A Christmas Promise Page 3

  They followed her along the hallway to the elevator. “He’s on the second floor. The nurse at the desk knows to expect you.” The doors slid open and she gave them a warm smile. “Thank you again for all you did for him,” she said to Micah. The doors shut, and the elevator whirred smoothly into action.

  When they got out at the correct floor, the nurse’s station was facing them. A nurse directed them to the room at the end of the hallway, which contained two beds, one of which was empty.

  Greg was sitting in bed, leaning back against the pillows, his eyes closed. In his hand was the creased envelope. As they approached the bed, he blinked several times. “Hey. Lookit me. ’M all truss’ up like a turkey.” He indicated his leg, which was encased in bandages.

  It was obvious from his slurred speech that he wasn’t fully awake.

  “Do you want us to come back later when you’ve had some rest?” Micah asked.

  Greg shook his head. “Nah. Want to talk to you.”

  The nurse appeared at the foot of his bed. “The doctor says he could be out of here in just over a week.” She smiled at Micah. “And he sounds sleepy because the drugs are working.”

  “And where will you go then?” Dad asked. “Where is home?”

  Greg closed his eyes again. “Good question. Not sure I know anymore.” Before Micah could decipher the cryptic remark, Greg opened one eye and held out the envelope. “For you, sir.”

  Dad took it. “Feels like we need a drum roll or something,” he joked, but Micah could see from the tension in his jaw that he was nervous. He tore it open and pulled out a couple of sheets of folded paper, covered in handwriting. After a moment, Dad’s jaw dropped, and he looked up sharply at Greg. “Your dad?”

  Greg nodded, his gaze locked on Dad’s face. “Made me promise to find you, to make sure you got it. This was… very important.”

  Dad sank into the nearby chair, the letter clutched in hands that trembled slightly.

  “Do you know what it says?” Micah asked Greg quietly, disconcerted by his dad’s state.

  Greg shook his head, looking more awake. “All he told me was to deliver it in person. He—” His eyes widened, and a look of anguish contorted his face. “Oh God.”

  Micah followed his gaze, and his heart almost stopped at the sight.

  His dad was crying.

  Chapter Three

  “Dad?” Micah was frozen to the spot. He’d only ever seen his father cry once, and that had been the day Mom died. At the funeral, it had been as though he’d kept a tight grip on his emotions. Micah had expected tears, anger, frustration, but instead had been met with a calm that was almost frightening. Watching the tears crawl down his dad’s cheeks now was torture.

  Dad glanced up, savagely wiping away the moisture with his hand. “Stupid old fool. Blubbering like some snot-nosed kid. Ignore me.” He regarded the letter, holding it limply in his hands.

  Whatever Micah had wanted to say was lost when a young man came into the room, carrying a clipboard. “Mr. Chambers? We need your address and insurance information.”

  Greg’s face fell. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

  Micah caught the flash of panic across Greg’s face.

  Dad jerked his head up. “Are we talking hospital bills? I’ll take care of those.” He straightened in his chair.

  Micah stared at him. What the hell?

  “Excuse me, but no.” Greg spoke quietly, but there was a hard edge to his voice, as if he was trying his utmost to shake off the effects of the drugs. “You don’t know me from Adam, and there’s no way I’m going to let a complete stranger take on my debts.” He set his jaw and met Dad’s gaze with a resolute stare. He swallowed. “I’ll need to make a phone call first.”

  Dad lurched to his feet. “No, Greg. I’ll foot the bill. It’s the least I can do for… Hayden’s son.”

  The billing clerk gave a discreet cough. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later.”

  Dad gave him a smile. “That might be best.” The clerk nodded and left the room.

  Micah blinked as several thoughts collided in his head. Hayden? Did he save Dad’s life? Donate a kidney? Introduce him to Mom? Who the hell is Hayden?

  Dad took another glance at the letter before meeting Greg’s gaze. “He is dead then.”

  “Yes, sir.” Greg swallowed hard. “Last month.”

  “I see. Well, that doesn’t change anything. I still want to do this.” When Greg made an unhappy sound, Dad turned to him. “Please. You have to let me do this.”

  Heaven knew what Greg saw in his dad’s face, because Greg stilled, as immobile as a statue. “Okay,” he whispered. “But… promise me we’ll talk about this?”

  Dad nodded. “I promise. And when they discharge you? You’re coming home with us.”

  Greg’s mouth fell open. “I can’t… I mean, I—” He snapped his mouth shut.

  Dad gave a slow nod. “When you can’t even say where your home is? Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna let you just leave. Not Hayden’s child. No, sir. You’re gonna need to recuperate, probably for a couple of weeks at least, and you can do that in our home. We’ll make sure you’re looked after.”

  Micah saw the range of emotions that crossed Greg’s face, and sighed. “Don’t even try to argue with him. You’ll lose, every time. And I speak from experience.”

  Greg gave a half smile. “I believe you. Besides, I recognize that expression. I saw it enough times on my dad’s face when he…” He took a breath. “Never mind.”

  Dad got to his feet. “We’re gonna go home now, but we’ll be back later, all right? Once we know what the visiting hours are. Is there anything you’d like us to bring you?”

  Greg shrugged. “Something to read? They… stole my backpack, so I’ve got nothing, not even clothes.”

  Dad nodded. “Leave that to me. What do you like to read?”

  “Murder mysteries.” Greg smiled. “I was kind of brought up on Agatha Christie.”

  Micah laughed. “Oh, I think we might be able to find you something, right, Dad?”

  Dad gave him a sharp look. “Very funny.” He turned to Greg. “I have a couple of Agatha Christies at home.” Micah snorted, and Dad speared him with a glare. “Okay, more than a couple.”

  Even Greg managed a chuckle. “That would be great, thank you.”

  Micah held out his hand. “Later, yeah?”

  Greg clasped it firmly. “Sure. Thanks again.” He released Micah’s hand and sank back into the pillows.

  “Mr. Chambers? There are two detectives here to speak to you.” The nurse stood in the doorway.

  “And that’s our cue,” Dad said, patting Greg on the shoulder. “See you later, okay?” He straightened and headed for the door, Micah following, just as two guys entered the room, one of them clutching a black backpack, the shoulder strap torn away at one point.

  “Oh my God, you found it!” The joy in Greg’s voice was impossible to miss. “Thank you.”

  Micah paused at the threshold, watching as Greg opened the pack, delved inside it, and brought out a wooden carved box, wrapped in cellophane. Greg stared at it, his chest rising and falling rapidly, making no move to open it.

  That box was clearly important.

  “Come on.” Dad tugged his elbow. “You want Naomi more pissed at us than she already is?”

  Micah chuckled. “Good point. Let’s go home.”

  “But first, we’re gonna stop by Billing, once we know where it is.”

  That didn’t come as a surprise to Micah. Dad could be stubborn when he wanted to be. The mystery of Greg’s box would have to wait until they returned. Right then, he had another riddle waiting to be solved.

  Who was Hayden, and why was he so important to my Dad, that he’d pay for Greg’s hospital bills?

  Micah knew why he couldn’t sleep, of course. Dad hadn’t said a word so far about the letter. Not a single goddamn word. They’d driven home separately, but once they were inside the house, Micah had fully expected his dad to sit
down and tell him everything.

  Nope. Not even close. Dad had simply gotten on with his day, withdrawing into his office to work on his software designs. Even that was weird. Naomi was home for the weekend, and usually that meant Dad didn’t work, but spent time with her. Micah could tell by the perplexed glances she kept throwing at the closed office door, that Naomi was at a loss too. Dad emerged for lunch and dinner, but that was all they saw of him for the rest of the day.

  No wonder I’m not sleeping. Too much going on around here that’s upsetting the routine.

  Lying in bed staring at the ceiling was accomplishing nothing, so Micah decided to get up and make himself a warm drink. Maybe that would help. He threw back the covers and hastily pulled on his robe, before the chill night air got to his… extremities. He put on a pair of thick socks and crept out of his room, heading for the stairs down to the kitchen and praying he’d miss the one stair that always creaked. But when he reached the bottom, he saw the light seeping from under the door to Dad’s office.

  Huh?

  Micah walked as silently as he could up to the door, and opened it. The room was bathed in the warm light of the corner lamp, and Dad was sitting on the small couch beside it, his robe tied around the waist. In his lap was the letter and what looked like a strip of photos, like the ones you got in photo booths.

  Dad jerked his head up, and Micah saw the tracks of tears on his cheeks.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” Dad wiped his face hastily. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Micah explained. “I was actually worrying about you. And now that I see you?” His heartbeat raced. “Yep, still worried.” He came fully into the room. “Dad, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Dad folded the letter, slipping the photo strip inside it. “Go back to bed.”

  Micah had had enough. “Do not treat me like a child. Not when it’s obvious that something is really wrong.” He cocked his head. “Is it so bad that you can’t tell me?”

  Dad shivered. “What if… what if I tell you, and you find you can’t look at me the same, ever again?”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?” Micah gazed at him incredulously. “Well, unless you’re about to confess to being a serial killer, I think it’s a safe bet I’m gonna look at you the same as I’ve always done. You’re my dad and I love you.” He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths. “So why don’t I sit down, so you can tell me who this Hayden is—or was—why you just offered to pay a stranger’s hospital bills, and why you’re crying over that letter?”

  Dad gulped. “I think… I’m gonna need a drink.” He left the letter on the arm of the couch, got up, and walked over to his filing cabinet, on top of which sat a half full bottle of what looked like whiskey, and a glass. He gave Micah an apologetic glance. “I’ve only got the one glass, so if you want one, you’ll have to fetch your own.”

  Micah waved his hand. “I’m fine, but you go ahead.” If his dad needed fortifying, this had to be some revelation that was coming. He walked over to the couch and sat at the opposite end, pulling his legs up onto it, and grabbing a cushion to hug. Dad poured himself a glass, maybe a couple of fingers, and after screwing the cap back on, rejoined Micah on the couch.

  He took a sip. “Do you know how long I’ve lived in Wyoming? Since I was seventeen. My parents moved here when your grandad got a new job in Casper. Before that? We lived in Sylacauga.”

  Micah frowned. “Where on earth is that?”

  “In Alabama, on the edge of the Talladega Forest.” He gave a wistful smile. “Great place to be a kid.”

  Despite the nervous knot in his belly, Micah smiled. “I know you said your family came from the South, but Alabama? You’re a real Southern boy, aren’t ya? Well, I guess that explains Granddad’s and Grandma’s accent. It’s a whole lot stronger than yours.”

  Dad chuckled. “I think I lost mine years ago.”

  “I catch a twang every now and then.” Micah wondered where this was leading. “Okay, you’ve started now, so keep talking.”

  Dad regarded him in silence for a moment, then removed the strip of photos and handed it to Micah. He gazed at the images of two young men. They were clearly goofing off in a couple, laughing and pulling funny faces. But that last two photos… Micah peered more closely. “That’s you, isn’t it? The guy in the blue shirt?”

  Dad nodded. “I was seventeen. That was taken maybe three or four months before we left Alabama.”

  Micah stared at his dad’s image, caught by… something. Maybe it was the way his dad was looking at the other guy, the almost tangible connection between them. Then it clicked.

  “This is Hayden, isn’t it?” When Dad didn’t respond, Micah looked up. “Dad?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, that was Hayden. We were the same age. We’d known each other all our lives, ever since kindergarten.”

  That might have accounted for the closeness between the two, but… Micah looked again, only this time he put aside the thought that this was his dad, and tried to view it objectively. That was when the significance of the looks they were giving each other hit him like a blow to the stomach. It was so obvious.

  “You were in love with him.”

  Dad flinched. “How do you know?”

  Micah sighed. “Dad, I may be gay, but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb. Or deaf, or blind, for that matter. The way he’s staring at you….”

  “How? How is he staring at me?” The pain in his dad’s voice was almost too much to bear.

  “Like you hung the moon,” Micah said simply. He placed the strip of photos on the seat cushion next to his dad.

  Dad sagged against the cushions. “I’ve looked at these photos so many times over the years. I tried to tell myself that none of it was real, that it was a phase, that I didn’t really love him, heart, body and soul. But then I’d look at his face, that expression, and I’d know I was lying to myself.”

  Micah shifted closer. “Dad, what happened?” he asked softly. His mind was still reeling from the fact that his dad had loved a guy. Micah’s world had just tilted a little on its axis.

  Dad took a long drink from his glass. “I was over at Hayden’s house one evening. We were studying for a test. His parents had gone out to see some friends, and we didn’t expect them back for hours.” He forced out a bitter laugh. “Turned out they’d gotten halfway there, and his mom remembered something she’d forgotten. I can’t even recall what it was now. All I know is, they came back early.”

  “Oh God. They didn’t catch you guys in bed or something?”

  Dad swallowed. “No. We never got that far. They found us on his bed though, fully clothed, but… kissing.” He met Micah’s gaze, his eyes misted over. “Do you know how many times I’ve regretted that they turned up when they did? We’d finally decided to… that is, he’d have been… my first.”

  For one second, they were no longer father and son, but two men, sharing an intimate moment that both could understand.

  “Seventeen. Wow.” Micah shook his head. “Compared to you, I’m definitely a late bloomer.”

  “And before you even think about pointing out that we were underage, all I’m gonna say is, if you’re telling me kids that age aren’t having sex nowadays, I—”

  “No, no, I wasn’t going to say a thing!” Micah protested. “Please. Keep going. What happened next?” Judging from his dad’s emotional state, it had to be something pretty drastic.

  “Hayden’s dad grabbed hold of me, yanked me off the bed, made me get my stuff, and marched me to the front door. The last thing he said before he slammed the door in my face was that I wasn’t welcome in their home again.”

  “Aw, shit.” Micah couldn’t entirely empathize with what his dad had gone through, because he’d never cared that deeply about someone, but he guessed it had to have hurt him to the core.

  Dad snorted. “Oh, believe me, that was just the start. By the time I got home, he’d already called my parents. I guess I found out tha
t night what my father really thought about… homosexuals. Although it might have been better if he’d used that term, instead of the one he ultimately chose. He shoved me down onto a chair at the dining table, then sat facing me, his face like thunder.” He shivered. “I saw him in a completely different light that night. My mom too. And no, I’m not gonna repeat what they said to me, because it’s bad enough that you know they said some stuff. At least now you know why we don’t visit them a whole lot.” He grimaced. “No way would I subject you to them.”

  “Was that the end of it?” It certainly went a long way to explaining why he rarely saw his grandparents.

  Dad shook his head. “They moved me to a new school, miles away.” He scowled. “I was in my final year of high school, getting ready to go to college, and they moved me without so much as a word. I didn’t get a say. On top of that, I wasn’t to call Hayden, to try to see him… basically, I wasn’t to go within sight of him. And I tried, believe me.” He took another drink. “That was when my dad dropped his bombshell. He’d gotten a new job, in Wyoming, and we were moving.”

  Micah gaped. “He… he didn’t move, just to keep you and Hayden apart, did he? Tell me it was just a coincidence that a better job turned up right then.” He didn’t want to think that his granddad could do something so… cold, so calculating.

  Dad shrugged. “To be honest? I have no idea. I wrote letters to Hayden, telling him what was gonna happen. I had no clue if he received them.” He swallowed. “I never heard from him again. Later that year, I found out why. I got in touch with a classmate from my old high school. Seems Hayden had moved too. She had no idea where, though.”

  “Oh, Dad.” Micah could feel the misery pouring out of him. “Then what?”

  “What do you think? I went to college. Only, instead of going to a college in another state, like I’d planned, my parents insisted I went to the University of Wyoming, and that I stayed at home. I guess they didn’t trust me to be out of their sight for too long. And then during the third semester, I met someone.” He smiled, and the change in his demeanor was enough to tell Micah who that someone was.