Breakfall (37 page)

Once they were all done singing praises to the cook, Olaf cleared his throat. “Let’s go, then. Come, time to light up the tree.”

With great apprehension, Sean watched everyone take their turn lighting the candles on the live pile of kindling in the middle of the wooden structure.

“Sean, your turn. Pick a candle and make a wish.”

Sean bit his lip and did as he was told and—surprise! The world didn’t come crashing down around him. The electrical lights were turned off, and the tree shone in the darkness as the only light source, the flickering flames of the Christmas tree candles reflected from the occasional glass ornaments tucked within its branches. There was a primal beauty to it, something primitive and vital that harkened back to the dawn of time. The smell of candles and the tree itself and the gingerbread cookie spices filled Sean with a sudden pang of homesickness as he followed the others around the tree in slow, clumsy dance steps, listening to the alien melody of their song.

The carols were sung, the tree was properly honored for the life and the light it gave in midwinter, and the electrical lights came on, banishing the ancient gods to their Valhalla once again.

Sean sat to the side as the family exchanged small gifts. He planned to get something for Asbjorn, but they were so new together that he wasn’t quite certain how big a gift he could give without seeming sappy and entirely overboard.

Asbjorn moved toward him along the Persian carpet and nudged his shoulder. “I promised I’ll get you something, and I will.”

Sean shook his head. “You don’t have to. I don’t know how I’d have made it through the last few weeks without you.” He wanted to kiss him so much it hurt.

Helga Jenssen cast a curious look in Sean’s direction.

“I’d do it all over again, but I hope I won’t have to.” Asbjorn lowered his voice and sneaked his hand to the small of Sean’s back for a furtive, affectionate touch.

Sean saw Asbjorn’s mother frown the smallest bit at the gesture and tried to pull away. He felt the air charge with conflict between Asbjorn and his mother. Asbjorn would make a stand, there would be another fight, and they would have to seek accommodations elsewhere. He stiffened as he scrambled for some way to defuse the upcoming explosion.

“Just kiss him. You know you want to,” Ulrika teased from the other side of the room, in English, daring them.

Asbjorn’s mother frowned as Asbjorn flashed an almost grateful smile in Ulrika’s direction, slid his hand behind Sean’s neck, and pulled him in for a tender brush of the lips.

“Merry Christmas, Sean.”

Feeling self-conscious didn’t prevent Sean from letting his eyes close with unexpected pleasure. When he opened them, he was still just a hand’s breadth from Asbjorn. He leaned in to kiss him back.

“Merry Christmas, Asbjorn.”

The rest of the evening was a haze of discord with the television on. Cookies and glogg were being served amid volleys of sharp sentences between Asbjorn and his mother. Helga’s pursed lips and royal carriage made her look like a Viking matron of elder days, and she was most definitely not amused. Sean sat in the corner of the sofa, out of the line of fire, nursing a cup of glogg.

“Don’t worry, Sean. She’ll get used to the situation.” Ulrika sat next to him and picked up her knitting. “Asbjorn and his mom always argue. This isn’t about you. If you weren’t here, they’d argue about something else.”

“Like what?” Sean asked, curious.

“Well… she hates that he chose to become a US citizen. She hates that he decided to stay in America. She hates that he was in the Navy—it would have been okay if he’d been in the Danish Navy, I guess. She hates that he’s into the martial arts and that he was stolen from her by that guy who died. His teacher.”

“Tiger?”

“Yeah. Tiger. She hates that he adored that man. He’d spend summers with him out in the wild, camping and fishing and going to karate tournaments, or go visit him when he was home on leave. He’d just visit her for a weekend here and there, and they’d end up fighting every single time.”

“So I guess this trip isn’t so bad?” Sean asked.

“That’s because they fight in Danish. She said you’d be okay if you were a girl.”

Sean burst out laughing.

Ulrika gave him a curious look. “What?”

“My dad said the same thing about Asbjorn.”

She held her breath and brought her hand to her face, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her eyes began to tear up, and finally, she could no longer contain herself and released a magnificent bellow of laughter. She howled and laughed, and Sean, unable to tear his eyes from the spectacle, had to laugh with her.

“Sean! Just imagine if both of your families got their wish. Then it’d be just as bad! You’d be lesbians!”

A
SBJORN
WAS
drawn to the commotion on the sofa, eager to find out what he was missing, when the muted television caught his eye. He grabbed the remote and turned on the sound. The announcer, full of gravitas in his suit and tie, spoke with great agitation.

A picture of a prison appeared. The letters below it spelled “Walpole, Massachusetts, USA.”

Several photographs of men’s faces flashed by on the screen. Among them—yes, there it was again: the police booking photograph of Frank Pettel.

Asbjorn’s heart hammered in his chest. He glanced up to see Sean frozen and staring at the screen.

“What is it, Asbjorn?”

Asbjorn waited for the report to conclude before meeting Sean’s concerned eyes. He felt his body stiffen and fought the reaction as he schooled is tone of voice into one of casual ease.

“There seems to have been what they call a ‘Christmas Jail Break’ at Walpole. That’s near Boston. Our buddy Frank Pettel was apparently one of the men who escaped.”

K
ATE
P
AVELLE
is a picky woman. She liked a number of men well enough, but she fell head-over-heels in love only once. And she is still there: one man, two kids, and quarter of a century later, she explores the exploding flavors of lust and infatuation through fiction alone.

Love is a power struggle and a compromise. But what if both could open a jar of tomato sauce with equal ease? What if pregnancy was never a concern? Would love between two men create a level playing field? Life and relationships are never as simple as that. Her characters brave life like a bed of roses: beauty and soft petals and hidden thorns—and perseverance.

Obstacles within and without her characters result in personal growth that far exceeds a mere erection. Kate Pavelle is a sucker for a “happily ever after,” but she paints her boys as flawed and complex. If they want the love she enjoys in real life, they will have push outside their comfort zones to grasp it!

Contact Kate at www.katepavelle.com for more reading pleasure, or follow her on Twitter at KatePavelle.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Steel City Stories
by
K
ATE
P
AVELLE

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com