A Purple Winter Page 20

  This was a mess for me to fix. That was my job. We couldn’t afford for any of these people to quit a few days before the big day. Discreetly, I leaned in closer to the salad section, catching Sara-Kim’s attention. “What happened?” I whispered, almost mouthing the words. Wait—was that classical music playing in the kitchen?

  Sara-Kim looked up from her board and smiled. She seemed relaxed. Completely at ease. “What’s that, sir?”

  Sir? My God, I was a bloody adult.

  Behind me, Nick spoke a few words in a smooth and even voice, and I turned to see the dance. The cooks were moving slowly and efficiently, everyone doing what they needed to be doing, without friction or accidents. It was like watching a Russian ballet. My gaze paused on Nick. In his starched and brilliantly white chef’s jacket, with his silk blond hair tied back, and his eyes like two blue shards of glass cutting the air with every look he gave the room, he was vision to behold. This was his element. This was where he was at his best. If I’d harbored any doubts about opening a restaurant in the last year, looking at him now, those second thoughts evaporated.

  My pulse raced as I stared at him from across the pass. I was still so madly in love with him. I felt the blush in my cheek. My cock stirred in my snazzy, fitted pants. The mere thought of him was enough to get me off.

  “Yes, O’Reilly?” Nick was looking right at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Everything to your satisfaction?”

  I held his lustful eyes with mine and nodded. Oh, I’d get my satisfaction all right. Later. Upstairs in our new loft.

  “Tell my family I’ll be out in about thirty minutes.” He glanced up at the tickets. “We’re serving up mains here and we’ll be on deserts soon. I’ll let Luke take care of those.” He shot Henri-Paul a quick but kind look. “Finish up with four and five and take ten minutes.”

  The atmosphere in the kitchen was so relaxed. Nick was obviously at the top of his form and had created a menu that was simple, delicious, and unique, but didn’t demand a whole lot of complicated techniques or elaborate preparation. I bet he could have done all this with one hand tied behind his back.

  Thinking of him tied up got me hot around the collar and I looked away, catching Thomas fiddling on his cell phone. “Could you please put that away?” I asked, touching his arm. “No phones in the kitchen, please.”

  The kid stared at me and glanced down at his phone. “Yeah…just a sec.” But he kept right on with texting, smiling to himself.

  “I don’t think you heard me,” I insisted. “Put the phone away. You have a table coming up here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, one second.”

  “Hey,” Nick intervened. Great, now he was going to let the kid know that he was the boss and I’d lose all credibility. “What’s your name again? Tom, right?” The kid nodded, his face coloring a little. “Well, Tom,” Nick went on, eying him fiercely, “see this man right here?” He tossed his chin up in my direction. “He signs your pay check. And what he says, is the law around here. You got that?” He winked. “I’m just the guy who cooks. All right? Now put the phone away and let’s dazzled people with these beautiful plates.”

  Thomas slipped the phone into his pants and shrugged, giving me a quick look. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  I walked away, heading for the back rooms. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, leaving the kitchen with a smile.

  “Tom, man,” I head Sara-Kim say, somewhere behind me, “don’t fuck with him. He’s Chef Nick’s husband.”

  I paused in the hall, halfway between the kitchen and my office.

  “Shit,” I heard Thomas say. “Thanks for giving me a head’s up there.”

  I grinned. I felt triumphant. Like that time Nick had defended me all those years ago on that Halloween night. The night we’d egged David Pinet’s door.

  Or had that been a dream? I’d never fully recovered my long-term memory since my motorcycle accident and sometimes confused my coma-induced fantasy with reality.

  But then again, I’d never really been any good with reality, anyway.

  Whatever had truly happened that night, I’d come a long way since that long-ago evening of ghosts and ghouls, but in my most secret chambers, the places in my heart only I could enter, I knew I’d always be that lonely red-headed kid in love with the bad boy next door. I’d always be Nick’s sidekick.

  And maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t anything wrong with that after all.

  Chapter 26

  Later that night, we stood around in the small vacant lot behind Split, by Boone’s minivan. Kenya, Boone’s wife, was already seated in the driver’s seat, impatient to leave. I couldn’t blame her. It was nearing one in the morning. It had been a long night. My feet were killing me and I felt a headache looming. I was exhausted, but high strung. “Get him in this damn van,” Kenya said, leaning out of the window. She laughed, her teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Percy has hockey practice tomorrow morning. Boone has to be up at six A.M.”

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” Boone’s big loud voice echoed across the silent lot. Split was on Rue Saint Nicolas, right near Commune. From our loft’s back window, we could see the river, the ships. It was a beautiful and coveted location. I didn’t miss the burbs at all. But if we didn’t rake in four percent profit starting next year, we’d be turning Split into a food truck and selling salmon steaks in the street.

  “Thank you for your patience, my goddess.” Boone leaned into Kenya’s window and kissed her. They were celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary this year. She was a nurse and he was a cop. Their compassion for people was their bond, what held them together. They were such a solid and loving family. I adored Percy and Vivian, my nephew and niece.

  “Get outta here,” Nick said, ruffling his brother’s hair.

  Boone pulled away from Kenya and turned to grin at Nick. They stood eye to eye, sharing a quiet moment of brotherly affection. “You did good tonight, Nico,” Boone finally said, tipping his head. “Ma’s real proud of you. Too bad Spence couldn’t be here.”

  Spencer was in Spain, with his mother. Mona was taking him across Europe over the summer. They’d be back just in time for school. Spencer’s mind would probably be full of magic and memories—new experiences Nick and I hoped would forge his already unique and strong character. Spencer was definitely Nick’s son. Willful and curious to see the world. But though we agreed that traveling would broaden Spencer’s horizons and give him an advantage in life, we both missed him so much. At his age, the only traveling I’d ever done, was from the Lunds’ place to mine. Fifty-seven steps.

  Yet, every time I’d walked into their sunny and lemon-scented apartment, it had been like entering a new country. One day, when Spencer was older, I’d tell him that story. The tale of the asthmatic boy with a stutter who put a spell on his father and stole his mighty heart.

  “Spence will be back in a month and trust me, he’ll get back into the routine of the city and having a chef for a father real quick.” Nick looked over at me. “The kid grew up in a pro kitchen. It’s in his blood.”

  Boone leaned back on his heels, watching us with a tender smile. “Man, look at you two.” He shook his head. “It blows my mind to think of all the shit you’ve been through and you’re still standing. Still together. And you know…I’m the reason you guys hooked up. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  Nick chuckled. “Yeah, you never let us forget it.”

  Boone was serious, staring into my eyes. “When I thought you wouldn’t make it…” He cleared his throat. “It’s—you know…good to see you looking so alive.”

  “Oh, Boone,” I said, grabbing his big hands and pulling him closer. “Come here.” I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, squeezing him tight. “I love you.”

  Boone moved away, shaking his head at me.

  “You know what we should do,” Nick said, taking charge of the situation, as usual. “From now on, we make a pact to see each other every other week at least. We shake on it. No excuses. We make it a ritual
thing.” He held out his hand to his brother. “Okay?”

  Boone ran a quick hand through his hair, obviously touched. I realized, he too had chased Nick all his life, yearning to spend time with his big brother. “I’d like that a lot.”

  We shook on it.

  “But,” Nick said with a serious look, “I’m not playing no board games, card games, or watching a movie, hockey, football, soccer, or curling. There will be no going out to sport’s taverns, all-you-can-eat meat shacks, golf courses, shooting ranges, or whatnot. I’ll decline any invitations to any event which would entail wearing a baseball cap, jogging pants, or any sort of gym apparel. I won’t agree to any camping or outdoor—”

  “Shut up, you freak.” Boone grabbed Nick’s head and forced him into a choke hold.

  * * * *

  Later, inside our barely furnished home, Nick threw his boots in the corner and I unfastened the noose around my neck. I slipped my jacket off and draped it over a chair. The place was barren and large, in need of color and decorations. But the stone walls were phenomenal and the natural light was breathtaking in the morning. I’d make something of this loft. As I had all our homes before.

  Nick looked down at our bed. The thing was standing in the middle of the room like it had been dropped there by plane. He sat on the firm mattress and pulled his socks off, rolled them up and tossed the bunch to the side. He fell back on the bed with a long sigh.

  I had a great view of his crotch, the bulge of his cock in his jeans and the beginning of his firm stomach moving gently under his white T-shirt. I couldn’t resist. I walked up to the edge of the bed, forcing his thighs open with mine and stood between his legs, looking down at him. He’d thrown an arm over his face, but his mouth was showing and I loved the smile on his lips. “What do you want?” he asked, chuckling softly under his arm. “I’m tired.”

  With my eyes on his mouth, I stripped my shirt off and let it fall to the floor.

  Nick peeked under his arm. “Keep going…” He laughed.

  I undid my belt and then slowly unzipped my pants. When I pulled everything down, my cock came bouncing out, gorged and veined, standing straight. I was so turned on, though I tried to keep a poker face about it. Nick’s cheeks had flushed darker and he leaned back on his elbows, watching me with greedy eyes. “What do you want,” he asked again, smiling, gliding the tip of his finger against the wet head of my cock. I was already dripping with pre-cum, my blood pounding through me. “I’m good for nothing, O’Reilly.”

  “Shh.” I brusquely undid his jeans and slid them down his legs along with his undies. He was half hard, his beautiful cock filling against his thigh. “You don’t need to do anything,” I whispered, bending my face to his. “Just let me have my way with you.” I looked down into his steely blue eyes and kissed him. We hadn’t kissed like this in a long time, so slow and deep, like young lovers with all the time in the world. I tasted his tongue, his spit, his warm lips, and held his hands inside mine on the bed, pinning him down under me. Nick rarely let me inside him, and in the last year, it hadn’t happened once.

  But I could feel his defenses coming down. He was clutching my hair, breathing words into my ear and mouth, giving me a fever with his touch. “Oh, God, Derek,” he moaned, “don’t tease me.” He rubbed my cock. “Give me every inch of you.”

  I nearly tripped on Esco’s mat hurrying to the bathroom for some lube, but the old dog was snoring deeply. I hadn’t made love to Nick in so long, my hands were shaking and I had trouble opening the stupid little tube. Nick helped me with everything and then started turning to his stomach, but I stopped him and gently pushed him back on the mattress, before slowly bringing his knees up. As excited as we both were, it was still a long time before I could penetrate him. I was patient and he was willing.

  Then Nick was pulling me into him, his body contracting around mine, as he took me in inch by inch, until I was so deep inside him, our stomachs were touching. I laced my fingers with his over the sheets, and rocking my hips slowly, closed my eyes, pressing my face into his neck. He was mine, all mine. No man or woman could do to him what I was doing now. When I gazed into his eyes, I understood that the union I’d prayed for and believed in was happening in this moment. The joining of my soul with his. I sighed with pleasure and relief, pressing my lips to his ear. “Oh, Nick,” I moaned, clutching his hands tighter.

  We came together, shuddering in each other’s arms and then lay on the sheets, cooling down in the mess we’d made. I lifted my head to watch his expression. Nick was serene, all traces of tension washed away from his face. His blue stare lingered over my lips and then met my eyes. “O’Reilly, I fucking adore you,” he said, caressing my hair. “More than I ever have.”

  A sort of panic came over me. We were happier than we’d ever been. What I’d thought had been the best days of our lives were nothing compared to what we had now.

  He was watching me with lighted eyes. Then he rose and left for the washroom. I heard him cleaning up in there, the faucet running. With my heart in my mouth, I stripped the base sheet off the bed and draped a fresh one over the mattress. Watching the bony moon through our huge curtain-less window, I slipped my cotton pajama bottoms on. I propped up Nick’s pillows the way he liked them and stretched out in bed, eagerly waiting for him to return. I knew him well enough to suspect he was going to lay something on me. Something big. It was in the way he’d looked at me. What was he planning now?

  At last, he returned and put on a pair of black briefs, before getting in bed next to me. He reached over and shut the foot lamp off. Basked in semi-darkness, we were silent for a moment.

  Then Nick cuddled up against me, pushing his face into the crease of my neck. “Tell me about your dream. Was I in it?”

  Sixteen months had passed since my accident, and yet, we’d avoided talking about it as much as we could. Maybe it was because of how close I’d come to dying. Maybe the idea of one of us dying before the other was too much to consider.

  “Come on, baby, tell me.” Nick squeezed my side.

  “Of course you were in it.” I remembered the evening he’d come over to my apartment and we’d made that soup. Nick had encouraged me to read out loud. We’d kissed. “We made, uh, that soup. That sweet soup we make every year for Christmas.”

  “Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. “You dreamed about making soup?”

  I laughed a little. “No, see—it was like…Well, it was like real life, but different. I mean—you were seventeen and I was sixteen and we lived next door to each other like back in the day, but—”

  “Wait, you were sixteen?”

  “I guess my mind needed to fix a few things.”

  He tensed against me. “Like what?”

  “Like…you leaving with David that winter.” I chose my words carefully. “In my dream, I got to know him.”

  There was a long silence. “But you never did know him,” Nick finally said. “So how could you dream about him?”

  “Because I listened so hard. You never spoke about David much, but whatever little detail you gave me through the years I must have stored somewhere and that’s how I was able to create him or imagine him, I suppose.”

  But that wasn’t really the truth, now was it? David had come to me. He’d sent me back to Nick. Back to life. He hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. He’d been a visitation. I believed that with all my soul and heart. How could I tell Nick this without sounding mentally unsound or insensitive? Nick was a pragmatic. An atheist.

  “I never really told you anything about him,” Nick said in a firm voice. “So, what was he like in your dream?”

  He kept referring to David as him, as though saying his name would hurt too much. “He was…tall and slender with very dark hair and fierce brown eyes.” I was so uneasy, yet felt the pull of Nick’s will, his desire for me to go on. “He was a dancer. He danced every day. In this warehouse by the Peel basin. His father—his father hit him sometimes and you were always looking out for him. Always
protecting him.”

  “I never told you that.” Nick sat up and flicked the light on. His face was tense. His eyes were fixed to my face. “How could you know?”

  “Maybe you did tell—”

  “No, Derek. I never told anyone about Davie’s old man.” Nick looked away at the window. “What else?”

  I caressed his smooth back, gently and carefully. “He smoked a lot. Mint cigarettes. And he loved Depeche Mode.” I sighed. “And you. He loved you, Nick. Called you his morning star.”

  Nick frowned, a painful expression coming over his face. He sniffed and quickly shook his head. “Yeah…”

  I pulled on him. “Come here, Nick. Lay down with me. Shut the light and lay down with me.”

  He hesitated, but then finally conceded. We held each other in silence for a long while.

  “My Aunt Fran was there, too.” I spoke the words softly and into his hair. “In the end, it was she and David who convinced me to come back…I was lost in my dream world, sinking deeper and deeper, and David ordered me to return to you.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a dream. A fantasy.”

  “Nick…David told me that you were there when he died.”

  “You knew that. I told you that.” Nick’s voice had an edge to it.

  “Yes, you did, but he also said that it was Sebastian, his brother, who found you on Grouse Mountain and that you hurried back to David’s place and spent the last four days alone with David in his apartment and those were the happiest days of his life, because he had you all to himself.”

  “Stop.”

  “I’m sorry.” I held him tighter. “I’m sorry.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “I don’t know, Nick.” I closed my eyes. “But is it true?”

  “I never told anyone. It was just me and him…and death in that apartment. I could feel it around us sometimes. Used to sit by Davie’s bed at night and stare death off, like maybe, if I caught it like a shadow or something, it would leave Davie alone.” Nick’s voice broke and he squeezed me harder. “Did you really see him?”