Rejoice Dammit Read online

  Rejoice, Dammit

  Kaje Harper

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  Copyright © 2016 Kaje Harper

  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KajeHarper

  Edited by Jonathan Penn

  Cover art by Karrie Jax – karriejax.com © 2016

  License Notes

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted is a model.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Content warning: For adult readers over the age of 18 only. This book contains explicit sexual situations between two men.

  I could hear my husband Thom’s voice as clearly as when he was alive, telling me that four years were enough. That this year, I needed to stop avoiding the joys of the season, and get my solitary, colorless life out of its rut. But it took seeing Colin standing in an ice storm, waiting for a bus that wasn’t coming, to convince me to take a chance on opening my life, and maybe my heart, a second time around.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kaje Harper

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this story was only possible because other folks leaped forward to help. Many thanks to Jenni Lea at Boy Meets Boy Reviews for the original flash fiction prompt that inspired Derrick and Thom, to my amazingly fast beta readers Kate and Kira, and to hardworking editor Jonathan Penn. Special thanks to formatter Debbie McGowan who took time from her holiday to get this book readable on the page. You all make my world brighter and better.

  Prologue

  Some nights, I have this dream…

  I’m out walking, on a damp, heavy evening. I wander into the park, and sit on our old bench. When I look to my right, there you are, one knee crossed over the other, your long arm draped along the back.

  “Hey, Derrick,” you say.

  Your hair curls like it always did. Your glasses slip down your nose. That familiar smile tilts up the right corner of your mouth.

  “Surprised to see me?”

  It’s been three years, three months, two days. Yes, I’m still counting. But in this dream, it’s only right that you’re there.

  “Just glad.” I sigh at that truth. “It’s cool that you’re better…” I wave up and down your lean, fit body, relieved that somehow, in this afterlife, you’re not the sallow stick-figure that cancer left you. Then I blush, because that’s dumb. I’d have taken that stick-figure in a heartbeat, to have one more word with you.

  You laugh, and stretch, like you always do when I’m looking at your abs, or your chest. “I’m good. You, on the other hand—”

  “What?” A trickle of anger surprises me. I was never a match for you. Three years of age and grief haven’t improved me. My hair’s thinner, my belly sags, and my muscles have gone stringy without you coaxing me out to run. I suck in my gut.

  “No! D-man, I didn’t mean that.” You touch my cheek, fingers warm, strong, real. “You’re still so alone. Not letting go.”

  “Still wallowing, you mean?”

  “No, dumbo.” Your smile’s gentle. “Grief’s become a habit. Are you planning to be alone the rest of your life?”

  I lean away from your touch, though I want it like an addict wants heroin. “So? I’m pushing fifty, Thom. I’m grouchy and flabby, and I barely take care of myself. I’d be an awful boyfriend now.” Or ever, for anyone but you.

  You shake your head. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your heart shines so brightly, I can follow it here from heaven.”

  “I’m tired,” I say.

  As if in response, the skies open up, and the rain falls. I’m enough of a Seattle native not to leap up at the first drops. Then I notice that the rain to my left is different. It falls in ribbons, in streaks, rainbow colors bright against the dim, gray park.

  “What the hell?” I watch it approaching. Swirls of color begin to run across the wet ground, pooling at our feet, as wild as the shirts you used to wear when we were young. As brilliant as you are. Were. A damp wind blows, and I shiver.

  “Here, I’ve got this.”

  When I turn back to you, you’re holding an umbrella, conjured out of nowhere. The space under it is brighter, as if you trapped sunshine in its fabric. You slide off the bench and kneel, the light sparkling off your damp curls and outlining the width of your shoulders.

  “Join me.”

  I’m not limber, and the ground’s soaked, but for you I’d still go anywhere. I ease to one knee in front of you.

  And you kiss me.

  I taste your mouth, familiar from thousands of days and nights, from a hundred thousand kisses.

  The streamers of color reach us and fall in sheets, turning our world to rainbows, parting around that shelter you hold. I reach for the handle of the umbrella to steady myself. For a moment I have it all, as your wrists brush mine, your lips part, your breath and mine mingle.

  Then you ease back and say, “It’s time. You know it. Let go.”

  You melt away. The metal pole in my hand turns to mist. Your smile’s wistful, but not sad. You tilt your head and wink at me, behind the rain flecks on your glasses. Then you’re gone.

  I’m kneeling, chilled, water dripping down my neck, and soaking my knee. The colors have faded to a simple, sepia dusk, and the rain is still falling.

  In the dream, another umbrella suddenly appears over me. It’s not full of magical light, or draped in rainbows. Just an umbrella, dark fabric, metal ribs, a bit bent. But it’s real and it shields me. A soft, deep voice says, “Hey, man. Are you okay? Let me give you a hand.” Strong, roughened fingers grip my elbow, to ease me to my feet. I turn…

  And wake.

  I never see his face.

  Lying in the dark, my cheeks wet, I mutter, “Not subtle, Thom.” You were always such a nag, when it came to my well-being. I ruffle the new pillow you never used, in this room you never knew. I’m taking little steps, day by day. “All right. I hear you.”

  You’d probably chuckle “Keep it up.” If you were here, it’d be a bad pun, and you’d pat my dick. You’re not here. I will try to move on. Tomorrow. Tonight, just one more time, I’ll remember how much I loved you, and how you brought color, and shelter, to my world.

  Chapter 1

  I wouldn’t have stopped, if the rain hadn’t begun turning to sleet.

  He wasn’t one of the many homeless who gravitate to Olympia. You see guys like that a lot here, hanging out on the fringes, in the approaches to shopping malls and along the downtown sidewalks, clad in ratty coats, with battered backpacks, and unkempt beards. This man wore what looked like a new L.L. Bean parka, and one of the two bags at his feet was a leather laptop case. Normally I’d have figured he’d be fine on his own.

  But he was waiting at the stop for a bus that didn’t run this late. The mix of thin rain and little pellets of ice dripped from his hunched shoulders
and frosted the top of that leather case. And he just stood there. His head was bowed, so the edge of the hood protected his face, but there was something so resigned in his posture I had visions of him not moving, as the dark hours turned to long night and the ice coated him to a frozen statue.

  Yeah, right, D-man. You always did have a vivid imagination.

  I ignored Thom’s voice in my head and pulled to the side of the road, rolling down the passenger window an inch. “Hey, man, you do know that bus is done for the day, right?”

  The guy jolted, as if coming back from a long way off. He blinked at me, his face blank, as if the words had to work their way in slowly. Then he said succinctly, “Crap.”

  “I could give you the number for a local cab.” Closer inspection showed that the dampening jeans were designer, and the gloves were new leather, becoming rapidly less new in the rain. He could afford a ride.

  He blinked again. “I have it. I think. Unless it’s changed recently. Do they still take half an hour to show up?”

  “Sometimes.” For being just an hour from Seattle, Oly was its own world. Time moved more slowly here, maybe because of the weed that half the population seemed to consume. The low intensity usually suited me, but it occasionally sucked. “Uber might be better.”

  The guy glanced around, like he was only now registering the falling sleet. The bus stop was just a sign on a pole alongside the road, with no shelter, not even a bench. In this quasi-rural part of town, there was no convenient corner store, just small wooden houses, down a variety of drives. Some had holiday lights. In others, a window or two glowed yellow. It was only seven thirty, but dark as midnight at this time of year. The freezing rain was beginning to glaze everything with a thin, shiny coating, glittering in my car’s headlights.

  I gave the man one more look. He might be stoned, or on something harder, the way he seemed out of it. But he was presentable, clean-shaven, neatly dressed. He didn’t look like an axe murderer.

  And what does an axe murderer look like? Be careful.

  I shook my head, even tapped my temple with the heel of one hand. I’d come a long way from the early days of hearing my Thom’s voice at every turn, my imagination telling me what he’d have said, and thought, of every detail in my new solo life. These days, I thought I’d been weaning myself off the illusion. The approaching holiday seemed to have me backsliding, though.

  Time spent with a real live person would probably be good for me… “You want to come to my place to make the call and wait? I’m just down the road. Or I could give you a lift somewhere, if you’re not going far.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  See? I told Thom’s voice in my head. An axe murderer would’ve jumped at the chance.

  The immediate realization that I’d reverted to talking back to myself firmed up my resolve. “Don’t be dumb. You’re soaked, and it’s only getting worse. Come on in out of the rain, at least.” I leaned over and popped the door ajar.

  It took another long moment, as the cold drops leaked in the top of the door and chilled the interior, before he picked up his bags and came over. He stuffed them down in the foot well, then slid into the seat. “I’m getting your car all wet.”

  “No worries. It’ll dry.” I glanced at him. “Where to? Or do you want to sit here and call Uber?”

  He pushed down his hood to look around. He was younger than I’d thought from the way he’d stood, closer to my own forty-six than sixty. His hair was a blond so pale it was almost silver, hiding any gray. Faint lines beside his blue eyes, a few creasing his brows, and bracketing his well-shaped mouth, took him out of the twink category by a couple decades, but I bet he’d been spectacular back then. He had a familiar look, like one of the guys I might have seen in a downtown café, or one of the bars that had replaced the club scene for us old dudes.

  He frowned harder. “I’m not sure this is a safe place to be parked.”

  “Probably not.” I was pulled over onto the shoulder, but it was only half a car wide, on this two-lane road. “Especially with things icing up.”

  The overhead light went out, leaving him lit only by the dashboard. I could still see that the hand he held out, after removing his soaked glove, was long fingered and well kept. “Colin Evanson.”

  The name rang no bells. “Derrick Wozniak.”

  His fingers were clammy, and he let go immediately, digging in his pocket for his phone.

  I said, “How about we head to my place? They can meet you there.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  But as he dialed, waited, then asked for a pick-up, I could feel his tension growing. He said, “But…” and then, “Well, when… Oh, sure. All right.” He tapped the phone off and stared out the windshield.

  I focused on keeping a steady twenty miles an hour on a road rapidly turning slick. He hadn’t even asked for my address. “Problem?” My tires skidded on a turn, and I slowed to a crawl.

  “They’re not sending anyone out for the next few hours. Apparently there’s a serious travel advisory. More ice on the way.”

  “That sucks.” I eased slowly around the corner at my street, just letting the car barely roll along. It was like skating already. “Can’t blame them though.”

  “I guess.” He twisted his glove in his fingers. “Not sure what I’ll do now, though. I can’t ask you to take me anywhere in this…”

  “Except home.” I pulled into my driveway, the gravel adding a bit of grip to the tires. The garage door opened to the press of a button, and I drove gratefully inside, and parked. “Here we are. You might as well come on in for a bit.”

  Colin eased his door as far as it would go in the tight, musty space, and got out, but stood irresolutely in the opening. “I don’t know.”

  It occurred to me that he was maybe imagining axe murderers too. After all, I’d been the one to pull over and collect him off the street, and bring him back to my lair. I said, “After living in Seattle for years, I never thought I’d be so fond of an old wooden house and tiny garage. But it’s got all the essentials, including a coffee pot with a timer. Why don’t you come on in for a brew? You can bring your bags or leave them here, whichever.”

  “I’ll bring them.” He bent, grabbed his things, and shut the door.

  I led the way inside, through the tiny mudroom, into my kitchen. The house was small, and the kitchen hadn’t been updated since the 1970s, but somehow I liked that. It took me back to my childhood, and simpler times. The sunshine-yellow walls and harvest-gold appliances were welcoming, and the smell of the coffee keeping warm in the pot was like heaven.

  I heard Colin take a deep breath behind me, but I didn’t look at him as I kicked off my shoes, shucked my jacket, and went to the cabinet over the dishwasher. The mugs were on the bottom shelf, and I got down two outsized blue ones.

  Caffeine addiction is a thing, D-man.

  With a little curl of my lip, I put one back and got out my soup-bowl-sized joke mug. Just because. Colin actually chuckled when I set the cups on the counter by the pot. “You do like your coffee, huh?”

  “My blood is dark brown.” I hesitated, then began pouring. “That didn’t come out right. Anyway, take off your wet coat, drape it on the rack, and have something hot.” I pushed the blue mug farther his way, and quickly drained a third of my own. Mmmmmm.

  He pulled off his parka, still standing on the mat by the door. The water dripped audibly from the fabric as he hung it on the pole by the door. After a quick glance down, he also toed off his shoes, and made his way over in wet-looking socks. “Thanks.” He cradled the cup between his hands, and eyed me over the rim.

  “Milk?” I asked. “Sugar?”

  He shook his head, and swallowed a mouthful almost as eagerly as I had.

  “So I’m not trying to pry,” I said. “But… do you have a train or plane or something to catch, that you’re out missing public transit tonight?”

  He looked down. “It’s complicated.”

  “W
ith an ice storm moving in, you could be stuck for a while.” Clearly, the forecast I’d heard that morning had overestimated temperatures by the critical few degrees that separated liquid water from solid.

  He took a long drink, then rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. “I’ll try to get out of your hair as soon as I can.”

  “Hey, no, I’m not saying that.” I waved a hand around the place. “I don’t mind a bit of company. We could hole up here for a week and be okay, as long as the power stays on.”

  Colin looked startled, instead of reassured. “It won’t last a week, surely?”

  You’re coming on too strong. I wasn’t sure if that was my own thought, or Thom’s voice. My voice is your thoughts now, remember? I cleared my throat. “Of course not. Just saying, it’s not an inconvenience for you to stick around a few hours. Or even overnight, if it doesn’t let up. I have a spare room.”

  “Oh. That’s kind of you.”

  “My neighbors talk about this snowstorm they had, a few years back, that took days to get plowed out, and they lost power and the water pump…” I added quickly, “I’m sure this will be nothing like that. Hell. I sound like a weird idiot, don’t I? Maybe we should start over. Hi, I’m Derrick.”

  He finally smiled, and it was worth waiting for. Those little lines by his eyes were from the way that smile lit up his whole face. “This is a bit weird in general. Hi, I’m Colin, and I don’t usually stand outside in the freezing rain.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  His smile faded. “Truth is, I came to stay with my dad for the holidays, and it… didn’t work out.”

  “I’m sorry.” I had secondhand knowledge of how bad family could be. My folks were okay, although way south in Florida. But Thom’s mother had been a homophobic harpy. Her death had been an exercise in trying to console Thom, while not visibly dancing on the rooftops.

  You failed at that, babe. The dancing bit, anyhow.