This Present Darkness

TWO

Chad took their bibles and placed them on the mantle above the fireplace, one on each side of the large family bible that would one day be passed down to their children and hopefully remain within their family for generations to come.

Linus removed his overcoat and hung it in the entry hall closet, then took Chad's coat and inspected the soiled spots. "We'll get this dry-cleaned tomorrow."

"It's all right," Chad assured. "No hurry. It isn't as if it's ruined and unwearable. Just got a little wet." He went about building a fire in the fireplace. They could have afforded a gas fireplace – much quicker and simpler – but Chad wasn't about the "quick and simple". He loved the smell of a real fire, the popping and snapping of dry cedar. It created the comfortable feel of a cozy home. And that was enough for him, as long as Linus was there to share it with him.

The early afternoon light darkened a few shades as the sky clouded over. Before evening came on, fresh frost and ice would begin forming across the surface of everything outside. The roads would become slick as the slush froze solid. Chad said a quick prayer for the occupants of the black Mustang, praying they would be careful on the roads.

Linus went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two cups of hot, spiced cider, each with its own cinnamon stir stick. The two men sat on the sofa before the fireplace, shoes kicked off, and cuddled up close. Linus sipped his drink. "I know why you like the cold weather best."

"Oh yeah?" Chad grinned. "Why's that?"

"Because we cuddle more."

Chad thought about it and nodded. "You could be right." He placed his cup on the end table and scooted around, facing Linus, a gleam in his eyes. "There's nothing I love more than cuddling with you." He slowly dragged his fingertips through Linus' deep blond hair. It felt like silk. Linus set his cup aside and leaned against Chad, his head on his shoulder as he gazed at the fire. Linus loved it when Chad stroked his fingers through his hair, said it was very relaxing and comforting. "I love you," Chad whispered against his soft locks.

"I love you, too, baby." Linus wrapped his arms around Chad and snuggled closer. Silence settled over them as Chad gently stroked his husband's strands and they gazed at the fire. "Do you think they did it on purpose?" Linus spoke up quietly. "Do you think they were trying to splash us when they sped by?"

"Yes." Chad kissed his head. "But it's forgivable. They're young, and they've grown up on misinterpreted doctrine and intolerant behavior. I'll hold out hope for them, as I do the others."

"I don't understand their hate," Linus whispered. "It makes no sense to me."

Chad hugged him and tilted his face up, softly kissing his lips. "Hate will never make sense."

▪ ▪

At twenty-nine years, eight months, three weeks, and two days old—give or take a few hours and minutes—Chadwick Timmons looked about forty-five. At least according to Chad's reflection in the large front window of the Old Town Mercantile.

Chad paused and gazed at himself. Most folks had guessed him to be younger than he was. Surely no longer, if anyone bothered to take notice. His face had stiffened and fostered a "leathery" texture without the regular "exercise" of daily smiles. Dark circles now cast shadows up into what were once sparkling emerald eyes, the orbs long since faded to pools of murky avocado.

His once vibrant dark-honey locks hung limp and dull, the strands longer than he was accustomed to. He'd kept his hair at the perfect length for manly fingers to slide through and, at times, grab hold of in the heat of passion. The "neat" look had suited him well. This look did not. But there was no one here to appreciate his appearance, or care if he let himself go. Hadn't been for a year now.