A Timely Gift Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  A Timely Gift

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Sometimes the right gift can be life-changing….

  On the solstice, Rory’s grandfather gives him a pocket watch that he claims will have Rory’s life sorted and his problems solved by Christmas. Rory starts out skeptical, but when he reconnects with an ex he never thought he’d see again, he has to admit there might be some holiday magic working after all.

  Deacon’s life is in shambles, and he’s returned to Syracuse for a fresh start. Running into Rory again feels like much more than a coincidence, and neither of them can deny the passion between them is still smoldering. With the watch behaving oddly at just the right moments, Rory and Deacon might receive the gift of a lifetime—if they’re willing to accept it.

  Chapter One

  “RORY. COME with me.”

  Immediately I heeded my grandfather’s directive. When he told you to do something, you did it. Not that he was a scary man. Far from it. Though he’d seen his eightieth birthday, John Cameron was still as strong and tall as an oak. Weathered by the years, yes, but sturdy and stalwart. He was the patriarch of our little family, and we always did what he said.

  Because Grandda was always right.

  My da, John Junior, caught my eye as I followed Grandda out of the room. He raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward his father. I just shrugged. I had no idea what he wanted, but I wasn’t going to keep him waiting while I talked about it with Da. He caught my hand as I walked by and gave it a quick squeeze of support. My stomach clenched, and I suddenly felt like I was about to get in trouble.

  All the way down the hall, I racked my brain. I didn’t think I’d done anything to raise Grandda’s ire, but I couldn’t be sure. Sometimes something little would set him off, and one or all of us would be subject to a lecture—mild and softly spoken but a lecture nonetheless. Grandda never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. His disapproval alone was enough to make us rethink whatever we’d done or said.

  Grandda was already sitting in his favorite leather chair when I stepped into the den. It was quiet. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel broke up the silence. Everyone else was in the living room, and the book-lined floor-to-ceiling shelves muffled the sound completely. When he motioned to the door, I shut it behind me. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, but I did my best to swallow them down. What had I done to rate a private audience?

  “Sit.” He pointed to the highbacked chair next to him. An antique end table sat between them. I perched on the edge and clasped my hands between my knees so he wouldn’t see them tremble. Long moments stretched out the silence. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding.

  “Rory.” He sighed, a hiss of sound, and I jerked my gaze to his face. He didn’t look upset. I could usually tell when he was. It was all in the eyes—the same blue he’d passed down to his son and to me and my brother and sister.

  I had the strange urge to burst out with, “I didn’t do it,” much like I would have as a kid. Instead I made myself take a breath, let it out slowly and soundlessly, and then said, “Yes, Grandda?”

  He nodded like that was the right response, and a little of the tension eased from my shoulders.

  “You’re thirty-five now, Rory, my boy. It’s time you settle down and have a family.”

  And just like that, the dread was back. He knew I was gay. He was the first person I’d told, and he’d just hugged me and told me he loved me. Thanked me for telling him, even. I was fifteen and scared out of my skull, but I knew it had to be Grandda first. If he accepted me, then everyone else would too. He said it was as natural as anything else, and I should never be afraid to tell him anything.

  So why was he now, out of the blue, changing his mind? After all that time, he suddenly wanted me to find a nice girl and have a couple of kids? Panic welled in my throat, making it hard to breathe, but I forced it down, focused my brain, and opened my mouth to explain that I wasn’t bi, I was gay, and no woman would ever turn my head.

  “With a man, ye daft idiot.” The insult was tempered with humor, and everything in my chest released.

  “I don’t want kids,” I blurted.

  He cocked his head to the side and studied me shrewdly. After a long minute of silence, he asked, “Who said anything about children?”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Uh, you said family, so—”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “A family can be just two people, aye?”

  “Yes,” I agreed immediately because he wanted me to. And because he was right. “Absolutely.”

  “Do you know what today is?”

  The abrupt topic change startled me, and it took me a second to answer. “Umm… Thursday?”

  Instant scowl. Oh. Wrong answer. I tried to think of something else, but I had no idea what he was getting at.

  “Winter solstice.” Grandda’s voice held a note of disapproval, but he couldn’t blame me. He was pagan, had been his whole life, but at the insistence of his wife, he hadn’t passed the traditions and ideals down to his children. I’d never met my grandmother. She died before I was born, but by all accounts, I was lucky.

  The winter solstice didn’t mean anything more to me than the longest night of the year. Obviously for Grandda, it meant something more.

  “It’s a time of rebirth, ye ken? The sun reclaims her place in the sky, and the frozen earth begins to warm. The Oak King is in charge again.” Grandda’s Scottish was coming out, as it usually did when he spoke of the old ways. He’d lived in Upstate New York for more than sixty years, and his accent had diminished with each one that passed. Every now and again, though, that soft burr would make itself known in his words. I loved hearing it. But I also knew that meant he was serious. “I have a present for ye.”

  He placed his hand on a small wooden box on the table between us and then handed it over. It was maybe only four inches by six inches and the light-blond color of ash, varnished and smooth. I took it with the reverence it deserved.

  The hinged top was engraved with three runes I couldn’t read. Could Grandda? Probably. I was going to ask him what it meant, but the look on his face stopped me. He was all seriousness and concentration. It wasn’t the time. Maybe I could google it later.

  “Thank you.”

  Grandda grunted. “Open it.”

  It took me a second to comply. There was a tension in the air, a heaviness that underscored the importance of the gift. My first instinct was to dismiss it, but I knew that would be foolish. Grandda hadn’t called me in there for some silliness. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

  The pocket watch inside was old and scarred, its gold finish nicked and scratched. It had lost most of its shine and was dull with age and use. I carefully lifted it and turned it over in my hand. The family crest was etched on the back—a belt in a circle with five arrows in the center, tied together with a ribbon. The words Aonaibh ri Chiele, which translated to Unite, should have been at the top of the circle, but they were so worn I could barely make them out.

  “Oh, Grandda. It’s beautiful, but I can’t—”

  “Ye can. Ye will.” He reached out a hand, gnarled with age though still strong, clasped mine and closed it over the watch. “It’s yours now, Rory. It’ll help you sort your life.”

  I refrained from scoffing but only just. I didn’t think an old pocket watch was going to help me “sort my life,” but I knew better than
to argue. It would be in poor taste and an insult to my grandfather to make fun of his gift. Not that I actually wanted to because the sentimentality of it, having something that was once his and obviously well-loved, was more touching than I could say.

  I nodded. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

  “I know ye will.” He cleared his throat and sat back.

  I pressed the little button, and the top popped open. The second hand ticked steadily across the face. The numbers were faded a bit but still very visible. It took me a second to realize what I was seeing.

  “Is that the right time?” I glanced up at the clock on the mantel to confirm it and jumped to my feet, barely catching the box before it tumbled off my lap and to the floor. “Crap. Grandda, I gotta go. I’m on overnights this week.”

  He nodded, and I was certain he knew that too. The family dinner had been great, and we had it earlier than normal just so I could come, but it was almost seven. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late. I tucked the watch in the pocket of my scrub shirt and then patted it. Its unfamiliar weight was somehow soothing.

  I hugged Grandda, and he kissed the side of my head and pushed me toward the door. I’d have to make my goodbyes quick—hugs and kisses all around—if I wanted to make it across town in fifteen minutes. If the traffic lights were with me, I would barely make it.

  Chapter Two

  I WAS five minutes late punching in, but since Lorelei always liked to linger after her shift, it wasn’t a big deal. As a bonus the night was quiet, with only a few phone calls and no emergencies. I liked those nights the best, even if they meant I was bored out of my skull.

  To combat the boredom, I spent the last hour of my shift making sure everything was clean, tidy, and ready to go for the morning crew. I even had a pot of coffee prepared in the break room. I knew the early people would appreciate it. I certainly did when the positions were reversed.

  Usually I headed straight home and fell into bed after an overnight shift. I wasn’t good at mornings to begin with, and after being up all night, my internal clock was all sorts of screwed up. But I was feeling good that morning, and a glance at Grandda’s watch proclaimed it to be only a quarter after seven, so I swung by my favorite little coffee shop. Tucked into an out-of-the-way corner, it had the best pastries I’d ever put in my mouth and coffee to kill for.

  I had to park down the block, but I didn’t mind walking. I loved the cold, and I had enough hats and scarves to keep me toasty warm all season. I pulled my beanie down over my ears as I got out of the car, and then I headed for Pounds and Grounds. I reached the door at the same time as another customer, but I had my hand on the handle first. So I pulled it open and gestured for him to go through. He took a step. Then he stopped and turned back to me.

  “Rory Cameron?”

  It took a second because his scarf was pulled up around his mouth and the collar of his pea coat was flipped up against the wind, but there was no mistaking those eyes. How many times had I gotten lost just staring in them? Over dinner, during quiet snuggling, and when he had me flat on my back as he thrust into me, played my body, and made me sing.

  It had been thirteen years, but there was no mistaking Deacon Phillips.

  He was my everything for three solid months until the opportunity of a lifetime lured him across the country without so much as a backward glance. He broke my heart in the process, but only a little. We were just getting started, and I didn’t begrudge him the opportunity to play with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He was extremely talented, the best pianist I’d ever heard, and to be offered that position at such a young age was quite the honor.

  “Hey there, Deke.” The old nickname rolled off my tongue with ease, but he wasn’t the twenty-two-year-old boy I once knew.

  He just stared, his dark eyes wide, and finally he shook himself. I could see the edges of his smile over the top of his scarf. “Holy shit. I can’t believe it. How weird is it to run into you here? How’ve you been?”

  A particularly sharp gust of wind stole my words, and I shivered. Then I gestured to the coffee shop. I was still holding the door open and letting all the cold air in. “Why don’t we catch up over coffee?”

  He nodded and walked in, and I followed. I had the sudden fervent wish his coat were shorter. He had the best ass I’d ever had the pleasure to see. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.

  Most of the tables were filled, and there wasn’t a line at the counter. I tapped Deacon’s arm and gestured to one of the prime spots by the fireplace.

  “Why don’t you snag us a table, and I’ll get the coffee. Still like it strong and black?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off me, and the attention was flattering.

  “Uh, yeah,” he responded belatedly. “But I can get it.”

  “My treat. Go sit. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  It took him a second to get moving, but he shook himself as though he were getting rid of his stupor and then unwound his scarf as he headed toward the table I’d indicated. When I got to the counter, Joshua was on the other side. He owned the place, and he liked working the early shift.

  “Who’s your friend?” he asked jovially as he reached for a tall mug. He knew what I liked, and he quickly made my skim-milk latte with a practiced ease.

  “My college ex,” I said, keeping my voice low. Joshua and I had chatted a lot over the past few years, and I felt comfortable telling him. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time. Ran into each other outside.”

  Joshua’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t push it. Instead he slid my latte toward me on the counter and smiled.

  “What else can I get you?”

  “A tall double shot, black. And a lemon square and a pumpkin roll, please.”

  “You got it.”

  Not more than two minutes later, I was headed to the table with my little tray of goodies. When Deacon saw me, his smile was radiant, and I loved that he immediately locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He stood up and took the tray from me so I could shrug out of my jacket and drape it over the back of my chair.

  “This is for you. You have to try it.”

  Deacon eyed it warily, but he took the plate I handed him. “What is it?”

  “The best pumpkin roll you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

  I could see the skepticism all over his face, but he gamely took a bite. As soon as the flavors hit his tongue, he let out an obscene moan that had my dick sitting up and taking notice. I just grinned.

  “My God, that’s good.”

  “Right?” I waggled my eyebrows, leaned back in my chair, and pulled my latte closer. I indulged myself watching him eat for a few minutes. It was always a sensual thing, and that hadn’t changed after all our time apart. He savored food, never rushed, and enjoyed everything he ate. I loved feeding him.

  “So,” I began conversationally as he finished up. “What are you doing in town?”

  Though we’d met in college, he wasn’t originally from the area, so I knew he had no reason to be there. Well, not like he was visiting family for the holiday or anything.

  He took a sip, winced at the heat, and gave a tiny moan at the flavor. Seriously the man was a hedonist.

  “Actually I live here now.”

  I almost choked on my sip but managed to get it down the right tube. I coughed a little and reached for a napkin to wipe my mouth. He what, now?

  His grin was huge. “Surprised you with that, didn’t I?”

  “Umm, yes.” I laughed. Then I picked the corner off my lemon bar and popped it into my mouth. “That was probably the last thing I thought you’d say. What brings you back?”

  “A weird confluence of events.”

  I waited, but he didn’t go on. That was all I was getting? I debated for a moment on whether or not I should push it. Then I decided that, despite the years, we’d once been intimately close. I would ask, and he could shoot me down if he wanted.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Deacon chuckled, sat bac
k, and cupped both hands around his mug. He studied me for a long moment, and I stared back. God, he looked good. The years had been kind. He’d filled out in all the right places, his jaw was even more sharply defined, and his dark hair, though shorter than it used to be, was styled so it fell in lazy waves over his forehead. He didn’t need to talk. I could just sit there and stare at him, and I’d be perfectly happy.

  Abruptly he sat forward, set his cup on the table, and held out his right hand, palm up. It took me a second to realize what he was showing me. His palm and wrist sported scars, thick with keloid but no longer pink. They weren’t new.

  I reached out and traced them with a finger before I realized what I was doing. He curled his fingers over, capturing mine, and I let out a self-conscious laugh.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I cleared my throat. “What happened?”

  He drank again, and then he answered. “Car accident. My hand and wrist were crushed, and it took two surgeries and several pins to fix it.”

  “Can you still play?” I asked attentively, and darted my gaze back to his. His expression saddened, but he nodded.

  “I can, thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have that. But….” He let out a heavy sigh and toyed with his fork. “I can’t do it professionally anymore.”

  “Ah, man, Deacon. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He gave me a small smile. “Yeah. It sucks. A couple of hours, max, and I’m done. My hand and wrist just don’t have the flexibility they used to.”

  I nodded, feeling horrible. I’d seen him at the piano—rehearsals, competitions, even just fooling around. He lit up when he was in front of the keyboard. The music flowed through him, and he made anyone listening feel it. I was glad he still got to play, but it was an obvious blow.

  “After I recovered, I started teaching. Because I couldn’t leave the music, you know?” He glanced up at me, and I nodded so he’d know I was listening. His smile turned wry. “And then my wife left me because, and I quote, ‘I married the pianist for the LA Phil, not some two-bit teacher.’”