Snowdrop in a Storm Page 2

  Eight and a half years later, he missed having someone in his arms.

  He turned the phone off by choice, then, and slipped it in his pocket.

  Maybe it was time.

  ON THE SUNNY morning of December fifteenth, Nick stepped out of the airport shuttle and stretched his limbs as best he could. The clamorous voices of their kids countered the silence of the pine trees, spilling over the slope of the mountain. Above them stretched the snow-laden forest and below, the rest of the hotels, houses, and pensions. The resort was neither small, nor too big and overcrowded, but it had some stores and enough life that it didn’t feel cut off from the world. The kids shuffled over to where Daniel was calling for them, and Nick took the accidental elbow as gracefully as he could before unloading the luggage.

  Three interconnected buildings made up the large pension booked by the ICC, two for guests on the sides and a middle one with the common areas and staff quarters. The common rooms would be the scene for all the chess and socializing bits. The smaller structure closest to the tree line housed their rooms, Jeff had explained. They were supposed to share with the team led by Amber’s girlfriend and her brother. Or something. Nick hadn’t paid that much attention. Amber and Jeff’s friendship had started after…after he’d left.

  Nick groaned as he hefted one of the suitcases out of the van, briefly imagining, with a hint of jittery hysteria, a bunch of bell weights in it. It was a sign he needed a nap, but it was only 10 AM, and they’d probably need to wait until at least noon to get to their rooms. The other more blaring sign that he was tired was the dull thump the suitcase made when he smacked it into someone’s middle.

  A new someone.

  “Ow.” The guy said it with a smile, like he didn’t really mind. But then—because why shouldn't the long trip end without stabbing Nick in the butt—he added, “Isn’t it too early to hit on strangers?”

  The guy bit his lip, blinked once, and Nick swallowed his tongue.

  The silence stretched a little too long, it seemed, because the expression on the man’s face turned satisfied. Nick swore internally, with a frantic scramble to find something to say. A hand on his shoulder drew his attention. Jeff.

  “Hey, this is Nick,” Jeff said. “And this is Leon, Sara’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nick,” Leon offered while plucking the suitcase out of his hands. He made it look like it weighed nothing.

  Nick glared. Jeff poked him in the side, muttered, “Play nice.”

  The smug bastard must’ve heard it, because he turned after setting the case down and winked. “Yeah, Nick, play nice.”

  Whatever retort had begun forming on his lips died then and there, as someone else rounded the corner of the van.

  “Here you are,” Sara said.

  It had to be her; there was no doubt in Nick’s mind. She had the same face, albeit softer, the same eyes, same smile. Same dark skin and posture and the same long fingers as she waved at him in hello. Just as tall as her brother.

  Twins.

  Nick’s heart lurched.

  NICK MUST HAVE managed the introduction and then helped carry the luggage inside because, next he knew, he was sitting at a round table in the pension dining hall. Jeff and Daniel on one side, Amber and Sara in front, and Leon to his right. The two tables flanking them hosted the kids of the two teams, their voices filling the room. They all seemed to be talking to their parents one way or another, most of them on video calls, quite loudly and overlapping.

  He wondered for a moment how those parents felt having their kids away for the holidays, and, frankly, he didn’t have an answer. Nick had only spent one winter with Abby, so he had no baseline. Maybe those parents were grateful, looking to spend time alone together. Maybe they were worried but had made the effort so their child could experience new things. He searched for Abby and found her talking animatedly to the only other kid without a phone or a tablet in their hands. Daniel had mentioned the boy—workaholic parents, bright mind, withdrawn. Nick scratched his nose with a sigh.

  Around him, the conversation ebbed with the food. Chess and school seemed to be primary topics. Nick only half paid attention, but enough to gather that both Sara and Leon were teachers. They sat next to each other, sometimes snatching words and ideas from the other. It reminded him so starkly of Lauren and Jeff and the days when they were happy. And he couldn’t stop staring; for the love of any and all deities, he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. Leon, especially, gesturing as he spoke, mouth full of food as he tried to talk—

  The image dug up a memory of Lauren eating a hot dog and telling him about a poodle wearing a cape. He never heard the end of the story because half the meat, mustard, and bread had ended up on his shirt while Lauren guffawed.

  “So, Nick,” Sara said, thankfully pulling him back to the present, “what do you do?”

  He cleared his throat, self-conscious. “I…write.”

  “Yeah? Have I read anything of yours?”

  “Maybe. I’m a ghostwriter.”

  “Ouch,” Leon said with a wince. “Letting others take credit for your work for money—doesn’t sound too pleasant.”

  Nick couldn’t suppress his answering scowl, and Leon raised both palms in a placating gesture.

  “I just meant I couldn’t do it. It’s your business, man.”

  “Have you written for anyone famous?” Sara asked, interrupting whatever was about to come out of Nick’s mouth.

  He forced a smile he hoped was amiable enough. “I can’t tell you any names, but there was this French actress with a memorable life story. Needed help with a memoir.”

  Sara grinned. “What was that like?”

  Nick shrugged. “I enjoy writing about other people.” It had kept him above water, so to speak, when he’d needed it most. But they didn’t have to know that. “Biographies in particular. It’s as if I’m being allowed to see into their most inner core, see what makes them tick.”

  Leon whistled, and Nick almost forgave him his trespasses. Almost, because the next thing he said, while slapping at Sara’s upper arm with the back of his hand, was, “Hey, we’re French,” and with a suggestive move of his eyebrows at Nick, “How can I convince you to write my memoir?”

  Nick wanted to do something to him. “You don’t sound very French.”

  “We were born there,” Sara explained, “but Mom landed a job in London shortly after. A couple of years later, we moved over the pond, as they say. Our primary language isn’t French. I can speak it though.”

  “I can say bonjour and what do you want for breakfast.” Leon grinned, unrepentant.

  “He’s not very good with tongues.”

  “But I’m amazing with my hands.”

  He winked at Nick again, wiggling his fingers and drawing laughter from the rest of the table. Face hot, Nick decided he definitely wanted to punch him. A little bit.

  THE ROOM WAS perfect, in tones of wood and green, a window that faced southeast, sun slanting in at an angle. It felt homey and warm. The only problem was the bed. The only bed in the room. Which he’d have to share with Leon of all people.

  Nick dropped his bag on the floor and stifled a curse.

  Through the open door he could see into Daniel and Jeff’s room across the hall. Over their heads, the patter of children’s feet beat an irregular rhythm. Three bedrooms on the ground floor for the adults, two large ones with bunk beds upstairs for the kids. There were no more available rooms to be had, the pension booked full by other teams. At least they had their own bathrooms.

  Leon grinned at him from where he sat, bouncing on the mattress.

  “Are you sure we have to share?” Nick asked, loud enough to make Amber poke her head in with undisguised interest. Nick glared at her.

  “He won’t bite,” Sara called, most likely from her and Amber’s room. “Much.”

  Jeff laughed boisterously at that. Nick hadn’t heard that sharp sound in what felt like a lifetime. It shuddered through him, and he took an involuntary s
tep back, skin raised with goose bumps. Vaguely, he registered Leon shutting the door—and most of the noise out—before he came closer.

  He leaned in and with a low voice, said, “Are you really uncomfortable? ’Cause I can go see if they have a cot or something. Or I’ll sleep on the floor. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

  He looked sincere and concerned, and Nick’s chest felt almost soft. He shook his head.

  “I’m fine. Was just joking, I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

  It seemed that he’d misjudged Leon, and for a moment, they stood there smiling at each other. Until Leon opened his mouth again.

  “Good, ’cause I like to cuddle. Octo-Leon is what they call me.”

  He winked at Nick with that toothy grin again, and Nick deemed neither of the two responses he came up with—the ones involving Leon’s face—suitable. So he straightened his shoulders and put on a scowl.

  “I kick in my sleep,” he said before walking into the bathroom.

  “Feisty.”

  Leon’s voice followed him, sending a shiver down his spine. Nick felt like laughing, too, and he did just that as he leaned against the closed door, hand over his mouth.

  DANIEL GAVE HIMSELF a few minutes of rest as he lay down on top of the covers. Upstairs, the twelve kids of the combined teams were alarmingly rowdy as they unpacked, but they were all accounted for, fed and healthy and filled with excitement. The plans for the afternoon involved having a meet and greet with the other four teams in the main hall, and then taking a walk through the resort until dinner.

  He watched Jeff putter around the room, exchanging shouted words with the others for a while, and then everything was muffled when he closed the door. He sat on the bed, hip against Daniel’s, and leaned in for a kiss.

  And another on his cheek, his forehead, his nose.

  “Hi, honey,” Daniel said.

  Jeff looked pensive as he pushed the hair from Daniel’s forehead. His gaze traveled down his face, then up to Daniel’s eyes, with regained focus. “I love you, too.”

  Daniel pulled him back down, locked their lips, and kept him there with anticipation he couldn’t express, lest he ruined the surprise.

  “Scoot over,” Jeff said when they broke apart.

  They lay face-to-face, quiet for a while before Jeff chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Do you think we can sneak some mistletoe in here?”

  Suspicion gripped Daniel. “Why?”

  “I think Nick likes Leon. We’re going to witness either a romance of epic proportions, or a massive communication failure. Either way, mistletoe wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You mean Nick of the gay-is-yuck variety likes a guy.”

  “He doesn’t—” Jeff rolled onto his back with a sigh. “Him, me, Lauren—we all dated both girls and guys in college. And during one memorable semester, a genderfluid cutie who went out with all of us. Not at the same time. Anyway, he’s not straight.”

  Daniel sat up, crossed his legs under him. Nick hadn’t often been a subject of their conversations, and when he was, it mostly concerned Abby. Daniel hadn’t felt the need to pry further, and Jeff hadn’t seemed willing to reopen old wounds. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  “Really?” Jeff’s eyes were wide and round, and when Daniel shook his head, he said, “I thought I told you. I’m sorry. I guess, in my mind, he’s always belonged with Lauren. Anything else was irrelevant.”

  The new information wasn’t as surprising as Daniel would have expected it to be. He lay back down, head on Jeff’s chest that time, to listen to his heartbeat.

  “Then it’s sad,” he said, “that he thinks he can only build a life with one gender and not the others.”

  Jeff’s fingers were gentle in his hair. “I still have hope for him.”

  “See, that’s why I love you.”

  A fake gasp. “I thought it was for my pancakes!”

  Daniel took Jeff’s other hand, placed a kiss to his knuckles. He smiled up at him. “We’re not getting mistletoe.”

  “Aww. Not even a tiny one?”

  WHEN NICK OPENED his eyes, two things became immediately evident. First, the sun hadn’t risen yet, although the sky outside was a shade lighter than in the pitch of night. Second, warmth weighed down half of him. Nick lay on his back, fingers of one hand resting on Leon’s short curls, a leg caught between Leon’s. Wetness seeped into the cotton of his T-shirt, right next to where Leon’s cheek pressed onto his shoulder.

  So the cuddling hadn’t been a joke.

  Lauren hadn’t been much of a snuggler, and there, in that moment, the body next to him felt different enough that he could enjoy it as it was, with nothing bitter attached to the sentiment. He let the air out of his lungs, as slowly as possible, and petted the top of Leon’s head. Once, twice, and then let his hand fall back upon the pillow.

  Nick was pondering whether or not to wake him when Leon’s phone gave a sharp ring.

  Leon startled with a snort and rolled away. With a groan, he reached over to turn off the alarm.

  Perhaps he wasn’t a morning person? Inconclusive yet.

  When Nick looked over, Leon was blinking tiredly at the ceiling.

  “What time is it?” Nick asked.

  “Six thirty.”

  “So we’ve got half an hour before the kids are up. Want coffee?”

  Leon stared at him. “No sugar, splash of milk,” he said slowly.

  Nick nodded and got up. He detoured to the bathroom to brush his teeth before ambling out. There was no noise from the other two bedrooms, and he decided not to wake them. The corridor Nick followed opened into the passageway toward the center building. He’d spotted a coffee machine on the table next to the reception. The space was chilly, but not as much as a trek through the snow would’ve been. For that matter, he looked down and then promptly grunted at his bare feet. Great.

  It seemed he wasn’t the only one searching for coffee; others were there, gathered around the table, speaking in hushed voices. In order not to wake the kids yet, he overheard someone say, and fully agreed.

  The bedroom was empty when he returned, and he sat on the bed against the headboard, sipping at his drink, listening to the hiss of the shower. Leon finally returned, a towel around his hips. Nick tried not to stare, but he couldn’t not look, either, as Leon rummaged through his toiletry kit, dropping things on the mattress. Toothpaste, deodorant, a silicone dick.

  Nick squinted at it; maybe he’d seen wrong. Nope, definitely a dick, but not a dildo.

  Leon was a picture of nonchalance as he seemed not to find what he was looking for. He stretched, twisted one way and the other. The low light from the window outlined the sinews of his body, and now that Nick paid better attention, there were telltale scars at the bottom of his pecs.

  A pinprick of ache formed behind his ribs, and he wondered why. Too early in the morning for that, though.

  Leon didn’t look at him. Instead, he dropped to the floor, for push-ups of all things, and Nick rubbed at his face.

  He counted to fifteen before Leon paused, arms taut, holding himself up against the floor.

  “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

  Nick took another sip of coffee. “Are you always so blatantly aggressive when you come out to other people?”

  Leon barked a laugh at that, and he faltered in his motions. He stood up, gestured with his fingers. “Turn around. I wanna get dressed.”

  “Now you want me to turn around,” Nick commented, but he obeyed and sat up, his back to Leon.

  “Shut up, man.” And then, as fabric rustled in the silence, he added more softly, “Thanks.”

  SUNLIGHT GLITTERED OFF the white expanse of the sleigh slope. Everywhere, children frolicked in the snow, their mirth lifting in waves. Jeff was halfway down the hill, picking kids up when they took a tumble, Daniel at his side. Nick had volunteered to stand watch at the top with the first aid kit ready. Sara sat with him for a while, and then Leon switched with her, leaving Nick to
be the recipient of bad flirty puns. Also, this:

  “Yeah, Andy! Come on, boy, get up, there you go!” Leon shouted down the slope. The kid in question wobbled to his feet. He stuck a thumb up, grinning, before he ran off again, and Leon’s shoulders slumped in relief.

  “How can you remember all their names?”

  “Well, you can’t, not at first, but you don’t need that. You just need to know how many there are and how to tell them apart. Look—” He moved next to Nick, pointing across the space below them. “We have twelve kids between us. The five blue hats are yours, the seven green ones mine. Always count them and keep track that they don’t lose their color.”

  That explained the ugly hats. Nick glared up at his. Leon chuckled, low and warm.

  “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty.”

  Nick couldn’t help but feel he’d passed some kind of test that morning, yet why did Leon keep trying to rile him? He elbowed Leon in the ribs, but that only made him laugh harder.

  “What about telling them apart?”

  “Assign descriptors. Orange gloves, red pants, braids, and so on. You’ll learn their names in time.”

  “Braids is Abby. She’s my d—niece.”

  Leon nodded, thankfully oblivious to his almost-slip.

  “Cool kid. Also kinda scary.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  THE NEXT FOUR days blended into each other. Nick woke up entangled with Leon one way or another. He’d fetch them coffee then watch Leon exercise. It was strange yet curiously familiar. Not unenjoyable, not at all.

  Their schedule was filled to the brim with an array of chess games as kids rotated to play against as many opponents as they could manage. The team supervisors milled among the players, giving them suggestions and pats on the back indiscriminately. It was because this was a practice tournament, Daniel had explained. They’d choose four finalists to go against each other the following Monday and designate winners, but it would be symbolic rather than part of any official ranking.

  On the sidelines where Nick was observing, there were parents, too, chaperoning their respective progeny. They gushed over their children to whoever was listening, and it made Nick feel disconnected. Not Jeff, though; he was there at the front with praises about Abby, each one adding to the ever-growing lump in Nick’s throat. He didn’t think he belonged there, among them. Didn’t think he even deserved Jeff including him in all those conversations.