Jack pressed his lips together. His gaze studied Kris’s face before he wiggled his right wrist, still trapped in Kris’s iron grip. Kris got the message and let go, resting his hands on either side of Jack’s head to keep him balanced above.
“You’ve never looked at me like this before,” Jack said.
“Like what?” Kris wiped at the wetness on the side of Jack’s face—remnants of tears—brought his thumb to his mouth, and tasted the salt of Jack’s fear.
“I’m not sure.”
Kris leaned down and pressed his face to the side of Jack’s neck. He breathed in deep and discovered the scent of Jack’s familiar shower gel and a small whiff of booze. Kris pulled back and trailed his fingers down Jack’s ribs.
“Kris.” The tremble in Jack’s voice stalled Kris’s attentions.
Begrudgingly, he pulled his gaze away from Jack’s tattoo and the toned muscle beneath to look up.
Jack tugged Kris’s black beard. “Tell me about your children.”
He remembered. Again. The guilt struck him anew. “I had five. Isabel, Daniel, Frances, Abigail, and Mark.” The names felt strange in his mouth. He shifted and fell onto his hip at Jack’s side. As though Kris might spook—or hurt him—Jack sat up with excessive leisure.
Jack folded his legs beneath him. “They died?”
Kris nodded. “Murdered because of me. On Christmas Eve.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“I owed bad men a lot of money. I knew they were coming for me, but I hid anyway. I never thought they would do what they did. They killed all of them.”
“Jesus, Kris, I’m sorry.”
Winter wind howled outside Jack’s bedroom window.
“I murdered them,” Kris said.
“They may have died because of you, but you didn’t kill your family.”
Kris grabbed Jack’s ankle and held tight. “I have killed so many people.”
Jack glanced at Kris’s fist wrapped around his leg. The muscles in his arms and chest were pronounced, tense, and ready to fight.
“Now, I am this,” Kris said. “Every Christmas Eve, I know what I have to do.”
Jack tried pulling his leg away. “Please let go.”
Ignoring his plea, Kris continued, “I’ll forget them again, probably by morning. I fear I’ve remembered and forgotten my children many times. Is that part of my curse? To remember they’re dead all over again, the shame fresh each time. Is it my punishment?”
“Are you going to kill me?”
Jack’s whispered words brought Kris spiraling back to the present—to Jack’s bedroom where Kris held Jack’s ankle much too tightly. He let go, and Jack pulled his knees up under his chin. “No. No, Jack. I’m meant to protect children like you.”
“I’m not a child anymore,” Jack said.
“No. But you still need protecting.”
“From what?”
“Me,” Kris said and stood. He left Jack’s bed and walked through his darkened living room. The windows groaned as wind tried to find a way inside.
As he reached the door, he heard Jack’s bare feet smacking on the wood floors before Jack took hold of Kris’s upper arm. “Wait,” he said.
Kris turned and waited because Jack had told him to.
Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a deep breath that raised his shoulders up around his ears. “I’m not scared of you. I mean, not really. You do scary things, and I know you could break my neck with, like, your pinkie.” He pointed a finger in Kris’s face. “And I hate that you’ve been stalking me in my own house, so cut that out.”
Kris didn’t respond.
“But you’re not okay, man,” Jack continued. “I can’t let you just …” He gestured to the front door. “After all you’ve done for me? I don’t want you to be alone out there.”
“I am always alone,” Kris replied.
Jack shrugged. “Not tonight.”
They stood there, staring at each other, until Jack sighed.
“Jesus, go sit on the damn couch, okay?”
While Jack went to his bedroom, Kris sat on Jack’s couch and stared at the untouched mugs of green tea, now gone cold. When Jack returned, he wore the same sweat pants but now a hoodie, as well.
He plopped down directly at Kris’s side, their thighs touching, and reached for the remote. As soon as the screen lit, a man stringing Christmas lights on a rooftop stared back at them. “Nope. Shit, it’s going to be all Christmas movies, isn’t it?” He kept clicking until he found a movie in black and white. “This’ll do.” He leaned his head on Kris’s shoulder and slurped his cold tea. “No offense, but fuck Christmas.”
Kris had never noticed there wasn’t one decoration in Jack’s apartment. “What happened to your parents?” Kris asked. “Your real parents, I mean?”
“My mother died of a drug overdose when I was four. Thankfully, I don’t remember her at all. I don’t imagine she was a model mom. They had no idea who my dad was, so into the foster system I went. Nobody wants to adopt a four-year-old, you know? Everyone wants newborns.” He rested his head on the back of the couch and eyed the ceiling. “For the first couple years, though, I thought my dad might show up all of a sudden and, like, save me or whatever. I used to pretend he was some rich dude. A fancy lawyer maybe.” He grinned, but the grin faded quickly. “After a while, I realized no one was coming to save me.”
“I did.”
The grin came back. “Oh. Yeah.”
They watched the rest of the movie in silence. Rather, Jack watched the movie. Kris watched Jack, and although—with their proximity—Jack had to know, he didn’t seem to care.
When the film ended, Jack turned off the television and stood at the window. “Going to have a white Christmas, I think.”
Kris joined him, and Jack was right: the nighttime alley outside his window was painted white. “Do you like snow?”
“No. Makes it a lot harder on the homeless kids, and there’s never enough room in shelters.” He yawned. “Come on.” When he went to his kitchen and poured a glass of water, Kris assumed he was meant to follow, but Jack kept moving into his bedroom, where he disappeared into the bathroom. “Just have to brush my teeth.”
Kris stood at the base of Jack’s bed but didn’t know what to do.
Following the sound of running water and Jack spitting into the sink, Jack returned and wrinkled his nose. “Do you ever take that coat off?”
Not that he could remember. “I …”
Jack took off his hoodie and climbed under the covers of his bed. “Do you sleep?”
“No.”
“I don’t snore or anything, and there are some books under my bed. They’re not textbooks, I swear.”
“You want me to stay?”
Jack fluffed his pillow. “Yeah. I shared beds with other kids my entire childhood. Sometimes it’s nice having someone next to me.” He smiled without showing his teeth.
Stiffly, Kris removed his coat and folded it on the dresser, still crooked from when Jack had run into it earlier. Kris straightened the dresser and lay down on the bed next to Jack but not under the covers.