Snow Storm

Chapter 8

Harley

The spa felt a little like a ghost town when Harley made it down there. There was no music playing, and while the lights were on, the silence was eerie and strange. This is how horror movies start , he thought to himself as he approached the desk. This is how na?ve, jackass white boys like me get murdered by resentful ghosts of dead massage therapists .

He half considered just leaving, but he looked down and realized there was a note propped up beside the business card tray that had his name on it. His fingers felt a little stiff as he picked it up and unfolded it to reveal neat cursive.

Harley,

I’m running a few minutes behind. Please get yourself comfortable in room two. There’s a robe, and the bed is set for you. I’ll be in as soon as possible.

Daniel

Everything about the note was perfectly written except the name. That looked strangely…shaky? Almost like a person was writing it for the first time, which was odd because wouldn’t Daniel know how to write his own name?

There was something going on. His stomach did flips, but in spite of his internal red flag warning going off, he walked into the second room and saw it prepared the way it had been before. The table was laid out with fresh sheets, there was a robe on the back of the door, and the temperature was perfect.

There was a small tabletop fountain in the corner that had water trickling over stones, and the faintest spa music was playing from somewhere. He wanted to stay alert, but damn it, he was exhausted, and the guy—Daniel or whoever— had done a good job on his back.

Nothing about it had seemed strange.

So maybe he was just reading into things. Maybe he was looking for conspiracies or lies where there weren’t any.

Or maybe the guy was a ghost, and Harley would have to suck it up because he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get treatment like this anywhere else. He supposed, at the very least—assuming he survived—he could turn this into a book.

Closing the door, he ignored the feeling of being very exposed and stripped down. The warm air felt good on his skin, and the sheets were extra soft as he lay on his belly and put his face in the little padded hole. His entire body felt boneless after adjusting the sheet to cover his ass, and his breathing evened out.

If he wasn’t careful, or if Daniel took too long, he was most definitely going to end up dozing off.

Harley had no idea how long he’d been lying there in a daze, but he jolted when the door opened, and he sat halfway up, his eyes a little blurry. Daniel was holding the doorframe, leaning heavily against it, wearing a tense smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

Harley shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I was plenty comfortable.”

Daniel’s face softened, and he took a few steps in. He looked a little unsteady on his feet, but his expression didn’t change. “I’m happy to see you. I hope you got some good sleep.”

Harley wanted to stay suspicious—maybe even demand an explanation about Fred—but all the protests died on his tongue at the sound of Daniel’s genuine care and concern. “I mean, what even is good sleep these days? But it was better than I would have gotten at home. The massage helped.”

Daniel laughed softly. “That’s good. I don’t think that was my best work.”

“Then I can’t wait to see what your hundred percent is like.”

“You and me both,” he muttered.

Harley frowned. What a weird thing to say. It felt wrong to accuse him of something without proof or reasonable suspicion, but something wasn’t right here. He tracked Daniel as he made his way to the cupboard, and he noticed the man was heavily favoring his right side.

“Are you okay?”

Daniel looked over his shoulder. “Mm?”

“You look like you’re in pain.”

“Ah.” He glanced down at his feet. “Ignore that. It’s an old injury. Please get comfortable. I’m going to get the oils and start on your back. Do you have any problem areas you’d like me to address today?”

Harley bit his lip. Did he give an answer? Or did he demand one? “My shoulders,” he finally said. He was too much of a jellyfish and hated confrontation with a passion. Especially after the whole thing with Ethan. “I feel like there’s a nasty trapped nerve behind my left shoulder blade. Probably from all the tension I’ve been holding.”

“I can imagine. I—ah!” There was a huge crash, and Harley found himself sitting up, the sheet pooled around his naked waist, staring down at Daniel, who was lying on his side. A bottle of oil was lying beside his head, drizzling a small puddle into his hair.

Paying no attention to his nudity, Harley jumped down, kicking the sheet away as he knelt beside the man. He picked up the oil bottle, then offered a hand to Daniel, whose face had gone bright red.

“ Merde .”

“I know what that word means,” Harley murmured.

“Forgive me. The pain makes me lose my filter.” Daniel pulled a face as he used Harley’s grip to sit himself up, but he didn’t attempt to stand. Harley realized why a second later. Daniel’s legs were spasming like someone had stuck electrodes to them and turned them on high.

“Are you okay?”

Daniel waved him off. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’ll pass.” He murmured a long string of French before saying, “I knew this was going to happen.” His head knocked back against the cabinet, and then his brows flew up. “Ah. You’re…euh…” He gestured toward Harley’s crotch.

Glancing down, he realized that his limp dick and heat-heavy balls were just dangling there like goddamn Christmas ornaments falling off a loose branch. His blush was so hot he felt dizzy as he scrambled up and grabbed the sheet, tying it around his waist like a drunk ancient Greek put on a chiton.

“Can we pretend that never happened so I can go to my grave with a little dignity?”

In spite of his spasms and the obvious pain he was in, Daniel covered his face with one hand and burst into laughter. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “It’s not funny. It’s not. But I… haha …I understand and… haha . I’m s-so sorry.”

Harley wanted to continue to be mortified, but Daniel’s laughter was so contagious he found himself giggling along. Eventually, the laughter and the absurdity of the situation hit him, and he collapsed next to the other man, mostly naked, now sitting in a puddle of oil, howling his ass off.

“Oh my God, I haven’t felt like this in years,” Daniel said softly. His legs had calmed down, but he made no move to get up. He rolled his head toward Harley and grinned. “I’m sorry to put you in that position.”

“For what it’s worth, laughing at my dick and balls is a lot easier to bear than the shit going around about me on the internet. So, I don’t mind.” He hesitated, the humor slowly draining out of the room. “But…are you okay? Does that happen a lot?”

“Too often,” Daniel said. He bit his lip, then said, “I have my good days and my bad days. Today was a bad day, but I didn’t want to come in here using my wheelchair. The table isn’t short enough for me to massage you that way.”

Harley’s mouth opened. He was about to demand to know why his boss wouldn’t get him an accessible table when it hit him. It was a freight train of realization, and it clocked him right in the chest. He wheezed. “You’re the owner.”

Daniel—no, Claude—looked down with flaming red cheeks. “If it helps,” he said sheepishly, “I never intended on lying to you.”

Harley swallowed heavily. All the laughter was gone, replaced with shame. “Why did you?” he asked very softly. “Trust me, man, I’ve been embarrassed enough over the last couple of weeks. I’d rather know the truth than be made into a fool again.”

Claude muttered something softly in French. “I didn’t mean for you to feel that way at all. I was coming in to tell you that the appointment was canceled after my massage therapist had to leave for the next few weeks.”

“The real Daniel broke his arm, right? That’s what Aminah was talking about?”

Claude closed his eyes. “He broke his arm and got a concussion. I didn’t mention it to anyone that I’d taken your appointment. She didn’t know.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around his bare middle, Harley hunched into himself. “Was I so pathetic that you had to lie?”

“You were not pathetic. You were sad. And rambling,” Claude said. “You had a broken heart, and I didn’t want to make it worse by taking something away from you. You came in here so nervous for your first massage, and I thought, well, I can at least try. I thought maybe I’d be so terrible you wouldn’t have wanted to come back. You would have been polite about it, I think.”

Harley let out a small laugh. “Yeah. I would have. Uh…well. Thanks, I guess? I don’t have anything to compare it to, but you weren’t bad.”

“High praise,” Claude said dryly. He pressed his hands to the carpet and adjusted how he was sitting. “I also really enjoyed your company. I would have canceled the appointment if I hadn’t.”

Harley felt something warm settle in the pit of his stomach. Something that probably shouldn’t have belonged there, but it felt good. He wanted to cup his hands around it and protect it.

“I don’t really know what to say. Or do. You’re the owner of this place. You definitely have more important things to do than give me massages.”

“I think for insurance reasons, I probably shouldn’t do it again. If I hurt you, you could sue me and take everything. Don’t,” he added quickly, “let that give you ideas.”

Harley covered his chuckle with his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not that kind of guy.” He glanced around, then climbed to his feet and readjusted the sheet again. “Can I help you get up?”

“My chair,” Claude told him, gesturing at the door. “It’s right beside the desk. If you bring it to me, I can get up myself.”

It was an awkward waddle with the sheet on, but Harley managed to find it. It was a sleek-looking thing with small rubber handles that were covered in spikes—nothing like the bulky hospital chairs with the big armrests and the fat handles. It had a low back and a seat barely big enough to fit Claude’s backside.

He had to grip it by the back to avoid having his hands poked, but he didn’t mind that much. He pushed it through the door, then set the wheel an inch away from Claude’s hand. “That good?” he asked, wiping his hands off on his sheet.

“Perfect. I, oh—” Claude smiled at him sheepishly. “The handle covers come off. I put them on so people don’t try to push me without asking.”

Harley grimaced. “That happens?”

“Too often,” Claude said as he set what was probably the brake. He used his hands to lift his legs, bending them at the knee. With a single push of his rippling biceps, he was off the floor and seated in the chair. “They’ve mostly stopped now that I use the spikes.”

“Clever and pretty cool.”

“Trust me, it’s not that cool getting randomly spun around by people I don’t know,” Claude said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Harley slapped a hand over his face. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…” He bowed his head. “I don’t mean to imply that your existence is some kind of parlor trick. I just know how shitty people can be. Learning how to deal with it all must have taken forever.”

Claude seemed surprised. “It did. Years before it all became as easy as walking used to be.” He ran his hands through his hair, then grimaced when they came back slick with oil. “Uhg. I should shower.”

“And I should get dressed,” Harley said.

Claude let out a small sigh. “I wish I could offer you something to make up for all this mess. And for the lies.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to go out of your way?—”

“Dinner.” The single word cut through Harley’s protests, and his jaw clamped shut.

That was the last thing he was expecting to hear from a man whose employee described him as a grumpy mountain recluse. He was so stunned he didn’t answer him.

“Sorry. That was out of line.”

“No,” Harley said in a rush, suddenly terrified of losing the opportunity to be around Claude for longer. “I mean, yes ! I mean, no it wasn’t out of line. Dinner sounds nice.” Harley felt like a bumbling fool, but he also knew he didn’t want to squander a meal with this man. God only knew when he’d see him again. He was the owner. It wasn’t like he had time for random guests, even ones he felt sorry for.

And Harley wasn’t delusional. He wasn’t going to read anything into this. But God help him if he didn’t have the smallest flicker of hope for a holiday miracle.

Or a holiday roll in the hay.

He’d take either at this point.

Claude’s face brightened a little. “You’re sure? I know this is strange. And I lied about who I was.”

“I get it. You were trying to be kind,” Harley told him. Maybe from anyone else, it would have been creepy, but if Claude turned out to be some weird mountain serial killer, what a way to go.

Claude bit his lip, his brows furrowed in thought, then said, “Let me cook for you?”

Harley’s brows flew up. “Oh. I…really?”

Claude shifted to the right and pulled a phone out of his pocket. He murmured in French, ticking something off his fingers Harley thought were probably numbers, and then he nodded. “Yes, I have enough time. Let me cook for you. My favorite dish. It’s French.”

“I don’t know anything about French food,” Harley said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Claude’s smile returned. It was bright, sunny, transformative. He was somehow more beautiful with it, and that just seemed unfair. “Would it be very strange if I picked you up from your room? Since I’m the owner and know where you’re checked in, that is.”

Harley barked a laugh. “No. That’s fine. I should be ready at?—?”

“Sept,” Claude said, then in English, “Seven.” He held out his hand, and Harley took it. Claude’s fingers were somehow both rough and soft, and they were so warm. He held on tightly, and Harley allowed himself to bask in the touch for as long as it took before the moment got weird. “See you then?”

Harley nodded. He felt a pang in his gut when Claude let him go, and he watched as the man wheeled himself out, spun his chair, then reached for the door handle. Their gazes connected for a long moment.

And then the moment shattered when Claude closed the door and left Harley completely and entirely alone.