“Tomorrow I’ll put you on a plane to anywhere you want,” Morgan said, tugging harder. “But right now, let’s dry off.”
Oddly, that statement, meant with all his heart to be comforting, did not seem to help. Jack’s expression was grim, and though he followed Morgan up the stairs, his steps were heavy and dull. Stone on stone in chilly darkness.
In the parlor, Jack took off everything but his jeans and T-shirt. Then, bare-armed and barefoot, he built up a small but sturdy fire.
Morgan sank onto the couch, where he pulled off his galoshes and sat forward to catch the warmth, let it soak into him. They should both change clothes, but for now, the fire would be enough.
Jack leaned against the wall by the stove as his shivers wore away, hands in his pockets as though he were waiting for the bus on a fine spring day. He didn’t look at Morgan at all. His eyes were focused out the window, at the starlit snow rolling off intothe distance, and his head was cocked like he was listening for another train whistle.
“If you were leaving, why didn’t you at least wear the new clothes I got you?” Morgan asked.
“Don’t need your fucking charity.” Jack’s calm, even voice chilled Morgan all over again.
“It’s not charity. You’ve been working for me, and you needed them,” Morgan said. “Then Mabel yelled at me about the way you were dressed. She said she wouldn’t trust me to take care of so much as a stray dog.”
“I’m not a stray dog,” Jack said stoutly, not angry, but clearly affronted that she would think anything like that.
“No, you’re not, but why did you go out there to jump on that train when I said I’d take you?” Morgan asked, confusion rippling through him.
“Because I’m not your fucking doormat, either.”
The words embedded themselves in Morgan. He didn’t have to think hard to know what Jack was referring to. But it was easier to pretend he didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to make you my—” He felt a small, uncomfortable laugh bubble up in his throat. “My jack-of-all-trades. My nursemaid, and cook, and chauffeur?—”
“You think that’s what I’m talking about?” Jack pulled his body upright, hands coming out of his pockets as he stepped forward, one foot on the futon like he was about to climb a mountain. “I didn’t mind helping you. Feeling needed.”
Morgan pressed himself into the back of the couch as Jack came closer.
“But you can’t let me suck your dick an’ then throw me away like I’m nothing.” Jack took a deep breath. “It’s not right. And I’m not going to let you do it anymore.”
Morgan opened his mouth to protest, but then snapped it shut, because that’s exactly what he had done.
He had taken a precious celebration of having survived the blizzard together and turned it into something cheap.This probably shouldn’t happen again,he’d said. As though he imagined Jack would be okay with being put aside like an afterthought. As though what they’d shared had been a mistake. As though Jack himself was a mistake.
That was when they’d stopped laughing at each other’s jokes. When Jack’s footsteps had turned into a kind of sad march as he continued going through the motions of looking after Morgan’s every need. For the promise of a thousand dollars that he’d obviously never intended to collect.
Jack, it seemed, had been uninterested in the money or the clothes—or even, ultimately, the roof over his head. But whathadhe wanted?
He opened his mouth to ask Jack directly. Then he closed his eyes, shutting out the glitter of Jack’s gaze, the trail of dark hair across his cheek. His neck, bare and vulnerable even as warm air swirled around them both.
He’d been about to put the weight of the decision about Jack’s future all on Jack’s shoulders. Rather like he’d put the weight of his own care there. As he’d done with Bradley.
Looking back, maybe his and Bradley’s relationship had been on the rocks anyway, but then, when Morgan got injured, he had insisted that Bradley needed to drop everything else in his life and look after him—rather than doing the rational thing and hiring someone who’d chosen that line of work and felt comfortable doing it.
And now he was doing—had done—the same thing to Jack. Who’d been kind and sweet. Who had laughed off Morgan’s grumpy moods and just gotten on with things. Who’d lifted Morgan up when he fell and tended to him with quiet earnestness.
But it had been more than that. There had been a warmth in Jack’s eyes meant for Morgan alone, and Morgan knew it. Had known it, perhaps all along, and had ignored it, choosing to wallow in bitterness rather than accept that something good was happening in his life.
He opened his mouth, took a breath, and looked straight at Jack.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said, but then the steadiness of Jack’s expression became too much for him to face. He bowed his head. “But I acted like I wanted that. I even looked at what flight to put you on. And what kind of reservation I should make for you at the Georgian Santa Monica, as though that was going to make up for everything.”
“Reservation?”
Morgan wiped at his eyes and met Jack’s stare again. Made himself look, really look. Jack didn’t have any idea about the hotel he’d picked out, nor would he have cared how expensive the room was. His focus was all on Morgan.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Jack asked with some venom. “Giving me what I have no use for.”
