"I like how you think. Keep that man in line." Glancing over at the stack she indicated, I sighed. "I need wedding ideas, stat."
"It's getting kind of close to the wire, isn't it? Doesn't the resort have a planner? Why not go with what they normally offer? And, by the way, thank you for that. I cannot wait to go to St. Lucia for New Year's. Best choice ever. I've always loved a destination wedding."
I plopped down on her couch and plucked a magazine from the stack waiting for me on the end table. Idly thumbing through it, I shrugged. "I've never been super big on weddings, you know? I have simple tastes. I'm glad we're having it in St. Lucia. I love the resort, and we have some special memories there, but...I have to confess, I was relieved when he suggested it, mostly because I knew it would limit the guest list."
"You have your dress picked out, at least?"
I smiled. "Yeah. It's gorgeous. Wanna see? I have the final fitting in a few weeks." I pulled out my phone and showed her a shot that I had snapped in the mirror.
"Holy shit. It's stunning. I love the silver accents on the white." She looked at me and then the picture several times, her mouth growing round. "Oh em gee. I'm so jealous right now. I can't wait to see Adam's face when you walk down the aisle in this."
"He is being a lot more...detail-oriented...about the whole thing than I am."
April cocked her head at me as she handed me my phone. "That's a funny kind of reverse. Usually the guy wants nothing to do with it at all."
"Yeah. It's weird. He wasn't this focused on it until recently. Like, in the last few weeks, he's gotten kind of...obsessive about it. Says he wants me to have to have the perfect wedding. I keep trying to tell him it's a party, and as long as we all have fun, who cares what kind of the flowers there are or how tall the cake is. Know what I mean? I want good memories."
She frowned. "You guys aren't arguing about it, are you? I don't mean to pry. I..." She shook her head.
"No, it's okay. I know it's common to argue about weddings."
She nodded. "I was going to say, you two do remarkably well for how busy you both are. It would just be criminal if on top of all that you had the perfect relationship, too. I guess there always has to be bumps in the road. I honestly don't know how you two make it work so well. You're studying all day and all weekend long, and he's off on business trips or working eighteen-hour days."
"We have our little tricks. We steal a lot of moments. Lots of text flirting."
"Ohh. Sexting. Jordan loves that." She laughed.
I grimaced. Figured he would. And I could have lived a lifetime without knowing that about him.
"Adam actually forbids sexting because of the security risk. But flirting's okay. We also do video calls when he's out of town. We're always in touch."
April made a face. "How boring. I guess computer nerds are paranoid about that kind of stuff."
Probably with good reason.
"We do fine most of the time. Lately, though, he's been a total stress case, and I don't think it's all about the wedding."
She blinked at me. "I wonder if it's something going on at work, because Jordan is the same way."
I sat back a moment, closing the magazine and remembering the few times that Jordan had been brought up Adam had stiffly changed the subject or made a cryptic--and not often kind--remark. And that weird display a few weeks before, when Adam had stormed off to a dinner meeting without even caring Jordan was coming, too. "Are they not getting along, do you think?"
Her eyes widened. "Adam and Jordan? I--" She looked off into the distance as if thinking. "They haven't gotten together outside of work in quite some time. They don't run together anymore. I figured it's because of all the new projects they've got going now that they are flush with stock market cash."
"Work stress probably has a lot to do with it but...I don't know. I'm getting a weird vibe from both of them."
"I can ask my dad if he's noticed anything when I see him next weekend. Only problem is that Dad is notoriously close-mouthed about work. But since it's about Jordan, I might be able to wheedle something out of him."
I propped my elbow on the back of the couch, resting my chin in my hand. "Maybe we both need to suck it up and ask the men themselves."
"I think I'd rather eat a peanut butter and mustard sandwich."
I grinned. "I'd rather gargle with hot sauce."
"I'd rather take his surfboard out at high tide after a tropical storm."
And the conversation ended there, with us laughing and thinking of things we'd rather do than get between two man-babies having an emo standoff.
After that, we moved on to more important matters...like how I would be wearing my hair. What shoes and jewelry would best compliment the gown?
All that girly stuff.
Later I tossed that stack of magazines into the passenger seat of my car and went to study at the university library for most of the afternoon before landing over at Heath and Kat's place after dinnertime.
Heath greeted me, stone-faced and silent, as Kat squeezed her way out the door, deserting me almost immediately. Minutes later, she sent me a text. Sorry, I can't even with him right now. I think he really needs to talk to you alone.
From that small bit, I surmised they weren't seeing eye to eye.
Was it in the air or something?
I frowned as Heath led me wordlessly over to his computer and logged it into Dragon Epoch.
"You need to see this," he said when I asked him what he was doing.
Fragged, his mercenary, was located in the newbie zone--that same old city gate where most characters in Yondareth begin their adventuring life.
"Check out this new character next to General SylvenWood."
"The Town Crier?" I bent over his shoulder to get a better look at the monitor. "What the hell is that? Is this for a special holiday event or something?"
"No, wait. Check out what happens when you hail him.." Heath maneuvered his character to stand before the Town Crier.
Fragged says, "Hail, Town Crier."
Town Criers says, "The high lord of all the land is about to be wed. His lucky bride? The princess Emma."
Huh... I read the screen again and then turned back to Heath. "How'd you find this?"
"It hasn't been advertised yet. It wasn't as hard to uncover as the goddamn secret quest we did last year. I have a feeling it's been implemented and won't be publicized till the next official update. Check this out--once I follow the dialogue chain, he offers me a quest."
Town Crier has offered Fragged: Lord Sisyphus's Wedding Quest.
I straightened. "Wait, Lord Sisyphus. That's Adam's public game persona."
Heath turned to watch me closely. "Yeah, and he's getting married, right? To 'Princess Emma'..."
My mouth dropped in shock. "He put a special wedding quest into the game? He didn't even tell me about this. Do you think he meant it as a surprise?"
Heath shrugged exaggeratedly. "No idea. He's full of them...surprises, I mean."
I mock-glared at him. "Is that some kind of warning?"
Heath shook his head emphatically. "Oh no, you don't. No Bridezilla McColdFeet that he can blame on me. I mean...he's secretive."
I folded my arms over my chest. "Since when is that news? I still have no idea where we are going on our honeymoon."
"How do you know what to pack for? Bikini or ski suit or city walking shoes?"
"He's having our shopper take care of it and pack for both of us." I rolled my eyes, and he muttered something about first-world problems.
"He's really into the wedding." Heath rubbed his jaw, thinking. "Kind of playing the bride part, huh? Damn. I still say it's a waste and a shame that he's not into men."
I stretched my back, the muscles tired and sore. "He likes boobies too much." I patted my chest. "Mine, to be specific."
Heath held up a hand in front of his face. "Didn't need the visual. Thanks."
"So? Are you going to pop us some popcorn? This is movie night, right?"
br /> "As milady commands." He bowed. I followed him into the kitchen, and he plopped a bag of popcorn into the microwave while I grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge for him and a mineral water for me.
I was settled on the couch, remote in hand, when he showed up with the bowl of salty, buttery goodness. I began scrolling through the options listed. "So what are we in the mood for? Classic rerun? Marvel blockbuster? Romcom?"
Heath snorted at the last choice. "As if."
"How about the latest Jack Eversea action flick? He's so hot."
"Watched it last week."
"Oh, okay." I bit my lip and sent him a look out of the corner of my eye. "Well, here's a travel documentary on Dublin."
Heath stiffened next to me, but didn't say anything. Ugh...real smooth move, Mia. About as subtle as a hand grenade in a frilly doily tea shop.
I chanced a glance at him, and when I caught his eye, he said, "Something with lots of car chases and explosions."
I shook my head and tsked. "Such a boy."
But I didn't scroll away from that Dublin travel show. We both sat and stared at the screen. "Have you...heard from him lately?"
Heath grabbed an impossibly huge fist of popcorn and shoved it in his face, crunching loudly. I waited.
Finally, once he'd swallowed down the mess, he shoved the bowl at my chest, and I took it. "No," he muttered.
"He's busy." I shrugged. "I'm sure if you Skyped--"
"His mother's house has shitty Internet, and he can't seem to find the privacy he requires to Skype me from an Internet cafe. He's not out of the closet in Ireland, and I'm sure the world will end if anyone in his circle finds out he's been carrying on with an American man." Heath's voice was dry, emotionless, edged dark and as bitter as pure unsweetened chocolate.
"Not everyone is as brave as you are, Heath. It took a giant pair of balls to risk what you did--given how your parents are. And you were only sixteen when you came out."
Heath took a long pull from his beer, but didn't say anything.
"You should go to Ireland."
"No," he answered quickly.
"Why not?"
"If he can't even bring himself to Skype me in private, how the hell do you think he's going to handle me showing up at his door? With his very Catholic mother hovering over his shoulder and his six younger siblings all crowded around him? I'm not going to force his hand, Mia. I'm not going to force anyone to go through what I went through when I came out. And I'm most definitely not going to force someone out of the closet."
I shook my head. "Of course not. But can't you just be his friend? Go to Ireland and be there for him while he mourns the loss of his dad and gets his family back on their feet again?"
Heath's jaw tensed, and he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "If he wanted me there, he'd ask."
I turned to him, plunking the bowl of popcorn onto the couch between us. "Heath, he wants you there. I know he does."
"Oh?" His entire body tensed. "You have an in with Connor that I don't know about?"
Shifting to face him, I took a deep breath. "I called him last week, yeah. Wanted to give him my condolences. We sent a basket, and I followed up to see how he and his family are doing. He's my friend, too. And he asked about you. In detail."
Heath scowled. "Then why are you asking me how he's doing? You have more recent news than I do."
"He misses you."
Silence.
"And you miss him."
He muttered something and rubbed the back of his neck. "And your point is?"
"Heath! Don't be a stubborn idiot. Take it from someone who almost lost the man I love because I was a stubborn idiot. You were a firsthand witness to that catastrophe. Please learn from my mistake and don't repeat it with Connor. Go to Ireland. I know you have the time off."
"I'm saving those vacation days for your wedding."
Oh. Shit.
I sucked in a breath and let it go. "You have my permission to skip my wedding."
He looked at me like I was insane, folding his thick arms over his broad chest. "Oh really?"
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. The thought of him not being there when we got married made me almost nauseated and want to spontaneously burst into tears. But...it was a sacrifice I could gladly make for his happiness. "Yes, really. We'll take lots of pictures. I can video-chat you right after. It's okay."
"No. It's not. I'm not missing your wedding. At the very least, I have to make sure you get there in one piece and fucking get married already. It's taken you two long enough."
"Heath." I shook his shoulder. "You need to go get Connor."
"I can't get him if he doesn't want to be gotten." That powerful shoulder turned to rock under my hand. "He's staying in Ireland."
I blinked. "Temporarily--"
"No. He's looking for a job. He didn't tell you? He needs to make money to help out with the family. He's got young siblings still."
"That's..." I shook my head. "That's so sad."
"He doesn't seem sad." He shrugged off my hand. "He probably wasn't that into me."
I shook my head. "I was there at the airport when you said goodbye. He sobbed, Heath. Don't say he's not that into you. That's bullshit. When I talked to him last week--"
Without warning, Heath's huge hand swatted down, batting the bowl of popcorn off the couch to bounce off the wall below where the TV hung. Popcorn scattered everywhere--the floor, bouncing off the wall, raining down on the coffee table.
Heath was on his feet, shouting, "Goddamn it, Mia! Don't fucking preach to me. You messed up your own life and made it a shit show. You got lucky and everything's fixed. Now you think we all can follow suit?"
I sucked in a breath, sitting back, breathless, as if he'd punched me in the stomach. It took a moment of stunned silence and vigorous blinking through my own hurt to remember that Heath was wounded and he was striking out at me because he could. Because I was a safe punching bag. And he had nowhere else to vent.
"I--I want you to be happy, Heath. That's all I want." My voice faded into a whisper, eyes stinging with the beginning of unshed tears. And, as abruptly as his anger had appeared, it evaporated.
He collapsed on the couch beside me and grabbed me to him, crying. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I'm so sorry."
I returned the hug, almost suffocated by his embrace. Heath was a mountain of a man. That brief display of violence would have caused fear in me from any other source besides my self-adopted brother. I knew I was safe with him. Always.
He was rocking back and forth, his hug tightening, pulling me along with him like a rag doll. "God, I suck. I'm so sorry," he kept repeating.
Now his voice was breaking and his head was on my shoulder, his chest vibrating with violent sobs. And inexplicably, I started to cry, too. It wasn't every day that you felt your best friend fall apart in your arms, his heart shattered into tiny bits.
I'd done this before, helped pick up the pieces. And though Heath liked to imagine himself a tough guy, when he loved, he loved with his whole heart. He put everything out there uninhibitedly to be stepped on and crushed. Without fear of consequences. And though that made for more painful breakups, I knew that if I'd been the same way with Adam in the beginning, we may not have encountered some of the huge problems we did later.
Fortunately, as Heath said, I was lucky. Very lucky. Adam and I had a second chance, and we were learning every day how to make this one stick forever. But that didn't mean that Heath and Connor couldn't have their own brand of luck, too.
I held him tight and didn't speak for long minutes--probably longer than a half-hour or so, while he sobbed on my shoulder. I didn't shush him, didn't rock him, didn't coo like he was a baby.
I was there for him. A silent presence. I cried with him. I relived those moments when my own heart had broken. I empathized.
Adam and I had never had to worry about things like family, religion, beliefs, or someone hating us simply because of who we loved. I couldn't even imagine what t
hat would be like.
Heath's parents hadn't spoken to him in almost a decade. Connor had to keep his identity deeply in the closet, never fully being able to reveal who he was to the people he loved most in the world. And I couldn't help but think about how cruel that was.
Heath was right. I was lucky. And I had no business giving him love advice from my position of never having to worry about those other things. People would never oppose my and Adam's right to love each other and get married.
So that night, as we held each other, I tried my hardest to be a good friend.
And hoped. Hoped that someday he'd get to be happy, too, with the man that he loved.
We never did get to the movie. After a long talk, a cleanup job, and another bowl of popcorn, we pulled out the Munchkin cards and played that instead. It was great for a much-needed laugh.
By the time I made it home, it was after nine and--miracle of miracles--my significant other had made it home before me. However, he was on his laptop in his home office, likely still working.
And he was exhausted. He couldn't even hide it from me. He'd changed out of work clothes--looking delicious, as usual, in a pair of gray sweat pants and a black t-shirt (a gift from me) that read I'm a programmer: To save time, let's just assume that I am never wrong. I swooped up behind him, threw my arms around his neck, and smooched his prickly cheek.
He leaned back, hooking a hand behind my neck to bring me in for a kiss on the lips. "How was movie night with Heath?"
I straightened, throwing a significant glance at his laptop. "You still working?"
Adam ran a quick hand through his hair, as if smoothing it out. He was trying to eliminate the telltale signs of him having pulled at it or fiddled with it--a habit for him born of frustration.
"Still dealing with all that IT stuff? The IT guy still not coming through for you?" I asked before he could formulate an answer.
He nodded. "I'm really disappointed in Alan. I keep waiting for him to get his shit together, and he's not rising to the occasion. I get that his personal life is in the toilet, but there's only so long that I can wait on that."
"Bet when you sat down to write your first program, you never imagined yourself being more a manager of people than a plain ol' computer geek."
He heaved a sigh. "Sometimes I really wish I could go back to those days. Just me and my PC and my source lines of code in C."