Snow Storm

Chapter 5

Harley

Craig wasn’t wrong. Harley ordered a fruit bowl and some french toast, and all of it was perfect. He scarfed it down with three cups of coffee to fuel his caffeine addiction, then sat, letting himself digest. The food was rich, and so was the heat coming from the vents above him.

Leaning back in his chair, he scanned the dining room, but the place was a ghost town. There was one couple in the corner of the room who looked at least twice his age, all nuzzled together, which made bile rise in his gullet.

He’d wanted that so fucking badly. He couldn’t lie and say that he’d been able to envision that future with Darren. His ex wasn’t a snuggler. He wasn’t very kind, and he preferred to ignore the things Harley asked for.

But he was starting to doubt anything like that was on his horizon. His brain was…different. He was weird and awkward and nervous all the time. He was needy and demanding, but he was vanilla in bed, and most men his age found him as stale as the crackers their grandparents kept in their cupboards.

He had stories to tell of people who lived wild lives—all of which he’d never experience because the very idea of doing something outside his bubble of safety was enough to make him feel like he was choking. He didn’t think there was anyone out there—at least not close enough for him to ever meet—who’d tolerate a man like him.

He needed to get comfortable with the idea of living and dying alone.

Which was a sad thought for the holidays.

Setting his napkin down, Harley pushed to his feet and glanced out at the snowy grounds before deciding on a walk. He had a massage coming up, but he had time to kill, and he wanted his food to settle before lying on a table.

He wasn’t a big fan of massages, but his brother told him to give it a try—so he would. There was nothing for him here except new experiences, and if those failed, he could wallow in his room until he was allowed to leave again.

He had no idea what real life would look like once he set foot off the grounds, but he was hoping things would settle. He didn’t want to be the rabid writer that everyone was afraid to book. He wanted to be the writer who people wanted to respect. He had no idea why that was such a difficult ask.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it out of his pocket, answering without looking. He figured the only person willing to call him now was Wes, and he’d been expecting his brother to be up his ass around breakfast.

“Before you ask, I’m?—”

“Hey, baby.”

Harley froze. Ice slid through his veins. “Why are you calling me, Darren? Aren’t you with Jacob?”

“Not at the moment.” Darren’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I wanted to check on you. I saw what happened.” Of course he had. Everyone had.

He swallowed heavily. “I’m fine.”

Darren was quiet for a beat. “You know, I never realized Ethan would have fucked me if I’d tried a little harder.”

Closing his eyes, Harley leaned against the brick wall of the fireplace. It was hot and not nearly distracting enough from Darren’s words. He knew this game. He was trying to be cruel. “Shame you didn’t. Maybe you’d end up with a book agent instead of a therapist.”

Darren laughed. “Yeah. I’d say maybe you should go for it, but I’m not sure he’d forgive you for that. I didn’t realize you had it in you.”

“I don’t,” Harley said, and he meant that. He’d been pushed beyond his limit, and he refused to let one moment define him. “What do you want?”

“Well, my lawyer’s concerned about your mental state, and he’s looking into having you assessed for competency. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

For a moment, he wanted to vomit, but a quiet, logical voice in his head told him that wasn’t a thing. Darren couldn’t have him declared incompetent. This wasn’t the 1700s. “Good luck with that,” he said dryly. He sounded much braver than he felt. A knot on his back began to grow from the tension he was holding in his body. “What do you really want?”

“Well, the money from the condo?—”

“It was my money. I’ll happily give you what you put into it, but not a penny more. If your new fiancé is broke, that’s not my problem, but you need to stop calling me. You have my lawyer’s number.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t!” He took a breath. “I’m finished with you, Darren. Have a good holiday.” He hung up with shaking fingers, and it took him a couple of missed tries to finally get his number blocked. But there it was. He did it.

He fired off a quick heads-up email to his lawyer, but he wasn’t expecting a response. No work was getting done this week, and that was fine by him. He didn’t want to think about Darren or the fucking condo or anything else. He just wanted to live his life.

“Hey! You wanna come down for the Christmas tree?” The voice to his left scared the bejeezus out of him.

Harley spun and saw Lyric leaning on the hostess desk and took a breath to recover his wits. “The…Christmas tree?”

“We’re putting it up this afternoon. Danny went out to get it an hour ago. The kitchen makes up a bunch of different flavors of cocoa, and there will be cookies and lights and stuff.”

“Carols?” he asked carefully. He’d rather die than sing in public, especially with how wound up he was right then.

Lyric shrugged. “Not usually. Last year, they played charades. This year, someone suggested poker.”

Harley couldn’t help a small laugh. “Your guests big gamblers?”

“Nah, this isn’t for guests. You’re one of, like, five here for the holidays, and actually, one couple is checking out tomorrow. This is mostly staff.”

He felt his ears heat. “Oh. I don’t want to intrude.”

Lyric stared at him another beat, then moved away from the desk and walked up to him. “You’re nice.”

He blinked. “Thank you?”

“I meant that you’re nice . I wasn’t sure if you would be.”

He swallowed heavily. “Ah. You saw the video.”

“It was fucking wild,” Lyric breathed. “You straight up clocked that rando in the face.”

“He wasn’t some random person. He’s my agent. Was my agent.” His voice was hoarse. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this except his brother, and he hadn’t anticipated having this conversation with a total stranger. He wanted to cry a little bit.

“Ooh, you fired him? Good,” Lyric said, folding her arms over her chest. “That guy was a total dick.”

Harley tried to speak and choked on his words, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, well, he fired me, technically. I wasn’t dropped from the agency though, no matter what the internet is saying.”

Lyric waved his statement away with a floppy hand. “Fuck the internet.” She cocked her head to the side. “I’ve read a bunch of your books, by the way.”

Oh. Great. He licked his lips. “Oh?”

“I’m only halfway through your second series though, and your website says you’re working on something else. Anything good?”

“My imposter syndrome says no, and my publisher hasn’t picked it up yet, so I have no idea,” he confessed.

She laughed like he was joking, and he didn’t know how to tell her he absolutely wasn’t. “Well, I bet it’s going to be amazing. Feel free to hit me up if you want someone to read it early. I know you probably have people for that, but you know. If you want one more totally random woman working as a ranch hand in the middle of nowhere…” She trailed off with a shrug, and he realized he liked her even more than he did when she showed him to his table.

Before he could tell her that he’d love her to read an early copy—when he had something worth reading—something clipped him on the side of the hip, and he lost his balance and went down. He hit the floor with his knees bent, the tile cruel, and he just managed to catch a glimpse of grey hair and a wheelchair moving faster than he’d ever seen one go.

And then the man was gone.

“Fuck,” Lyric whispered. “I need to—” And then she took off after the guy.

That was weird and kind of terrible , he thought as he climbed to his feet. His knees were throbbing, but the more he walked, the better he started to feel. Nothing was broken. Maybe that was karma kicking him in the ass a little bit.

Checking his watch, he realized he had just enough time to get to the spa and check in, and he was glad about it because he wasn’t sure he could take any more weirdness.

Luckily, the spa wasn’t far, and it didn’t require him to leave the building like some of the other amenities did. He headed down a hallway with a slight decline, and the air got just a little cooler as he made his way down toward a set of wide-open double doors.

He was greeted with the same smell as the one in the lobby, just a little stronger. It was festive but not too much, and he appreciated it. There were also more holiday decorations than in the main area. Garlands were strung along the ceiling, and baubles hung a little haphazardly with no real pattern to them.

He had the irrational urge to pull a chair up to the wall and start spacing them out evenly. God, why was his brain like this?

Harley forced himself to approach the desk, where a younger man was sitting, playing something on a handheld game system. He jumped half a foot when Harley cleared his throat, but he didn’t look apologetic at all.

Harley didn’t really blame him. If there were only five guests in the entire resort and he was in charge of the massage section, he probably wouldn’t be paying much attention either.

“Appointment?”

“Harley James.” It felt weird to say his name aloud like that. He’d been using his pen name for so long people in his personal life had started calling him “RJ.” Sometimes he wondered if he’d respond to his own name in public the first time someone said it.

“Right. You’re with Daniel. Go ahead and go into room two. There’s a robe on the back of the door, and there should be sheets at the end of the massage table.” He immediately went back to his game.

Harley felt anxiety creeping up his spine. It felt a little like a doctor’s office, which was one of the few places he genuinely hated being. But it lacked the antiseptic smell, and there was soft instrumental music playing through the ceiling speakers, so that was a small comfort.

He looked back once more before heading into the second room and glanced around. The room was warmer than the lobby, but there was a fan blowing somewhere that offered a gentle, comfortable breeze. The lights were low but not off, and a few candles were flickering on a shelf in the corner.

The place had a very cozy vibe to it, which he appreciated, and everything was exactly like the front desk person had said. The massage bed was made with a stack of sheets at the end, and a robe was hanging on the back of the door. It looked freshly washed and pressed—much like the one in his room—so he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have his dangly bits rubbing along where someone else’s had been.

Except…was he supposed to get naked?

Oh God, he hadn’t asked, and it felt awkward to now.

He flushed, ignoring the panic of a possible faux pas, and stripped down as quickly as he could. Which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea because he had shitty balance, and in his fear of being walked in on naked, he tried to take off his boxers and socks at the same time and went crashing headfirst into a cabinet.

Dazed, he stared up at the ceiling with his boxers around his knees, dick and balls totally out, and his socks hanging on by the toes.

His breath caught in his chest. Was that kid from the desk going to come looking for him? Or was Daniel? That’s all he’d need right then—death by absolute humiliation.

He scrambled to his feet and managed to finish undressing without a near death experience.

Staring at the robe, then at the bed, he wasn’t sure if he should put that on or get under the sheets. Was he allowed to be on the bed without help? Was that just a doctor thing? He wished the kid had been a bit more detailed, but then again, most people didn’t need a play-by-play just to have a fucking massage.

“Stop being a dipshit,” he whispered to himself before climbing on the bed. The sheets crinkled, telling him there was some sort of paper barrier under them. Hygiene, he supposed. He didn’t mind that.

He grabbed the sheet and pulled it over his exposed crotch, feeling a little better, then lay back. The position felt weird. People usually had their backs worked on, right? He rolled onto his stomach.

Still didn’t feel right. There was a hole for his face, but the pillow pressed against his throat and made him feel like he was choking.

Yeah, no, this was a mistake. This was a?—

The door swung open with a heavy click, and Harley pressed his face harder against the little head-holder thingie—whatever it was supposed to be called.

“Hello. I’m sorry for?—”

“No,” Harley interrupted quickly. “Please don’t be sorry for being late. Are you late? I’ve never done this before, and I feel like a jackass.”

“You’re fine. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry that?—”

“No, really!” Harley lifted his head, and his heart skipped a few beats. The man standing in the doorway was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair that was probably once dark, but it was mostly silver now. He had cheekbones that could cut glass, tan skin that looked like he’d spent all of his summer and fall outdoors, and a full mouth that was tipped down in a natural frown.

He was maybe one of the most beautiful men Harley had ever seen. But the thought was fleeting, considering he was naked under a sheet and feeling a bit of a mess.

“I should apologize,” Harley finally went on. “I’m kind of a disaster right now. My career might be in the toilet, my fiancé admitted to cheating on me and just left, and the first anniversary of my dad’s dea—” His voice suddenly failed him, and to his horror, his throat went hot. He swallowed heavily. “My dad’s death.” God, why was he unloading all that onto a stranger? “My brother thought a massage would be a good idea. I’m really wound up and apparently trauma-dumping all over a total stranger. I can go if you want,” he finished softly. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel’s face went on a journey, and then he squared his shoulders and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry you had to deal with all that, and you’re perfectly fine exactly as you are.”

It was then Harley registered that Daniel had an accent. French, he assumed, with the way he curled his consonants at the front of his teeth and tongue. It wasn’t strong, but it was very present, and he liked it.

“It’s okay. And trust me, I don’t think a massage is going to fix any of my problems, so if you’d rather cancel this?—”

“No,” Daniel said firmly. “But you might want to adjust your pillow so it’s not pressing against your throat.”

Harley smiled sheepishly. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how this goes.”

Daniel’s face softened. He took a step toward the table, and Harley noticed a slight limp. He reached out with a thick, knobby-knuckled hand and pulled the pillow out from under him, setting it to the side on a chair. “Better?”

Harley dropped his face back down into the space for it, and it was a thousand times more comfortable. Even if his body was one big line of tension. “Tell me if I’m not doing something right.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Just try to relax, okay? I’m going to take care of you.”

Harley did his best to obey. His back still felt like it was full of corded rope instead of muscles, but the scent in the room was soothing, and the sheets were keeping him warm. He took a slow breath in, then let it out.

“Where would you like me to start?”

Harley almost jumped at the sound of Daniel’s voice. He cleared his throat and smiled before remembering Daniel couldn’t see his face. “Uh. Where do you usually start?”

“Where my client prefers.” Daniel’s voice was slightly clipped, maybe even annoyed, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, considering what a mess Harley was making of this whole thing. Maybe he should just go. “When I get massages, I usually have them start on my calves, but that’s where I hold the most tension.”

“I think my entire body holds all my tension,” Harley admitted. “I feel like you can probably pick a muscle group and go to town.”

Daniel was silent, then let out a wheezy chuckle. “Alright. I’m going to start on your back. If something hurts, or I’m not using enough pressure, let me know.” Harley heard him rubbing his hands together, and before Harley could say anything else and make a bigger fool of himself, Daniel touched him.

Though that wasn’t quite right. It was more than a touch. It was sudden, deep, intense stroke from the small of his back all the way to his shoulders. The sound he let out wasn’t totally human. His entire body flushed, but as Daniel did that motion once more, the noise rushed out of him again, like it was being forced out.

Christ, this was humiliating. And good. God…it was so good . He hadn’t been touched like this in…well, maybe ever? Darren never put hands on him like this. His idea of foreplay was squeezing his ass and pinching his nipple while wagging his eyebrows. But hell, it had been a while since Darren had bothered to do even that with him.

He was so touch starved. So lonely. He began to feel a hollow, aching sensation in the pit of his stomach, and as Daniel began to work his muscles deeper, something snapped. His eyes got hot, and the next thing he knew, he was crying. He felt a sob lodged against the back of his throat, which he only just managed to hold back, but his nose began to drip, and he did his best to sniff it all back.

Christ, what a mess.

“Mr. James? Am I hurting you?”

He realized Daniel had stopped massaging him and probably had been paused for a long while. Harley wasn’t brave enough to push up on his elbows and show his splotchy, ugly cry face to this man. “It’s not you.” His voice was heavy with tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. This happens. It happened to me my first time. I hadn’t realized how badly I was holding on to some things, and it…well, I guess it helped me let go.”

“Is that why you got into massage?” Harley asked. “Because you wanted to help people like that?”

Daniel laughed like the question was an inside joke. “Uh, no. I stumbled onto this job by accident.”

“Someone better thank the universe because you’re amazing at this.”

“I’m still building my skill,” Daniel told him. “And if it’s too much, we can stop.”

“Is it weird if I say I don’t want to stop?”

Daniel gave a soft, confused noise. “Why would it be weird?”

“Because I’m lying here naked and crying on your table while you rub your hands all over me.”

“That’s kind of the job. I just wanted to check in. It’ll feel better once you let it all out.” Daniel touched him with a bit more hesitation this time, and Harley did his best to relax. He breathed as the massage resumed, and he noticed that Daniel’s passes were lighter, but not in a bad way. It was like he was trying to ease him back into his emotions calmly. Safely.

The thoughtfulness of it almost made him start crying again. He took in a shaking breath as Daniel began to move further down his body, past his ass, starting at the backs of his thighs. The massage felt just as good there, though less intense.

“Thank you for this.”

“It’s my job,” Daniel reminded him.

Harley snorted. “No, I know that. I promise I’m not some weirdo who thinks people are into him because they take care in their work.”

“Like the people who think strippers want to date them?” Daniel asked as he went for a particularly sore spot on Harley’s calf.

His mind whited out from the pleasure-pain of it. “Uhg, God. Yeah. I wrote a book like that once. Publisher hated it and told me to shelve it. It’s still sitting there.”

Daniel’s hands stilled, and Harley came back to himself, flushing when he realized what he’d admitted. “What else was the book about?”

Harley groaned into his face rest. He always babbled on about his work, and people always felt obligated to ask, even when they very clearly didn’t want to know. “Never mind. Please ignore me.”

“No,” Daniel told him softly. “I’m curious now. Why would your publisher ask you to put something on a shelf that you finished?”

Harley shifted, then propped himself up on his arms, though he wasn’t brave enough to look back at Daniel. But he couldn’t keep talking to the floor. “I’m an author. Like, that’s my job. My day job,” he clarified. God, he was still babbling. “I have this semi-successful series.”

“What makes it semi-successful?”

“It pays the bills,” Harley said with a shrug. He groaned again when Daniel went to work on the balls of his feet. Had anyone touched him there before? Probably not. He should have been doing this for years. “Anyway, so I wanted to branch out. I was burning out really hard on what I was doing, and it was taking me longer and longer to finish each book. I was part of an online writers group at the time, and a few of them were lamenting that people who are in sex work get treated kind of shitty in romance fiction.”

“Mm.” Daniel’s hum was a delicious low rumble as he moved up to the backs of Harley’s thighs. “I think they’re right.”

“Yeah. So, I came up with this idea and wrote it. It was a short novel—no real plot, just romance. My publisher rejected it without even reading the first couple of chapters.”

“How is that possible if you’re one of their authors?”

At that, Harley did glance behind him, and his breath caught in his chest at just how gorgeous the man was. He looked away quickly. “It’s like being in contract work. I get renewed when I have something that makes them money, and I wasn’t making enough for them to take any big risks. If my big screwup this week is bad enough, they could drop me mid-series.”

“That sounds needlessly stressful.”

Harley flopped back down and sighed. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do. The tension in your back is telling me a novel right now.” Daniel moved back up to his shoulders and began to knead them gentler than before. “Do you want to turn over and let me work on your front?”

Harley wasn’t hard or anything, but he was terrified he might get that way if he had to look at Daniel’s face. “Uh. Actually, I think I’m good.”

“You haven’t used up your whole hour, and I was late,” Daniel pointed out.

“Well, I’m here for the holidays. If you’re not heading to see your family?—”

“Ah, no. No family. I stay here on the property.”

Harley felt a warm rush through him. Fuck, he really was his poor, besotted character who fell in love with the stripper. Only he didn’t think there was a happily ever after for him. “Can I book with you again?”

Daniel hesitated, and for a moment, Harley thought he’d made it weird again. Then he cleared his throat. “Of course, Mr. James. Ah, what about tomorrow? This same time? I’ll put it in the books for you.”

“Please call me Harley. And yes, this time is perfect,” Harley breathed out. He was feeling sleepy all of a sudden, his limbs heavy.

“Good. I’ll leave you to get dressed. You remember the way out?”

“Yeah…” He was drifting.

“Take as long as you need,” Daniel said very, very quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harley hummed. Did the room get darker, or were his eyes closing? In that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was cried out, exhausted, and ready for some peace.