Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A pounding headache woke Sandy. His face stuck to the leather of the couch and a puddle of drool had formed under his mouth. As he opened his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened the night before. When he came up blank, he pushed himself up off the couch. In his balled-up hand was a tiny town crier. Sandy glanced at the carpet and the tiny Victorian village. He blinked himself awake. It was still dark outside, because it was the Midwest, but early enough that Patrick would be getting up soon.

Fudge. I got sloshed to the gills. I got stoned, took out a wee village and . . . Sandy poked his tongue around his mouth and lips. Threw up. He saw me toss my cookies. Fantastic. Sandy dropped his head into his hands. The room spun. How could he explain to Patrick what happened? And would he even want to hear it? He shook his head in slow motion.

The front door swung open, and Patrick stepped in wearing his running gear, sweating, and panting. He closed the door, barely glancing in Sandy's direction. Who could blame him? Patrick stuffed his outerwear in the closet and headed for his bedroom. Well, that's just terrific.

Sandy began to clean up the mess on the floor. How the ceramic manor, pub, and inn had stayed intact was a freakin' Christmas miracle that only Santa could deliver. He laid the thick roll of fake snow on the table and proceeded to put the village back together again.

A loud blender roared to life in the kitchen and Sandy jumped, almost dropping the miniature light post he held in his hands. He winced and pressed a hand to his chest. And he wanted to hold one to his head considering how unbelievably loud that machine was.

Patrick turned off the blender, dumped in a banana, peanut butter, milk, and some kind of horrible looking powder, and then started the mixer again.

He returned to his task of recreating the Christmas village.

Patrick increased the torture by adding blocks of ice to the blender. Sandy guessed it was to get even with him for last night, but he couldn't be certain.

When Patrick stopped punishing him with the annoying kitchen appliance, Sandy met his gaze. "Only takes one gay man to take out a village," he said, attempting to lighten the tension between them.

Patrick removed the blender's cover and tossed it in the sink. With a seething look, he poured the nasty-looking concoction into a large plastic cup.

Evidently, humor's off the table. Sandy continued to pick up each piece of the village set and place it back in the order he remembered from his first day in the house. He loved the inconsistency of this athletic, serious guy having a quirky thing for ceramics and Victorian villages. It was cute . . . and so endearing. I really need to try to fix this.

Rather than look Patrick directly in the eye, Sandy turned the town crier over in his hands. "I'm sorry for last night." In a misguided attempt to make his issues disappear, he'd embarrassed himself. And hurt Patrick. It was foolish and juvenile to do something stupid like getting stoned and drunk. That's not how life worked. He couldn't drug or drink away his problems because they were always there the next day, lurking. Or, in Sandy's case, angrily gulping a chalky protein shake.

"Why?"

Sandy didn't understand his response. "Why am I sorry? Or why did I do it?"

"Yeah." The muscles in Patrick's jaw clenched with barely contained anger. "Let's start with why you're sorry."

He inhaled a deep breath and set the Christmas figure on the fake snow. "Because I ruined our night, made a complete ass out of myself, and put you in a shitty position."

"Do you know what I'm going through right now?"

"I know your Dad's in the hospital and the store's finances are in the tank." Sandy rubbed his head. He wasn't supposed to know everything about Dolan, but he did, so he could at least fess up to that bit. "I've been filled in on some of what went down with your brother. And I know my timing last night was shitty. I should've been supportive and instead, I made everything worse."

"Yesterday was a disaster, having to see Dolan after ten years. I showed up last night, looking forward to spending time with you. I changed my pants about eight hundred times. I wore a fucking tie."

Sandy liked the casual, yet very Patrick ensemble he wore last night. "I remember. The green of the tie made your eyes pop."

Patrick sighed. He set his shake down and folded his arms like he didn't know how to respond.

"And now for the ‘why'". Sandy inched a few paces toward Patrick, unsure how close he should get. "I screwed up. I got scared."

Surprise flickered through that amazing green of Patrick's eyes.

"I'm not scared of you, but I was scared of having a date when I haven't had a real date in years, or at least one that I wanted to be a real date. And it freaked me out in a way that was new for me. I didn't want to let you down because you have so many things in your life that . . . " Sandy didn't know how to finish that sentence, especially since he would seriously let Patrick down if he ever found out about his photography job. "And then I did let you down. I don't deserve to know someone like you let alone go out with someone like you."

Patrick ran a hand across his forehead. "Don't do that. Don't idealize me. I make a ton of mistakes. It doesn't matter that you haven't had a real relationship in a long time, or if ever. I like you as you are, messy with a tendency toward disaster. But you're cute and funny and always put me in a better mood."

Sandy's heart raced. He took a couple of steps forward. "I do?"

"Yeah . . . but tell me when you're freaked out. We can talk about stuff. And maybe we don't date."

Sandy squished his brows together. That wasn't quite what he was aiming for.

"Let's call it something else," Patrick elaborated.

"Something fabulous, but not too fabulous that it freaks me out?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, how about a meeting?"

"What?"

"Yes! It's a meeting. A covert, sexy, Santa and elf meeting." Sandy stepped up to Patrick and played with the bottom of his shirt. "Wow. You smell."

The corners of Patrick's mouth rose in a grin. "That's what happens when you run five miles."

This guy and his exercising. Ugh.

"You should join me sometime."

Sandy would rather be forced to wear more flannel. "I'm not what one would call athletic."

"Hiking?"

"That's the walking through the woods thing? Pass. I don't like creepy crawly things that could potentially bite me on the ankles and cause my death."

"But in the winter, there's no chance of that at all."

"You say that, but I bet in some rare instance there'd be a hibernating spider that decided to wake up and zero in on my boot, crawl into my sock, and gnaw into my skin to the bone and kill me." He folded his arms and tapped his foot.

Patrick shook his head. "Only you would come up with something that outrageous."

"What's your plan for the day?" Sandy leaned a hand on the countertop as Patrick cleaned up the clutter from his shake.

"I'm going to drive Mom to the hospital and pop in to see Dad. Then I want to be in the store today. It's been awesome having Chels and you cover, but I need to run some figures and check on sales."

"Perfect. After the toy drive, I can steal you away for some McCormick TikToks, too."

Patrick groaned.

"Don't worry. It'll be short blurbs and if Chelsea can do it . . . " Sandy threw a hand in the air as if that was the end of that discussion.

"It's not that. It's the toy drive. I forgot about it."

"No worries. We got Sam to volunteer."

"Awesome, but I'm Santa. I have to be there during the delivery to some of the homes. We have a list of families who asked for Santa specifically. Mom will have to drive to the hospital on her own this morning."

Sandy rolled his fingers across the countertop. "You might hate this, but what if you close the store for just a couple of hours for the Santa delivery portion?"

Patrick took a moment as he leaned his palms behind him. "I think it's our only solution."

Colleen walked out of the guest room fully dressed and ready to go. "Good morning to you both. What are we thinking about for breakfast?" She crossed over to the coffee pot and then filled up the glass container with water.

"I grabbed a protein shake. I'm good."

"You're not good." His mother raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm going to make something, and we'll all sit down at the table. Understood?"

Patrick shook his head. A glimmer of a smile graced his lips.

"I vote for anything super greasy. But first a shower." Sandy could smell the alcohol rising out of his pores. He pecked Patrick on the lips before darting off to Patrick's room. Okay, he royally screwed up his date with Patrick on purpose. But today was a new day, and it sounded like Patrick forgave him or maybe just decided to forget. Either way, he couldn't stop himself from whistling "Baby It's Cold Outside" as he gathered his things for the bathroom. Hopefully, it won't be cold for much longer.

Patrick handed his mother a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

"Is this your way of avoiding Dolan?" she asked as she started cracking the eggs into a bowl.

He ran a hand over his beard. No, it was a perk of my busy day. "It's better if Dad doesn't have too many people visiting at once, and I have a lot on my schedule today." He didn't know how to talk to his mom about Dolan. His brother had broken his trust, and it would take a lot more than an expensive jacket and suit to change his mind. "Will you promise me that you'll be careful with Dolan?"

She turned to him, giving him a pained look. "What exactly do you think he's plotting?"

That was it. He didn't know what his brother was up to, but he wanted to be ready when the other shoe dropped. "For instance, what about the business?"

"What about it?" She poured the eggs into a pan.

"Does he plan to be involved? Is he willing to invest and help save the store that he sank? Or at least pay the money back?" He folded his arms, stewing in the anger that returned whenever he thought of Dolan.

"Would you consider working with him if he decided to return to the business? You can't run both stores by yourself. You'll need help." She gave him a side-eye as she moved the eggs.

Is that something they've already talked about? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Is Dad planning to retire?"

She inhaled. "Honey, he needs to slow down. We both do. This episode wasn't the best way to get us to realize this, but we're not going to live forever. I had plans for us to go to Ireland next year, and now is the time for us to get a new manager at the Madison store. Dolan has experience."

Yeah, experience running off with the bankroll. "But what about his big job in the city?"

Her features twisted up. "We're family. We don't leave one another behind."

Of course not, we steal one another blind and then bolt for five years. The frustration rose in his body, and his shoulders tightened. "Have you and Dad talked about this already?"

"He's not strong enough. Mark my words: he will retire, or I will leave him. This is the end of the line."

This wasn't new. His mom had been threatening to divorce or leave his dad ever since Patrick was a kid. It was an empty threat, and everyone knew it. "Before you do that, can you wait for me to be there?"

She patted his cheek in a placating manner.

As soon as Sandy was done with his shower, Patrick slipped in and scrubbed down as quickly as possible. They ate, and then Patrick and Sandy jumped into the SUV with Moonshine to head to the store.

It was probably a mistake not going to the hospital when Dolan was there with their parents. His brother could manipulate them into anything without him if Patrick weren't there to keep an eye on his shenanigans. By the end of the day, he could be out of a job if Dolan talked his dad into closing the stores. The way his mom spoke, it sounded like she'd already considered something like that. If it ended up him having to work with Dolan, he'd lose his mind or be tossed in jail for strangling him. He was positive his dad didn't want to retire. He always told Patrick retirement was for quitters.

Sandy reached over and squeezed his knee. "Hey . . . you're doing some awfully heavy lifting over there with your thoughts. Care to share?"

"Dad, Mom, Dolan, the business. I'm worried about everything, and I can't stop going round and round with it all." His grip tightened on the steering wheel as if he was on the verge of breaking it in two.

"Maybe you should bring Dolan here and have it out with him? Put it all out there." Sandy rubbed a circle on Patrick's knee. The soothing gesture prompted him to ease up on the wheel.

It wasn't a horrible suggestion, if he could hold his temper and not squash Dolan's face like a snowball. "He's got a big cushy job in Chicago, so why would he want anything to do with the stores? Although, if the job is a complete fabrication, then he'll probably want to take us for a ride and get us to sell or go out of business to get some of the money."

"That's devious."

"That's Dolan." Patrick sighed as he parked the SUV behind the store.

"Let me play Scrooge's advocate here. What if that did happen?"

Patrick hit the steering wheel. "My parents would be crushed."

Sandy turned toward Patrick, nodding as if it wasn't all that bad. "But he'd probably never come back after that, and you, your parents would have less stress in your lives without the stores."

Patrick's mouth dropped open. He couldn't believe his ears.

Sandy held his hands in the air. "It's terrible, I know. The absolute worst of the worst. But look at where your dad is right now. He's recovering. And you're grinding your teeth and squeezing the steering wheel so hard that I'm afraid you're going to pop something, and it ain't gonna be pretty. It's really hard to see it now, because you're holding on to everything so tightly, but things happen the way they're supposed to happen for a reason."

Hearing the words, Patrick slowly relaxed against the headrest.

"It's the holiday season, and during this time of the year we're supposed to believe in hope and peace, right?"

Patick rolled his head to the right to look at Sandy. His comments made perfectly good sense, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. And he certainly wasn't ready to give up and hand everything over to Dolan. As lovely as Sandy's sentiment was, it didn't give him as much comfort as he needed. What I need is defense. What I need is a plan.