Axel jerked awake and sat up straight when a car door slammed outside the trailer. He leapt off the couch as feet stomped up the three stairs to the tiny porch and stood by the door as it was yanked open, and a tiny woman with freshly fucked, black hair stepped inside.
“Ax, what the—”
He silenced her by laying his big hand on her mouth—it covered half her face—and made shushing sounds. “Keep your voice down. Bea’s asleep.”
When she nodded her acknowledgment, he removed his hand.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him. She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her head back, and glared at him, dark eyes flashing with defiance.
“What am I doin’ here? That’s your first concern? Not how Bea is? Your daughter, Annie, who you left all by herself again!” Axel’s voice was low and unhurried like before. I was in awe of how he kept his cool even though he was upset.
“It’s none of your business.” She took a step closer to him.
“It is when you’re leavin’ Bea all by herself.” Axel stepped back, not taking her bait.
“Who the fuck’s that?” She jerked her head in the direction of the couch, where I sat, unable to take my eyes off the arguing siblings. “Did you bring a fuck boy here, Ax? Did you bend him over the couch and shove your dick up his ass? Did you?” Annie scrunched her nose and raised her chin, goading him.
“Don’t talk about him like that!” He kept his tone calm, but there was a bite to it that hadn’t been there before. Annie’s eyes widened. “He,” Axel pointed at me, “is my friend and he stayed with your daughter when you couldn’t be bothered.”
“How dare you?” She sizzled and cracked like a lightning bolt.
“Are you drunk?” Axel bent over and sniffed her. She raised her hand to slap him, but he took a step back just in time to avoid it. “I swear to God I’ll call the Social Services if you’ve been drinkin’.”
“Ma won’t let you.”
“I don’t care. I told you last time was your last chance. Four hours! You were gone for four hours! I’m callin’. No matter what Ma says.” He conveyed how serious he was without raising his voice.
She stepped back as if he’d slapped her. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.”
Annie went slack. Her arms untangled and fell to her sides and she hunched over. “I didn’t,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Drink. I didn’t drink, okay. I just wanted to see Billy.”
“I woulda stayed if you’d asked me.”
“And risked being lectured by you?”
“Wouldn’t that have been better ‘n leavin’ Bea all alone?” Axel scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t understand you. You know Ma and me would do anythin’ to help you. Why don’t you just ask?”
She threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know.” Squinting her eyes at him, she raised her voice. “Maybe I’m tired of competing with you, Mr. Perfect.” She stepped into his space and poked her finger in his chest. “Get out of my fucking house.”
The tension was so high it would have singed my arm if I’d reached out and tried to touch it. None of them was willing to back down, but after a few seconds, she gave him a last stab with a long fingernail and strode away. She didn’t look at me as she passed by. “And don’t forget your fuck toy,” she threw over her shoulder and disappeared down the hall.
As soon as she was gone, Axel balled his hands into fists but quickly uncurled them again. A vein pulsed in his neck, and all color had disappeared from his face, but he was completely still as if he was afraid a single movement would make his anger go off like a rocket.
It was painful to watch, and I walked over to him, hesitating only for a second before putting my hand on the small of his back.
He relaxed into my touch. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t his fault his sister was such a bitch.
“No, it’s…” Groaning, he rubbed his neck. “She had no right to talk about you like that.”
“I’ve heard much worse, I promise.” No sounds were coming from the bedrooms and I assumed the newly-fucked Annie had conked out on the bed. “Are you comfortable leaving Bea, or do you want to stay?” I asked.
Axel shook his head. “No, we’d better leave. I’d better give her space or all hell’ll break loose.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He nodded and soon we were back in his truck and on our way to town.
The snowing had stopped, finally. The plow hadn’t been out yet, so there was a couple inches on the road, and Axel was cautious. We didn’t speak and after a few minutes, he turned on the radio.
Christmas music filled the cab and I grimaced when I recognized the opening of O Come All Ye Faithful. I wasn’t a fan of the overly religious stuff. But when Axel opened his mouth and sang along with Bing Crosby in Latin, all I could do was stare.
He knew every word and was as good as Bing when it came to pronunciation. His voice—even darker than his speaking voice—took up all the empty space inside the truck and enveloped me. He had an intoxicating vibrato and I could feel every drawn-out E in the word Bethlehem all the way to my spine.
Far too soon they switched to singing in English, but I was still enthralled. My heart beat so hard I had to press my palm against my chest, afraid it would break out of its cage.
The outside world was dark. Blanketed in glistening snow, it looked white and innocent, but the truth was it was hostile and dangerous and full of people who left young children to fend for themselves.
Axel’s truck was a temporary sanctuary. His full voice claimed my attention, delivered the message of Christmas, and made a solemn vow that everything would get better. And I believed him.
Until the song ended and Mariah Carey took over. I couldn’t take the intrusion and silenced her wailing by turning the volume all the way down.
“I fucking hate Bing Crosby,” I blurted out after a second’s silence.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t me—”
“No.” I interrupted him before he could finish his apology. “That’s not what I meant, even though I realize it would be hard for you to take it any other way.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m gettin’ used to your lack of filter.”
“What I meant to say was that I’ve hated that song every time I’ve ever heard it. Until now. You made it…magical.”
“Awww, thank you, Daniel.”
“Danny.”
“I thought you didn’t wanna be called Danny?”
“I changed my mind,” I said.
“Want me to take you to the hotel now?”
“I guess,” I sighed. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. I wanted to know more about this concrete pourer who sang in perfect Latin, but I didn’t want to make him feel pressured. I’d been the one suggesting I stay earlier, so this time it was up to him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Look, I ain’t got a guest room. But I have a huge comfy couch. You could spend the night at my place. And I can take you where you need to go tomorrow.”
“Yes! I’d like that.” I didn’t even care that I sounded way too eager.
“Yeah?”
I nodded.
“Awesome.”
We passed the turnoff to my mom’s house and a mile or so later he took a narrow road leading straight into the woods. We drove for another couple of miles before he turned into an even narrower road taking us into a small clearing, surrounded by tall red pines. He stopped in front of a log cabin.
“Home sweet home.”
As the engine cooled and made clicking noises, I studied his small house. It was too dark for me to make out any details except for the large windows and rustic stone chimney. He’d wrapped twinkling lights around every bit of wood on the porch, making it look inviting and cheerful.
“Still wanna come with?” he asked and I nodded.
We trudged through the snow, eager to get out of the cold, and soon we were safe inside.
The entire downstairs of the cabin was one open space with a high, church-like ceiling with exposed beams. One side of the house was an open loft under the sloping ceiling. It was sprinkled with several small skylights, like peepholes out into the universe. His bed was directly underneath them, and I imagined how he’d lie there at night and gaze at the bright stars.
“Make yourself at home.” He crossed the floor to the fireplace already prepared with a stack of wood. He scrunched up old newspapers and lit the fire, and soon it was crackling away. I gravitated toward it, hypnotized by the dancing flames.
“Why don’t you keep warm, while I do some shoveling? There are drinks in the kitchenette if you’re thirsty.”
My gaze flitted between the alluring fire and the outside snow. “You want help?” I asked, desperately hoping he’d say no. When he shook his head, I wanted to jump with joy.
“Stay inside. It won’t take long” Grabbing a thick scarf from a shelf beside the door, he wound it around his neck several times. He finished off the attire with a black beanie, gave me a quick wave, and was out the door.
I shrugged out of his fleece jacket and toed off my shoes and placed them by the door before I gave in to my curiosity and explored Axel’s home. A large bookcase overflowing with books drew my attention. He had hundreds of books, everything from Harry Potter to Dostoyevsky. From Neil deGrasse Tyson to Lord Byron.
With wide eyes, I stared at the poetry books. Never in a million years had I expected to find poetry in his house.
“Stop being so fucking judgmental, Danny,” I muttered as I took down a paperback edition of Leaves of Grass. Its spine was broken in several places and it fell open by itself on a dog-eared page. In the upper left corner was the number twenty-four.
I didn’t read poetry; I knew of Whitman, of course, but that was it. Curious about what Axel apparently liked so much he’d read it over and over again, I began reading. The passage started out with a description of the poet himself, and I was drawn to the decadent feeling of the words, but it really didn’t grab me until it turned sexual. My eyes grew rounder the more I read, and I plopped down on the nearest chair.
He wrote about guys! Why had nobody told me that Walt freaking Whitman had been gay?
I was still immersed in the words when Axel returned.
“What ‘cha doin’?” he asked as he pulled off his boots and peeled off the outerwear.
I held up the book for him to see.
“You like poetry?”
I shook my head.
“Then what are you reading that’s got you all captivated?”
“Mix’d tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!” I read aloud, probably butchering the great poet’s words.
“Ah. You found that, did you?”
I jerked when his voice came from right next to me and looked up at him. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I noticed.” He shot me his crooked smile before walking over to the fridge, where he grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it down. “You want something to drink? I’ve got water, pop, beer. Coffee.”
“Got any hot chocolate?”
He chuckled. “Sure I do.”
As he prepared the beverage I went back and looked at the books. “Have you read all these?”
“Most of them.”
“You weren’t speaking metaphorically when you said your ma thinks you’re wasting your smarts, did you?”
I looked at him then and he fidgeted. “No,” he mumbled and the tips of his ears turned bright red. I wanted to ask him more, but he was so clearly uncomfortable talking about it I backed off.
“I haven’t read since college,” I said instead. “Fiction, I mean.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I get easily bored. I prefer to watch TV.”
He turned off the stove, finished our drinks, and carried the two mugs with steaming hot chocolate over to the couch. I joined him, putting the book down on the coffee table.
“My mom always made hot chocolate when it was snowing,” I said and inhaled the rich aroma. I blew on it before taking a sip, careful to not burn my tongue. “Ahhh, nice.”
He leaned back and put his massive feet on the table. I blinked. They had to be size thirteen at least.
“Um…so what’s your favorite book?” I forced myself to look away and I did not wonder if everything about him was equally big. Absolutely not. Instead, I scooted back on the couch and if I inched closer to him, it was purely coincidental.
Axel drank from his cup and hummed in satisfaction. “I can’t just choose one,” he said. “It would be like being asked to pick your favorite kid.”
“Pick one. I won’t hold you to it.” I drank some more chocolate before pulling my feet up under me and burrowing down in the cushions. Axel grabbed a throw blanket and handed it to me. I made an appreciative noise and curled up underneath it.
“I guess you found one of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of the book I’d grabbed.
My eyes fluttered closed. “Will you read it to me?”
“What?”
“Please,” I begged without opening my eyes.
“Um, sure.” He moved beside me, his long limbs stretching out and nudging me as he reached for the book. My arm buzzed where he’d touched me.
When he settled back, I moved closer. I didn’t try to be subtle this time and after a moment’s indecision, I rested my head on his shoulder. Axel wrapped his arm around me and pulled me flush to his body.
Pages rustled, he drew a deep breath and started reading the passage I’d scanned through.
“Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking, and breeding.” The depth and vibrato of his voice did the words justice and the snap and pop of the fire was the perfect backdrop. I cuddled closer and snaked my arm around his middle.
I was fascinated by the way heat poured off him as if he was equipped with an internal sauna. Was he ever cold? I dragged my palm over his taut stomach and up his chest where vibrations from reading were transferred to me through my palm. His words penetrated my skin, his rhythmic breathing hypnotized me, and his soft, abyssal voice lulled me to sleep.