Sleigh Ride (Minnesota Christmas Book 2) (19 page)

Gabriel nodded, but his arms already felt thick even before Arthur bound them. “I had no idea it was this intense.”

“It’s totally intense. BDSM isn’t in the body. It’s in the head. You’re sitting there letting me tie you up. It looks pretty boring to someone else, maybe mildly titillating. But for you and me? You’re giving over to me, and I’m taking care of you. It’s one thing to talk about it, to read about it. It’s something else entirely to do it.” He smiled wryly and shook his head. “When I learned how to do ropework, the seminar leader made every one of us get tied up in the knots we wanted to learn. It took me seven sessions before I was ready to learn suspension knots because it was hard to let someone do that to me.”

So he was making Gabriel go slow because he knew exactly how intense what he experienced could be. Gabriel hadn’t thought of the depths of protection Arthur was giving him. It moved him more deeply than any oral confession of feelings.

It made him want to give over to Arthur more than ever.

Arthur stroked Gabriel’s arm. “Are you ready?”

Gabriel held out his arms, placing his palms together. “Yes.”

The arm binding took a bit of time, which Gabriel found only added to the thrill. Despite Arthur’s admonishment he might not enjoy the reality and his own acknowledgment he’d need to proceed with caution, Gabriel already knew he loved being bound. The slowness and care increased his sense of pleasure. He had to sit with the sensation, the feel of the nylon against his skin, had to remain passive while Arthur took away control of his upper limbs. Had to acknowledge he let this happen. This was his choice. He wanted it.

Arthur wanted it too. It was safe to let go with Arthur.

Gabriel wasn’t sure when, exactly, the scene changed. It wasn’t a moment, more of a slow bleed from thrill and surrender to something deeper, a release that had nothing to do with Arthur binding his arms. As the rope wound around Gabriel, secrets in his heart came loose. He shut his eyes, riding the dueling sensations of being tied down and coming free at once, but as Arthur finished the last tie, as he touched Gabriel’s shoulder and began to ask if he was okay, the words burst out of Gabriel, unable to stay down any longer.

“I need to tell you.”

Arthur’s touch became a caress, and his voice was a gentle rumble as he spoke. “You can tell me anything.” He brushed his thumb along the bonds at Gabriel’s upper arm. “Do you want me to let you go first?”

Eyes still shut, Gabriel shook his head. “No. I want…” He had to fight for his words. They came so fast, confessions burbling up from the deepest pit, as if all that had been tied down was his shame, and now all his honesty begged to burst free. “I…I want to tell you things.”

Arthur kept stroking him. “Okay,” he said again, but he was clearly confused and a little concerned.

Gabriel wanted to cry, but he pushed the tears back—they’d come out before this was over, he was sure. He opened his eyes and stared at Arthur, looked him in the eye, no shame at all, only vulnerability and a terror that bled away as he took in the familiar hazel gaze. “I want to sit naked in front of the fire and tell you everything. Everything I’m afraid of. Everything I want. Everything I need. I just…I need to tell you.
You.
”

For a moment Arthur was silent. “Okay. But…do I get to be naked too?”

Biting his lip to stop a smile, Gabriel nodded. And then he sucked in a loud breath and shut his eyes, lip trembling.

Arthur brushed a kiss on his cheek and drew Gabriel’s face into his shoulder. “Sweetheart. Why are you upset?”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel leaned his forehead against Arthur’s. “I just…need this.”

“Then you’ll get it.”

Arthur rose and undressed. Gabriel watched the leather peel away, the boots, the jeans, his underwear and cotton socks, but before his lover was halfway finished, Gabriel spoke.

“I think I’m ugly.” He lowered his gaze to the rug. “I’m too tall, too skinny, and my nose is too long. When I was little, they called me the wicked witch. Or the witch’s boy. They told me I looked like I’d lost a war with a light socket. At college I could tell no one thought I was handsome. Guys dated me because I was smart or got off with me because a mouth is a mouth and an ass is an ass.”

“I think you’re beautiful.” Arthur tossed his underwear onto the chair, but he didn’t crouch beside Gabriel, only stood before him, naked and proud. “I love your nose, your lips, your eyes with and without the glasses. I love you lanky and lean—you’re graceful. And when your curls bounce, they make my heart flip over.” He ran a gentle hand though Gabriel’s hair. “What else are you wanting to tell me?”

Gabriel leaned into that hand, shutting his eyes to focus on the smell of Arthur—lingering leather, sweat and wood. “I pretend I don’t care if anyone likes me or wants to be with me, but I care. Not just relationships. I want people to like me. I want the residents of Logan to especially, because this place is small, the same as my hometown. I want the people in Logan to think I’m smart and kind and good, and I want them to be happy when they see me. I want to feel I belong. I want to matter.” He bit his lip and drew a breath. “I want this to be home. But I’m scared. I’m scared because I want it so much, and it feels like just wanting it so hard will make it go away.”

“You do belong. You’ve done more for this library in a year and a half than anybody else did in a decade.” He still didn’t crouch down, but his touch on Gabriel’s head became firmer, more commanding. “You’re the hero of every child in town, and most of the parents too. You dream for us, heart wishes we don’t know to hope for—and then you work to make them happen.”

The heat from the fire lapped lightly at their skin, but full-on flames couldn’t burn away the fear still lurking in Gabriel. “I worry they won’t care about that because of us. If they found out I want to play kinky games with you, I won’t be okay. Even just being with you openly won’t be okay.”

“Probably to some people it’s a problem, but those people don’t matter. And they don’t have to know what we do together. What we do isn’t their business. Only we get to judge each other. And I’m never going to think anything you want in bed—or on the floor, or against the wall—is bad.”

The tears Gabriel had been fighting began to win the war. “I want to be normal. I want people like my parents and people in Logan to see me as normal. Think I’m okay.”

Arthur took Gabriel’s face in his hands. “You are okay. I’m from Logan, and I say you’re more than normal. You’re perfect the way you are.”

Gabriel let the tears slide down his cheeks. “I don’t want to have to pretend. I don’t want to hold back.”

Arthur caught a tear with his thumb and smoothed it away. “You don’t have to. There’s nothing about you to be ashamed of.”

The last secret, the deepest one, more terrible and wrenching than any kink, climbed out of Gabriel’s mouth, his heart on edge. “I want…I want ch-children.” More tears, a steady stream now—his heart creaked with terror, with shame for daring to want. His bound arms trembled, his belly quaked. “M-my own.”
Say the rest. Say it all.
He swallowed and tried to meet Arthur’s eyes, but his gaze couldn’t go higher than his lips. “W-with you.”

He couldn’t look up. He needed to, wanted to, but he couldn’t—because this was the bottom, the truth he had buried since he was old enough to know what he was and realize how at odds it was with the life he wanted. Even when he grew old enough to know wanting a family and being gay wasn’t wrong, even when he could intellectually understand quite often parents of any orientation and kinky sex existed side by side…he could never shake that old wrenching sense of loss, that he had to choose—be straight and have a family, or be gay and have emptiness.

And he had been unable to choose family.

But now he was thirty-six, and he sat bound before Arthur, the good uncle to Thomas and his sisters, Arthur who said he loved Gabriel. Arthur, who would play games and be tender by turns.

Please, Arthur. Please say you want a family with me too.

Arthur sighed, the sound shuddering, wet. Then he did it again.

Letting go of Gabriel’s face, he sank all the way to the floor, sitting on his knees. He pressed his head on Gabriel’s shoulder, clutching weakly at his legs.

“Gabriel Higgins.” His voice was rough. “You do love to undo me.”

Sorrow, guilt, sadness tried to rise like dark water. “I’m sorry—”

Arthur lifted his head, shifted to kneel before Gabriel and held Gabriel’s bound hands. “Do you know how many times I’ve held Becky’s babies and ached? How I watch Thomas pine for his father, follow me around trying to make me a replacement hitter—how much I want to be the real thing for him? For somebody? For a child of my own?” His voice kept breaking, and he shut his eyes, shook his head, turned away. “I never…I never told anybody.
Anybody.
Never thought…” He touched Gabriel’s shoulder. “Never thought I was good enough to deserve something like that.”

“But you would be a
wonderful
father,” Gabriel said.

Arthur met his gaze. “So would you.”

They knelt there in front of the fire, staring at one another, all the words out between them. All the ghosts chased out, the dark shame faded away.

Arthur smiled, his eyes shiny. “I never even knew to dream of a man like you.”

Gabriel ran a thumb along Arthur’s fingers where they met his hands. “I love you.”

Arthur drew Gabriel’s hands up to his mouth, kissed the ropes and his fingers gently. “I love you too.”

That night, they made love. Before the fire. On the couch. On the stairs. In the bed. In the morning, in the afternoon. At first it was tender, but by the time they’d moved to Gabriel’s house on Sunday night, they were reliving their first time, though this time their consensual non-consensual had a lot more giggling and evaporated into begging a lot faster.

Gone, though, was all Gabriel’s shame—unless he wanted it to be there.

They prepared dinner, more venison and a salad, and after dinner they did the dishes and got ready to settle in for the night…until Arthur realized they’d left Gabriel’s shoes he wore to work at the cabin.

“I’ll run and get them,” Arthur volunteered, but when Gabriel started off the couch, Arthur kissed him into the corner as he reached for his coat. “Nope. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel snuggled under the blanket and watched him lace up his boots. “So am I going to wreck everything if I point out we’re practically living together, and that if we’re going to continue, we should pick one place and stick to it?”

Arthur paused in lacing, lifting his head to smile. “You’d want to live with me? Really?”

“Well, when I say pick a place, I mean yours.” He bit his lip. “But it’s too soon.”

“If you say so.” Arthur finished his boot. “When’s
not
too soon?”

Gabriel tried to be reasonable.
Six months. Three, at the earliest.
“New Year’s?”

Arthur laughed and came over to kiss him again. “Works for me.” He ran a suggestive hand over Gabriel’s knee and waggled his eyebrows. “See you shortly.”

Gabriel smiled to himself as he heard Arthur’s truck drive away. He was still smiling when he padded into the kitchen to start some hot water, indulging in fantasies of making tea at the cabin while Arthur ran into town for milk. He shut his eyes and pressed his hands to his lips as he let himself add in several young voices and the padding clunks of little feet.

What if.

Oh, Arthur Anderson, how you make me dream.

The knock on the door made him jump. He paused, uncertain who it could be, because he hadn’t locked the door and Arthur wouldn’t knock, but when the pounding came louder, he shut off the burner and went through the living room. It was too bright in the house to see properly out, so he turned on the porch light and cracked the front door. “Hello?”

A large, frowning man stood on the other side of the glass-and-screen storm door—a man Gabriel didn’t know. Had
never
seen before, not even once. Through the glass Gabriel could see the man listed where he stood, and he stank of alcohol.

The stranger pointed his finger at Gabriel, his frown turning into a scowl. “
You made her leave,
” he shouted—and punched his fist through the glass.

C
hapter Twenty

W
ith a shout, Gabriel slammed the wooden door shut, locked it. On the other side, the stranger kept yelling.

“Stupid faggot.
You made her leave.
”

Gabriel’s heart lurched. He didn’t know what to do. He barely understood what was going on. Who was this man? Why was he here? What did he want? Who exactly did Gabriel make leave, and how?

The man kept yelling as Gabriel’s brain scrambled for purchase. It was all so surreal, and every time he tried to make things make sense it all slipped from his hands. Drunk, the man was drunk, out of his mind, but why was he
here
? Made
who
leave? How in the world would Gabriel ever make a
her
leave anything? This had to be a mistake. The guy was at the wrong house—

“You and that doll—
stupid fucking doll
.”

Oh.

This was about story time. About
William’s Doll
.

This man is at the right house. He’s here for you. He’s drunk and angry and he probably waited until Arthur left to make his move.

You need to call the police.

Backing away from the door, Gabriel searched the room for his phone, but panic scrambled him, and he couldn’t find it. All he could think was this was because of what he’d done. This was because he’d read a book to children.

This was because he was gay in a small town.

“Please go away,” he whispered, voice shaking.

The man pounded some more on the wrecked storm door, then started on the front door itself. “My wife, you fucker—
my kid
. Fucking Anderson—probably want to fuck my kid too.
Asshole, faggot, cocksucker! You don’t belong here.
Go the fuck back to Minneapolis.”
Minneapolis
came out a garbled mush of syllables.

Where was his phone? Gabriel couldn’t think. What should he do? What should he say?

You don’t belong here. You don’t belong.

You never will.

Gabriel gave up searching for his phone and wrapped his arms around himself, the sick feeling inside his gut spreading like a cancer. He should never have read that book. He should have thought it through. It was too much for Logan, too fast. He didn’t belong here. He never had—despite what Arthur said, it didn’t matter, because Logan was more than Arthur and his mother. Yes, they’d made wishes in bed, but it was wrong, it wouldn’t work, because this was always there waiting—

He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have done anything. Shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have dated, shouldn’t have tried.

You can’t have a family in Logan. You can’t have a family anywhere.

The shame Arthur had spent a weekend eradicating crept back as if it had never left. It would never, Gabriel realized, go away. The stranger pounded on, shouting obscenities and nonsense, and Gabriel took it all, let it stir his fears and doubts to light. He stumbled into the couch, into the coffee table.

He sent a stack of graphic novels careening across the floor.

Gabriel reached for them, trying to stop their fall, but they eluded his grasp, spilling open on the carpet, skidding onto the tile. Colors and lines swam before him—
Swamp Thing, Maus, Sandman
slipping out of his fingers as the pages fluttered open. The bright green of the
Swamp Thing
, the black and white of
Maus
.

But on top of them all lay
Sandman
, open to “Season of Mists”. No surprise, as the bookmark was still there from when Arthur had been reading it earlier, and they’d even discussed it together. Now, as a drunk madman spewed obscenities and pounded on Gabriel’s front door, Gabriel stared down at the image of Lucifer cutting off his wings so he could leave hell. To run a piano bar. And curse his father.

Gabriel stilled, relating more deeply to the Prince of Hell than he’d ever thought possible.

I’m tired of this hell. But I don’t want to cut off my wings. I just want to go home.

“Get on out here and fight like a fucking man. Man enough to fuck up my family. Man enough to fight. Give my kid a doll? Make him gay like you?” The pounding shook the house. “
Get out here and fight.
”

Gabriel’s gaze fell on a drawing from Thomas, and it harkened to the countless others in his office, on the walls of his library.
His
library. As the drunkard caterwauled on, as the Swamp Thing stared miserably at Gabriel, he made himself see the whole of Logan, the whole of the time since Thanksgiving, those who had thanked him as well as those who had chastised him. He made himself see Thomas.

He made himself see Arthur. The children they might have together.

He saw it all—the good and the bad, the difficult and the wonderful, the pain and the joy. He would always have both. But for the first time, he saw, truly saw, that it was up to him which side he let lead.

“I am a man,” Gabriel said to the door.

Not loudly—even if he’d shouted, the drunk on the other side wouldn’t have heard. The knowledge freed Gabriel’s tongue, made him uncurl from himself and take a step closer to the shuddering barrier between him and the intruder.

“I am a man. And I’m fighting like one.” He paused to take a breath, gather his courage. “I read books to your children. I show them new worlds. I teach them how to care, be respectful.” He stood up straighter, his heart burning with something new—pride. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing shameful. And whoever the hell you are, drunk and babbling on my porch—I’m more of a man than you.”

Something was going on outside—people were shouting, and the pounding stopped. A siren sounded briefly, red and blue lights flashed.

It didn’t matter. The stranger hadn’t heard him. But Gabriel had heard himself.

I’m more of a man than you.

The front door burst open—Arthur, whey-faced, came into the living room. “Gabriel, are you okay?”

He drew Gabriel into his arms without waiting for an answer, crushing him to his body. A state trooper stood in the doorway now, surveying the destroyed storm door, taking in the sight of Arthur and Gabriel embracing.

“Everyone all right in here?” the officer asked.

Gabriel wrapped his arms around Arthur, drew in a deep draught of his woodsy, cold-air scent and shut his eyes with a smile. “Yes. Everyone here is just fine.”

When Arthur turned down Gabriel’s street and saw police cars outside his boyfriend’s house, he lost years from his life. As soon as he verified Gabriel was okay, he got pissed. Who the hell was running around breaking people’s front doors? What did people think this was, St. Paul?

And then they told him.

Caleb Coulter, whoever the hell that was—some guy from Pine Valley whose wife had kicked him out Friday, one assumed because the guy was an abusive, drunken asshole. Somewhere in that final argument Mrs. Coulter had cited Gabriel’s gender-stereotype story time, God only knew in what degree, and in the absence of anyone else to blame, Caleb fixated on the gay librarian. Because why not, huh?

The fucker had
staked Gabriel out
. Got drunk, sat in his car and waited until Arthur left.

Jesus, Arthur wanted to go over to county lockup and beat the shit out of the guy. It’d be worth the assault charges.

Gabriel tried to calm him down. They were sitting in the kitchen with Frankie, who had come over with Marcus as soon as they’d heard. Because of course the whole town had heard.

Gabriel stroked Arthur’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m okay—everybody’s fine. Well, my door isn’t. But that’s what a rental deposit is for.”

“You shouldn’t have to pay when someone breaks down your door. Fuck, someone shouldn’t be
breaking down your door
.”

Not because of what he’d done for Thomas.

Not my Gabriel.

Frankie nudged the mug of tea he’d made for Arthur closer, the tea he’d made even though Arthur didn’t care for tea. “The neighbors called 911 right away, and they got a hold of the state patrol. Lieutenant Daniels was just north of town, so it took him hardly any time at all.”

“It shouldn’t have happened, period.” Arthur rubbed his temples. “I was gone
fifteen minutes
.” What if the guy had gotten inside? What if he’d hurt Gabriel?

Marcus appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Gabriel, they want to ask you a few more questions. Can you come out here for a minute?”

“Sure.” Gabriel rose, kissing Arthur on the cheek as he did so. “It’s fine. I’m okay, and the guy is in jail.”

“I’m getting you a goddamned gun.”

“No, you aren’t.” Gabriel followed Marcus to the living room.

“Drink your tea.” Frankie nudged the mug forward.

Arthur stared at him.

Frankie sighed and picked up the mug as he rose. “Fine. I’ll see if Gabriel has any liquor.”

“Whiskey, above the fridge.”
Right where I left it.
Arthur poked around the papers on the table, looking for something to take his mind out of its squirrel cage of rage. A newspaper—no—a book catalog—
hell
no—and a pile of junk mail, half of it open. Arthur thumbed through it idly, not really reading, simply trying to stop thinking about drunken strangers breaking down Gabriel’s front door and everybody acting like that was no big deal.

He stopped, going cold as he realized what he’d seen.

Dear Mr. Higgins: It is with pleasure I write to you today to let you know of an opening for the position of director at our Naperville library main branch.

Arthur picked up the letter—only to find another one underneath.

Dear Gabriel: So lovely to see you again at the ALA meeting this year. I wanted to let you know about a wonderful opportunity at the Marquette University Library.

There were four of them, in fact. All dated in the last two weeks.

“I didn’t know how much you wanted, so I— Arthur, what’s wrong?” Frankie set the whiskey bottle and empty glass down and peered over Arthur’s shoulder. “Oh.
Oh.
”

Arthur could barely breathe, let alone speak.

Frankie put a hand on Arthur’s biceps. “Hon, this was before you two got serious. It’s only been a few weeks since Thanksgiving. It’s probably backup in case his grants dry up.”

It all made sense, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the table was littered with people writing to Gabriel and telling him about all the amazing jobs he could get elsewhere.

Places hell and gone from Logan.

A commotion in the living room drew his attention, sort of, until he realized his mother had entered the kitchen, which he knew because she hauled him to his feet and into her arms as she carried on in hysterics. “Oh—baby, I was so worried. Your father is beside himself. Everyone is shocked. The mayor is coming over to apologize to Gabriel personally in the morning. Not that anyone could have stopped the fool, but thank God for small towns where neighbors look out for you.”

Woodenly, Arthur peeled away from her and held up the letters.

Corrina glanced at them distractedly, confused—then seemed to recognize them and put them on the table with a smug smile. “Marquette now, is it? He didn’t tell me about that one.
Naperville?
Ha. Good. I hope they choke on it.”

“But, Mom, this means—” He broke off, unable to say it.

Corrina’s expression softened, and she put the letters down. “Oh, sweetie. He’s not leaving. He gets these all the time.”

All the time? “Why is he applying to all these places?”

“He’s not applying to anything. They’re sending the offers unsolicited. Your Gabriel is quite the coveted commodity. He took a huge pay cut to come here, even with the grant paying him three times what we normally would pay a librarian. Champaign-Urbana keeps trying to get him to finish his PhD so he can be an instructor. He turns them all down because he wants to work with small-town libraries.
Our
small-town library.”

Arthur glanced at the living room, the ruined storm door in his mind’s eye. Gabriel had said he liked small towns, yes—before. “Small towns where drunks break down his door and swear at him because he read a book about a doll.”

“Oh, there’s crime everywhere. Gabriel doesn’t care about that, about what people think.”

But he did. Arthur wouldn’t ever forget naked Gabriel weeping silently as he confessed how much he cared. How much he wanted to belong.

It took hours for everyone to leave. After the state troopers had left, Corrina and Frankie and Marcus stayed, and eventually even Paul showed up to make sure everyone was okay. By the time Arthur and Gabriel got to bed, it was after midnight.

“It’s all right,” Gabriel told Arthur as they held each other beneath the comforter. “You can stop looking so upset.”

Arthur frowned and smoothed a curl away from Gabriel’s forehead. “Are you in shock or something? Why are you acting like you had tornado damage, not homophobic drunk damage?”

There—a flicker of sadness. But only a moment. “Because he doesn’t matter. It’s like Officer Daniels said—the guy was looking for a scapegoat. I was handy. FOX News spends half its programming blaming homosexuals for all the world’s problems. If he has cable, it wasn’t a difficult reach.”

“I don’t want anybody blaming you for things like that.”

Gabriel smiled and kissed him, and slid their bodies closer until Arthur found other ways of making sure Gabriel wasn’t thinking about crazies on his front lawn.

The incident had a galvanizing effect on the whole town. During their sleigh ride Monday afternoon, Gabriel told Arthur all about how people had come in to voice support for him and outrage over such an attack. Somehow everyone’s reaction seemed to be to buy tickets for the benefit on Saturday. The gala was reaching fire code capacity, Frankie had called up a third stylist to take appointments, and the sleigh rides were long since booked up.

So it was all good. A bad moment, Gabriel was fine, and in the end it seemed to solidify him as part of the community, made the whole town rally around him.