Snow Storm

Chapter 6

Claude

Claude didn’t smile much these days, but that day was even worse, considering how badly he’d fucked up. But the moment his eyes landed on his cousin, his entire mood brightened. Dorsey was a force of nature. He was his mother’s half sister’s eldest son, but it was rarely worth explaining all that to people. His aunt had been estranged from the family, so Dorsey was more friend than he was a relative, which Claude preferred. His family was obnoxious and meddling at the best of times, and they hadn’t been very kind about his divorce when he and Anabelle split.

Dorsey was the first person to show up after the papers had been signed, and he took Claude out for drinks, then announced he was staying. He was a silent partner in the resort and was usually off on some adventure or another. The most recent was teaching English in Valencia, but he’d sent Claude an email saying he would be stopping by to grab a few things before flying out to Ireland to stay with his mum during the holidays.

With the impending storms threatening to snow them all in, Claude was surprised his cousin had shown, but here he was. And for a moment, he could breathe again.

Claude envied his cousin for the easy way he got around. He was active and fit, his limbs moving like he was in a perpetual dance. He didn’t hate him for it. He was just a little envious because that had been his life once.

“Why do you look like someone ate your cat?”

“Why do you always take it so far? You’re lucky I don’t have a cat, or I might be actually offended,” Claude told him.

He pushed up from his chair and kissed Dorsey on each cheek before easing back down. The massage he’d given Mr. James had taken all the strength out of his legs for the day. Not that he minded. For all that the man was suffering, he was very easy on the eyes, and Claude really liked the sound of his voice. It had been easy in ways he hadn’t felt in years, and he had no idea what to make of it.

The afternoon had been a simple case of mistaken identity, but now he felt like a moron because he had promised the poor bastard crying on the table that he’d see him tomorrow. He’d come down to the spa with the intention of canceling all the appointments because Daniel was going to be out for the next two weeks. He’d slipped on ice and fractured his elbow and given himself a nice, mild concussion.

He’d gone back into town to stay for the duration of his recovery, and Claude was pretty sure they wouldn’t see him again until after Christmas, at least, if the predicted weather was anything to go by.

And canceling should have been a simple task. Claude was good at telling people no. He was good at being the bad guy and dashing people’s hopes for the day. His employees called him to be firm with guests all the time. So canceling Mr. James’s massage should have been the easiest thing on his to-do list that afternoon.

But he’d taken one look at the man on the table, and his resolve had shattered in ways it never had before.

He’d crumbled and then made a pathetic attempt to mimic what Daniel did for him on the overly tense man who had been so touch starved he thought Claude was doing a good job. Now, he felt like a jackass because he couldn’t keep pretending to be a masseur. Could he? No. That was ridiculous.

“Seriously. Did someone die?”

“No,” Claude said tiredly. He pushed his wheels back and jerked his head for Dorsey to follow him into the office. “It’s been a weird day.”

“How weird? The kitchen is changing all the seasoning in the pancakes weird, or hooker clowns kind of weird?”

“I don’t know what that even means,” Claude said, but his heart kicked up a notch at the mention of hooker, thanks to Mr. James— Harley —and the book he’d described. He held the door for his cousin, then closed it behind him and wheeled to his desk as Dorsey flopped in his comfy leather chair. “Weird like my only massage therapist I had for the holidays fell, fractured his elbow, and got a concussion, and we also have a client here that’s dealing with some public image crisis.”

He felt wrong describing Harley like that. He knew the details. Harley’s brother had been painstakingly specific about what had happened when he called to make the reservation, and Aminah had taken detailed notes. The brother made Harley sound like some loose cannon about to go off.

But Claude hadn’t seen that. He’d only seen a man who had been tragically emotionally neglected. And he recognized it because he knew personally how it felt.

“What kind of public image crisis? Like Tom Cruise and the couch?” Dorsey said.

“It’s like we’re speaking different languages,” Claude complained. “Whatever that means, it’s probably a no. He had a public meltdown. He’s an author, and something went wrong at a book signing.” He didn’t tell Dorsey about the video. His cousin would immediately look it up, and while Claude had seen some of it, now that he knew Harley personally, it felt wrong to watch it again.

“Ooh! Do I know him? Is it Stephen King?”

“It’s definitely not Stephen King,” Claude said flatly. He wiggled his mouse and pulled up Harley’s file and the notes Aminah had taken on him. He squinted at the name. It fit—and it didn’t. “You would know if Stephen King were staying here, and you’d be canceling your trip back to see your mum. This man goes by R.J.…something.”

“Ruiz?” Dorsey asked, his voice taking on a high, tight quality.

Claude lifted a brow at him. “You know him?”

“Holy fuck, yes,” Dorsey breathed. He pressed his hands to the desk. “And I totally know what happened. I watched it on Instagram.”

Claude felt a sudden and powerful wave of protectiveness. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.”

Dorsey threw his head back and laughed. “It was worse . The fuck stick he hit had it coming. Several people were taking videos, and in one of them, you can hear Ruiz’s agent being an absolute dickhead. Did you watch it?”

Claude grimaced. “Lyric showed me some of it before I knew he was a guest, but there was no volume on it, and I’m not about to watch it again.”

Dorsey grimaced. “Well shitting Christ, I knew it was going to be bad for him after the whole thing hit the internet. I can’t believe he came here of all places.”

“You have to leave him alone,” Claude snapped, then took a deep breath when Dorsey flinched back and held up his hands.

“Mate, you know I would never?—”

“No, I know,” Claude interrupted quickly. “I do know. It’s just…he seems like he’s been through more than just that one incident, and I want to make sure he’s able to recover as much as he can.”

Dorsey nodded sagely. “Well, rumor has it his ex left him for someone they were close to. He wasn’t online much, but his ex was, and he posted something about Ruiz’s temper and how this was bound to happen. Luckily, I don’t think most people believe him. He seems like a real shitehawk.”

Claude winced. He knew Harley’s ex had cheated. He hadn’t realized it was with someone they knew. God, a massage wasn’t enough for this man. “He’s in a bad emotional way, and I want him to get the peace he came here for.”

Dorsey’s eyes suddenly focused on him, and Claude felt a rush of anxiety running up his spine. “You’ve been talking to him, haven’t you? You don’t usually do that with guests.”

Claude’s ears burned. “We, euh…we met by accident.”

Dorsey folded his hands under his chin and smiled at him. “Either you spill, or I go become his next best friend and he tells me everything.”

Claude groaned, leaned back with his hands over his face, and between one breath and the next, he spilled his guts.

“Christ on a bike and the twelve disciples on a minibus,” Dorsey breathed out like Christmas had come early. He took a deep breath in, then burst into laughter. “You…you p-pretended to be a masseuse ?”

“Masseur,” Claude corrected irritably.

Dorsey’s eyes were bright with tears. “You really put your foot in it if you’re being pedantic right now.” He rubbed at his cheeks. “Feck’s sake. Okay. So you got your hands all over him. I know about a dozen people who would do a murder to be where you were this afternoon. You have no idea how hot the internet is for this poor sod.”

Claude was both surprised and unsurprised. Harley was beautiful in a sort of unassuming way. He was shorter, chubbier, and more socially awkward than what Dorsey always called the men in the “thirst traps” he sent to Claude. But somehow, it worked for him in a big, big way.

Claude hadn’t been enamored of anyone like this in a long time.

Maybe ever, if he was being honest with himself.

He was starting to question things now that Dorsey was forcing him to look at his own actions. Three weeks ago, the idea of him going out of his way to do something like this to make a random stranger comfortable would have been laughable.

It would have been absurd .

It would’ve been out of the question because there wasn’t anything on the planet that would have made him pretend to be a masseur just to make someone’s day better.

And now?

Now, he couldn’t wait for Harley’s next appointment. He wanted to get his hands on him again. He wanted to touch him all over. He wanted to hear his voice, and listen to his laugh, and watch the nervous way he twitched like he was fighting the urge to enjoy Claude’s hands on him.

And, oddly, he wanted to tell him the truth about who he was and what he’d done.

“What do I do?”

Dorsey made a choking noise as he stretched his feet out. “How the hell should I know? Mate, this is probably the one question that could stump Google.”

Claude groaned and pressed his hands over his face. “I’m about to run out of all my masseur skills.”

“The fact that you have any at all is amazing,” Dorsey said, chuckling softly. “That’s probably something you could Google though, if you want to keep up this facade.”

Claude grimaced. At some point, Daniel would be back, and he’d have to come clean then—assuming Harley was still with them. But he had no idea how Daniel was recovering—or how long Harley needed to take cover from the public.

And he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to kick the man out. They were about to be snowed in for at least a few weeks, which meant they’d have some time to get to know each other.

“I think I want him to know me.”

Dorsey let out a low whistle. “Does this mean your self-imposed chastity is over?”

“Celibacy,” Claude said irritably. “And no, this means nothing.” The words tasted like a lie. “I don’t know what it means.” He felt suddenly defensive and uncomfortable. But sex always was now that his body functioned differently. He hadn’t been with anyone since Anabelle, and the last time she’d touched him was the night before he fell.

“Hey.” Dorsey leaned toward him and snagged his hand. “I’m sorry. I was just taking the piss.”

Claude hated that he was so sensitive. He wanted to be able to joke around with everyone else, but he wasn’t ready for it to be funny. Sex was a thousand times more complicated now than it had been before his fall. He’d gotten the use of his legs back, and he rarely needed a catheter to take a piss. But getting hard wasn’t the same as it had been. Sensations were dulled and muted. He didn’t always feel it.

He didn’t always enjoy it.

And he knew, deep down, that was one of the things that had killed his marriage. Anabelle had needed more from him, and instead of working past his anger and frustration, he’d shut down. He blamed her for the cheating. It had been a cruel twist of the knife to find her in his office.

But the path that led to her choices had been paved with his own inability to see that she needed more from him.

He wasn’t the same man back then as he was now, but he also couldn’t be certain he’d go back and change things. He only wished that he didn’t feel driven by his fear of getting hurt. That he wasn’t motivated to reject every prospect that crossed his path before they could reject him.

“I think I need to go have a lie-down,” Claude said, pushing away from the desk.

Dorsey looked sorry for taking the conversation where it had gone. “I’m gonna head out, then.”

Claude’s gaze snapped up. “Right. I forgot you’re not saying.”

“I wish I could, but I caught the forecast, and if I stay, I’ll get snowed in, and I won’t make my flight. You know Mam will never forgive me if I’m not there.”

Claude sighed. “I’m sorry. Is she angry at me for not coming?”

Dorsey snorted. “In the—how old are you now? Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight?”

“Forty-nine, couchon .”

Dorsey threw his head back with a laugh. “In the forty-nine years she’s been inviting you, she’s never expected you to actually show up.”

Claude wasn’t sure how that made him feel. A little bad because it wasn’t as though he actively disliked that side of his family, but grateful he could be true to himself because travel for him was a massive pain in the ass, and the last thing he wanted was to be trapped for two weeks with well-meaning relatives.

“Don’t worry,” Dorsey said, crouching down to throw an arm around Claude’s shoulders, “I won’t have too much fun without you, and I’ll bring you back a lot of sweets.”

“Thanks,” Claude said dryly. “Make them boozy.”

Dorsey winked as he straightened up. “You know it. Good luck with the hot author. I expect regular updates, especially if it gets spicy.”

“Expect nothing,” Claude warned him because that’s exactly what he was going to get.