Unto Us the Time Has Come (3 page)

“Sure. Call if it clogs again.” Kenn pulled that ridiculous shirt on and gave him a grin. Christ, the dark circles made Kenn look like he’d been beaten.

“I can call someone.” Hell, he could have called someone this time, only he hadn’t had the chance.

“I’m still someone and I don’t mind.” Kenn grinned. “Also, I don’t charge.”

“Maybe you should.” Kenn was clearly busting his ass for money. Chris was stretched between this place, the apartment, the extracurricular activities, and university fund, but he could find some cash if Kenn was hurting. “You need a lift somewhere?”

“Da! I’m going to make breakfast!” Micah reminded him.

Sarah nodded. “Me too! You can’t go!”

Kenn chuckled. “If I miss the bus, I’ll grab a taxi. Have fun, Da.”

“Okay. See you Christmas Eve.” He didn’t want to let Kenn go. It was the first time he’d been at the house since he’d packed the kids up and left almost a year ago now, and it was the first time the place had felt like home since then.

He turned back to the fridge, not wanting to watch Kenn go.

“Love you, Daddy! Don’t work too hard!”

Yeah, he thought the boat had already sailed on that one. It was crazy, Kenn working all the time—that was Chris’s gig. And maybe he did work too much, but there was no good reason they both had to. His thoughts circled around that and what he’d overheard the other night, making his chest tight.

“I’m going to check my messages, guys. Do you need any help?”

Micah waved one hand at him. “Shoo. You need your energy to help decorate the tree.”

“Okay. I’ll just be a minute.”

God, Chris sounded just like his dad, who’d never been around. But he’d always had his mother. Who did Micah and Sarah have? At the moment, he and Kenn were both working more than they were home.

He headed to the den and turned on the laptop. There were a handful of fires to put out—nothing serious, thank God. His phone rang, one of his coworker’s names appearing. He stared at it for a long moment and took a breath. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen. His babies were making him breakfast. He was on fucking holiday, goddamn it.

He dismissed the call and headed back to the kitchen. “Something in here smells awfully good.”

“Bacon and eggs and bagels.” Micah was covered in grease stains already. Chris was willing to bet Kenn knew how to get those out—he didn’t have a clue.

“Wow, I’m impressed. I didn’t know you knew how to cook!”

Thank God they hadn’t burned the kitchen down.

“I cook lots for Dad. He comes home and just crashes. I can make frozen hamburgers and tater tots. Soup. Uh….”

“Cheese sandwiches!” Sarah added.

“Yeah. Sandwiches. I even used the oven a couple times.”

“Wow.”

Man, he would know this if they were still together. Maybe he wouldn’t have seen it himself, but Kenn would have kept him in the loop, no doubt told him the story of Micah’s first attempt at cooking, leaving them both laughing and proud at the same time.

“Do you want me to help with anything?” Chris asked.

“Nope. I got this.” The bacon popped, and Micah winced while Sarah ran screaming.

“Did you get bacon grease on you?” Chris asked, immediately concerned.

She shook her head and he frowned at her.

“Sweetie, if you’re not hurt, you shouldn’t scream like that.”

“It’s scary!”

“That’s why you should stay away from the stove when grown-ups—or Micah—are cooking, okay? You can help with the stuff that doesn’t need to be hot.”

She held on to him, clinging like a limpet. “’Kay.”

“We could set the table, right? That would be a big help.”

“Okay. We don’t have a table at Daddy’s apartment. It’s too little, so we have TV trays. Mine’s purple.”

Jesus Christ. Every time one of the kids let some new tidbit drop, the worse it was.

“Well, we have a table here, so we’re going to set it.”

“Okay, Da.” She happily went to get silverware.

They were good kids. And that was probably all on Kenn. He shook himself, trying to get out of the funk he’d been in for…. God, more than days. Nearly a year’s worth or more.

His phone rang again, this time with his boss’s name popping up. Damn it. He debated dismissing it, but he knew it could cost him his job, on time off or not. And he needed his salary more than ever now. Sighing, he hit the answer button. “Jordan. Hey.”

“Hey, man. I know you’re on vacation, but I needed to have a chat with you. You got a minute?”

He looked at the kids, Sarah diligently setting the table, Micah with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he took the bacon out of the pan and put it on a paper towel-covered plate.

“Thirty seconds.”

“Deal. I have a new opening in Research and Development. Management. There’s no travel involved, which sucks, and it’s a lateral move, but your name came up in discussions, so we thought we’d make you the offer. The job would start on the second.”

No travel. Unlike for Jordan, that was not a con for him. It was a selling point. He suspected that Research and Development managers didn’t have to be hands-on, putting out fires nearly as much as he did now either. He could actually be more available for the kids. Maybe see them every weekend and get to all their shows and stuff.
Maybe more than that
, said a little voice in his head.

“Can you e-mail me the specs and I’ll let you know tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. I’m sorry to interrupt your holiday.”

“I appreciate you thinking of me for this. I’ll get back to you in the morning.
Ciao
, Jordan.” He hung up and pocketed his phone, turning back to the kids.

“Soup’s on!” The eggs were cooked to death and the bacon was a little crispy, but he’d have eaten it if everything was ash.

“Are you going to get a job as a chef?” He sat at his place on the table, smiling as Micah put the plate in front of him.

“Nope. I’m going to be a singer.”

“I’m going to work in a toy store like Daddy so I can get to play with all the toys.”

“Oh, do you like toys, baby girl?” He pretended surprise while he wondered when Micah had made the decision about being a singer.

“Uh-huh. Daddy says it’s a good job and it pays better than just being a… a… shifty artist.”

“Shiftless,” Micah corrected.

“Shiftless.” Sarah ate a bite of egg. “He makes coffee too.”

Pain lanced through him at that. Kenn was a stunning artist. He hadn’t been discovered yet, but he would be one day and they were going to celebrate…. “Your dad is an amazing artist.” He couldn’t just let it lie. “His paintings are beautiful and full of emotion.” He looked at both kids, making sure they both heard him.

They both looked at him like he was crazy.

“He is a very good artist,” Chris insisted. “The best.”

Sarah nodded. “I have a picture in my bedroom.”

“Do you? What is it a picture of?” He blinked, feeling suddenly close to tears. This whole thing was fucked up and had been ever since Kenn had walked out on him. Why hadn’t he stopped Kenn when he’d realized it wasn’t a bluff? He was too fucking stubborn for his own good.

“It’s you, Da! So that you’re always there for me.”

Micah nodded. “I have one too, ’cause we all miss you and stuff.”

Chris swallowed hard. Then again. Fuck, he was going to lose it. He honestly was.

“Did I do the eggs okay, Da?” Micah asked.

He nodded, swallowed again, and forced himself to take another mouthful. “They’re great, Mic. Thanks for cooking.”

“You’re welcome. Are we going to put the tree up today? Dad told me where everything was. He drew me a map of the attic even.”

Kenn should have been here, damn it, not drawing maps for Micah and working himself to death. Kenn would be here at Christmas, though. And Chris could make sure it was the best fucking Christmas they’d had to date.

“That’s great, Micah. We’ll spend the whole day making the house turn into a Christmas wonderland.”

“Yeah? Rock on.”

“Rock on!” Sarah’s little voice made him grin.

He chuckled, their faces cheering him up immensely. He nodded. “Rock on, dudes.”

That made the kids laugh, and he felt a weight begin to lift—a weight that had been there for far longer than he’d known.

He dug into the rest of breakfast with more enthusiasm. It was time to get his family back.

C
HRIST
,
WHAT
a shitty day. Two days before Christmas and…. Kenn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called the kids from the coffee shop. The place was closed and he was just doing his clean-up duties.

It was Chris who answered. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s just me. I… I just wanted to talk to the kids and give you this number if you need to get hold of me.”

“Hey. I’m sorry, they’re in bed. It’s pretty late, Kenn.”

He was holding it together by the skin of his teeth. “Okay. Well, if you need me, call the coffee shop or Jay’s Toys on 3rd. I’ll see you later.”

“Are you really still at work? Kenn, that job is killing you.”

“Just cleaning up. I was late getting in.” Late getting mugged. They took his phone, his bus pass, what little cash he had on him. It had been great. A banner fucking day.

“You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, ba—bad for you.”

“Yeah. I….”
I have to buy a new phone.
“I have to get going home, Chris. You taking the kids to look at lights tomorrow or Christmas Eve?” At least it was just a few days before he’d have to buy a new bus pass.

“We went today. We’re going skating tomorrow, and we’re going to my folks early Christmas Eve because we’re coming home early. You’re coming at eight, right? Help put the kids to bed?”

“I’ll do my best, yes.” It was a long walk and he still hadn’t bought a tree for the apartment.

“Are you… is everything okay? You sound… well, not.”

“It’s been a bad day,” he admitted.

“And you just wanted to hear the kids’ voices. I’m sorry.” Chris really did sound like he was.

“That’s okay. Really. I’ll try to call from the toy store during a break tomorrow. If you see a weird number, it’s just me.”

“Why aren’t you using your cell?” Chris asked.

“I don’t have it anymore.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pinching it hard.

“Why not?” Chris demanded. “I paid for the extended warranty, so if it’s broken, you just have to bring it in.”

Kenn smiled. His logical lover. “I got mugged, babe. It’s gone, along with everything in my wallet that was worth a shit.”

“Aw shit, no. Kenn, I’m really sorry. Hey, how are you getting home tonight?”

“I’m hoofing it. I have to go. Like you said, it’s getting late and it’s been a long day.” Endless.

“Shit, baby, call a cab. Have him bring you here and I’ll pay him when he gets here.”

God, he wished. “And what are you going to do with me?”

“Feed you. Keep you company. See with my own eyes that you’re okay.”

Kenn leaned his head on his hand, fighting to breathe.

“Then I’m going to put you to bed so you can sleep. I’ve seen the bags under your eyes.”

“I have to be at work at….” God, he didn’t even know.

“So? The kids and I will drive you. Or you could tell them you’re not coming in.”

“You’re sure?” If Kenn was honest, he was scared and tired, a little bruised up, and sad.

“A hundred percent. If you’re not here in a half hour, I’m coming looking for you.”

God, that sounded so much like
his
Chris. Kenn capitulated. “I’ll call a cab.”

“You do that. I’m serious. Come home.”

God.
Home.
He wished.

“A half hour or I’m coming for you.” The words were followed by a click, indicating Chris had hung up.

Kenn shook his head and called a cab. He could tell himself it was because Chris might leave the kids at home and come for him, but honestly, he knew Chris never would and it was really because he’d had a bad day and needed his best friend.

The cab played canned Christmas music the entire way, and the cabbie was chatty, going on about the storm in the forecast and about the things his grandkids had asked Santa for this Christmas. At least Kenn didn’t need to respond, just nod every now and then.

Chris came out as soon as the taxi pulled up in the driveway, bills in hand.

“Thanks, man. Merry Christmas.” The cabbie waved and pulled away, leaving Kenn standing there.

“The house looks great.” It did. It was bright and beautiful.

“I let the kids choose what they wanted.” Chris’s hand landed in the small of his back, guiding him up the pathway to the door.

“They did a good job.” He was going to just break down.

“They did. We bought new so I didn’t have to fight with the stuff in the attic,” Chris admitted.

They went in, and the table was set for one. Chris moved to the microwave and turned it on. “You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks.” Kenn winked, proving he knew what Chris meant.

The microwave binged, and a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce was put down in front of him. Chris went to find the parmesan. “The kids helped make it. I didn’t know how handy Micah’d gotten in the kitchen.”

“He’s a great kid.” Kenn stared at the plate, the scent familiar, comforting.

“You need me to feed you?” Chris asked. “Thomas the Tank Engine it right in?”

“Shut up, butthead.” He had to laugh, though, and that got him moving.

Chris poured two glasses of wine and put one next to Kenn’s plate, sitting with the other one.

“Oh God. I love the Castello chianti.” Kenn hadn’t had any since… they’d left.

“I know.” Chris met his gaze and gave him a small smile. “And it goes great with spaghetti.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does. It reminds me of our trip to Rome, forever ago.”

“Shit, that
was
forever and two kids ago.” Chris got a faraway look on his face. “That was a great vacation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” Before things went south and he wasn’t someone Chris wanted to spend time with anymore.

“Come on, eat up,” Chris ordered. “You’re too skinny.”