Under The Mistletoe (John & Luke - Pt 2)

Chapter 5

"You made it!" John was immediately crushed in his dad's embrace the second the front door opened. "And ahead of schedule." Mitch kissed his cheek as John smiled and hugged him back hard. "This is a record," his dad chuckled. "Home for the holidays twice in the same year. Luke is definitely a good influence on you."

"Yeah," John smiled weakly. His stomach was still twisted in agony and his throat tight with emotion, but he struggled to suppress his mounting fears and anxiety as Luke's car remained absent from the driveway across the street—a different vehicle parked in its place.

Releasing John, Mitch's arm lingered around his son's shoulders as he followed John's stare to the neighboring house. "The Rivers spending Christmas at home," he murmured. "That's a first." He glanced at John who continued to stare at the other car with a pinched brow. "How are things between Luke and his parents? Has he spoken to them about his plans?"

John swallowed thickly and shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I don't think so. He hadn't the last time we spoke." The last time we spoke. That should have been five fucking minutes ago. They should be talking now. And not just talking.

I'll be on you like white on rice on a paper plate in a snowstorm.

So where was he?

"John?"

John blinked, the dampness back in his eyes. He looked at his dad.

"Son, is something wrong?" Mitch asked with concern.

Glancing across the street again, John's throat squeezed. "I don't know," he whispered.

"Luke never called you back?"

John shook his head and looked away from the other house. "No."

"Well, I'm sure he has a perfectly acceptable excuse," Mitch assured and squeezed his shoulder. "And just because he isn't here yet doesn't mean anything. Maybe he got a later start, or was delayed due to weather or highway conditions." He ruffled John's hair and grinned. "He'll be here. After the way that boy stuck to you like glue last time, there's no way he's going to pass up a chance to see you again. I do believe he is smitten with my handsome son."

John ducked his head and laughed softly.

"And vice versa." Mitch winked. "Am I right?"

John groaned. "Yeah, dad, you're right. You're always right."

"Well, now that you've admitted it," Mitch smiled. "You should know I'm also right about Luke showing up soon. So relax and take a second to enjoy your parents before your hottie boyfriend arrives."

John grimaced. "You know, it just don't sound right when an old fogey uses the word hottie."

"Ah." Mitch playfully popped him in the head. "I'm not old, sonny. Now git in there yonder and say hello to yer ma."

"Shit," John chuckled at his dad's impression of an old man.

"Come on," Mitch grinned and stepped through the door.

John cast one last anxious glance at Luke's house before following his dad inside.

♦

A powerful wave of déjà vu hit John when he entered his bedroom and dropped the sports bag on the bed. He walked to the window and looked out. The night before Thanksgiving—and half way through Thanksgiving day—he had waited with nervous anxiety for Luke to come home. Now he was waiting again. Except this was so much worse.

Everything worked out last time. Luke came home and everything was okay. More than okay. It'll be the same this time as well.

John tried to take comfort in the thought, but the situation wasn't the same. He and Luke had been together a month now, talked every single day—without exception. None of this made any sense. He stared at Luke's house, his eyes drifting to his parents' car.

Maybe Luke told them his plans and they sent him off to military school. He disregarded the ridiculous thought before it even passed through his mind. Luke wasn't a minor. As dickish as his dad might be, he couldn't literally control Luke's life—or prevent him from contacting John. There was nothing realistic about that line of thought. A tiny selfish part of John almost wished it was the case. At least then, Luke wouldn't be ignoring him of his own free will. But that would mean that Luke was being even more oppressed by his father, and John didn't want that, either.

"Fuck, Luke..." John leaned his head against the window, his heart aching like hell. "Where are you?" His eyes started to fill, when his dad knocked on the door and opened it half way. John hurried pulled back the tears and cleared his throat. "Hey."

Mitch stepped into the room. "Now I know you're not going to hide out in your room all evening, brooding...right?"

"No," John mumbled, forcing a smile. "I was just..." he glanced at the bed. "...unpacking."

Mitch looked at the untouched sports bag. "Is that a magic bag, that unpacks itself?"

"Ha ha," John rolled his eyes. "I was getting to it."

"I can see that," his dad mused and approached the window, looking out across the street. He sighed and met John's damp gaze. "Let me tell you something I've learned in my old age."

John laughed quietly and shook his head. "What's that?" His eyes drifted back to Luke's house, the ache in his heart squeezing his chest.

"Things are rarely what they appear," Mitch murmured. "I swear, we human beings have perfected the art of worrying and fussing over things that usually turn out to be fabrications of our imaginations. More often than not, we worried ourselves sick for nothing."

John nodded, and stared down at his hands. "What if mine and Luke's relationship wasn't what it appeared?" He swallowed hard and looked at his dad. "What if I just interpreted it the way I wanted to, the way I wanted it to be?"

Mitch pointed a finger at him. "You're not allowed to try and use my words of wisdom against me."

An empty smile tugged John's lips. "Sorry."

"John." Mitch gripped his shoulder with affection. "Luke cares about you. I saw that plain as day at Thanksgiving. And from the way you say the two of you conversed over this last month, I'd have to say it's only grown stronger. Don't be so quick to think the worst." He smiled and cupped John's head. "Luke is crazy about you."

His lips tight, John lowered his eyes. "That's just it," he whispered unsteadily. "Even now, I still can't believe that Luke Rivers likes me." He raised his eyes. "He says he's no one special, but he is. He always was. And I think..." John's throat worked. "I think a part of me keeps waiting for him to wake up one day and realize that he's better than me. And that he can do better than me." Tears formed and he looked across the street, the house and driveway shimmering. He turned away from the window and walked to the bed. "Maybe that day finally came."

Mitch sighed. "Come on, son. It's a little soon to be thinking such drastic thoughts, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know," John whispered. He unzipped the sports bag. "Maybe." His eyes burned as fresh tears forced their way to the surface. "Why is it so easy to imagine bad things...rather than good?" His blurred heavily. "What the fuck is wrong with people that they just automatically do that?"

"That is the timeless question," Mitch murmured and left the window. "It would be great if we just naturally expected good things. Why we don't—I haven't a clue. But I stand by what I said." He walked to the door. "More often than not, our fears and worries are unrealized."

When he was gone, John reached into the inside zipper of the sports bag and withdrew a small black box with a red ribbon tied around it. A tear slid down his face. "I hope so, dad."