Scared. Jack was scared.
Save Jack. Protect Jack as he hadn’t protected his own family.
Kris sat up suddenly and dragged Jack into a bone-crushing hug. Slim Jack, in nothing but sweatpants, fit perfectly against Kris’s broad chest. His fists gripped the front of Kris’s red coat while Kris’s arms wrapped around him, fingertips digging into Jack’s ribs.
“Fuck, you’re freaking me out,” Jack said with his face smashed against Kris’s sternum. His bare skin felt scalding hot beneath Kris’s hands. “What’s the matter? What’s happening?” He tried to push away, but Kris held him secure. “I can hardly breathe, man. Kris? Let go.”
He let go of Jack’s body but held to his face. Kris’s huge palms swallowed Jack’s cheeks, and the young man stared up at him.
“What the hell is going on?” Jack asked.
“They’re dead,” Kris said.
“Who?”
“My wife and children. They’re dead because of me. I went to see Rita, to hide. It was Christmas Eve, and I didn’t buy them gifts. I—”
Jack covered Kris’s hands with his own. “You feel freezing. Let’s make tea.”
Jack helped Kris to his feet—an awkward, comical endeavor considering Kris was gigantic. Jack dragged him to the living room and pushed Kris down onto the couch before walking barefoot to the kitchen. Kris didn’t watch, but he heard the sound of ceramic on marble, water from the faucet, and eventually, the shrill hiss of a kettle’s scream.
He only moved when Jack sat at his side and placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table. “Drink that,” he said. “Oh, can you drink things? I guess you can. You eat the cookies kids leave out, right?”
“I … no.” There were hundreds of thousands of cookies somewhere in The Other Place, fluffy and sweet forever. He didn’t reach for the tea, either.
Kris expected Jack to ask about his family. Instead, he asked, “What were you doing in my bedroom?”
“Watching.”
Following a loud slurp, Jack leaned forward and placed his mug on the table. “You were watching me have sex?”
“I used to gamble away all our money. I spent money on Rita, too. I neglected my family. Their blood is on my hands.”
“Kris!” Jack yelled.
Kris turned to face him, and Jack’s expression was one of red, wrinkled fury.
As soon as they made eye contact, Jack stood, walked away from the couch, and then walked back, all while tugging on his hair. “Look, I have no idea what’s happening right now, but at this precise moment, I’d like to know why—wait, no, how were you watching me have sex, actually? Can you go invisible?”
“I go to The Other Place.”
Jack tilted his head to the side. “The fuck does that mean?”
Kris had never given it much thought or been asked to explain. “It’s a different reality. It’s here but altered. Shielded, I suppose. It’s a hiding spot, safe from exterior influences. I’ve taken you there before.”
“Wha—seriously?”
Kris nodded. “When you were a child to keep your … to keep Frank from coming back and hurting you again. And then recently, after I made that man leave your house. I can put things there, too, like the dead body in the alley. You can’t feel when you’re there. It’s not harmful. It’s safe.”
Jack folded his legs and plopped down on the floor. “That’s bat shit crazy.”
“No. It just is. Like I just am. Ever since they died, I’ve been … this.”
“I’m sorry about your family, okay? And I can’t even fathom this ‘other place’ shit right now, but you still haven’t told me why you were watching me have sex.” His voice increased in volume with every word.
“I watch you all the time since Torres died.”
“What?” It was less a question and more a scream. “You …” He lurched to his feet. “What?”
“I like to watch you,” Kris whispered.
“Get out.”
“I have nowhere to go until Christmas Eve.”
“And I care?” Jack pointed at his front door. “Get out!”
“No.”
“No?” He crossed his arms and chuckled, but even Kris recognized the amusement was a ruse. If Kris didn’t want to go, Jack couldn’t make him. Jack’s bearing began to shift from angry to afraid. Shoulders once tense with rage now curled forward—a long-practiced effort to shield his internal organs from attack. He wrapped himself in a hug and attempted one last surge of ire. “Get out of my fucking house!”
When Kris stood, Jack staggered back. When Kris kept moving closer, Jack turned and fled to his bedroom, but before he could slam the door, Kris heaved it open. The force sent Jack ramming into his dresser; it jolted a few inches beneath his weight.
Kris grabbed for him, and Jack tried to duck his arms but failed. Kris tossed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Jack threw punches, but Kris caught his wrists in his fists and squeezed. Even with his arms pinned to the bed and Kris straddling his hips, Jack kept twisting and fighting to get loose.
“Stop. Please. Please,” he begged. Despite all Jack had been through—the beatings and threats to his life—that was when he started to cry. His green eyes overflowed, even as he finally stopped fighting and went limp beneath Kris on the bed.
Kris had thought Rita to be alluring in a rough and wild way.
His wife had been a loyal woman but not a shining beauty.
Compared to them, Jack was magnificent.
Jack with his wide, emerald eyes and dark hair. The trim cut of his bare chest, decorated with that blackbird tattoo, and the freckles across his nose. His slim wrists, one decorated in multi-colored friendship bracelets from recovering kids.
Even the way he cried in silence. As water trailed down the sides of his face and soaked into the sheets below, Jack was stunning.
Kris’s black hair hung like a veil in his face as he loomed above. “I would never hurt you,” he said.
“You’re scaring me,” Jack whispered in return.
“I know.” He released Jack’s left wrist and used his fingertips to trace the edge of Jack’s jaw. Jack did not impede his progress, even when Kris’s fingers trailed lower, down the front of Jack’s throat. His fingertips moved to the center of Jack’s chest, where Kris traced his tattoo. “‘Blackbird singing in the dead of night,’” he crooned.
“Big Beatles fan?” Jack’s voice shook when he spoke.
“No.” Kris rested his palm over Jack’s beating heart. “But you are.” When he looked up, he didn’t see fear in Jack’s eyes. They were still wet and red, but the fright had softened into questioning curiosity.
Jack sniffed. “What the fuck kind of Father Christmas are you anyway?”
“I’ll show you. On Christmas Eve.” His fingertips traced Jack’s collarbone. “I haven’t touched anyone like this in a very long time.” He couldn’t remember the last time. He thought maybe he’d been upset about something earlier. He couldn’t remember that either. Memories were like mist to Kris, and yet, he remembered everything about Jack. “Can I touch you some more?”