Christmas Angel

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Jay’s mother paused while laying the table. She tilted her head to one side and stared at her daughter, April. “Please tell me we will make it through dinner this time and I have a good reason to set an extra space.”

Movement ceased throughout the dining room. Everyone stared at April. She gazed at her mother, lips pursed. As though the universe waited, time appeared to hang, suspended.

“Depends.” The word forced its way out, April’s lips unmoving. “We might be third time lucky.”

Dean barely arrested his laugh, wanted to applaud her. When April said nothing more, her mother raised an eyebrow—expression full of amusement, merriment backed up by a twitch of her lips. April resumed her chore, busy polishing glassware. If she rubbed any harder, the fragile goblets might fracture.

The sharp green artificial plant twisted in Dean’s hands, tugging his attention back to his task; only his strong grip prevented the tree from toppling.

Dean and Jay set the Christmas tree on its stand and then confronted a fortification of boxes. While dinner cooked under their mother’s watchful attendance, April and Jay, along with Dean, were to decorate the tree’s synthetic branches with help from April’s current boyfriend. If he behaved, said boyfriend’s invite extended to dinner.

Dean’s thoughts winged back to Christmases before, though, in truth the auspicious date remained four weeks away. The pre-celebratory tradition of hosting a semi-formal dinner a month before Christmas included festooning the tree and the rest of the house, inside and out.

“Dust gatherers.” April toed one box out of her way after uttering the annual custom: her yearly complaint one Dean agreed with in spite of the Reids’ insisting decorations not up at least a month to be a detestable hassle. The job required days instead of mere hours, enthusiastic a moderate way to express Jay’s father’s enjoyment. Not Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation excess, but decorating the exterior became Jonathan Reid’s personal present, wrapped and packaged for his own pleasure under the guise of doing a good deed for others.

Dean’s lips twitched. No reason he should believe the way he did, but so used to keeping his feelings a secret, he struggled with how to clarify why he cherished the simple, somewhat childish delight of sharing this time with people he considered extended family. He liked that Jay’s relatives maintained this tradition, though the onus fell on the siblings to attend a month beforehand, not merely at Christmastime. If he wanted to act churlish, Dean might accuse his friends’ parents of being greedy, desirous of their children’s attention.

They were lucky though. Dean included. Now Jay and Dean were a couple, Dean helped. They were, every one, family.

“No sign of the long ladders?” Eleanor Reid asked of no one in particular.

Jay checked outside the window. “He’s behaving himself.”

“It’s for his own good.” Eleanor sniffed.

The declaration brought Dean an unexpected twinge. Both sets of parents grew older. Though window nets obscured the view, he recognised the unmistakable shape of Jay’s father working outside alone. The man’s annual declaration of wanting no interference was as mildly spoken as the current weather, as sharply meant as a snowstorm. They left him unattended, but for his safety, the family had at last overruled his using tall ladders. They insisted, this year, he only hung lights from the porch, not the roof.

“It won’t make a difference.” Eleanor Reid said, tone wistful. As the ground level decorations were numerous, Dean agreed with her. Those who stopped by to slip a donation into the collection box for charity—the real reason the Reids’ took so much trouble—were unlikely to spot a lack of icicles twinkling from the eaves.

Eleanor disappeared into the kitchen, the swing of the door letting in many enticing aromas. Dean’s nostrils and stomach twitched in unison, a noise from his mid-section rumbling out.

“You got a good couple of hours to wait.” Jay scanned the various labels on the boxes. “I thought Mum colour-coded these things.”

“She did.” April held each glass up to the light, inspecting her handiwork. “But she didn’t note what codes she gave what, and now can’t remember. Get a move on and open them. I’ll help when I finish laying the table.”

Dean grabbed the nearest carton, relaxing his grip at the last for fear of crushing the cardboard as well as the contents. Gratitude aside, where to spend Christmas was one problem faced as a couple—a welcome, wonderful, and unexpected complication. A few people might say his feelings over what many considered being a predicament revealed much of his history—his prior lack of long lasting companionship; the flighty relationships; his views on s*x.

Dean swallowed, overcome with a love only less powerful than his emotions for his own parents. Ridiculous reaction with no true reason. Such feelings might intoxicate due to the season. Whatever the cause, the sudden disabling sense of nostalgia shocked him. Christmas was never this large a concern. Although an only child, his parents chose less ceremonial festivities.

The array of decorations brought a lump to his throat, in part because of the extravagance, in part because his parents only bothered with a single decoration: the tree. They chose a lighter observance though their preference had nothing to do with a lack of love. They never pressured Dean to visit on Christmas Day, often itching to be away—a fact proven this year by his parents’ cruising plans.

Where Dean and Jay spent Christmas and Boxing Day this year remained open for discussion, although each time the issue reared its head, April’s glare spoke volumes: You two will not leave me here by my lonesome. The Reids’ loved each other, but Christmas arrived each year with the requisite compulsion to create the perfect celebration. Warmth seeped into his face at these notions. Too many firsts of late. Too many unsettling revelations. Every simple decision bore a meaningful, underlying repercussion.

He didn’t know how he wanted to celebrate this year. In spite of trying their hardest, the Reids’ never got their perfect Christmas. April shouldn’t be without a partner, but she hadn’t intended to be the last two Christmases either.

On cue, the doorbell rang. To judge by the rise and fall of her chest, April took a deep breath. Once, the movement would have interested him. These days, he did his best to ignore women’s breasts. With so much in his life changed, Dean spent more time admiring how she fought to suppress her obvious nervousness. This one must be important for April to feel anxious. He turned to welcome the newcomer.

Brian Clarke brought frosty air into the house along with the warmth of a smile that at once brought a silent plea to Dean’s lips. Whilst unimportant for Dean and Jay to get on with April’s love interest, it wouldn’t hurt to like him.

As Brian grinned at Jay, nodded at Dean, and took the effort of shaking hands without removing his coat or putting down the bags he carried first, Dean already liked him, unprepared for disappointment.

“This one’s promising,” he whispered to Jay as he passed.

“We remain hopeful,” Jay replied, a twinkle in his eyes. Despite the underlying hilarity at April’s expense, Jay didn’t fool him. Both men were hopeful for many reasons. April had more than her share of failed relationships. At least two had crashed and burned only a few feet over the starting line, owing to the men making fun of her brother.

As Dean at last found the box containing tinsel and the lights for the tree, he thought back to Christmas number one.

Jeffrey had lasted until he fetched the tree topper, saying, “No need for this. Not when we’ve got ourselves a real fairy.”

Dean had no chance to deck the bastard. The heat had seeped out of his anger as April growled. Used to being in a tight spot with her, Dean had believed she had been growling at him until she stalked toward her boyfriend to snatch the winged figure out of Jeffrey’s hand. She had snarled at Jeffrey while shoving him across the living room, outside, along the path, through the front gate. All the while, she threatened to stuff the delicate sprite somewhere and so deep Jeffrey would never find the figurine and experience trouble walking.

Second pre-Christmas get-together and Oliver lasted until they got the fairy on the tree’s pinnacle.

“Does everyone get three wishes? I mean we got not one, not two, but three faireeeeeeeees—”

Dean never saw where April grabbed Oliver—too busy marching over to open the front door, grabbing Oliver’s coat on the way, preparing to stuff the garment into the man’s arms. The noise to issue from the bloke’s mouth made Dean’s eyes water as he recalled the increased pitch of desperation. How much pain did one need to inflict to cause someone to produce such a sound? The mere thought made Dean’s testicles want to crawl up somewhere safe and warm. Once, April would have treated Dean the same way, the unbidden thought making him reflect on the heated relationship he and April formerly shared over Jay. Whatever the outcome this day, he’d best remember never again to piss off April.

Amazing to think he and April could now speak in a convivial manner and joke. Sure, suspicion made her eyes appear flint-like at times, but the consideration behind her gaze didn’t escape him. Nowadays—such as escorting Oliver off the premises—they acted together almost by intuition.

The big question this year: how long might the latest candidate last?

“Tinsel before the lights.” April’s remark brought him back to the present. The large open-branched tree always looked too bare if they started with the lights.

“Who gets that wonderful job?” Dean asked, aware he would. April gave him a stare, her head tilted to one side. He narrowed his gaze at her, to which she grinned. Brian stared from April to Dean, brow wrinkling in a fashion too adorable to look right on a man.

“Never mind them.” Jay plonked a glass into Brian’s hand. “Years of mutual disrespect. They communicate by telepathy these days.” He poured a generous measure of Scotch, ignoring Dean and April as both stared in his direction.

Faced with two choices—put the tinsel on with sleeves rolled and withstand the tree scratching him, or down to protect his skin—Dean rolled up his sleeves. He preferred protection, but the one time he tried, he discovered the tree liked to snag any fibres the fake needles encountered. He ended up hugging a tree—not a terrible thing for a nature lover and if the tree were not plastic. Much to everyone’s amusement, he’d required help to get free, so now put up with the scratches. A scotch might dull the annoyance.

“Do I get one of those?” Dean nodded to the bottle.

“You get whatever you want.” Jay lowered his voice as he poured, and then handed a drink over, with a wink.

Thoughts of forthcoming scratches, the tree, Christmas, or anyone in the room spun away; the man’s brown gaze consumed Dean, made his jaw and whole body ache. He anticipated kissing. More than kissing. The tormenting images were so many he couldn’t focus on one.

He also forgot his drink, until Jay took his hand, cupping it with his fingers. Heat sunk into Dean’s skin at the touch as Jay turned his hand up and placed the glass palm centre. The moment Jay released the glass, Dean lifted the crystal to his lips and took an appropriately stiff but small mouthful. He longed to toss back the lot and ask for another, but he was driving and needed to go light on the alcohol. The thought nor desire did nothing to mask his sudden disappointment of scotch diluted with soda.

No point complaining. He wouldn’t drink at all if several more hours didn’t need to pass before they departed in the evening. Damn his conscience, but his internal Jiminy Cricket saved him from April’s nagging…on the subject of drunk driving. Not from her scolding regarding her brother, though. No way. Never that.

“Down boy.” Jay patted him right on the c**k, shattering his composure. Dean choked on the meagre quantity of alcohol leaking its way into his stomach. He glanced at April and Brian. Good thing they were busy talking. The blood rushing through his ears, and other places, tuned out their conversation, but Dean experienced only relief from their failure to notice. Gaze dancing, unrepentant, Jay smirked.

Dean took another sip of the scant liquid that remained in his glass. Time to dig into a mass of feathery tinsel; glittering boas Priscilla, Queen of the Desert would be proud to wear. Dean grasped them with as much fervour for a different reason. While he stood with a bundle of shimmering stoles draping his groin, he took a moment to grasp, squeeze, and to relieve, a sudden and troublesome hard-on. More in control, he confronted the tree.

April and Brian disappeared into the kitchen, while, with Jay’s help, Dean wound tinsel amongst the branches. The chore gave them plenty of opportunities to share glances, both doing nothing to hide their endeavour to eavesdrop. They stopped to glance at each other as Eleanor Reid laughed—a long pealing spontaneous and unrestrained sound spilling out, seldom heard, not because Eleanor didn’t laugh, but because she often worried too much, too serious. Dean raised his eyebrows as Jay widened his eyes. The new relationship might be promising.

Brian wandered back in as Dean set the last string of lights in place. Dean and Jay exchanged frowns as Brian popped a morsel of food into his mouth.

“Well, if that doesn’t…” Jay didn’t finish and didn’t need to. If either of them tried to snag as much as a single piece of crispy pastry, they gained nothing but rapped knuckles. Whatever made Eleanor Reid laugh so hard had won her approval.

“Are we on to the baubles?” April set two empty boxes to one side and searched for the next. When she spied what she wanted, she started forward, only for Brian to beat her to it. She drew up short, eyes widening. No argument spilled from her lips, however; a new development. April seldom liked men offering her help and doing things for her. Whenever Dean tried, he received only vitriol.

Brian, oblivious to the soundless play of emotions knocked back and forth by the other occupants of the room, opened the container, filling the room with reflected silver light. The round sparkling objects matched the grey decor—a good excuse, Jay’s father insisted, not to repaint the living room because nothing would match at Christmas. So far, the ruse worked.

“Brian’s a veterinarian.” This they knew, but April’s emphasis implied he had to be a good man because he worked with animals.

“Plain old vet will do.” Brian’s frown belied the underlying smile. He caught the strange significance, too. He swung round to Jay. “You’re in I.T., right?”

“Unfortunately.” Jay grinned as he spoke, revealing the joke. Everyone, with the possible exception of Brian, knew he’d always wanted to work with computers, but no job came without drawbacks.

“April says you’re a consultant?”

Jay blinked. Following the simple explanation, people rarely asked more.

“Technically, my title is Hospital I.T. Consultant, a dry and meaningless term.”

“So the short answer, right?” Brian hung ornaments. “What do you actually do? I mean,” he gave a small shrug, “name a couple of examples.”

“Well, my job typically comprises of three. Creating and installing new software, maintaining the existing software, and fixing crisis level items. I’m an anti-consultant consultant. The work I do is often what an employee would do if the person had the time and skill set.”

“Hope you’re appreciated.”

“He is,” Dean said.

“By some.” Jay gave Dean a nod, most likely acknowledging Dean respected both him and his capabilities. “The highest compliment from my clients is being told I’m not a consultant, I’m more an employee.”

“Why’s that?”

Jay moved in a way Dean understood meant he was a little uneasy. “Not something I want any of my colleagues to hear but the typical consultant can be an arsehole, comes in, wastes everyone’s time with endless meetings to discover how the business works, hands out a pretty report that summarises things everyone knew, and not only charges but overcharges for the experience. The best thing I ever heard concerning consultants is a consultant is a guy with grey hair so he can appear distinguished and haemorrhoids so he can look concerned.”

Brian burst out laughing. Dean had heard this before but still, he couldn’t help grinning.

“The stories you must both have to tell.” Brian shook his head. “I still can’t get over hearing how many shite places April has to sell. No need to play it down,” Brian added when she shook her head.

“I’m not. No job is a hundred percent fun. Yours takes the greatest toll.”

“Maybe, but it’s rewarding, too. Can’t see any of us are doing badly. Jay’s work keeps hospitals running. You help people find a home.”

Brian referred to April’s work as estate agent, but had she not mentioned her photography course? Dean fought the urge to stick up for her. Better not to say until he was sure. She might not want Brian to know for a reason he couldn’t imagine and, if he made a thing of the course, it might belittle her day-job. Better to ask her what she wanted Brian to hear, or not, before he said something he shouldn’t by accident.

“Mechanic, right?”

Now under the spotlight, Dean had nothing to say. He gave a simple nod. Put that way, he sounded the least useful one here.

“People need to get around.” Though true, the comment sounded a banal excuse for Dean getting up in the mornings. For a tense second, the silence became cumbersome.

“Is that your MK in the driveway?”

Dean’s jaw almost dropped. He recovered, lips stretching wide, instead, head bobbing. Overcome and overheated with embarrassment, Dean tried to curb his own enthusiasm, though to do so was difficult. With the one sentence, the man soared in Dean’s estimation. Of the cars to undergo a regular service at the garage, the MK had always been Dean’s favourite. When the last owner had at long last mentioned selling because of its age, Dean had snapped up the car, was now the proud owner. Dean stumbled his way through the explanation.

“Figured,” Brian said.

The pale blue colour of the vehicle matched Dean’s eyes, but although he parted his lips to say so, he snapped his mouth shut faster than he could drive. No need to sound so pathetic, but when talking cars, Dean lost sense. To his delight, Brian swept his foolishness aside, asking questions. True aficionados paid attention to the little details, including why another enthusiast loved a particular vehicle, which he and Brian did for several minutes, chatting around what made a great car while ignoring the expressions pulled by their loved ones.

The tree was a few trinkets short of bejewelled when Brian reached into the last box and extracted the fairy. Either three drew in a collective breath or Dean imagined the sound.

“Not seen one like this for ages.” Brian rotated the object, gaze intent. “Bit…outdated, isn’t it?” He looked up, jolting back. His gaze darted between the three others.

Did Jay and April have the decency to have a sense of embarrassment because of their scrutiny as Dean did? They stared as if Brian had grown an extra appendage. No wonder the poor man looked so startled.

“S-sorry if it’s a family heirloom.”

“No. No, it’s not.” April grimaced. “It’s something mother bought and insists on having on the tree.” She gave the impression none of them agreed or liked the thing, which was true.

“Right. Erm…” Brian eyed the green and now sparkling edifice before glancing at the nearby stepladder before handing the fairy to Dean. “Don’t suppose you’ll do the honours?”

Did a degree of innuendo exist? When Dean hesitated, Brian frowned, looking and likely feeling foolish, holding out the figurine dressed in tired lace adorned with fluffy wings.

“You are the tallest.” Brian tried his best to hand over the winged-creature.

Dean took the fairy and placed the tired-looking sprite on top. Brian moved away to help tidy while Dean looked over to Jay. The other two helpers walked off as Jay moved closer.

“Should I tell April you once suggested we didn’t need a fairy for the tree because you now had me?”

Ohhh crap. He’d forgotten. To think April had evicted two boyfriends because of a comment Dean got away with saying to Jay’s face. Heat rose from the base of his spine, flaring up into his cheeks with every characteristic of an inferno.

Jay strutted out of the room, chuckling.