Chapter Forty — Anyway #3
Vance got her cake. Ronan made sure. She stood beside the dessert table less than fifteen minutes into the reception with an enormous slice.
“You’re unbelievable.” Vance looked at him. “I was promised this years ago.” “You ate some before the ceremony.” “Appetizer.” Ronan laughed. Elliot appeared beside him. Vance looked toward the wedding band. Then Elliot.
“Congratulations.” “Thank you.” There was history in the exchange.
A lot. Vance had arrested him. Questioned him.
Investigated five murders. Helped catch the man who manipulated him.
Testified during sentencing. Visited once during incarceration, though neither of them spoke about it often.
Now wedding. Life was weird. Vance took another bite.
“You staying out of trouble?” Elliot smiled politely.
Ronan recognized the expression. “Define trouble.” Vance stared.
“Elliot.” “Kidding.” “Are you?” “Yes.” Ronan looked at him.
Elliot sighed. “Yes, actually.” Vance nodded.
“Good.” Elliot raised his eyebrows. She smiled.
“Allowed.” Then walked away. Ronan laughed.
“She likes me.” “She arrested you.” “People can contain multitudes.” “That’s my line.” “Marriage means community property.” “That's not what that means.” “It does now.” Ronan grabbed his hand. Wedding band. Warm already. Elliot looked down.
“Three.” “Stop counting.” “Never.”
The reception lasted until sunset. Rebecca danced with Elliot.
Then Ronan. Thomas eventually danced with Elliot too, though both looked deeply uncomfortable and quit after forty seconds.
Claire danced with everyone. Dylan got drunk enough to tell Elliot that he was still an asshole but apparently “less homicidal now,” which produced a silence so catastrophic that Dylan spent five minutes apologizing.
Elliot eventually laughed. That was progress too.
Bell left early. Vance stole cake for the drive home.
Of course. Rebecca kissed both of them at least six times.
Eventually cars disappeared. Voices faded.
The garden emptied. Ronan found Elliot beneath the willow tree.
Alone. He stood looking toward the lights strung through the branches. Ronan approached.
“Running away?” Elliot looked over. “No.” “Actually?” “Yes.” Ronan came beside him. Their shoulders touched. Elliot looked at his hand. Wedding band. Ronan followed.
“Four.” “I’m allowed to look.” “You are.” Silence. Then: “You okay?” Elliot nodded. “Overwhelmed.” “Good overwhelmed?” “Yes.”
Ronan smiled. Allowed. The tree moved lightly above them. Warm evening. No fence. No officer. No clock. One year outside and Elliot still occasionally looked at time like somebody might take it away. Less now. Someday maybe not at all. Ronan looked at the ring.
“Husband.” Elliot smiled. “You like saying it.” “Yes.” “Good.” “Allowed.” Elliot laughed. Then Ronan asked: “Still mine?” The smile faded. Not badly. Elliot understood. Old question. New answer. He turned toward Ronan.
“Yours because I choose to be.” There. Perfect.
Ronan’s chest tightened. “Better.” Elliot touched his ring.
Then looked at Ronan. “Still mine?” Ronan thought.
“Unfortunately.” Elliot shoved him. Ronan laughed.
“Asshole.” “You married me.” “Poor judgment.” “Too late.” “Bell might know someone.” “He likes me better.” “He absolutely does not.” Elliot stepped closer.
Ronan wrapped both arms around him. No audience now.
No need for one. Elliot rested his forehead against his.
“Home?” Ronan smiled. That word. Still his favorite. “Yeah.” They walked toward the house. Hand in hand. Not because either needed proof. Because they liked it. Halfway across the garden, Elliot pulled him backward. Ronan turned.
“What?” Elliot looked at his shoulder. Ronan knew immediately. “No.” A smile. “Don’t.”
“I didn't do anything.” “Your face did.” “My face is innocent.” Ronan laughed. Then Elliot leaned closer. Ronan caught his chin.
“Good boys don’t bite.” Elliot stopped. That smile. Not Bellweather’s golden boy. Not Saint’s favorite. Not the mask. Just Elliot.
“Good thing you didn’t marry one.” His teeth touched Ronan’s shoulder.
Light. Playful. Chosen. Ronan shoved his face away.
Elliot laughed. Then kissed the same spot.
Ronan looked at him. His husband. Not innocent.
Not absolved. Not defined by any single thing he had done either.
A man who had murdered five people. A man who had faced consequences.
A man still learning. A man Ronan loved.
All true. Nothing erased anything else. That was life.
Messier than Saint’s rules. Better too. Elliot took his hand again.
They walked toward home. No officer waited to separate them.
No visitation clock counted down. No one needed to promise tomorrow anymore.
Tomorrow was simply theirs. Good boys didn’t bite.
Elliot had never been one. Ronan married him anyway.