbed prong to the heart. How can he trample all over my feelings like that?”

“You’ll get over it.”

I followed his gaze to the fridge, the door still standing open. “I know there’s no TV in this frozen oasis, but I’m worried if your mental state has deteriorated to where you think watching the contents of the fridge is suitable entertainment. Perhaps we could find some paint in the shed. I could put a bit on the wall for you, set you a chair up in front of it. We’ll monitor your heart rate in case it gets too exciting for you. You can’t be too careful at your age.” Rather than looking annoyed at my needling, something about it made Arlo smile. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What?”

He turned my way. “Do you realize how much better you sound?”

“Than what?”

“Than when you got here. Still think you didn’t need a break?”

“Maybe I did,” I grudgingly admitted. “Speaking of which, I’ve got a question for you.”

Arlo closed the fridge and turned to face me. “Go on.”

“Do you think it’s normal that I don’t even know what country I was going to next?”

“Romania,” Arlo said without a pause. He grimaced. “Which is not what you asked, and me knowing that makes me sound like a stalker. I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“You have lots of people working for you. No one would blame you for choosing to sit back and let them run your life, while you concentrate on the thing no one else can do, playing the piano like you were born to it.”

I ignored the last part, the mention of the piano threatening to derail this conversation completely if I let it. “What if I didn’t choose it?”

Arlo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What if…?” I thought about what I wanted to say. “What if I don’t feel like I have any control whatsoever, like someone else makes all my decisions for me?” My father ran my career for me when I was a kid, right?” Arlo nodded. “Which… you’d expect because I was a kid. But at what age does that not become necessary anymore?”

Arlo stared at me until he realized I actually expected an answer. “Erm… I guess some people might say sixteen, but sixteen is still pretty young, so maybe, eighteen. You’re officially an adult at eighteen, so I don’t see how anyone could argue it not being old enough. Unless they were a very irresponsible eighteen-year-old and then it would be different.”

“So it would be a problem,” I said, “if someone was twenty-three and their career was still being micro-managed to the same degree as it was when they were fourteen?”

Arlo’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Thought so.” I left the kitchen and went over to stare at the bare Christmas tree, Arlo coming to stand next to me. “Are we decorating this today?” I sensed Arlo was keen to continue the conversation I’d started, but that he didn’t want to push me. For a documentary maker trained to sniff out a story, he could be considerate like that. Both six years ago and now.

“Nah!” Arlo said. “It can wait. It’s not going anywhere. I vote we have some fun instead.”

“Fun?”

“Don’t say it like you think I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

I laughed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What constitutes fun for you? You’re not going to invite me to a front-row seat at the fridge, are you? Because if so, I’ll pass. I’ll put my socks in order instead.”

“You don’t have any socks.”

“I’ll put your socks in order.”

“You know full well I was working out what we could have for breakfast. As for the fun, I saw something in the shed yesterday while I was searching for the pot for the tree.”

“A ghost? A massive spider? A little man who’s made his home there.”

Arlo gave me a you’re-not-remotely-funny look, or at least that was how I interpreted it. “A sledge. It was in the back corner under a load of stuff. It looked to be in good nick, from what I could see. There’s a hill in the opposite direction from the way you ran the other day.”

“I didn’t run.”

“There’s a hill in the opposite direction from the way you went for a long unannounced one-way stroll in unsuitable clothing the other day and nearly froze to death. I thought we could take it out.”

I wanted to say something about us not being children. Except sledging sounded fun, and I had said I wanted to do something more physical, so I’d be shooting myself in the foot. “What about the wolves?”

“I don’t think they’re into sledging. I figured I’d leave them out of the invite.”

I let out a weary sigh. “You know what I meant.”

“It’s not that far, and we’ll keep an eye out.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me put more clothes on?”

“Guilty. That, and take you somewhere you can’t get your cock out unless you want it to turn into an icicle.”

Once we’d cleaned the dust and cobwebs off the sledge, it became apparent that it wasn’t just in good nick, but that it was fairly new. If someone had ever used it, it couldn’t have been more than once or twice. It was a decent size as well, and a proper wooden one with tracks rather than the plastic tray ones I’d used as a kid during the rare times in England when the weather gods had granted enough snow to make it viable.

I’d bundled up in Arlo’s clothes again, the walk to the hill farther than the previous day’s jaunt in search of a tree. It was a perfect winter’s day, the sky a deep blue and the sun appearing for the first time since we’d been here. If it had stopped snowing, and the sun was out, that meant the snow would melt, the thought a discomfiting one.

How long did it take for roads to become passable again once the thaw set in? A day? A couple? Longer? If today’s revelation about the way my career was being handled had shown anything, it was that stopping still for ten minutes without taking mind-altering substances was useful. And now I wanted more time. And yes, I wanted to explore this thing between me and Arlo, last night’s kiss still very much at the forefront of my mind, even if he seemed determined to act like it had never happened.

“Hill,” Arlo announced completely unnecessarily, especially accompanied by a point as it was.

“Wow! Is that what it is? I thought we’d stumbled across a slumbering dinosaur covered in snow.”

Arlo laughed. “Well, if it is, I’m still going to slide down his back after all the effort of cleaning the sledge up and walking here.”

“His? That’s very sexist of you. It might be a lady dinosaur.”

“Their back. There you go. I’ve covered all bases, whether they’re male, female, or non-binary. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” I said non-ecstatically as I eyed the hill. It was steeper than I’d imagined when Arlo had described it, which was both good and bad. Good for sledging, but not so great for getting up there. But then I guess it was a suitable metaphor for life that anything worth having you had to work for. At least that’s what I’d told myself during the hours of practice at the piano that had left my fingers sore.

Arlo went first, which meant I had a bit of a wait while he trudged up the hill, the trip strenuous enough that he had to pause to get his breath back a few times. It probably didn’t help that I shouted comments critiquing his efforts that usually ended in “old man” after him, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t waste energy by coming back down to remonstrate with me.

His descent down the hill gathered speed quickly, Arlo clinging on for dear life as the sledge showed no mercy in tossing him into the air every time it hit a bump. There were a few moments where I thought he might come off, but he always righted himself. He was laughing and breathless when he finally came to a stop a few meters away at the bottom of the hill. “Now that,” he shouted, his cheeks red from excitement and exertion, “was worth the climb.”

And then it was my turn. After the flak I’d given Arlo, there was no way I was going to stop for a breather on the way up. Thankfully, gym visits and dancing in various nightclubs around the world—probably more the former, if I was honest—had provided me with decent endurance. So although I was out of breath and my legs were burning by the time I reached the summit, I hadn’t stopped.

It seemed even higher now I was up here, Arlo looking impossibly tiny from where he waited at the bottom, shading his eyes against the sun. I realized I should have brought my phone with me, that perhaps there might have been a chance of getting a signal up here. Oh well, too late now.

Positioning the sledge carefully took effort. You wanted it close enough to the edge that it took little effort to go over, but not so close gravity took the decision of when that happened out of your hands.

I took a moment to enjoy the view and the quiet before pushing off. And then there was no changing my mind, even if I wanted to. The world blurred in a rush of white and blue, icy wind nipping at my cheeks as I gathered speed. I hit a bump, my stomach lurching and my gloved fingers wrapping tighter around the sledge. Laughter bubbled up, wild and uncontrollable, as the sledge veered right, the ground dropping away beneath me.

Why hadn’t I done this since I was a kid? I went to countries all the time where snow was plentiful. Why had I been getting drunk in nightclubs and picking up random men when I could have been doing this instead? What was the point of being financially solvent if I never took time to enjoy the simpler things in life? Like beautiful views and the feel of adrenaline coursing through my body. Sure, there was adrenaline when I was on stage. The nerves that came from the pressure of giving a good performance never went away, and probably never would, but it wasn’t this. This joy. This freedom.

My arrival at the bottom of the hill was far less controlled than Arlo’s, the sledge hitting a bump extreme enough that even my firm grip didn’t stop me from separating from it. I tumbled from it and rolled, my limbs at the mercy of momentum. The snow crunched as hurried footsteps came my way, reaching me just as I rolled onto my back and spat snow out. When I opened my eyes, Arlo was looming over me with a look of concern. “Rudolf? Are you okay?”

I smiled up at him, this man that I knew but didn’t know. “I… have never been better.” I moved my arms and legs in a coordinated movement. “Snow angel,” I announced with utmost seriousness.

There was a moment where Arlo eyed me like he thought I might have a concussion before he started laughing. He fell in the snow next to me and we carried on laughing while we made snow angels together.

It took one more trip each before we worked out that the sledge was plenty big enough for two. Traveling down together cut out one person having to get cold while they waited at the bottom, as well as meaning we got to share the experience. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy sitting between Arlo’s legs with him wrapped around my back. We tried it the other way round on one trip, but quickly reached the conclusion when we ended up marooned halfway down the slope while the sledge continued to the bottom, that, out of the two of us, Arlo was far better at steering and controlling the sledge, as much as anyone could control it, anyway.

I lost count of the number of trips up the hill we made, the payoff significant enough that even as our energy waned, we still kept doing “one more.”