Page 42 of Snow Storm

He wasn’t that lucky.

But maybe he actually was. It was odd to think what happened to him might have been the best and worst thing ever. It made him smile a bit as he flicked on the light and began to rummage through the cabinets.

He sniffed bottles of oil and lotion until he found the spiced orange ones that Claude had used on him, and then he found plastic-wrapped bundles of hot towels and a thermal bag to carry them in. He took a few, then put the oils in with them to warm them up, and when he was finished, he settled on the massage table with his legs folded and began his YouTube search.

Within minutes, he found at least sixteen separate instructional videos, and most of them seemed fairly knowledgeable.

“I guess you really can learn anything on the internet these days,” he murmured aloud to himself, then started the first one and settled in to absorb everything he needed to give Claude the perfect evening.

Chapter 13

Claude

Claude was fine.Really. He was totally relaxed and completely chill and wasn’t freaking out at all about whether or not the text message had been Aminah’s way of politely hinting that Harley wouldn’t be back. That last night had been too much. Thathehad been too much.

Aminah: Ran into your new “friend”. He said to let you know he’s got some editor thing to take care of and he’ll be by in an hour and a half. FWIW? I like him.

He’d been too afraid to reply back with anything other than a thumbs-up, which he knew in today’s world was passive-aggressive. Aminah was kind though. She’d just sent him a string of multicolored hearts and then left him to his brooding silence.

He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He thought about pacing, but his legs were still weak and would be until he saw his doctor—or until Daniel came back to work some magic on his spasming muscles. Daniel wasn’t a cure, but he was a stopgap between Claude and surgery, which he appreciatedbecause the recovery was always hell, and there was always a risk of it going wrong and leaving him completely paralyzed.

He wasn’t afraid of that life anymore. He just wasn’t done being able to stand on his own and walk when he needed to.

Which was not what he wanted to think about while he was waiting to see if his lover would return. He felt sick to his stomach. He tried a cup of tea, but it wasn’t enough. He tried coffee, but it was too much. He nibbled on the last of the bananas he’d managed to find at the market—something he wouldn’t have again until near spring, when the snow cleared and the produce trucks could make deliveries again.

Eating didn’t help either.

In the end, he headed into his workout room and did some of his stretches. His legs protested almost violently, spasming so badly they shook his whole body, but after getting his core warmed up, his body calmed down. He straddled his weight bench and stared at himself in the long mirror. Sometimes the reflection there was himself. Sometimes it was an unfamiliar, grey-haired stranger with wrinkles beside his eyes.

Today though, he saw a new version of himself. A man who’d spent the night experiencing something entirely new. His eyes were brighter. His lips weren’t turned down as much in the corners. He looked…well,happywas the only word he could come up with.

Had his face ever been so relaxed? So calm?

He couldn’t answer honestly, but he knew where he could find the truth. Sliding off the bench, he made his way into the foyer and opened up the coat closet. At the very top was a box he’d never been able to bring himself to throw out. He’d kept it tucked high on a shelf, memories he rarely felt the need to revisit, but he knew he’d regret it if he let it all go.

On the top of the stack were photos of his parents, then photos of him and Dorsey when they were younger—bashingaround Stonehenge when their parents had gotten a wild hair about wanting the boys to be educated and cultured through travel.

Beneath that were photos of his first day at university and a few candid shots Dorsey had taken on his 35mm at a couple of parties. He had red-eye in all of them, and he looked pale and tired, but he was grinning.

But his smile hadn’t reached his eyes even back then.

The next pile of photos was in a large envelope. It wasn’t sealed, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened it. They’d been put away long before his accident and long before he’d caught Anabelle with Clark.

It should have told him something that she’d never put their wedding or engagement in frames after they’d gotten them back from the photographer. She ordered two dozen in different sizes, and they’d just sat under their bed for years. When she left, she hadn’t taken them with her, and he knew then exactly what the last several years had meant to her.

He pulled them out now and laid them on top of the rest. The first one in the stack was when they were still dating. They’d gone hiking in Scotland. West Highland Way. It had been a miserable day—pissing rain and freezing cold. But they’d laughed a lot.

He was smiling in the photo. His hair was longer and so much darker. But there was still that same dull look in his eyes. He remembered thinking he was happy, but he couldn’t recall the way he’d felt in his bones.

It certainly hadn’t been the way he felt when Harley was in his arms.

He flipped through a few more. Parties, get-togethers, Christmases. One of him at an ugly jumper party in London at Anabelle’s office. They were matching—big elves with glowing lights on their hats.

He wasn’t smiling in that photo. He remembered not wanting to go. He remembered being passive-aggressive about being dragged down there with her because he’d wanted to spend a quiet evening at home.

She’d insisted, threatened, and eventually guilt-tripped him into saying yes.

But he was realizing now that maybe that had been her last resort. He should have been kinder. And a kindness should have been leaving long before it came down to her cheating.

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