Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

P atrick kissed Sandy behind his ear. The adorable man wiggled and let out a giggle too. He rubbed his beard against Sandy's neck, and he was pretty certain that was something he liked a lot since he was clinging to Patrick with all his might. Patrick popped up on his arms, hovering above Sandy. He gave him a quick peck on the lips and then hopped off him. He held his hand out. "Let's go. We'll have time to play reindeer games some other time." He pulled Sandy up from the couch.

"That's so not what we call sexy times nowadays."

Exhaustion hit him as Patrick pulled Sandy by the hand toward his bedroom. It'd be a miracle if they did more than sleep tonight. He'd only known him two days, and it was too soon, After all, he'd asked Sandy on a date. And they deserved a date. They deserved romance and dancing and laughing at stupid jokes. "I never claimed to be a cool kid."

"Yeah, Honey, I know. Your wardrobe consists of more flannel and boots than a Pacific Northwest lesbian."

Patrick beamed at that. He did love flannel.

Once they were in the bedroom, he took off his shirt and tossed it on the bed, exchanging it for his flannel pajama top. "Yeah, but I think you kind of like me in it. You can't take your eyes off me when I put it on."

"Oh, I'm soooo not checking out the flannel. Have you seen yourself?" A set of mischievous eyes scanned Patrick up and down like he was the last Christmas cookie on a plate.

Patrick looked down at his chest and abs as he buttoned. He was by no means ripped with a ton of muscles, but he was athletic. Although now that his dad was in the hospital with anxiety issues, maybe it was time to rethink his mental health habits.

"What's with the frowny face?" Sandy moved close and placed his hands on his shoulders.

"I hate putting so much responsibility on Chels and you. Maybe I should go into the store tomorrow."

Sandy shook his head. "Not a chance. Your parents need you, and my friend Julia was fanfuckingtastic at avoiding a lot of tough family stuff and that's the same kind of excuse she used to make. I don't think you're like her and all avoid-y. Do what you need to do. We can handle it."

Patrick planted a chaste kiss on Sandy's cheek. He couldn't help worrying about everything right now. What would happen if Dad died? Does he even have a will? I need to check in with Mom tomorrow and find out what kind of plans they've made for the future.

The next morning Patrick and his mom dropped Sandy off at the store. He was kind of grateful to be going into work instead of going to a hospital. He wasn't afraid of medical facilities; it's that they weren't his altogether favorite place to be, especially on any day ending in a y. Although, he was warming up to them since Patrick asked him out inside of one.

As Sandy climbed the stairs to the second floor, he wondered if Patrick only asked him out because he was panicking about his father's condition. He didn't want to think that, but his brain was playing all sorts of games with him. Specifically, the "you're-not-good-enough-for-him" game. The worst self-esteem game of all time.

He pushed into the locker room muttering his personal version of an affirmation. "You are cute. You are funny. You are funfuckingfantastic—and screw him if he can't see that." When Sandy glanced up, he came face-to-face with Chelsea, who didn't even blink at his verbal diatribe.

Chelsea stood there in the Santa costume. The sleeves and pants were short on them as if the entire suit were washed in hot water and then shrunk some more in a high heat dryer. Sandy covered his mouth, holding in his smile and laughter. Man, I thought I had problems.

"Don't you dare."

Sandy held his hands in the air, surrendering. Costume issues weren't on his list of problems or things to do, but he was creative enough to figure something out. "I have an idea. Come with me." He led them to the men's department where he scrounged around for an extra-extra-extra-large red flannel shirt. "It should be long enough, and we can do the suspenders over the shirt and padded belly. If there's a sewing kit around here, then I can rip the fake fur off the jacket and pants."

"You can sew?"

Sandy placed a hand on his chest. "Honey, I am a master of many talents."

Chelsea shed the red jacket and slipped into the shirt. "What about these pants? I can barely walk in them. If I sit, they'll split open."

Sandy headed for a stack of clearance jeans. "How about a hipster Santa?" He grabbed a pair of tall and wide pants and eye-balled them against Chelsea.

They took the jeans off the hanger. "Hipster. Worst word in the history of words. But it'll do." They slipped off the red pants, revealing a pair of long underwear.

Sandy raised a brow. "Those are hideous."

"Don't knock ‘em until you try ‘em. It gets cold in this store." Chelsea tucked the shirt in and fastened the suspenders. They turned around for Sandy.

He scrutinized the costume changes. "Once you get the boots on and everything else, I think you'll pull it off." Sandy glanced at his cell. "What time do we start the photo session this morning?"

"Nine until noon. We probably won't have many."

Sandy started to move in the direction of the locker room. "I need to change into my adorable elf uniform, and then I'll have to sew everything like a mad man."

"And I'll get the store open. We only have two other employees on the floor."

Sandy nodded as they went their separate ways.

Two hours and only three photo ops later, Sandy and Chelsea stood in the curtained area. Chelsea printed out the photos that were ordered by a handful of families online while Sandy prepared the matting and framing.

"I'd like to ask you a random question, but I know how you hate gossiping . . . " Sandy slid the clips closed on the back of a frame.

"Ask me whatever since I'm positive you're like a chipmunk."

Sandy placed a hand on a hip, staring them down.

"You're going to keep digging until there's a mess," Chelsea snarked.

He threw a hand in the air. "Puhlease, terrible comparison. If anything, I'm an adorable prairie dog."

They rolled their eyes at him.

"Whatever." Sandy began to cut the next matte. "Have you met Dolan?"

"Oh, he's told you about his brother?" A half-smile graced Chelsea's features as if pleased that Patrick had shared that much with Sandy. "Dolan's a wildcard."

"If he came into town, then it would be a bad thing?" Sandy tapped his blade against the tabletop, considering the chaos Dolan's arrival could create.

"Hey, I could be off base. The guy could have changed."

He returned to his cutting. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Two sisters."

"Funny, I wouldn't have guessed."

"Me neither." Chelsea moved around Sandy and started the boxing and wrapping process. "One in Seattle and the other in D.C."

"Where do you fall in the order of things?"

"At the bottom."

Sandy snorted. "How's that now?"

They sighed at his antics. "Youngest. But the other two are clueless when it comes to caretaking."

He handed over another framed set. "Is your mom, well, how is she?"

Chelsea gave a half-shrug as they focused on measuring and tearing Christmas wrapping off a roll. "Struggling. It might be a miracle if she makes it through the new year. I'm glad I'm with her, but I feel guilty for not being with her all the years she wasn't sick."

"I would tell you to not feel that way, but it's been my experience that when people say that to me, I just want to smack them."

"I can relate." Chelsea folded the paper around the photo box.

Sandy stood up and bent over backward, stretching his back. "BTW, I need to steal you away this afternoon for some marketing stuff." He bounced his brows, hoping they'd be a good sport for the video promos.

"The feeling of running in the opposite direction is so strong right now."

Somehow, he knew it'd take more convincing on his part to get them onboard. "Can you be bribed?"

"Perhaps."

Sandy rubbed his hands together like Scrooge screwing a kid out of some change. He knew exactly what he was gonna get them.

"And now it's deep regret," they said as they slapped a piece of tape on a package.

Together they completed the boxing and wrapping of the rest of the photos. Once that was finished, they resumed their photo duties. While Sandy adjusted the tripod, a haggard forty-something man bumped into a rotating stand of ski goggles. Sandy ran over and caught the stand and some of the merchandise before everything went flying. He planted it back upright and then turned, almost running into the unsteady man.

"You have my job," the obviously drunk fellow slurred. He reeked of a malt beverage.

"I'm not following," Sandy said, trying to step back, but unfortunately the drunk stepped into his personal space and tried to poke him in the chest. Since the stranger was so out of it, he only managed to fall forward. Chelsea swooped in out of nowhere and caught him.

"Wayne, why are you here? Leave or I'm calling the cops." They held the drunk up by the elbow and back. Sandy grabbed hold of him on the other side.

"I deserve. I deserve to work." Wayne stumbled over his own feet, but Chelsea steadied him.

"You need help. Did you drive?" they asked.

"Mmm, nope. I can't find my car."

Chelsea sighed. They searched the jacket pocket nearest them. "Check the other," they said to Sandy when they found nothing.

Sandy pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Chelsea. They stuffed the keys in their pants pocket.

"Maybe he could sleep it off in the locker room?" Sandy didn't know what the process was for having a disruptive inebriated person roaming around the store. The only way he knew to keep everyone safe was to keep him under a watchful eye.

"You took my job," Wayne repeated to Sandy.

Sandy shot Chelsea a what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about look over the top of Wayne's head.

"Fired the day you were hired," they mumbled. "Yeah, let's take him there." Chelsea led them to the elevator. "If you get sick in the elevator, you're cleaning it up, Wayne. Do you hear me?"

Wayne laughed hysterically as if he thought the entire situation was a big joke.

"Should we text Patrick about this?" Sandy asked as they deposited Wayne on the staff couch. "It might be wise to let him know that an irrational ex-employee showed up out of the blue."

They walked toward the stairs. "I'll text him and fill out an incident report."

"Do you think this Wayne guy is dangerous?"

Chelsea shook their head. "He's a puppy. The only one he'll probably hurt someday is himself."

"Unless he drives while under the influence."

They held up Wayne's keys. "I'll call Sheriff Gómez and let him know the situation." Chelsea rounded the corner at one of the unused registers. They unlocked a drawer and dropped Wayne's keys away, locking them up safely.

Sandy glanced out at the big flakes falling outside. "Do you think we'll get anyone for our last Santa hour?"

They followed his gaze and shrugged.

"I'm going to grab Patrick's laptop. I can work on a couple of things down here as we wait." Sandy said.

Chelsea leaned back against the counter. "I hope you can save the store. I'd miss being here every day."

If he could help save it, he would. Sandy moved toward the stairs. Chelsea admitting that they were invested in the store and Patrick was a big deal. He got the sense that they didn't open up very often and perhaps even had some social anxiety issues. As he opened the door to the office, his phone buzzed from his back pocket. He slipped it out of his elf costume pants and checked the messages.

Dad looks better today. Thinking of you . . .

Miss you, too. ;)

What are you wearing? LOL

Something only someone very bad would wear . . . bells on shoes

Hot

Did you text your bro?

Mom did.

And . . . ?

He's on his way. Doctor is here. Talk later.

That wasn't abrupt, right? No, he had to go because the doctor arrived. It's your imagination running away from you and not Patrick running away from you. Although, I wouldn't blame him. Ugh, shut up voice! Sandy grabbed the laptop and returned downstairs. From outside sleet beat against the windows. Unfortunately, the change in weather would only hurt the store. Snow was a common part of winter in northern Illinois, but sleet and freezing temperatures were another.

He dashed off a text to Patrick alerting him to check the weather. If he and Chelsea got stuck at the store, that'd be one thing, but Colleen and Patrick being stuck at the hospital would guarantee a sleepless night with all the noise. Then Sandy flipped open the laptop and started tweaking the website.

At a hospital vending machine, Patrick jammed a thumb into the button for a granola bar. His mind was still blown that his mom had called freaking Dolan. But what really got him was that Dolan had lived in Chicago all this time. He wasn't in Florida or New York or any other criminal playground where Patrick thought a criminal would prosper. As far as humans go, his brother sucked. Of course, his mom had known where Dolan was the entire time, and of course she'd hidden the information from him and his dad. She'd always protected and coddled Dolan to the point of excess. Grown adults paid consequences for their bad actions, but his mom didn't think it was fair to outright banish him from the family and not communicate with him. She said Dolan was working in sales now for a big, hoity-toity company. Knowing Dolan, he was probably scamming money out of the elderly or making children work in a sweatshop. The fact that his mom believed Dolan's malarkey proved she was oblivious to his conniving ways.

Patrick bit into the granola bar and chewed. It was stale. That figures. He pitched the entire thing into the trash.

His mom came up next to him and hit a few buttons. Two packs of peanuts dropped down, and she handed one to Patrick. "These might be better."

He ripped open the package. "I can't believe you knew where he was this entire time."

"If I'd told you, then you would've made a fuss—like you're doing now." She popped a couple of peanuts into her mouth.

"He's a criminal." Despite his best efforts, heat crept up his neck. He didn't want to argue with his mom, but he couldn't remain silent. "He stole from the store. When he was confronted, he got physical with Dad and pushed him."

"Ack, things became heated." She waved away Dolan's mistakes like he'd merely left milk out on the counter. "Tempers run high in this family."

"If I hadn't stepped in when he was fighting with Dad, who knows if he would have stopped." Patrick threw his arms in the air as frustration surged in his veins. "How can you trust him? How can any of us?"

"He needed time to figure out his life. Not everyone follows one path at all times."

Patrick didn't understand what the hell that meant. "I get that we all hit a bump in the road, but he's a criminal. Technically, he should be in jail. But somehow you talked Dad into letting it all slide, and the bastard walked away and left us to clean up his mess."

"It was all an accident."

Shocked, Patrick's jaw went slack. "Ordering a hamburger and getting a cheeseburger is an accident. Slipping on an icy sidewalk. Putting on two different socks. But what he did wasn't an accident. It was purposeful."

Colleen tossed her empty package in the bin. "He was trying to live up to too high of expectations."

Patrick gritted his teeth. That's a bunch of bullshit. "He never applied himself to anything except robbing us blind, and, wow, did he ever fucking exceed my expectations when he did that."

"Don't swear." Colleen placed one hand over the other. She fell silent as a nurse passed by. "I don't want you upsetting your father. Go outside and get some air."

His nostrils flared. There was only so much mothering he could take. "If he's so wonderful, why hasn't he been around?" Patrick's hands clenched in anger. "I'll tell you why, he's waiting. Waiting for you to convince Dad and me to forgive him and forget. You know what? That isn't going to happen. Ever."

Colleen placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't mean that."

He nodded, trying to get his breathing under control.

"It's Christmastime. Your family needs you."

"I've been here. I'm always here." Patrick stormed toward the nearest exit.

As he ran to the hospital's main entrance, his ears started to ring. When he shoved the door handle leading outside, a cool blast of air hit him in the face. He took a deep breath, allowing the wintery breeze and sloppy sleet to pelt him in the face and reduce his body heat.

Marching down the sidewalk, he huffed. Dolan wasn't what he wanted to be worried about. He wished he could be thinking about what to wear on his date with Sandy or picking out a restaurant—anything but his nefarious, scum-sucking brother. It was sheer bad timing that he was getting involved with a guy he liked just as his job and family were blowing up.

He should have taken the phone from his mom when he had the chance. He could've prevented a visit from Dolan if only he'd been bold enough to say no. No, you can't come visit. No, we can't forgive you. No, I don't want to see you ever again. But Patrick hadn't said any of that.

He'd allowed his mom to talk to Dolan. She laughed with him and practically cooed over his every word. Patrick's blood boiled seeing her this fooled, but he couldn't break her bubble of happiness, especially while her husband slept in the hospital room. But it wasn't fair. His brother would use their father's condition as an opportunity to return and take advantage of the situation, and Patrick couldn't stop it.

"Fuck!" Patrick kicked a pile of slush. He stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips. His phone buzzed from his jacket pocket. Sandy's photo popped up. He hit the FaceTime icon and gave him a wave.

"Whoever pissed you off has a lot of explaining to do," Sandy said.

"You can tell?" He tried to relax his features, but he was still too wound up.

"Ah yeah, you look like you're ready to kick a reindeer."

Just Sandy's presence on the screen made the tension in Patrick's shoulders loosen. "I'm happy to see your face."

Sandy tilted his head. A shade of pink colored his cheeks. "Missing yours, too. This might cheer you up: I managed to incorporate the website changes annnd I got Chelsea on TikTok."

Patrick couldn't stop the laugh from blurting out.