Carol of the Bellskis (2 page)

But Lars shook his head. “Don't.”

“Lars, I'm begging you—”

“Don't do that. God. Don't.” He pulled away.

“You are being cruel—”

“
I'm
being cruel?” Lars bristled. “Do you know what you're asking me to do?”

“You're a fucking partner, it's
your
goddamn firm! No one is going to fire you because of

who you're screwing!”

“Yeah, but I'll lose my clients. You know I love you. Isn't that enough?”

Seth stared at him.

A year ago, it
had
been enough. Back then he hadn't cared how far in the closet his boss

decided to stay. What mattered was the time they did spend together, the hotness of Lars's

embrace, the desperation in his touch, always so grateful, so frantic, so excited. What mattered

were those lazy Saturday mornings in bed, rough legs entangled, chest pressed against chest,

their bodies becoming one, so that hours after Lars had slipped out the back and returned to his

expensive home on the gated estate, Seth could taste him in his mouth, feel the tender stretch of

his entry, smell Lars's hair on the pillow.

But what had been enough for Seth a year ago no longer satisfied him. He was tired of

being Lars's dirty little secret. He hated averting his eyes at staff meetings and the coldness of

Lars's approach in the office. Lars was so terrified that his partner and the associate attorneys at

the firm would find out about their clandestine relationship that he was purposefully rude to Seth,

snubbing him in hallways and curtly requesting changes to documents. And while he would

apologize later, when they were alone, making it up to Seth by offering himself shamelessly,

spreading his legs and begging Seth to fuck him, forgive him, nevertheless, all those minor

insults throughout the days, every day, added up.

But the worst blow was when Lars decided to get a fake girlfriend.

Carol of the Bellskis

5

He had assured Seth that there was nothing between them. Ella was an old-fashioned

beard, and she knew it, Lars claimed. She was an old friend from high school, recently

reacquainted, and she was also an attorney. Their friendship was nothing but.

Yet Seth had to sit there and watch Lars's arm casually slide around Ella's shoulder when

she met him for lunch at the office. He saw Lars kiss her cheek affectionately whenever Adam

Finch or the newest attorney, Steve Vale, watched.

And he'd pretty much taken enough of Lars's shit to last a lifetime.

Seth wrapped his arms around his knees. He gathered his words carefully and let them out

slowly, knowing they were weapons, knowing the barbs could hurt.

“I have said nothing as you coldly ordered me out of your office,” he said. “As you kissed

Ella and rubbed her back in front of me. As you turned away from me without a second glance.”

Seth looked at Lars then. “And in return, I ask you to do this for me. For us. Come spend the

holidays with me and my family, like you promised. One Hanukkah. That's all I'm asking.”

“For a whole week,” Lars noted.

“Yes. After an entire year of doing things your way, I'm asking for one week. You, me,

and a mountain wilderness.” Seth tried smiling.

Lars ran his hand over his face once more. He frowned, and Seth knew then that he had

lost, that Lars would never budge.

“I can't. I'm sorry I said I would. But Finch suspects something, and I don't want to fuel his

speculations.”

The coldness that washed through Seth wasn't new. He'd felt it before, but the heaviness of

it felt different. He realized it was final. Love had just frozen too many times within him, and

now, like an icy branch, it snapped, dead.

Seth didn't want to be naked with this cold man any longer. He dressed silently. Lars

reached out to embrace him, and Seth jerked away and angrily pulled up his slacks. His work

shirt was tossed on the floor haphazardly. There was no way he was sneaking back to the office,

clothes wrinkled, without suspicion.

“Baby, don't be mad at me,” Lars cooed.

Seth said nothing.

6

Astrid Amara

“Look, you're being unreasonable,” Lars said.

Seth buttoned his shirt and then searched for his socks and shoes.

Lars sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His naked body was a beautiful sight. His blond

hair looked disheveled after their lovemaking, spikes wild and loose around his bright blue eyes.

Seth allowed himself one last glance at the long body that had given him so much pleasure,

and then he turned away.

“Okay…look.” Lars's voice had a note of panic in it. “Maybe I can join you in a few days?

I'll come for a night or two. I'll drive up separately, and then—”

“No.” Seth straightened and stared at him. “Fuck you.”

Lars's eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”

“Fuck. You.” Seth found his tie and knotted it hastily. “I quit. I'm done. I'm so fucking

tired of your excuses.”

“You quit? You mean the firm?” Lars's relief was palpable.

And Seth suddenly realized Lars wanted this all along. He wanted Seth out of Finch and

Varga. It was too humiliating, Lars's being in love with a male assistant. And that relief in his

voice was the absolute final straw.

“No. I want my job. I'm quitting you.”

Lars flinched. Seth hurriedly tied his shoes, because he knew he was going to puke any

minute, and he wanted to get out of the hotel before he did so.

“Christ.” Lars stood. His hands were trembling.

Seth turned away. He couldn't look at him. “Have fun with Ella,” he said at the door.

“Hope she enjoys being used as much as I did.”

Carol of the Bellskis

7

Chapter Two

The drive from Bellevue, Washington, to Whistler, British Columbia, was a brutal five

hours fired by rage. He would enjoy this vacation if it killed him, he decided. Fuck Lars. Fuck

homophobic Adam Finch and conservative Steve Vale and all the stuck-up bastards at the law

firm. He was going to
fucking love his goddamn single vacation alone with nothing to do
if it

killed him.

That rage fueled him through the traffic north of Bellevue into Everett, and the traffic at

the US-Canada border, and the traffic in Vancouver, BC. It tensed his ankle and pushed down

the pedal. It clenched his fingers and rotated the steering wheel. It made him rip out the CD that

Lars had given him and powered his terrible singing voice to angrily shout out lyrics as the

classic rock station cycled through its hourly Supertramp/Journey/Styx/Zeppelin/REO

Speedwagon lineup.

The drive up the Sea to Sky Highway took him on soaring cliffs above the pristine, icy

waters of the Puget Sound, with jaw-dropping vistas of the evergreen-stubbled Gulf Islands,

jagged Cascade Mountain peaks, and glassy streams. Seth didn't spare the inspiring view a

second glance.

After all, what was so inspiring about an eagle soaring over a picture-perfect landscape

when one's boyfriend was a complete and utter asshole?

Ex-boyfriend.

Seth nearly slumped over his steering wheel once he arrived. The dregs of his rage-rush

left him spent, feeling like he'd run a marathon on five cups of coffee and no food. He wasn't

angry anymore, only numb, physically and mentally, and it was unclear whether this was an

improvement.

8

Astrid Amara

He stared at the B and B. Only now did he question his decision to show up despite

everything. Just because his aunt Judith and uncle Carl saved a room for him didn't mean he

actually had to come. They would have understood.

Seth sat there for many minutes. He knew the second he walked through that front door he

would be inundated with cheer and food, and nothing clashed more with his current mood than

cheer.

What the hell was he
doing
here?

A twinge of bitterness managed to break through his numbness, and Seth remembered that

this was his decision: breaking up with Lars and driving to Whistler. He needed to take

responsibility. But it still rankled, enough that Seth forced himself out of the car before the

numbness completely wore off and he started to do something humiliating like weep.

The moment he stepped from the car, the wind smacked him in the face, crisp and dry and

several degrees below freezing. The sun was out, but it was one of those fake suns, the kind that

looks cozy, beckons you out to play, and then pulls away, snickering as you develop frostbite.

Seth yanked the overstuffed camping backpack out of the backseat of his car. His hiking

boots sank into freshly fallen snow as he trudged to the front porch.

The log cabin-style house was very quaint, with enough rooms to qualify it as a lodge

rather than a B and B, although Carl and Judi were rarely at capacity except over the holidays.

The fact that it was the only kosher B and B in the mountains made it not only an attraction for

the western Canadian Jewish population, but also a deterrent to those who had expectations of

cheeseburgers or Saturday-morning cartoons.

Although Judi and Carl were about as religious as Seth himself—that is, they couldn't

remember the last time they'd spoken a word of Hebrew and understood it—they catered to the

stringent requirements of the orthodox community.

It was an odd setting for Talmudic law, but no one could dismiss its beauty. The lodge was

off Panorama Ridge, backing onto hundreds of acres of wooded wilderness, filled with trails,

wildlife, and stunning landscape views over the mountains. Whistler Village was only a few

miles up the road, and they were within walking distance of Alta Lake.

Carol of the Bellskis

9

The B and B had six bedrooms and usually booked in advance of major holidays, so it

surprised Seth that no other footprints marred the thick snow. No cars were in the lot. Granted, it

was still somewhat early for check-in, two p.m., but he was rarely the first guest to arrive.

Seth rang the doorbell. There was no answer. The lights were out.

He stared blankly at the heavy wooden door, not thinking much. It was cold.

He looked around the porch and noticed that there was fresh snow over the driveway to the

back garage where Carl parked his SUV. They hadn't left the house since the night before, then.

Seth rang the doorbell again. Icy wind blew roughly at his face and tried to unravel his

scarf. As the unmitigated silence reverberated through his mind, a hint of anxiety managed to

slip past his numbness.

Seth dropped his backpack on the porch and walked around to the back of the house. The

looming forest looked panoramic, with a dusting of white snow delicately tracing each needle of

the evergreen trees, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He headed to the swing set his uncle

had installed ten years ago and fumbled with frozen fingers under the side suspension bar for the

hidden key.

His fingers burned, touching the cold metal of the frame. He pocketed them and the key

and scuffled back to the front porch. He opened the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?” he called out tentatively. All the lights were out.

“Aunt Judi? Uncle Carl?”

No response. Clearly he was alone. His aunt and uncle had stepped out. But what about all

the other guests? Weren't they scheduled to arrive for the first day of Hanukkah?

Maybe Judi and Carl had canceled the reservations and forgotten to tell Seth. Or maybe all

the other guests had arrived and they'd all gone on some happy group excursion, leaving him

alone with his shredded heart.

His energy level had sunk below empty an hour ago. He had to keep moving, because the

moment he sat down on one of the comfy collection of couches around the large central

fireplace, he would pass out and, with any luck, not wake up until he was dead.

Seth made his way over to the check-in table, an antique rolltop desk near the closet. He

found the register and noted that his aunt had put him down to stay in the Chuppah Room.

10

Astrid Amara

Great
. His aunt had placed him in the newlywed suite.

Seth's cold heart pumped hotter, touched at his aunt's acceptance and her sweet effort to

bless his unconventional love affair by giving him the nicest room in the house. The Chuppah

Room was actually the entire attic, furnished with warm red tones and a shag carpet, which didn't

go with anything but remained since Uncle Carl felt shag was a “necessity for any honeymoon,”

the reasons for which bewildered and frightened Seth.

Seth had told Judi he was bringing his boyfriend, and of course she had overreacted.

Everyone in his family would have. Seth
never
brought a guy home, even though he'd been

openly out for years. The fact that he would be staying in the Chuppah Room, with its

unnecessarily grandiose assortment of scented candles, all by himself, was a travesty.

But he knew his aunt hated room changes, so he trudged up the dark stairs and then the