Snow Storm

Chapter 14

Harley

It was Christmas. Harley had never really been big on the holiday, but he could always feel a sort of shift in the air whenever the holiday rolled around. He stretched wide on Claude’s bed, unsurprised to find it empty. Over the last couple of days, Harley had learned that his lover was a restless sleeper and a very early riser.

The day before, Harley tried to match Claude’s routine, but after stumbling in the kitchen and almost face-planting into his coffee, Claude sent him to bed and told him to stop being foolish. He felt a little silly and embarrassed, but Claude kissed the heat from his cheeks, and Harley stumbled back to the warm nest of blankets, feeling happy and adored.

Also satisfied in ways he didn’t know was possible until now.

He also felt hopeful for the first time in a long, long time. He still had no idea how he and Claude were going to make this work, but he was going to try. And hell, Darren had been up his ass about selling the condo so he could weasel some money out of him, and this might be the perfect excuse to do it. He could sell it cheap, give Darren a pittance to shut his mouth, and then never hear from him again.

Maybe moving to an entirely different side of the country was the best choice he could possibly make. Maybe it would reawaken something inside him that had started to atrophy. He’d been writing for years, but it was getting harder and harder with each passing month because he felt disconnected from himself and from the passion that made him want to be an author in the first place.

Now, he felt invigorated.

Rolling out of bed, he quickly helped himself to a shower. The water was warm, but the heat only lasted a few minutes with the pipes being as cold as they were. He scrubbed up, rinsed off, then hopped out before it could get too cold, slipping into a pair of jogging pants and a sweater the second he was dry enough for the clothes not to stick to his body.

Claude was nowhere to be found, but this time, that didn’t send Harley into a panic. He knew his lover had to check on the cattle and then take care of stuff at the hotel, which meant Harley had to entertain himself.

He took his coffee in one of Claude’s thermal travel mugs and snagged a croissant before slipping into his boots and heading down the walkway toward his room.

Most of his stuff had migrated to Claude’s place, but not everything, and he’d been struck with an idea the night before. Harley meant what he said about hating when people he knew read his work, but that wasn’t true for everything he’d published. He had a single novel—a tattered paperback written almost two decades before—sitting at the bottom of his luggage.

It was his good-luck charm. He took it with him everywhere.

The novel had been the birth of his career. He’d spent two years querying the book to agents, but no one wanted it. He’d started to contemplate quitting, but his father told him to try again. To move on. To write something new and different.

So he did.

And the advice had worked. He’d never forgotten about the little novel no one wanted. He’d pitched it a few more times after his first two books made lists, but it was still rejected. This time, however, instead of wanting to quit, he took matters into his own hands and self-published it under his real name.

Over the last six years, he’d gotten a grand total of one hundred and twenty-four sales on that book. It wasn’t even a fraction of what he’d earned from his mainstream work, but those hundred and twenty sales were honest.

They were important .

The book would never win awards, but they were the first two characters he’d ever brought to life, and that meant something.

Slipping into his room, he dropped to his knees beside his suitcase and removed a hoodie from the zippered section. Beneath that was a sweater he never wore, and wrapped inside the soft knitted wool was the book. The cover wasn’t anything special to look at. He’d found an artist online and had her draw two hands clinging to each other. He’d added a title himself with a free graphic design website online, and that was it.

This And Every Moment After

By Harley James

So many people thought his real name sounded like a pseudonym, and so far, no one had connected the dots between him and R.J. Ruiz. He didn’t mind at all. It allowed him to feel a little more free to be himself—and that’s what the book was. It was absolutely himself in ways his other works weren’t.

It was a love story that he’d created, one he’d dreamed that would come true for him. He’d started to lose faith after Darren, but now, when he thought about Claude and his perfect hands and lush mouth and the way he made Harley feel like no one ever had before, he started to think that maybe it was a sign.

Maybe the love story wasn’t a lie after all.

Tucking it under his arm, he closed his case and then made his way into the lobby. Claude was nowhere to be found. In fact, the lobby was completely empty and silent, apart from soft Christmas music coming from the lounge.

He made his way toward the bar, following the scent of mulled cider and cookies, and eventually, he found Aminah and Lyric curled together on one of the lounge sofas in front of the window. Snow was falling again, a white sheet against the grey sky. It was almost mesmerizing.

He watched the fat flakes as he listened to their quiet murmur, and he hated himself a little for disturbing their peace.

“You don’t have to hover like a weirdo,” Lyric said. “There’s room under the covers for one more. Claude won’t be back for at least an hour.”

Harley blinked. “Where did he go?”

“He and Charlie took the snowmobiles out to check on the roads and get a couple of things from the general store,” Aminah said.

Harley’s breath caught in his chest. The sky along the horizon was heavy and dark grey. A big storm was coming.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Lyric said. “He does this multiple times every winter. He knows what he’s doing, and he and Charlie have survival supplies if they get stuck.”

Harley hated that. He hated worrying. He hated that his mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. But he trusted Claude to know how to manage a trip like this. This was Claude’s life, and right now, Harley was just a guest.

Walking over, he sat primly on the edge of the sofa until Lyric groaned and yanked him down. She flung the side of the heavy blanket over him and forced him to nestle in.

“If you’re gonna stick around, you have to get used to group cuddles,” she said. “Or you’ll be voted off the island.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Aminah told him. “You’re welcome even if you don’t like cuddles. Not everyone wants to be manhandled, my love.”

Lyric immediately looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I should’ve asked.”

Harley didn’t like being touched when he wasn’t expecting it, but he also had always been the kind of person who got comfort from being held. He’d felt starved for it all the time as a child because he lacked it so often, and then he’d fallen for Darren, who thought anything apart from fucking was a waste of his time.

He never thought he’d have anyone in his life who wanted to be close like this just for the sake of it.

“This is perfectly fine,” Harley said, nestling close. “It feels nice.”

“I had a feeling,” Lyric said. “You remind me a lot of me.”

“That’s a very nice compliment,” Harley told her.

She shifted to look at him, her brow raised. Then her eyes widened. “You mean that.”

Harley frowned in confusion. “Um. Yes?”

She shook her head and turned, holding him a little tighter. “I really like you. Will you stay?”

“Lyric,” Aminah warned, but her tone was a little heavy.

Harley smiled and shrugged. “I’m working on something. You might see me more often.”

“I knew it. I knew it! Didn’t I tell you this morning, babe? I said?—”

“Yes, yes, my beautiful genius,” Aminah said, cutting her off. She shuffled upward until she was sitting up over Lyric, and she grinned at Harley. “You two are working it out?”

“I think so.” Harley glanced back out at the snow. It was getting heavier now, and his stomach was hurting from the anxiety of thinking maybe he wasn’t okay. That maybe he wouldn’t make it back this time. “How safe is it out there for him?”

“Because of his legs?” Aminah asked.

“What? No! Because it’s snowing a literal new mountain out there, and it has to be below freezing by now,” Harley insisted.

Aminah’s face softened. “He’s been out in worse and come home just fine. It’s better to stay distracted, and before you know it, he’ll be back.”

Distracted. Right. That was one of the reasons he’d come looking for someone. “That reminds me, I need wrapping paper.”

Lyric shot up, almost bashing him in the face. “I can help. I’m such a slut for the holidays. Oh my God , we should make cookies for him. Christmas cookies. Did you do that as a kid?” She clambered off the sofa and straightened her sweater. It was one of those ugly Christmas ones with a big reindeer on the front. “Aminah never did Christmas growing up, but she says she doesn’t mind with me.”

“Our kids will have a mixed-faith home, and I want to make sure I know what’s going on,” Aminah said with a sniff.

Harley smiled at her, then looked over at Lyric. “We didn’t celebrate much when I was little. And when I was older…” Darren had never cared. His brother was always too busy for him. And it wasn’t like he had friends who saw him as anything other than coattails they could ride to fame—but unfortunately, they picked the wrong social hermit for that.

And when they realized that about him, they disappeared.

Lyric was unfazed. “It’s cool. I know a bunch of recipes. And I know which ones Claude likes the most too. I can teach you. You know what they say about a man and his heart, right?”

“To watch his cholesterol when he starts getting grey hair?” Harley asked.

Lyric rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas. Be quiet and say thank you for everything I’m about to do.”

“Be quiet and say thank you?” he pressed.

Lyric groaned loudly as Aminah laughed into her sleeve. “You’re a pain in the ass. You remind me of my old English teacher.”

Harley hunched into himself, but then he saw the grin on her face, and he realized this was it. This was a moment he could overthink it and panic and assume that everything she was saying was meant from the heart. But he wasn’t taking the bait. He laughed instead, and she joined him.

“I’m not good in the kitchen,” he finally admitted when his chuckles stopped.

Lyric walked over and pressed a hand to his cheek. “Don’t worry, babes. Baking is science, and I’m an amazing teacher.” She dropped her hand to seize his. “Come on. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Wow.”

Harley rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…”

“No, seriously. Wow .”

She did not mean that in a good way. Lyric picked up one of the cookies and knocked it on the counter. It was harder than cement.

“I don’t know what to say,” Harley admitted.

“It’s science,” Lyric said helplessly.

“I know?—”

“It’s a basic recipe.”

“I know?—”

“You just follow the steps and, you know, bam. Cookies!”

Harley pressed his hands over his face. “I know . I told you I can’t bake. I can cook myself like six things, which is fine because I’ve never really eaten a wide variety anyway, but there’s a reason I quit experimenting in the kitchen.”

Lyric glanced at the thing in her hand. “Well, it’s too bad he doesn’t play hockey.” She dropped the cookie onto the plate and winced at the loud clink. Mercifully, it didn’t shatter. “So, we have two options.” She held up her hand and ticked one finger. “One, I do a new batch and we lie through our teeth and say it was all you.”

Harley quickly shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. “Absolutely not. Because if he likes them, he’ll ask me to bake them again, and it’ll only end in disaster.”

“Okay, then we try and try until you have some kind of success rate.”

Harley smiled softly at her. “You’re sweet, but I’m not going to bleed the resort dry of sugar, flour, and eggs because that is what will happen long before I can make an edible cookie. Trust me, when I’m bad at something, I’m bad at it. There’s no fixing who I am.”

She stared morosely at the plate. “Peanut butter cookies,” she muttered to herself. “They’re arguably the easiest cookies to make. There’s, like, built-in oils to make them soft and squishy.” She looked up at him and frowned. “I know a food scientist who would love to study you.”

Harley flushed and wrapped his arms around his middle. He knew she wasn’t being cruel, but her words sounded a lot like the gentle mockery he’d been suffering his entire life. He didn’t like being bad at things, but he hadn’t lied to Claude when he said that when he had no talent for something, it turned into a disaster.

There was no saving this. Or him.

And he hated feeling like a failure.

“Well. We should throw these away,” he said quietly.

“Or we can dip them in coffee and see if that makes them edible,” came a voice from behind them.

Harley spun around a little too fast and almost lost his balance, but it was Claude’s voice, and he wanted to burst into tears of relief, knowing he was okay. He was bright red in his cheeks, and his knuckles looked so dry and cracked they had to be painful, but he was in his chair without a coat, and he was smiling.

“You’re here,” Harley breathed.

Claude raised a brow. “Yes. This is my house. Where you two are…baking?”

“These are my terrible cookies that I made a mess of. Harley had nothing to do with it,” Lyric said, throwing her upper body over the plate.

Claude snorted and held his hands out for Harley, who walked into his embrace. He was tugged down onto Claude’s lap and kissed within an inch of his life. “I’m fine without peanut butter cookies,” Claude murmured against his lips.

Harley knocked their foreheads together. “They were mine. And they’re the worst things in the world. Please don’t dip them in coffee. Throw them away. I do not want to be responsible for what they might do to your guts.”

Claude grimaced. “I might take you up on that. Mine are a little sensitive.”

Harley kissed him. “I wouldn’t even wish them on my ex. Well…maybe my ex. But no one else.”

Claude laughed and rested his forehead against Harley’s shoulder. “Lyric, ma chérie, please leave.”

“ What ?” She squared her shoulders in protest.

Claude lifted his head and looked around Harley’s shoulder. “I love you very much, but I need you to leave.”

“I— oooh . Yes. Okay. Love you, bye!”

She was grabbing her coat and out the door before Harley could ask. When the door slammed, Claude let out a heavy sigh and leaned back, bringing his dry, cool hand to Harley’s cheek. “Why were you two baking cookies?”

“Um. Reasons,” Harley said. Claude gave him a pointed look, and he cracked, sliding off Claude’s legs. He hugged himself around his middle to help contain his embarrassment. “I was distracting myself. I didn’t know you’d gone out in the snowstorm, and when the girls told me where you were at, I panicked.”

Claude frowned as Harley stood up from his lap, and he rolled his chair back a few inches. “I left a note.”

“Uh. You didn’t. Not that I minded,” Harley said in a hurry. “I wasn’t upset about you leaving. I was just worried because it looked bad out there.”

Claude sighed and turned his chair, giving a hard push to roll down the hall. He disappeared into the bedroom, and before Harley could really worry that he’d said something wrong, he was back with a small note in his hand. “It fell behind the nightstand,” Claude said, holding it out.

Harley stared down at the looping cursive.

H- I had to go on a supply run with my foreman. I’ll be back before dinner. Make yourself comfortable and know I’ll miss you. Find someone if you need anything. C.

It was such a simple thing. No flowery declarations of love. No pet names. And yet, it was the sweetest thing he’d ever read. He just had no idea why. He folded the note and put it in his pocket. “Sorry I’m so messy.”

“No. Enough of that. Have you eaten?”

Harley blinked at the whiplash of subject changing. “Uh. Lyric and I made sandwiches.”

“Ah, bon. Come help me get warm, then. My legs are stiff, and my arms are empty.”

“Empty?” Harley parroted.

Claude smiled at you. “Yes, empty. But then won’t be once I get you in them.”

Harley nearly tripped over himself to follow Claude’s chair back down the hall. “Seriously,” he said as they crossed into the bedroom. “There are romance book awards. And you’d win them all.”