Making His List (Naughty or Nice) (4 page)

A loud groan awakened him at eleven o’clock, followed by Cory getting sick, thankfully into the large bowl by the bed. When Cory finished without noticing him and fell back into a fitful sleep, Ken repeated the washcloth wipe-down and took care of the mess before laying back down and texting his executive assistant at the firm to not expect him tomorrow.

Cory suddenly retched again, hanging off the side of the bed.

Yep. It was going to be a long night.

Again.

If Becky got sick, she could damn well fend for herself.

G
ETTING
Bailey off to school the next morning wasn’t nearly as hard as Ken had thought it might be. She had set her alarm the night before, but Ken had still pictured having to shake her out, grumbling about needing more sleep. No, Bailey was already getting dressed by the time he got up. The only hard part had been convincing her to wear a jacket and a hat. Breakfast, backpack, and she was out the door, waiting at the end of the driveway for the bus, as if she’d done it on her own all her life. Ken shook his head sadly. No five-year-old should have to be that self-sufficient.

Now that his self-imposed duty was discharged, he found he was loath to leave, justifying staying to himself with the very real possibility Becky might not be home by the time Bailey was let off the bus that afternoon. And Cory might still be sleeping, or at least he should be.

The second time Cory’s phone rang in rapid succession from its place charging on the kitchen counter—must’ve been where Becky had seen his text, thank God he’d kept it neutral—Ken noted the incoming number was labeled “work.” Reasoning he should probably let someone know Cory wasn’t coming in, he picked up.

“Cory’s phone.”

“Cor—” A brash female voice cut itself off. “Oh. Let me speak to Cory.”

“He’s sick in bed. Can I give him a message later?”

“Fuck. Told him he’d get it.” She sighed resignedly. “Tell him his boss Lori called and to call me when he can. And to get better soon,” she tacked on, sounding more like she was issuing a dictate instead of wishing Cory well. Her voice sharpened even more. “Who’s this?”

“Oh. Ken Weston. I’m a friend of the family.” He crossed his fingers at the lie, hoping she wasn’t close enough to the Collinses to call him on it. “I’m helping out while he’s down with this.”

“Okay, Ken Weston. Do your best to keep him from overextending himself,” she counseled grudgingly. “And have him call me.” She hung up without further ado, already speaking loudly to someone on her end.

Ken resisted slipping back into bed with his patient and spent the next few hours doing some major cleanup and laundry. After a bite of lunch, he brought his laptop in and managed to get a couple hours of work done remotely before a glance at the clock told him it was almost time for Bailey’s return.

Moving out to the garage, he opened the overhead door and waited inside, not sure whether the bus driver would let her out to a stranger. He needn’t have worried. Bailey came running off the bus, pigtails—which he’d painstakingly arranged that morning—flying askew. “Uncle Ken, you’re still here!”

“Sure am.” His arms accepted a jump with a hug, and just as fast she was scrambling to get down.

“You can help me with my list.”

“List?”

Exasperated sigh. “For Santa.” She got a worried look on her face. “Someone said at school today our lists
have
to get in the mail
right now
so Santa can get them on time.”

“Oh. You know, you’re right. Let’s do that this afternoon and get it in the mail. Okay?”

A relieved smile spread across her face. “Yay! Can we do it now?”

“Yes,” he laughed as he allowed himself to be pulled along, her grip surprisingly strong as excitement leant impetus to her actions.

After pulling out a paper grocery sack of papers and catalogs he’d vaguely noticed while cleaning but had left alone, Bailey started earnestly sorting through the mess. Gamely trying to help, Ken pulled out the package of markers he’d bought for Bailey last weekend and then took some of the stack to help her get organized. Catalogs in one pile, blank papers in another, what were apparently rough drafts in a third.

He smoothed out a crumpled sheet and paused, the handwriting—as well as the content— obviously not Bailey’s. “What’s this?” A rhetorical question since what he saw written there could never be mistaken for anything else but a wish list for a gay man.

Bailey barely glanced over, intent upon her own work. “That’s one of Uncle Cory’s lists. He keeps starting over.”

Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, he gathered and spread out about a dozen sheets of paper, not sure whether to be aghast or pleased as the keys to Cory’s heart were laid out before him.

Ranked in order.

Well, changing order, but still—

“We have to mail Uncle Cory’s too. It’s that one,” she unerringly pointed to one of the sheets, and upon inspection it did seem to be the most organized and complete.

“Are you sure?” He wanted to confirm, as the ridiculousness of asking a kindergartener battled with his need to be certain he was getting the most accurate information.

“That one has his ‘sign’ on it.” The
duh
was back as she pointed out “Corbin Collins” at the bottom. “He told me you have to sign it to make it….” She frowned. “What’s the word that means it’s real and important?”

“Official? And it’s a signature.”

“O—fficial. Yes! That’s what he said. He said the other word too. Do you know about that too? See, here’s mine.” She pointed out a loopy version of her printed name.
Freaking smart kid.

Picking Cory’s official one up and leaving the rest, he had just started to read it when the creaking sound of a stair riser had the two turning around.

“Uncle Cory!”

Cory stood there halfway down the steps on the landing looking like death warmed over. He had a questioning look on his face as he stared straight at Ken before his gaze was broken by getting nearly tackled by his niece.

Quickly, Ken folded and stuffed the note in his pocket.

For later
, he thought with a burst of hope.
Now, I will finally know what makes you tick.

Chapter Four

H
EAD
pounding, abs aching, walking down the stairs was like moving through Vaseline. Cory paused on the landing to regroup and looked down, trying and failing to make sense of what he was seeing. For one long disorienting minute, he thought it was last weekend all over again, coming down the stairs to find Ken and Bailey cozying up at the kitchen table.

No, it was
Cory
who was sick this time. His gut clenched in agreement. And it was… Wednesday? Thursday?
Oh God, what’s been going on?

And what was Ken doing here? He tried to give him the evil eye, but it took too much effort. He was certain the effect was more pathetic than intimidating. Especially when part of him was relieved and even glad to have him here, lending his quiet strength to the somewhat manic household.

Just then, Bailey hit him in a sweet but painful hug. “Oof, okay, sweetie, that’s enough hugs.”

“How are you feeling?” Ken’s low, deep voice rolled over him and Cory’s eyes raised of their own accord from Bailey’s crooked hair part to meet Ken’s concerned gaze. He looked tired.

“Better,” he lied. “Are you feeling okay? You look like I feel.”

Ken smiled wryly. “Thanks. I’m okay, just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Yeah, you were throwing up too loud,” Bailey’s voice was like an ice pick to his brain, given her proximity. Then her words struck him and his eyes narrowed.

“When did you get here?”

Ken had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Last night,” he said aloud, and then mouthed with a glance at Bailey, “
Can we talk later?”

Fatigue suddenly hitting him, he wearily nodded and started to descend the stairs. Ken walked over to the bottom and started up. “Why don’t you go lay back down? I got this.” He gently took Cory’s elbow in his grip and frowned, touching his temple. “You’re still burning up. Do you think you can take some Tylenol or something?”

Cory didn’t realize he was being gently urged upstairs until they’d reached the top. Rather than protest, he gave in and allowed himself to be tugged into the master bathroom where Ken gave him some privacy while he relieved himself. Shit, even his pee was hot.

He flushed and Ken came back in. “You want to take a quick shower? It might kick start cooling you off. The sponge bath seemed to….” Ken abruptly cut himself off.

“Sponge bath?” Must’ve been last night, which was a blur of discomfort and pain. “What am I? Five?” He gave a slight amused snort, and relief flooded Ken’s handsome features. Cory hadn’t noticed until then how tense Ken had been. As if he was waiting to be berated. And he likely was, after Cory’d flipped out the night Bailey had been sick.

He decided to go ahead and assuage the guilt he’d been feeling since then as he stripped out of his pajama bottoms and T-shirt. “I’m sorry about the other night. That was a little harsh.” Ken was silent and stock-still, and Cory looked up to find his eyes glued to his naked form. A spark of awareness lit in his brain, but the body was far from willing at the moment. Cory walked into the shower, almost feeling the caress of Ken’s gaze on his ass.

It was a ridiculously large walk-in shower, so large it didn’t even have a door or curtain since the heads were so far back in the tiled area. He turned on the water to his usual setting and stood shivering while it warmed up. But it didn’t seem to be getting there. So he bravely stepped under the spray—or attempted to. He inched it warmer and warmer, and the shower still felt shockingly cool against his skin. Giving in and rinsing off anyway, he could feel his strength slipping away and sat on the tiled bench while he worked the shampoo into his hair.

“Are you okay in there?” Ken peeked around the corner, eyes purposely on the floor.

“Fine, almost done.” He stood to rinse off and swayed as his peripheral vision began to go dark.

“Crap.” Strong arms were suddenly there, holding him up, a large hand running through his hair as he was held under the streaming water.

The water turned off, and the ensuing silence was deafening. “Okay, good enough. C’mon, babe. Let’s dry you off.” Ken’s voice echoed and reverberated through him as reality began to slip away.

His knees buckled, and the next he knew, he was laying on the shower floor with a towel being rubbed briskly over him.

“There you are. Here, let’s get you back in bed while you can still help me. You’re no lightweight.”  Cory felt his eyebrow go up and Ken laughed in response. “Up and at ’em.”

He was manhandled to his feet and force-marched along into the bedroom, shivering helplessly in the comparative cool of the bedroom. “Can you sit up for a sec?” Ken held out his hands as if to make him stay in place while he backed away.

Cory propped his elbows in his knees and hung there until Ken returned. A towel over his hair, clean pajama bottoms, and a couple pills with water followed in rapid, efficient succession.

“You make a good nurse,” he teased tiredly.

Ken chuckled, and Cory got the impression he was seeing a whole different side of him, almost as if he was a stranger. At that thought, he looked up and was reassured to see the same familiar sky blue eyes he’d gotten to know.

“If I was a good nurse, I’d’ve changed the sheets while you were in there, and gotten you out of the shower before you passed out on the floor.”

“Why are you so okay with all this?”

“With what?”

Cory waved his hand aimlessly as he lay back against the pillow, and Ken covered him up. “All this with Bailey and now me. I didn’t see you as the nurturing type.”

Ken’s eyes dropped. “What type did you think I was?”

The charged silence between them was more than Cory could deal with right then, and he could feel himself withdrawing. Apparently, Ken sensed it, too, because he stood and gave Cory one last indecipherable look before he left the room without a word.

As the door closed behind him, Cory’s eyes drifted shut. He felt as though he was missing something important, but then the fatigue finally overcame him, and everything ceased to matter.

H
EART
aching, Ken headed downstairs to the welcome distraction of Bailey and her excitement over the letter to Santa. While he coached as she addressed the envelope, he reflected on what Cory had asked him earlier about taking this all in stride. It wasn’t like Ken had a lot of practical experience with kids. He’d been an only child to older parents growing up—a surprise baby when they were well into their forties.

The caring for ill and incapable people part
was
something he knew well, however, having lost both of his parents after protracted illnesses. Not much fazed him after the nightmare of home hospice twice around. And he found there was an orphaned part of him that craved and enjoyed being a part of a family again, even peripherally and in less than fun circumstances. Mostly, he was just tired of being alone. But it was hard for him to put himself out there. For some reason, he seemed to attract either confirmed closet cases, or guys like Cory, who wanted to keep things casual and just this side of anonymous.

He had couched his requests to stay most of the night very carefully in the beginning, making it seem more like he knew he’d just crash after orgasm. In actuality, he played a little fantasy game inside his head, pretending he was coming home after a late, long day instead of it being a cold-blooded hook-up. Then afterwards, they would fall asleep together in the bed he and his partner shared. Instead of the walk of shame, his reason for rising alone before sunrise was to face an early day at the office, slipping from the covers and silently dressing to avoid disturbing his loved one, kissing him tenderly as he slept on, leaving him safe in their home.

Cory’s apology for the night Bailey was sick had come as a welcome surprise. Maybe there was a chance he’d eventually look at Ken as more than a fuck buddy, though a small, cynical part of him maintained Cory had pigeonholed him into second-class citizen category. And for good reason. Really, how many grand romances started off with a one-night stand?