I-81 might as well have been any of hundreds of highways Nick had been on over the years. He knew how to drive, how to speed up and slow down, and fall into the rhythm of the road and shut down his own churning emotions. The signs for Syracuse gave way to those for Scranton and those became the ones advertising Harrisburg before he decided he was exhausted enough to actually sleep without seeing the look on Teddy’s face as he walked away.
Scratch that. He’d be seeing that expression for the rest of his life. He knew exactly what he’d left behind back there—best thing that had ever come into his life for sure. But good things didn’t last, and he wasn’t going to be the one to make Teddy’s shine fade, tarnished by Nick’s inability to be everything he deserved.
He pulled into a familiar chain of motels, dutifully used his military ID for his ten percent off—probably one of the last times he’d be able to do that. Collapsing onto the hard bed, Harrisburg traffic whirring outside the window, he dug out his phone.
Made it to Harrisburg, he texted. No snow.
He wasn’t sure whether he wanted a reply, nor how to feel when one didn’t come right away. Finally, the phone buzzed with a single word response. Good.
Ah. Not a lot of comfort to be gleaned there, that was for sure. He’d told Teddy he wanted to be friends, and he hadn’t been lying, but he’d also known it was a foolish wish on his part. Teddy would move on, probably sooner rather than later, take that big, generous heart of his to where it would be truly appreciated. And fuck but Nick could not think about Teddy’s next guy. He just couldn’t.
He punched the pillow before taking off his boots. And cue trying not to think about how Teddy had taken them off for him that first night. It wasn’t simply that Teddy was hot or nice—it was his innate kindness that really snagged Nick. And it was that kindness that Nick wrapped around himself as he tried to sleep—the smiles and little touches and small acts that all said Teddy cared. He’d had that. And it would have to be enough.
* * *
Nick’s sister’s house was nothing like a MacNally gathering. It was quiet for one thing. Even when he’d arrived on Christmas Eve, the house had been calm. No music playing. Tasteful silver-and-gold decorations that all matched in the front room, tree looking like something from a magazine with dozens of similar ornaments and packages under it all in the same paper. None of the hodgepodge of homemade ornaments that had graced the tree at Teddy’s mother’s house. None of the loud voices and raucous music that occurred when even a few of the family members got together.
His nieces were engaged in silent activities on tablets with headphones, not even cracking a smile when he asked if they were excited for Santa that night.
“We’re too old for that,” the oldest one, Abby, said, making his heart pinch. The kids from the resource center flitted through his mind, their open-eyed wonder and belief and trust. They’d trusted that he could make their simple wishes come true. And wearing that suit, he’d felt capable of it, felt like he was making a difference beyond the dollars he’d given for giving tree presents.
“Well, you’re never too old for stockings, right?” He’d mailed their main presents, but on a whim during one of his many shopping trips with Teddy, he’d picked up a couple of small things to add to their stockings.
Abby made another face. “Mom doesn’t like how they look on the mantle. And Dad says we don’t need the candy or the cheap plastic stuff.”
The small pile of presents in Nick’s bag begged to differ, but he just shrugged because going against Stacey or her dour-faced husband wasn’t something he wanted to do. Stacey was busy in the kitchen with dinner, so he drifted away from the girls and offered to help with the food, only to be chased away.
“I’ve got this. Most of it’s just heating up stuff from packages. You go talk with Mom. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
“I’d rather help you,” he admitted. His mother and her gentleman friend were in the media room, watching an old movie, and he’d rather remove the casseroles from the oven bare-handed than try to make small talk with them.
“Nick.” Stacy sighed as she dumped a carton of cranberry sauce into a glass dish. “You’ve got to talk to her sometime. You’re only here two days, but you can’t avoid her the whole time.”
Watch me. “Not much to say.” He ignored her refusal of his help and stirred the mashed potatoes she was heating on the stove.
“How about you start by telling them dinner’s almost ready?” She gestured at the dining room where the table gleamed with shiny place settings. “Everything’s perfect. You’ll see.”
The strain in her voice revealed how desperately she wanted that to be true, so he followed orders and fetched his mother and her friend. But to Nick, that was the entire issue—things were too perfect. Decorations too pretty to touch. Carefully selected food. Soft dinner conversation that never went beyond the superficial.
He volunteered to do the dishes, more to get out of the room than out of chivalry but then his offer backfired when his mother said she’d help as well.
“I know where everything goes,” she explained, underscoring how much an outsider Nick was here.
“How are you?” she asked as she wrapped up leftover salad. “You must be thrilled to have the retirement official.”
Nick could only gape at her. She really didn’t know him at all, did she? And he wasn’t sure whose fault that was—his for cutting her out of his life or hers for the drinking that had warranted the lack of communication. And maybe the past didn’t matter, just that they were strangers now.
“I would have kept going,” he admitted. “Not exactly my choice. But sure, it’ll be nice to be in Florida.” I hope.
“Well, you’ve earned it, that’s for sure.” She kept her voice bright. “And maybe you’ll find someone, settle down there.”
“I…” Did they really need to have this talk?
“Oh, I meant a special person. Regardless of gender. Stacey told me about your young man in Hawaii. I just want you happy, Nicky.”
Happy. Right then, he felt like he’d never be that again. Gone was the job he loved. Gone was Teddy who he… Oh crap. He could not love Teddy. Like yes, care about sure, but love?
Unbidden, the image of Teddy playing hockey with his cousins crept into his mind. Teddy skating, sun beating down on him, so much speed and grace in his movements. Teddy in front of the fire, hair gleaming, laughing at something Nick said. Teddy in his arms, looking up at him with wonder and awe post-sex. Was that love? Was the ache in his chest that just wouldn’t quit love? Was the desperate need to know how he was doing love?
And even if it was, did it matter? He’d done right by Teddy, opened up his future to find what he needed and deserved. But fuck, he needed that cracked-open sensation to go away.
“You okay?” his mother prodded.
“Fine,” he said, voice gruff as he rinsed off another dish.
“You could tell me if you weren’t.” Looking away, she busied herself with putting away the meat.
“I’m fine,” he lied, because of course he wouldn’t tell her.
“Nicky… I get why you can’t forgive me for the past. I really do. But can you forgive yourself at least?”
“What?” He scrubbed way harder than needed on a pot. “I don’t blame myself.”
But that was a lie, wasn’t? Even now, thirty-odd years later, he still remembered the crushing sense of guilt over Jacob’s death, the sense that he could have prevented it. And later, the blame he’d heaped on himself for her drinking and his father’s distance. Years’ worth of shit he’d shoveled because of a senseless tragedy. And his adult mind knew that he was blameless, but that hidden part of his soul that would always be nine and scared wasn’t so sure.
“You deserve all the happiness the world has to offer,” she said firmly. “I think you should stop punishing yourself.”
“I don’t—”
She held up a slender, bony hand. “You do. Always have. And I’m not here to judge. Just to say I wish you’d stop. Wish you’d let yourself have some happiness, whatever that means for you.”
I did. Again, memories of Teddy assaulted him. But he hadn’t kept that, had he? Had walked away because it was the right thing to do. In the back of his mind though, his mother’s words poked and prodded. Was he punishing himself in some way?
He honestly didn’t know, and hours later, when he was trying to sleep on the unforgiving media room couch, the question kept rattling around his brain. Not sure exactly what he was doing, he retrieved his phone from the side table.
How was MacNally Christmas Eve? He texted. Hope it was good.
The answer came faster than it had last night. It was okay.
Just okay? he asked, hating himself a little, knowing that he was likely the reason Teddy seemed down.
Can I say I miss you? Or does that violate the friends code we’re under now? Teddy’s question went straight to his gut.
I miss you too, he typed, not knowing how to fix this horrible gulf between them, no longer sure what the right answer was. And when no reply came, he wasn’t surprised. Maybe there was nothing left to say.