He flopped on the bed, smiling at the ceiling. Something brought his music man back. There was no question Colt wanted to be there with him. Reallywithhim. Whatever they still had to work through, they would. They had this.
22
Colt sleptsome, but his days and nights were broken, so he ended up eating cold pizza and slipping into Kyle’s kitchen to play at the crack of dawn.
He started with the blues, but as the sun began to fill the air with light, the Christmas carols wanted out, so he let them come. The good Lord wanted what He wanted, and this morning He wanted Colt to give praise.
Colt needed to call Timmy, the guys, let them know where he was and that he was… trying. Kyle had said his sorries, and he’d said his piece. He knew he ought to apologize too, but he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. He needed to think on that.
What should he have done? Should he have told Kyle to fuck off about the show? Should he have never said yes?
Colt wanted to say yes. He liked for things to be easy. Everything was always so damn hard, all the time. For once, things were going good, but they weren’t at the same time.
The only good thing he had was this gift that God had blessed him with, this magic. There wasn’t a single other thing about him that was real or right. Kyle saw that, got it. Hell, without the music, even Kyle knew he wasn’t anything.
Except God had blessed him. For whatever reason, this was his, and there was joy in it. All the way.
Maybe it wasn’t none of his—why things were the way they were. Maybe he just needed to play his music, love his man, and be thankful for it.
“Venite adoramus….” He heard Kyle singing long before his lover made an appearance in the kitchen. In fact, the chorus was over, and he was on to the last verse before Kyle hobbled in, wearing green leggings, a big red flannel shirt, a Santa hat and a big black boot-contraption on his foot.
Kyle stuck a matching hat on his head and pulled up a chair, still singing with a big Merry Christmas grin.
“Mornin’, cher. How goes?” That smile damn near lit the room.
“Merry Christmas!” Kyle kissed him right over top of his guitar before taking a load off. “Let me see. It’s Christmas Day, the sun is out, you’re here, and I woke up to the sound of your guitar in my kitchen. It really can’t go any better.”
“When I make you pancakes and bacon, then that will be better.” Their supper ought to come tonight. “You okay with me inviting Timmy to supper? He ain’t got no one.”
“Mmm. Bacon sounds like nirvana. And Timmy’s welcome anytime. He’s so sweet. He needs a someone.”
“He does.” He put his guitar away, grabbed his phone to text Timmy, and then started the bacon, stealing kisses between each thing.
“I’m sorry this place is so unfestive. I mean apart from your beautiful tree. I couldn’t deal with all the hobbling around to decorate. The doc wanted me off my feet except for the show.”
“It’s just fine. I got supper coming, we got Timmy, and we’re together. That’s festive.”
“It is.”
Every time he looked over, Kyle’s eyes were on him, following him, watching.
“You happy, cher?” He hoped so. He wanted them to be.
“Yeah. I’ve been a little… off. No, that’s not even fair. I’ve been very off since Thanksgiving. I knew I missed you. I was telling myself I’d get over it, but I knew I wouldn’t. Having to cancel my exhibition felt like karma. I had a lot of time to think about how if I were you, I probably wouldn’t come back, so I didn’t feel like I should call. I don’t know. It’s been a bad few weeks. Today, I’m beyond happy. I’m just trying to appreciate it.”
“I wanted to be a part of your show. Bad.” He kept his eyes on the bacon. “I want to be good enough for you to dance to. I really thought I was; then I didn’t. Now, I think I should have told you that you were wrong and I could do it, even if I had to lose some gigs at the studio.”
Norv and Ryder? They were his big money, so they would have worked, but he could have said no to Timmy. Timmy would have heard him.
Arms slipped around him from behind. He hadn’t even heard Kyle get up. “There’s a space we lived in for a while where we just trusted. It’s like you said, my body, your guitar, they always tell the truth. I’m hopeful we can find that again. And then we have to extend that trust to everything else.”
His lover took a deep breath and hugged him close. “God, Colt. You’re so much more than good enough. I try so hard to do your music justice when I dance.”
Colt leaned back into Kyle’s arms. He wasn’t sure if he understood, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t, really. What he did know was music—Kyle’s music, his music—and when that got caught up, so did everything else.
“I love you. And this feels right. That’s all I know for sure right now, but it’s making me happy. Oh! That, and I have presents for you.”
“You do?” He had one for Kyle too, a mask from home—there was a man painted on the white emptiness, a dancer arching over the eye socket.