Twenty-Nine Hours to Eternity

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Text

  About the Author

  By Elizabeth Noble

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright Page

  Twenty-Nine Hours to Eternity

  By Elizabeth Noble

  Being gay and pagan can make for a lonely holiday season, as Ian knows well. He’s used to celebrating alone. The last place he expects to meet a like-minded guy is at LAX during a twenty-nine-hour layover.

  Ian’s never felt so comfortable or compatible with another man, even if there is an air of mystery to Race.

  Race is no stranger to holiday isolation, and he decides they should seize the opportunity they’ve been given and observe the Saturnalia the way it was meant to be. A grand celebration ensues, where every moment is special and every meal a feast. The ancient traditions take on new meaning as the men find meaning in each other. But each of them has a destiny and for their paths to continue together, it’ll take a kind of magic that hasn’t been seen in centuries.

  9:00 a.m., December 24: Six minutes to eternity

  LAX WAS a city within a larger city, and today, Christmas Eve, it was alive with people bustling from one end to the other. Travelers on their way home or to grandma’s or leaving on that vacation they’d planned and saved for.

  Trudging to the employee area of the airline he worked for, pulling his suitcase, Ian Dever fingered one of the two small figurines—a sigillaria—nestled in his pants pocket. This one was terra-cotta; the other was pottery. Race—short for Horace, and Ian still pictured the way Race wrinkled his nose when Ian said his whole name—had given him the gifts on the previous day. Those who celebrated Christmas would give loved ones presents tomorrow, or possibly tonight. Ian was pagan; his gift exchange day had been yesterday. Normally he’d have had no one to celebrate Saturnalia with, and more often than not, he worked this week.

  Ian was still working this week, but the twenty-nine-hour layover in LA made this year special. Along with the sigillaria was a small card with Race’s phone number and a promise their day-long fling would become so much more. Ian had doubts, but nonetheless, he’d had some of the best hours of his life here, with Race.

  Today he was flying out, Hawaii then Japan, before returning to Los Angeles and three weeks downtime before his next assignment. Wasn’t it just his luck to finally meet a man who was not only pagan but shared a mutual attraction with Ian, only to have to fly out so quickly? Such was the life of a flight attendant. Nodding to a few other flight-crew members, Ian took his place in line and pulled out his ID. Leaning on the suitcase handle, he glanced around the concourse, not really paying attention to the many people walking briskly on their way to catch flights to anywhere in the world.

  Ian had another layover in Hawaii, but he’d be calling Race often and was already planning the phone sex.

  A low rumble came from somewhere farther along the main terminal. A pilot in line next to Ian frowned and muttered, “What the hell was that?”

  “Earthquake?” someone else suggested.

  In the next instant, explosions sounded, breaking glass flew like shrapnel, and screams filled the air. Ian turned in time to see a bright flash. He was thrown back against a row of chairs by some unseen enormous weight. Large shards of glass impaled him, and he stared, fascinated, at the dark spot spreading out from his chest to meet another one inching up from his stomach. Ian tried to brush it away with one hand.

  Sirens and shouting assaulted Ian from all directions, but it was all getting farther and farther away. Race’s face, the twinkle in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks, flashed through Ian’s mind.

  Then everything went dark.

  4:00 a.m., December 23: Twenty-nine hours to eternity

  RACE WANDERED along the terminal, gazing into shops through long, straight bar barriers before he made his way to a glass wall. He stretched and watched a plane taxi to the hangar. This airport, this plane. For some reason he’d been drawn to this spot to celebrate his holiday.

  He yawned and went to a nearby coffee shop, where he could sit with a mug of his favorite warm, sweet drink and watch the people who disembarked. Passengers filtered into the terminal. A family walked by—two women, each carrying a small, sleepy child.

  As they passed Race, one adorable little girl watched him, then said to the woman carrying her, “Mommy, that man looks like Santa.”

  Race winked at her. His beard was dark brown and curly, not white, but his face was round, his cheeks filled out and rosy. He’d been told he had a perpetual twinkle to his eyes, and he might be carrying a few extra pounds around his girth. It wasn’t the first time he’d been compared to that particular modern-day childhood myth.

  Eventually the passengers thinned out, dispersing to wherever their journey was taking them. Race ordered another cup of coffee and bought a cherry turnover to go with it. He didn’t have long to wait until the flight crew left the plane, pulling suitcases behind them and looking pretty beat.

  One young man—about Race’s height, but thinner, clean shaven, and with straight, light brown, stylish hair piqued Race’s attention. Man or woman, it didn’t much matter to Race. It was the soul within that attracted him and drew him in. At first it seemed as if the man were going to follow the others and disappear into the crowd, but at the last second, he turned and headed to the coffee shop.

  At this hour there were plenty of available seats in the shop, but after Race’s young man secured his order, he chose a place near Race. He set his drink and fruit cup on the table and sat heavily in the chair, then leaned back and sighed deeply. Race used the back of one hand to casually shove the sugar container on his table out of sight behind a rack that held menus upright.

  This young man was why Race had been drawn to this particular place. He was sure of it. Leaning closer to the man, Race asked, “Do you have any extra sugar on your table? Mine seems to have gone missing.”

  The young man smiled. He looked tired, but his smile was genuine. “Sure.” He handed the little acrylic box laden with small, different-colored packets over to Race. “Cool accent. Where’re you from? Usually I have a good ear and can guess.”

  Race shrugged and returned the smile. “I’ve lived all over, but I hail from Italy.”

  The young man reached across himself and held out his left hand in the universal greeting. “Ian Dever.”

  Race shook the offered hand before scooting his chair closer to Ian’s table. “Race Gaea.”

  “Race,” Ian repeated. “I like that name. Is it short for something?”

  “Horace.” Race wrinkled his nose.

  “Timekeeper.”

  Race chuckled. “Yes, but I still like Race better.”

  Ian shifted his chair so he was facing Race completely. “I know what I’m doing here at four in the morning. How about you? Flying out soon?”

  “Not for some time. I have, what do you in the airline business call it? Layover. I’m stuck here for a day. I don’t know anyone in this city, and this airport is an amazing place to explore.”

  Ian pulled a face. “I’d call LAX something else, but I’ve spent more time on layovers here than I want to think about.” He paused, and from his expression it seemed to Race he was mulling something over. “I don’t usually do this, but it’s a holiday, and I could use some company. Normally I celebrate alone, but this year I’ve been feeling that I want something more. There’s a great restaurant near here. They have the best breakfast buffet. Interested?”

  “What’s a holiday without a good feast? I’d be delighted.” Race stood up. “Do you need to drop your bag off somewhere?”

  “The airline usually has shuttles to a hotel for us,
but the next one isn’t for a few hours, and I’m sure I can’t check in until later in the morning,” Ian explained. “I’m afraid it’ll have to come along.”

  “It’s a threesome, then.”

  Ian laughed, and Race loved the sound immediately. Ian motioned to a point farther along the terminal. “This way to the taxis.”

  5:30 a.m., December 23: Twenty-seven and a half hours to eternity

  RACE RAISED his glass and clanged it softly against Ian’s. “You were right. This was a wonderful meal.” He moved so his glass was now toasting the third chair at the table, where Ian’s rolling suitcase, joined now by a garment bag, sat. “I’m glad you came along as well,” he joked.

  Ian rewarded him with another soft laugh. “We’re not supposed to socialize in our uniforms. I learned a long time ago to put the garment bag inside my suitcase and be prepared for quick changes. Besides, it’s not the most comfortable thing to walk around in. So, when you’re not hanging around airport coffee shops at the asscrack of dawn, what do you do?”

  “Nothing as exciting as flying around the world. I’m a festival planner—mostly agricultural events.”

  “Hmm. My job isn’t as glamorous as most people think. It’s not a bad job, but some days….” Ian shook his head.

  “Some days it amounts to dealing with many people who are locked in a metal tube high up in the air and have too much booze?” Race ventured.

  Ian raised his eyebrows and pointed at Race. “Yes, exactly like that! And the days around Christmas are worse. Everyone is in a hurry and stressed out. I’m glad I gave that up and don’t celebrate it.”

  “But you said that you usually celebrate the holiday alone?”

  “I do, but it’s not Christmas. My very Christian parents disowned me when I came out. I needed something, a spiritual outlet, and found paganism. This week pagans celebrate Saturnalia.” Ian stopped talking suddenly.

  “Is something wrong?” Race pressed. The vibrant energy from Ian’s soul had shifted from its previous open and friendly quality to something more leery.

  “N-no, but I don’t usually tell people I’m pagan until I know them better. Most are very offended. I hope—”

  Race leaned back in his chair and laughed, to Ian’s obvious dismay.

  “I’m sorry,” Race hastened to say. “But what luck we both have! I celebrate the same holiday as you do.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re not kidding me.” Ian’s attitude changed at once to delight, making his soul’s energy radiate with joy. Race shook his head, and Ian continued, “What are the odds of us running into each other?”

  “Astronomical, I’d think. So, it appears neither of us needs to celebrate alone this year. What shall we do?”

  Ian sighed. “Usually I’m working, and I don’t drink adult beverages when I’m on the flight roster. I do, however, have good big meals when I can. Sometimes a bit of gambling and gift giving. I don’t fly out again until tomorrow morning.”

  “Plenty of time,” Race said. “We’re going to have all we need.”

  After breakfast, Race discovered Ian’s hotel wasn’t far away, so they decided to walk their meal off. They strolled at a leisurely pace along the street, looking in store windows and planning out their day.

  “Don’t you need to get some sleep after traveling?” Race asked while Ian waited for his room assignment at the hotel’s front desk.

  “Nah, not yet at least,” Ian said. “I’d rather try to wait until a more appropriate bedtime this evening. It makes changing time zones so much easier. I’m not twenty-one anymore.” He took his keycard from the man behind the guest check-in desk. “Uh, do you, um, want to come and hang out in my room while I get settled?”

  Race glanced around the lobby. “Actually, I’d rather take a look in the gift shop and maybe peruse those brochures over there. Find us some interesting touristy things to do.”

  Ian nodded. “I’ll be back down in a half hour?”

  “I’ll be here.” Race pretended not to notice the way Ian’s soul and face reflected disappointment and something else—loss, maybe? He was sure Ian believed Race would be nowhere in sight once he returned to the lobby. Little did Ian know how long Race had waited to meet him and how far he’d come for that chance.

  IAN HUNG the bag containing his uniform in the closet and tossed his suitcase onto the bed. A quick riffle through it produced his shaving kit. He grabbed it and headed to the shower. Twenty minutes later he was clean, refreshed, and dressed. After making sure he had all he needed for a few hours of sight-seeing, he left his room and headed to the elevator.

  He reminded himself not to be hurt and let down when he discovered Race was no longer in the lobby, or anywhere close by for that matter. The truth was, he was only going down to the lobby because he’d made a promise to return. Even if he had no one to return to, he wasn’t going back on his word.

  The elevator door dinged and slid open. Ian took a big breath and stepped out with the other passengers.

  Don’t be hurt. Don’t be disappointed.

  Ian walked along, trying to appear casual and endeavoring to unknot his tense stomach. He put his hands in his jeans pockets to hide how they trembled. Why was he so anxious about a man he’d only met a few hours ago? It didn’t make sense. He certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight or fated mates or anything like that, but still, there was something about Race, some connection Ian couldn’t get a firm grasp on. Ian might not be able to put his finger on the how and why of that hint of a bond with Race, but he sure would like to have the chance to figure it out.

  Ian rounded the corner from the short hall where the elevators were located.

  “La Brea Tar Pits.”

  “Huh?” Ian pulled up short and looked at Race, who stood in front of him, smiling.

  Race held a brochure in front of Ian’s face. “Have you ever been to the tar pits? I’ve heard about them and never once went there. The place sounds fascinating.”

  Ian blinked at Race, trying to wrap his head around mammoth bones and Race’s desire to see black, icky goo. “You want to go where?” Ian blurted the words out before he could stop himself.

  Race’s face fell. “You’ve been there too much. You don’t like it?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, you surprised me. I haven’t been there for years.”

  Race leaned forward as if imparting a big secret. “It probably hasn’t changed.”

  Ian glanced out the big front windows of the hotel before turning back to Race. “It’s a nice sunny day. I’d love to spend it at the tar pits with you.” He probably sounded a little too excited about the prospect, but he honestly didn’t care.

  They caught a taxi, and as they rode Ian pointed out various places of interest to Race. There was the normal horrendous LA traffic and lack of flow, but for once Ian didn’t mind being stuck. He and Race were having fun working a crossword in an abandoned newspaper and guessing where the people walking on the sidewalk were going and why.

  “The gift shop at your hotel had some interesting items,” Race commented. He pulled a small pouch from his jacket pocket. “A little token I thought you’d enjoy and would be easy to carry in your suitcase. They don’t weigh too much either.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I know, but it makes me happy to give gifts. Especially today.” Race raised his free hand. “And before you say you didn’t get me anything, you’re giving me your day.” He held out his other hand, pouch in his palm.

  Ian smiled so broadly he felt as though his face might split. “Fair enough.” He took the pouch, opened it carefully, and pulled out the contents. There was a small terra-cotta pitcher and a pottery die that bore Roman numerals. “You found these in that shop in the hotel?”

  “Interesting things can be found if one knows where to look. The little beverage pitcher for merriment and the die should be self-explanatory.”

  “Thank you,” Ian said with complete sincerity. He leaned over and kissed Race’s che
ek. Race’s gaze slid sideways, and Ian’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe he’d misread Race. “I-I’m sorry, I—”

  Ian’s words were cut off when Race took his face in both hands and kissed Ian on the mouth.

  The car coming to a stop made them both start, separate, and look out the windows. “It appears we’ve arrived,” Race said.

  Ian tucked the figurines back into their pouch. “I love these sigillaria. Thank you.”

  Race reached across the front seat and paid the taxi fare, then scooted out of the door. He held one hand out to Ian, giving him a gentle pull to help him out of the car. “Let’s go see some prehistoric stuff.”

  They’d arrived not too long after the museum opened. Between the tar pits and the museum that went with them, there was plenty to see. Ian loved watching Race discover and explore the Pleistocene Garden. Of course they took pictures among the streetlamps and wandered the grounds, looking for tiny tar pits where the icky, smelly stuff was just beginning to punch through the soil.

  “Can you imagine? These magnificent creatures walked over the same ground we have,” Race said. They’d moved to the actual tar pits before heading into the Observation Pit, then on to the Museum and Fossil Lab.

  Before they left, Ian bought Race two small figurines, a mastodon and a dire wolf. After catching a taxi, they decided to take the driver up on a recommendation for lunch. The café he suggested was small, with a section outdoors for nice days. Since they were in California, that patio was in constant use. The place was semi-self-serve. They ordered their food and each took a ticket with a number, along with tall glasses of cold drinks, before finding a seat on the patio.

  It wasn’t long before their lunch was ready. “You sit,” Race said. “I’ll get our orders. It’s your job to wait on people all day, but today you get waited on.” He stood, picked up both of their tickets, and returned a few minutes later with a tray filled with food. “That was a splendid trip, I’m glad I saw the advertisement.”