Free Safe Harbor by Laylah Hunter Page A

leaving. I wasn’t…. I never meant to hurt you.”
    Tom squeezes his shoulders. “All is forgiven on one condition.”
    It already feels like they’ve never parted ways. Blake’s heart aches with the longing that he’s spent years ignoring. He raises an eyebrow in a deliberate show of skepticism. “One condition, hmm?”
    “You’ve got to come home with me and help me with Gran’s Christmas pudding,” Tom says, straight faced. “I’ve had a beast of a time defeating it without you.”
    This shore leave is going to break Blake’s heart, but he can’t resist. He closes his eyes, nodding. “Lead on, sir.”
     
     
    T OM and his grandmother still live in the same sturdy brick row house they had the whole time Tom and Blake were growing up. When the two of them scrape the snow off their boots and duck inside, it smells of sweet baking spices. Blake’s mouth waters.
    “Gran, I found him!” Tom calls as he hangs up his scarf and starts on the buttons of his coat.
    “Just in time, too.” She comes out of the kitchen still wiping her hands on her apron, smiling at the both of them. She looks almost like he remembers—a few more wrinkles, and the last iron gray in her hair has given way to white, but she’s spry and lively and still has a twinkle in her eye. “Welcome home, Blake.”
    “Thank you, Alice,” Blake says. “It’s good to be back.” It’s true; he’s spent years telling himself that he had to simply abandon this life, but now that he’s here again he realizes how much he’s missed it. He lets Alice embrace him and kisses her on both cheeks. “The house is a bit smaller than I remember, I have to say.”
    “And no wonder!” Alice says. “Look at you, all grown and handsome. Barely a trace of the little boy you used to be.” She lets him go, looking him up and down with an embarrassingly frank appraisal.
    Tom elbows him in the side. “Let’s take your things upstairs, shall we?”
    Blake picks up his bag before he thinks to ask. “I’m staying here?”
    “Of course you are,” Tom says as he starts for the stairs. “You’re going to be here for Christmas morning.”
    Blake follows, the stairs creaking under him in exactly the same spots he remembers. “I don’t have gifts to put under the tree for either of you.”
    Tom shakes his head. “Don’t be daft,” he says. “You’re here .” He opens the door to the room directly across the hall from his. “I’ve gotten my best friend back for Christmas. What could I possibly want more than that?”
    “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Blake asks as he follows Tom inside. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to swallow.
    “Don’t stay away so long next time,” Tom says simply. He sounds calm, but also as serious as Blake has ever heard him; his quiet, straightforward moments have always been rare.
    Blake looks at the floor. “All right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
    Tom claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t brood about it, either. Just get yourself cleaned up and come down to celebrate.”
    “I will,” Blake promises. “Thanks.”
    He listens to Tom’s footsteps retreating down the hall, his mind reeling. This barely feels real. He’s been gone for seven years—has told himself he wouldn’t ever have a chance to come back here, after the way he took off—and now Tom is treating him not only like he’s forgiven, but like there was nothing to forgive in the first place.
    Blake unpacks his spare clothes, going through the motions as he tries to reconcile himself with the idea that this is really happening. Even the quilt on the bed is familiar. Things have changed , yes—God, the way Tom filled out in the last few years is proof enough of that—but in so many ways it’s still the place he remembers.
    He takes his shaving kit to the washroom at the end of the hall so he can get rid of the last week’s worth of scruff on his cheeks. He studies himself in the mirror when he’s finished up. He’s