Page 60 of Smoky Mountain Dreams

Frankie-Jones nodded solemnly, putting on a brave face nowthat they were inside and he could see his arm wasn’t broken, and he didn’treally need his mommy after all.

“Can we play Wii?” Will asked.

“Not in the basement. The girls are down there.”

“In your room, then? Please? I promise I won’t mess with anyof your things.”

“I know, buddy. Sure. Just be fair, okay? Don’t play gamesthat FJ will have trouble with since he just hurt his arm.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Birch. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“The resiliency of youth,” Jesse said to Christopher.

Frankie-Jones plopped his ice pack on the counter and slidoff the stool. He nodded firmly so that his afro bounced a little, hisexpression grave. “Thanks, Mr. Birch, for being on my team. We kicked butt.”

Jesse high fived the kid. “We sure did. But we should begood winners, don’t you think?” He turned to Will. “Good game.” He shook hisson’s hand, smiling down at him. Then he turned to Christopher, who wasstanding by the table, flushed and a little sweaty, gazing down at the cranesagain.

“Hey,” he said, putting his hand on Christopher’s arm andsqueezing. “Good game.”

Christopher smiled softly, the light from the chandelierover the table shining through the edge of his ears, pink and delicate. “Youtoo. I think we should have a rematch, though. Will and I couldsotake you in the daylight when I could actually see whatI was aiming for.”

“Nah!” FJ giggled, giving Will a high five. “You’ll loseagain.”

“I thought we were aiming for good sportsmanship here?”Jesse said.

“Right, of course. Good game.” Christopher smirked slightly,his eyelashes blinking slowly, and Jesse wanted to grab hold of his shirtcollar and rub his face against the light, soft-looking stubble collecting onChristopher’s jaw.Dammit.

“Thanks for playing with us, Mr. Chris!” Will called as heand Frankie-Jones headed upstairs.

“No, thankyoufor playing withme!” Christopher rolled the sleeves of his button-up evenhigher and fanned a hand at his face. “Phew! Could I get some water? Who knewthat running around in the cold would make me sweat so much. It’s like I’vebeen under show lights or something.”

Jesse grabbed a glass and poured the cold water straightfrom the fridge as Christopher went on.

“Sometimes I get so hot up there—in summer, especially—Ithink I’m going to just slide into the song, you know? Like I might melt intothe music and just slip away.”

“Slip away where?” Jesse asked, handing over the glass andlifting the hem of his cotton T-shirt to fan in some cool air before pouringhis own water.

“I don’t know. Somewhere I should’ve been already. Somewheretimeless. Like, are you ever homesick for something that you never had? That’show I feel when I’m singing sometimes, like I could find my way backto…somewhere.”

Jesse sipped the cold water. His fingers and nose were stillchilled from being outside, but the water felt good on his throat. “Sing yourway back home?”

Christopher snorted. “I’ve never had a home. Or never had aplace that felt like home tome. It’s always justbeen the place where I live. Gran’s house is the closest, but even so…well, Icall it Gran’s house. So, that probably makes it pretty clear.”

“Yeah.”

“What about you? This feel like your home?” Christophermotioned around the kitchen, but Jesse knew he meant the entire three-storycabin.

“No.” Jesse took another sip of water to stall on the nextsentence. He wished he’d stopped by the coffee table and grabbed his wineglass. “It’s always felt like itcouldbe home, butsomething was always missing.”

“Your wife,” Christopher whispered, looking sympathetic asif he wished he could take Jesse’s grief and suffering away.

“It’d be so easy to say yes to that and let you think that’strue,” Jesse said. “But it didn’t feel right when she was here, either. I’vefelt guilty about that.” He shrugged. “Hell, I’ve felt guilty about a lot ofthings.”

Christopher put the glass down on the table, and reached outfor Jesse. “I’m sorry for your loss. I really, truly am.”

Jesse moved into Christopher’s arms, holding onto his glass,squeezing it so he wouldn’t give into temptation to shift the hug intosomething more. “Thanks,” he said, pulling away. “Let’s move into the livingroom? It’s more comfortable in there.”

Christopher held onto his hand, though, as Jesse led theway—a warm, anchoring kindness that made Jesse’s stomach flutter and his mindrace like a teenager’s, desperate to memorize the way their fingers fittogether so he could think about it later, swooning in his bed.