The last time Lucky’d been in this office he’d been handed his ass on a platter. Bo’s too. Was that less than ten hours ago? What was important enough to bring Walter Smith back from vacation, and in the early a.m. on Christmas Eve?
Walter stood up from behind his desk and blinked bloodshot eyes. Damn, he hadn’t even taken the time to comb his hair. Blue jeans! He wore blue jeans! And a polo shirt. Damn, he owned casual clothes?
He handed Lucky a Starbucks cup. “I’m glad you came. What I have to say can’t be said over the phone.” Walter rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and shifted from one foot to the other. Walter Smith never fidgeted. Ever.
Lucky didn’t sit. His legs quit holding him and his ass hit the chair. “What’s the matter, boss?” He’d never seen his boss so flustered.
“I received a call from Texas.”
“And?” More legal shit?
Walter slumped down into his chair. “At nine p.m. yesterday evening, Stephan Mangiardi was found dead at the facility where he was being held.”
“What happened?” Knots formed in Lucky’s stomach. Nine p.m. He’d been sitting here in Walter’s office, wishing life wasn’t so damned hard.
“An investigation is pending, but foul play seems to be at work.”
Murdered. The bastard wouldn’t stand trial. He wouldn’t rot in jail, paying for his sins. He wouldn’t be faced with living behind bars or taking his own life.
There’d also be no trial. No questioning Bo. No judgmental jury. “How did he die?”
“A guard found him slumped over in a hallway.”
“Are they sure it wasn’t suicide?”
“No, he overdosed, and there were signs of a struggle.”
“So someone slipped something in to him. Happens all the time.” Time behind bars taught a man things.
Walter shook his shaggy head. “Lucky, he had a hypodermic needle sticking out of his neck.”
He’d been killed the same way Bo had nearly died.
Killed. In jail. While awaiting trial. Oh hell no. Not again. No more looking over his shoulder. “I want to see the body.”
“I thought you might. Make whatever arrangements you need to. Your flight leaves at noon.”
“What about…”
“By ‘your’, I meant yours and Bo’s.”
***
“It’s kinda cool in here. Keep that lab jacket on.” Lucky’s guide opened a heavy metal door onto blackness. Cold filtered out into an already chilly room. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Lucky’s heart rapped a sharp beat inside his chest.
The man turned the light on in a walk-in cooler. Open shelves lined either side. In the middle of the floor sat a sheet-covered gurney. “We got just the one right now, so we didn’t put him on a shelf.” The attendant pulled the sheet down a few inches and unzipped a body bag, revealing a familiar face.
Stephan Mangiardi appeared asleep except for the slight bluish cast to his lips. No foul stench filled the air. No blood marred Stephan’s waxy skin as Lucky had seen on many other victims. No. Not victim. This man wasn’t a victim. After all the lives he’d ruined, he’d gotten his payback. And high time.
“The body doesn’t decompose in here, so he’s still pretty much the same as when they found him. Lividity has set in, so if you roll him over, his backside will be red and purple.” The attendant spoke in a dull monotone, suitable for working with the dead.
The dead gave Lucky the heebie-jeebies. If he were doing this guy’s job he’d have lost his fucking mind years ago.
Aversion to death or no, he’d seen enough lifeless bodies to learn how the process worked, and looking at Stephan’s naked backside wasn’t happening. No way would he ever admit how much he appreciated Bo at his back, not speaking, not asking the zillion questions his pharmacist’s mind probably wanted to. No, he was here to help Lucky lay ghosts to rest.
“Okay to touch?” Not that Lucky wanted to put his hands on Stephan, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
“I’m afraid you can’t. We’re not finished with the autopsy.” The guy shrugged. “Holidays.”
Any moment now Stephan might open his eyes and spring off the gurney. Lucky stared at the man’s chest. No steady rise and fall. But still… “How can I be sure he’s really dead?”
The guy pulled the sheet down farther and unzipped more of the bag. An incision ran from under Stephan’s ribs to his groin. “I don’t think he stands much chance of still being alive with his internal organs gone.”
“Oh.”
Stephan Mangiardi was well and truly dead.
Bo asked, “They find who killed him?” How fitting for Stephan to die the same way he or one of his men had tried to kill Bo. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone intended a message.
But who? And why?
Then again, Stephan made many enemies. Word of his arrest traveled.
“Not that I’ve heard.” The attendant re-zipped the bag.
“Thank you.” Bo tightened his hand on Lucky’s shoulder and led him away.
The nightmare was over.
Or maybe, because of the doubts Stephan placed in the collective mind of the SNB, it had just begun.
***
Damn, paperwork. Lucky hunted and pecked his way through a report before giving up, bleary-eyed.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Bo hip-checked Lucky out of the way and took a seat. Soon his fingers rat-a-tatted across the keyboard of Lucky’s laptop. “I’ll get the basic ideas down and you fill in the blanks, okay?”
Worked for Lucky. What worked better was not being in a borrowed office at a God-forsaken jail late on Christmas Eve, tying up loose ends while a coroner’s assistant sat across the way, glaring and checking his watch because he’d rather be home with the family.
Join the club. But at least Lucky and Bo were spending Christmas together. Sort of. And wrapping up the biggest case of Lucky’s career. Yeah, taking down the Mangiardi organization was worth a mention on his next annual review.
“I think that’s about it unless you’ve got anything to add.” Bo stood and stretched.
Lucky scrolled down the document, pretending to read. “No, that’s pretty much everything. And if we think of anything else we can always add later.”
Their escort hopped up and sprinted for the door, jangling his keys. So much for dedication to the job.
“So, you ready to head for the airport, or are you hungry?” Their flight wasn’t for another five hours, and then two hours from the airport to the house with holiday traffic. No matter how fast they drove, they wouldn’t make it home in time to make Christmas dinner in their new home, not with most grocery stores closed. Plus, they’d need sleep. Lots of sleep.
“What’s open on Christmas Eve?”
Yeah. What indeed? He and Bo faced each other, and at the same time, blurted, “The Waffle House.”
Christmas Eve. Assorted Lucklighters and other hangers-on would be awake in a few hours, two time zones earlier. The little ones always opened their presents and ate a light breakfast before Mama shooed them out of the kitchen to fix Christmas dinner.
She’d have ham, turkey, sweet potato soufflé, green bean casserole, corn, and homemade yeast rolls. For dessert she’d serve pumpkin pie, and blackberry cobbler made with last summer’s canned blackberries. All rounded off with freshly churned butter and a tall glass of sweet tea. Lucky’s stomach grumbled.
But he wouldn’t be enjoying Mama’s cooking. No, his meal today amounted to grits and eggs, a biscuit, and bacon, if Bo felt inclined to make a Christmas exception to healthy eating.
Lucky drove their rental car to the restaurant, parking lot surprisingly full at this hour. Where were these folks going? Why were they here and not home with their families? It wasn’t like Lucky to care about strangers, but he’d sometimes thought himself the sole lonely man on the planet on Christmas.
His phone chimed, and he parked the car, pulled his phone from his pocket, and peered at the screen. “Merry Christmas, Bro! XXXOOO” came from Charlotte.
He texted back: “Luv u 2.”
“You’re smiling. Must be your sister,” Bo said.
Damn, the man knew him too well. “Yeah.”
“Tell her I said hello. If we were normal folks, we’d just call her.”
Calling his sister hurt too much. The pain in her voice, the pity. Not being able to drive up to see her.
No, Richmond Lucklighter was dead. Or had been. No need hiding behind an alias anymore. Time for the dead to rise. But not here. Not now.
It’d take a few more functioning brain cells, and one hell of a lot of coffee, to pull off that conversation.
Bo cocked a brow. “Remember what we promised in the tunnel? To try one more time to reconnect with our families?”
The man never forgot anything, did he? “Yeah, but she’s with her boys, they’re enjoying Christmas. Now isn’t time for their jailbird uncle to show up on the doorstep.”
Bo pursed his lips. “When?”
“Soon, I promise. But just as well. I didn’t have a clue what to get them.”
“How old are they?”
How old were they? “In high school.”
“Video games.”
Damn. The last gift Lucky had given Daytona was a video game, the year he’d started college. And look where that’d gotten him. They hadn’t spoken since. Lucky got out of the car to end the conversation and dragged his feet to the restaurant.
Bo beat him there and opened the door. “Age before beauty.” He grinned.
Bo waited until Lucky strolled past and swatted him on the ass. Lucky whipped his head around, a curse on his lips. Bo gave him a grin and a wink. The Dimple said hello.
A grin and a wink. And an appearance of The Dimple. From Bo. Bo! Not Cyrus. Damn, having Bo acting like his old self was the best Christmas gift ever. No matter that curious eyes stared at them from the diner window. These folks didn’t know Bo and Lucky, and would never see them again.
Lucky laughed, wrapped his arms around Bo’s back, and buried his face in the man’s neck.
“What’s that for?”
Lucky pulled back and stared into bewildered brown eyes. A lump formed in his throat. “Nothing. I love you. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too. But if you’re trying to get me to let you order bacon, put it out of your mind.”
Oh yeah, Bo was back. And if bacon was the price Lucky must pay, so be it.
Several heads snapped back into place on folks ogling them from tables, but no one spouted homophobic slurs. Lucky would let them live. He and Bo took the only vacant booth, and a waiter appeared a moment later. “Two decafs, two glasses of water to start.”
The man strolled off and Bo perused the menu. Lucky studied him, the way his eyes swept back and forth, the five o’clock shadow with a touch of lint clinging to his jaw. Even the dark circles under his eyes couldn’t make him less attractive.
Damn. Hooked. And maybe hooked wasn’t a bad thing.
“What’re you having?” the waiter asked when he returned with their drinks.
“Grits, no butter, dry wheat toast, and two soft scrambled eggs,” Bo said.
Never taking his eyes off his partner, Lucky replied, “I’ll have the same. And bring lots of those little packs of grape jelly.”
The waiter ambled away. Lucky shifted in his seat and a pinch to his thigh reminded him of what he had in his pocket. “I didn’t have time to wrap it, but I got you a present.” He dug the spirit totem out and dangled the hummingbird from the chain, much as Stephan Mangiardi had.
Stephan Mangiardi. Not Lucky’s problem anymore.
“My pendant!” Bo took the charm from Lucky’s hand, wonder on his face. “How did you get this back?”
“It’s all in who you know.” Nestor made an awesome ally. Now to keep him from ever becoming an enemy.
Bo’s smile fell. “I’m afraid I left your present at the house.”
Present? Cool! “What did you get me?”
“I’m not gonna tell you. That’ll ruin the surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”
Oh! Lucky grabbed his phone and scrolled through the pictures. Sappy yeah, but sometimes sappy worked.
He held up his phone to show the picture he’d taken before leaving for Texas of the Christmas cactus, its tendrils weighted down with pink blossoms.
“Wow. Look at those blooms!”
This would be the third year the plant had been a part of their holidays. And the third year they hadn’t spent a proper day at home. Lucky placed his phone on the table and took Bo’s hand. To hell with who didn’t like PDAs. They’d been shot at, kidnapped, held at gunpoint, shot up with drugs, and deserved to be out and proud.
And at the end of this trip, they’d be home.
Lucky’s phone chimed. And chimed again. And again. What the hell? On the tenth chime he glanced at the screen. “Merry Christmas!” came from Johnson. He scrolled up to a picture. And another picture. And another. He never should have given her a key to his house. She’d been in a decorating mood.
Bo grew serious. “Oh, hell. I can’t wait until we get home.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and something on the faded tabletop drew his attention. After a moment he fished his phone out of his pocket, punched a few buttons, and turned it around to show a gorgeous classic Camaro on the screen.
“Nice. But I told you I like my car just fine, thank you.” Besides, that beauty had to be well out of Lucky’s price range.
“That is your car.”
Say what? Lucky grabbed the phone and pulled it close to his nose, nearly yanking Bo’s arm off in the process. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“No. I worried when things started going wrong, didn’t want you to get stranded somewhere.”
Not to mention backfires setting off Bo’s PTSD.
Bo took his phone back and flashed another picture from a different angle. “I imagined you breaking down in rush hour traffic or something. But you insisted you didn’t want a new car, so I sent yours to the shop for an overhaul.”
Lucky studied the shiny red car on the phone screen. “That’s more than an overhaul.”
“Well, while they were at it, I had them add a paint job…”
“And?”
“New tires.”
Whatever held Bo’s attention on the tabletop must have been doing tricks.
“And?”
“Reupholsteredseats, newcarpet, and newsoundsystem” came out in a rush.
Lucky’s left brow came the closest it ever had to rising independently. “Is there any part of the car you didn’t change?”
“I think the glove compartment is original.”
Damn. What a fine looking car. And Lucky’s. “Why?”
“It was falling apart, and you deserve good things.”
No, Lucky didn’t. Bo did. Like a house in move-in condition.
“And I got tired of hearing static when you hooked up your iPod to the radio, so I got you a stereo with a docking station.”
Oh, the better to annoy coworkers. Nice!
“And before you go getting all riled…”
“Thanks, Bo.”
“I mean, you do things for me all the time. Can’t I do one blessed thing for you? Huh?” Oh shit, he was on a roll now.
“I said ‘thanks, Bo’.”
“You’ve put up with my mood swings, been there for me…”
Lucky grabbed Bo by the neck and slammed their mouths together over the tabletop to shut the man up. It worked for everyone else in the diner too. The place grew so quiet the splat of an egg hitting the grill roared like thunder.
“Now that we’ve shocked these fine Texans with our little public display of affection, listen to me. Thanks, Bo. I appreciate what you did. That’s awful nice of you.”
The brow with a mind of its own shot up toward Bo’s hairline, and Bo folded his arms across his chest. “Just like that, you’re gonna accept the gift?”
“If you help me christen it.” Lucky winked. “This must have cost you a fortune.”
“Well, I used the money I’d saved for a down payment on a house, so now I’ll have to save up again before we can buy. You do still want to buy a house, right?”
Oh. That.
“Besides, I had it done at a vocational school. They did a great job if you don’t mind one teensy paint run on the right fender.”
Lucky’s phone chimed, and Bo turned it so they both faced the screen. There sat Mrs. Griggs on her front porch swing in a red robe and a Santa hat. Cat Lucky lay sprawled on her lap, and the empty end of the swing sat at an angle, to allow for Moose’s bulk underneath. Both pets wore bright red bows. The antlers strapped to Moose’s head listed to one side.
Lucky met Bo’s gaze. “Pack up our breakfasts. We’ll take ‘em to go. It’s time to catch a plane for home.”
***
“Eggs.” Lucky opened his mouth for Bo to shovel a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into his mouth while he turned onto the interstate ramp.
Bo dropped the plastic fork into a Styrofoam container. “All gone. Now, since it’s been a month and you haven’t volunteered the information, now that the case is over, I want to hear the rest of what Nestor said to you at Thanksgiving. And why you disappeared with Graciela.” He dropped his voice to a mere whisper. “Victor wasn’t there, was he?”
Might as well ‘fess up. “In a manner of speaking. Graciela showed me a fancy box like they put people’s ashes in. It was empty.”
“What does that mean?”
“How the hell should I know? Maybe Vincent flushed Victor’s ashes down the damned toilet and Graciela kept the box in remembrance.”
“Or he might still be alive.”
“That too. But either way, if I haven’t seen him in the flesh by now, I doubt I will.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If Victor wanted to see me, he’d send his minions. End of story.”
It was so like Victor to fake his own death long before the idea occurred to Lucky to do the same and make a fresh start. But if so, why hadn’t he acted against Stephan sooner? Maybe, like Lucky, he’d not been free to act until recently. Or perhaps Vincent’s death changed the rules to whatever game he played.
Then again, with his calculating mind, it wasn’t out of the question to wait until Lucky, the man Stephan had taken great pleasure in tormenting, was in place to be the instrument of his destruction.
The world might never know.
Bo tapped his fingers against his leg. “And you turned down his fortune.” He sounded fascinated, but not disappointed. Good.
“It was never mine. It should have belonged to Graciela all along.”
“Nestor’s right. You are a good man. A helluva good man.” Bo’s smile stretched into a yawn.
Lucky reached over and patted Bo’s thigh. “Try to get catch some shuteye on the plane.” Come hell or high water, they’d see their home tonight, if they got there one minute before midnight.
Home. They were going home.
***
“What are we doing here?” Bo snapped out of his semi-doze, raised his head, and peered out of the truck window.
“Got something I wanna show you.” Lucky punched in the code, opened the gate, and drove through. Lights shown from house windows, and most yards sported gleaming Christmas lights. Lucky pulled up to the only house with dark windows and turned off the truck. No need showing his hand too soon.
“Who lives here?”
“You’ll see.” Lucky stepped out of the car, wrapped his jacket tighter around him, and breathed in the chilly air. Wood smoke peppered the breeze.
Bo stepped out of the car. Lucky took his hand. “Remember all the times over the past month or so I’ve been gone and never told you where I was?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re about to find out.”
Lucky’s breath formed swirling fog before his face. One arm around Bo—and damn, didn’t that feel good?—he led the way up the sidewalk and to the front steps. The wreath from Johnson’s photo adorned the door. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and punched in the alarm code before the bleeping turned into a blast.
Please, God, let Bo like the place.
A massive Christmas tree stood by the newly replaced sliding glass doors, the only thing in the living room. “I told you a lie, but one of those surprise kinds you said was okay.” Lucky turned to face Bo.
Bo stood a few feet inside the door, mouth hanging open. “This house would be awesome with a little work.”
Pride chased back the sinking feeling in Lucky’s gut. “I didn’t want you to see the place like this. I’d hoped to get everything perfect and spend our first Christmas in our own home.”
“Our… Whoa! This is the house you told me about in Mexico? The one you said was sold?”
Bo wouldn’t chew him out for a well-intended lie, would he? “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape. Still needs work. Lots of work.”
“You bought it, without telling me.” Was that a growl?
Oh shit. Here came the blowup Lucky’d feared. “I tried, really I did—”
The anger on Bo’s face melted away. “And every time, I said something stupid, like how I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, or I wasn’t ready.”
Lucky shrugged, still braced to run if need be. “Something like that.”
Silence stretched between them, tension growing by the minute. At last Bo murmured, “I’m sorry.”
What? Bo apologizing? “I’m the one who’s sorry.” The first time Bo mentioned permanence, Lucky ran. He’d stopped running. “I wanted it to be perfect the first time you saw it, and convince you to want the house and picket fence again.”
“Lucky, if this is our house, I want to help. You shouldn’t have to do all the work alone.” Bo took a few steps toward the middle of the room and turned in a circle. “Oh my God. This place is incredible. In a gated community.” He spun and faced Lucky. “But I wish you’d have told me. I’d have helped with the down payment.” His smile fell. “I spent my savings. This is your house. Not ours.”
Fuck. “No, that’s not true. It’s ours. Wait right here.” Lucky dashed into the kitchen for the paperwork he’d hoped to present to Bo over dinner, and back out to the living room. “You were going through enough without added anything else.” Lucky shrugged. “And I wasn’t alone. Johnson helped, with a foot up my ass occasionally. Turns out she’s good with a hammer.” And her fists. The only thing she couldn’t give was more time.
He held his breath and handed over the folder. Let Bo be okay with this.
Bo opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out while he leafed through the documents. A refinance agreement, adding Bo to the deed, bank forms to sign for joint checking and savings accounts, and insurance paperwork, everything the lawyer said Lucky needed to protect Bo from the worst.
“Talk to me, Bo. Did I screw this up? This place is ours.”
Bo’s eyes shimmered. “I don’t…”
Time stopped—Lucky hit restart with a good hard swallow. “You don’t like it.”
“No! I love it. I don’t… I don’t deserve it. I’ve been crap to you ever since Mexico.”
“With reason.” Lucky wrapped his arms around Bo and yanked him closer. One more minute of Bo’s hurt might kill him. Time to make the pain leave, whatever it took. “It’s over now. It’s over. The good guys won.” Lucky, a good guy. Who’d have ever thunk it?
Bo rested his head against Lucky’s. “While I was drowning in ‘poor little me’, you were making us a home.”
“You dealt with things your way, I handled ‘em mine. But I gotta tell ya, some days I wanted to tear out walls with a sledge hammer. There’s still a lot to be done.”
“We’ve got time. We’ll come by after work and on weekends. Move in and keep working till we get it right. Can we light the tree?”
“No. That means I gotta let you go, and after the song and dance we’ve been putting on, now I got you here, I want to hold you a while.”
“Then why don’t we turn the tree on right quick, then get back to business.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Lucky dropped down under the tree, found the power cord, and plugged it into the outlet he’d rewired two weeks ago. Hundreds of white lights glowed from within the fake tree’s needles. Gold and white ornaments hung from the branches, nothing like the tacky, mismatched, homemade baubles hanging from the Lucklighter tree of Lucky’s memories. But pretty. No telling where Johnson of the tiny apartment tree had gotten the beauty, but he likely owed her a fortune.
The gorgeous tree stuck out like a sore thumb against the crayon-decorated walls, and badly-in-need-of-ripping-out carpet.
Bo wrapped his arms around Lucky from behind. “Beautiful.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Next year, I promise, we’ll spend our Christmas here, together.”
“Wanna give me a tour?”
“In a minute.”
They stood for several moments, admiring the tree and drinking in each other’s warmth. Bo’s breath tickled Lucky’s ear. “I like the fireplace.”
“There’s another in the dining room.”
“Show me.”
Lucky took Bo by the hand and made his way into the kitchen.
“Oh my God! Look at this kitchen!” Bo dropped Lucky’s hand to ramble through cabinets and peer into the double ovens.
“I got the money set aside for a new range and stuff, but wanted to wait and let you pick ‘em out.” All the features rattled off by an overeager salesman meant diddly squat to Lucky. If the fridge kept beer cold, life was good. “Energy ratings” and “cubic feet” didn’t figure into the equation. “But the garbage disposal can shred small trees.” Okay, it was only a few Popsicle sticks someone had left in the drain, but Lucky rewiring the thing to make it work was one of his crowning achievements, house-wise.
Bo opened the door leading to the garage. “Your car and my truck will both fit in here, with room left over if we ever get a bike.”
Yes, and door now opened all the way, another small job crossed off the to-do list.
Bike. They’d left the department-issued Harley Davidson down in Mexico when they’d fled. No telling who had it now. One day they’d buy their own.
Bo dashed from room to room. Lucky followed the trail of “Oh my God!” and “This is fucking amazing!” until he came to the master bedroom.
Fuck. The one room Lucky had wanted to be perfect before Bo saw it, still in shambles. He opened the door slowly, braced for disappointment.
Bo darted in and turned a slow circle in the middle of the room, mouth hanging open. He grabbed on to Lucky, crushing the breath out of him. “Now I know why you kept asking me about paint colors.”
Lucky fought to hide his shock. Every inch of the formerly filthy master bedroom walls now sported new paint. An inflated air mattress, covers turned down, took up the spot where Lucky planned to put the bed.
On a makeshift table crafted of cardboard and paint cans, sat a candle, a basket of fruit, two glasses, a bottle of sparkling cider, and the Christmas cactus from the office.
“You planned all this? You wonderful, wonderful man!”
Wonderful? No one had ever said that to Lucky before. “Yeah, well I’m afraid there’s some assembly required. Most of the paint’s been bought, it just ain’t on the walls yet.” Except for that one room Johnson had taken time away from her family, at Christmas, to paint.
He didn’t deserve her as a friend, but he’d keep her.
Bo ran a hand over the tan walls, painted to create lighter and darker spots, a technique Johnson tried to explain but Lucky hadn’t quite understood—until now. “We’ll make memories painting the rest of the house together. Seeing the rooms is giving me ideas. This wash effect is gorgeous.”
“Yeah, well I can’t take full credit. Johnson helped. C’mon, you gotta see the bathroom.” Lucky wriggled loose from Bo’s hold and opened the double doors wide—one of the few rooms in the house he’d finished himself. “I did a lot of work in here, but it’s fixed now.”
The best part of the house, and Bo didn’t even look. He grabbed Lucky again and held on. And on. And on.
“It’s perfect. It’s more than I ever hoped for.” He let Lucky go, eyes a bit misty, and nodded toward a door in the far wall. “What’s in here?”
“Nothing. I’m using it for storage.” Lucky braced for the worst.
Bo opened the door to the nursery. With Johnson’s help, Lucky had repaired the faded walls. Now all the elephants and giraffes were whole again, and a goose grew back her missing wing.
For long moments Bo stood in the doorway. He took a step back and closed the door. “One day,” he mumbled.
“Do you forgive me for not telling you?”
“I wish you’d have let me help.” The smile returned and brought The Dimple. “But I understand why you didn’t.”
Good. Lucky might get forgiven after all. “Don’t worry. Right after Christmas I’m sticking a paint brush in your hand and putting you to work.”
“Deal.”
“It’s late, or early. Wanna get some sleep?” The last few days had taken a toll on the poor guy. It certainly had on Lucky. And neither had gotten much sleep in the past two days.
“Not yet.”
“No? Ain’t you tired?”
Bo turned to face Lucky. “This will be the first night in our new home, but it’s also Christmas. Help me get the bed into the living room.”
***
Lucky remade the bed while Bo turned on the fireplace. The moon shone through the sliding glass doors, adding light to the living room. He stripped down to his boxers and settled on the air mattress. Not the most comfortable place he’d ever slept, but not the worst either.
Air mattresses were made for guest rooms, to encourage guests not to stay too long.
Bo shimmied out of his clothes and slid under the sheets beside Lucky, captured Lucky’s face between his palms, and brought their mouths together. “I hope you brought supplies.”
Supplies. Condoms and lube. Yes, Lucky’d brought them in the overnight bag he’d taken to Texas just in case, hoping he’d only need the lube. He wouldn’t ruin the mood by bringing up serious topics now. They’d both been tested twice since returning from Mexico, and the results came back negative both times. Damn the six month wait.
If at any time the reports said “positive” for either one of them? They’d deal.
Lucky watched Bo’s face in the dim glow from the fireplace and tree. Christmas. Together. “I love you.”
He didn’t give Bo time to answer. Instead he cut off any words with his mouth on Bo’s, running his fingers through the patchy hair on Bo’s chest, and traveled lower, to work the foreskin up and down the man’s hardening cock.
He pressed his own erection against Bo’s hip. A hand job wouldn’t do tonight. Bo pressed back. Hallelujah!
Lucky thrust forward, fighting for friction against Bo’s thigh.
Bo spread his legs wide and Lucky shifted to settle between, keeping his tongue in his lover’s mouth. Tonight’s homecoming involved more than a house.
He drank in the sight of Bo lying beneath him, a promise whispering in the back of his brain of many more nights in this house. Their house. Their life.
Bo’s hummingbird spirit totem glittered in the low light. He didn’t need charms to keep him safe—that’d be Lucky’s job.
Lucky bucked his hips, rubbing his cock beneath Bo’s balls, back to where he’d dreamed of being for weeks. God, how he wanted to slide inside, no barriers between them, and make up for lost time, but he’d worked too hard to win Bo’s trust.
Did he treat Bo like he might break? No, he took tender loving care of the most important person in his life.
“The mattress isn’t hurting your back, is it?” Lucky drew back enough to ask.
Bo pulled Lucky down with both hands. “What mattress?”
Lucky plunged his tongue into Bo’s mouth. Maybe if he kissed the man long enough, hard enough, he’d chase away the terrors of the past few months, sending his nightmares with them, along with Bo’s depression and self-doubts, and the need for the latex Lucky rolled onto himself.
Fingers damp with lube, he caressed Bo’s opening, not yet daring to enter. He kissed “I love yous” over Bo’s jaw, across his nose, and over the light freckles the semi-darkness hid from sight. Lucky didn’t need to see them; he knew each and every one.
He swiped his lips over Bo’s closed eyelids, earning a gasp for his efforts.
Deep in Bo’s chest a groan rumbled, and he pushed up, sliding his cock over Lucky’s thigh and leaving a damp trail.
Cologne and man filled Lucky’s nose, as comforting as the scent of home. No, it was the scent of home, home being wherever Bo was.
Lucky pushed two fingers past the tight ring of Bo’s opening, adding his own moan to his lover’s. Bliss and heaven waited for him. Waited for them both. Pushing in and out, he worked Bo loose, taking in every every brow-wrinkled moment of concentration, every lip-nibble, every sharply indrawn breath, until finally, a lazy smile turned up Bo’s lips. Lucky took his time, though his body screamed, “Hurry!” They had all night. Or until they both passed out from exhaustion.
Slowly, slowly, he braced his weight on his elbows and sank into Bo’s depths.
Bo moaned.
Oh dear lord! Tight heat gripped him, pulling him in, pleasure to the point of pain. Forward and back, a little farther each time. At last his groin rested against the perfect swells of Bo’s ass. Kill him now and he’d die a happy man.
No signs of Cyrus peered from Bo’s eyes, just Bo. Sweet, wonderful Bo, gasping, moaning, clutching at Lucky’s shoulders, throwing back his head.
Lucky shifted his weight to one arm and reached between them. Bo’s hardness matched Lucky’s own. Hallelujah! He timed the rhythm of his hand to the cadence of his hips. In/out, up/down, breath mingling with Bo’s.
Not a good position to touch, feel, explore. It took all his will power to withdraw. Bo’s ring clung to him, gave him a million reasons to stay.
He silenced Bo’s whimper of protest with a kiss, then rolled him onto his side. Lucky spooned him from behind and pushed in, one arm wrapped around Bo for leverage. From this angle Bo’s shoulder made a perfect target for his tongue. He licked, salty skin hitting his tongue while he worked himself in and out, and lightly bit.
Bo moans and groans and “Oh, God, yes!” urged him on. Holding tightly, he kissed every bit of skin within range.
Each thrust drew sweet sounds from Bo. Lucky took Bo in hand, stroking him both inside and out. God, he’d never get enough. Ever. Faster and faster he bucked his hips. Electricity zinged through him, each current heading straight for his groin.
Bo shoved back against him, grabbing Lucky’s hand and working it faster.
Lucky took the hint and increased the pace. The muscles pressed against his chest tightened. “Ah, ah, ah!” Bo doubled over, his cock throbbing in Lucky’s hand.
Tension built deep within, but Lucky fought. Not yet, not yet.
“I’m gonna come,” he cried.
Lightning sizzled through him, raising goose bumps on his arms. His tempo faltered. He shoved into Bo one final time and let go.
***
Lucky woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows and a text from Walter: “I need you and Bo in my office at 2 p.m.” Ah, hell. What now?