Chapter 23
the twenty third chapter
AMOS
Crickets trill along the shadow line, embers glowing in the pit. Marco leans forward in the chair, his face illuminated as he stokes the fire.
“I know it's a lot,” he says, resting his chin in one hand. “But now you know every ugly dark detail. Hope I haven't scared you away.”
I take a moment to let it all soak in.
“Not going anywhere, bub.” I reach for him. “I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”
When it comes to feeling jealous of Porter, my heart feels lighter. Not heavier.
The man who pulled Marco to his feet when he'd been tempted to drink.
A man who has, despite his flaws, been there during some of his lowest days.
I’m humbled by that. Deeply thankful.
And Olsen?
I remember how painful it felt to unlearn everything about someone who had been my whole world.
To avoid any song, street or shared ritual that had once been an us thing.
To hold my breath when a car identical to his drove by.
I cried in my parents’ spare room for weeks, wearing Jake's shirt until it was smelly enough to walk to the laundry on its own.
That kind of vulnerability breaks a man to pieces.
But it also gave me the resilience and wisdom to love deeper, harder.
To never take anyone for granted.
It kills me that Marco has experienced so much pain.
And yet… how beautiful to be chosen by someone who knows the cost.
Somebody who is strong enough to stand alone.
The more I think about it, the penny begins to drop.
It isn’t love that we're afraid of.
Only the loss of it.
Marco draws comforting circles on my knee as he speaks.
“Porter and I were so young and naive,” he reflects. “I think whatever fleeting spark we felt had more to do with discovering that we were gay. The secrecy, the novelty of touch. And not wanting to be alone in an unfamiliar city.”
I marvel at his transparency.
His willingness to lay everything out in the open.
Any remaining jealousy that I once harboured now morphs into relief.
“When he and Olsen left town, I called it quits with the whole soulmate thing.”
There’s a weight beneath his words as he says it.
Thank fuck he changed his mind.
He rests his head against my shoulder as he continues.
“Aside from the occasional hookup, I stopped making time for love.
Didn't seem worth the risk. Never thought I'd cross that line again. Ever. It was tempting to close the door for good. And to numb the hunger, I threw myself into working long endless hours. Seven days some weeks. Work became my everything.”
He laughs quietly.
“Until this wildly attractive tattoo artist showed up forty minutes late…”
“The audacity,” I scoff. “I hope you put him in his place.”
“Oh, I still do.” He steals a kiss. “As often as possible.”
◆◆◆
Stepping toward the pit, he adds another log.
“It means more than you know,” I say. “That you told me.”
Our hands close the distance.
“You made me feel safe enough to tell you. I've never even told Beth some of these things. No other man I’ve let close has ever known about Jundah. Only that my childhood was tough, so a lady in Longreach became my legal guardian. I couldn’t risk being found.
So I buried it all in the past. Even though suppressing it led to panic attacks. ”
The tenderness of the moment raises another question in my mind.
“Do you still write to her?” I wonder. “Your mum, I mean. I’m sure she misses you.”
Marco scuffs his shoe across the gravel.
I know it’s a delicate topic.
“I try to send a letter each month. But still no return address. In case Dad ever…”
“Finds you?”
I dare him to try, I fume silently.
My fists tighten.
I swear to God, if that piece of shit ever lays a finger on his son again he’ll regret it.
I’ll only spare his life so I can make it absolute hell.
Plenty of tattooed biker friends who’d help me out, too.
Stop it, I tell myself. You’re not some vigilante.
Be the man he deserves. Calm the fuck down.
The last thing my baby needs is another man who resorts to violence.
Marco can see the pain in my eyes.
He kisses the thought away.
“You don’t have to save me. I'm strong enough to kick his ass if I wanted to. That’s one of the reasons I got myself a personal trainer. Dad’s super manipulative though. He gets off on the mind games. He'd find a way to sabotage an event or extort money somehow, being an addict and all.”
I release a breath.
My protective instincts redirect toward helping Marco heal.
“I imagine it would be triggering just to hear his voice or see his face again.”
“It would. Even the smell of cigarettes and beer makes my gut churn sometimes. Or sudden loud noises. You saw how I caved during that storm. I won't pretend it doesn't still affect me. I just... I can't…”
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have blurted that out.”
“No, it’s something we should talk about. No more secrets.”
“No more secrets.”
Marco folds the cuff of my sleeve.
“And the thing about Mum? I totally get it.
I'd wanna know about her too if I were you. Because… you're right, I do think about her often. More than I used to. Even attempted to drive along the A2 last year. I had this crazy plan that I could hustle her into the car while he was down at the pub. Bring her back here to the lake, maybe? I don’t know. Only got as far as Charleville before I turned around.”
His voice holds an air of resignation, but I know it must have tortured him.
Returning to the city without her.
Again.
“What if I came with you?” I offer. “We could take a little road trip. You could show me where you grew up. We can go check on her. Maybe she’ll come back with us? I’m sure it would mean everything to you, knowing she’s safe.”
Marco turns away quickly.
But I see it.
A wistful emotion I can’t quite name.
Hope, perhaps?
Hope, woven together with trepidation.
“Have I pushed too far?”
“No,” Marco says firmly. “I mean, thank you for offering but... it's best if I just leave all that in the past.” He swallows slightly. “It’s complicated.”
The way he says it makes it clear that our conversation has reached a wall.
Not a rejection.
Just a boundary he’s not ready to cross yet.
So I won’t mention it again.
Not unless he does.
◆◆◆
Snuggly blankets.
A cosy mattress.
Golden sunlight rimming the edge of the window sill.
I hold him in my arms.
I love to watch him sleep.
We didn’t roll into bed until three or four this morning.
To say that last night's conversation was intense would be an understatement.
But it has brought us closer in so many ways.
No more hiding. No more walls.
I drift back to sleep, a distant chorus of magpies as my lullaby.
No wonder Marco comes here whenever he needs solace.
His pocket of paradise.
His sanctuary away from the world.
Miles from the growling hum of traffic and constant demands.
Phones and clocks optional.
Nowhere to be but here.
Dawn rouses the watery cove with ripples of pink and peach.
But still, we sleep.
And when we wake with dozy smiles, I invite him to take a shower.
Marco comes willingly, in more ways than one.
“When we stay here in the summer, I’ll take you for a sunrise swim,” he says.
“On the condition that you leave your shorts behind.”
“Always trying to get my clothes off,” I smirk. “Why is that?”
One side of the bathroom has wide glass slats from floor to ceiling.
They open toward the lake.
The view is just as breathtaking by day.
Mountains rise in slow, ancient folds.
Silent, unflinching guardians.
Wafts of steam curl out the window.
Soapy skin beneath hands.
Tender kisses, unhurried.
Hair still tousled from slumber.
A watery cocoon, washing away all remnants of the night.
◆◆◆
In the kitchen, Marco slides another poached egg onto my plate.
“I've been meaning to ask you,” I smile. “How would you feel about coming with me to Redcliffe tonight?”
“You mean?”
“I know you're not ready to see your mum. And I know Beth and Porter are like family now. But... how would you feel about meeting mine?”
Marco sets the pan to one side, seeking comfort in my embrace.
He seems a teeny bit nervous.
It’s super sweet.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, maybe early evening around five. My sister and Robbie will be there too. The kids are off school this week. Everyone’s been wanting to meet you for months. Probably because I'm always like 'Marco, this' and 'Marco, that,' so they…”
I feel a warm mouth against mine.
Fingers curve gently through my hair.
“So that's a yes?”
“That's a yes,” he whispers.
I’m quietly ecstatic.
I’ve been meaning to ask him for so long, but I didn’t want to pressure him.
My family dinners are usually on Sunday nights when he’s working.
“Should I go home to change, or am I okay wearing... should I bring flowers or wine?”
“Just my Marco,” I say. “Just bring you.”
“Just me?”
“They're gonna love you, I promise. They keep saving you a seat whenever I come over, just in case.”
“They do?”
He traces a pinky finger across my palm, unable to hide his smile.
“Every time. It's getting a little awkward to show up Marco-less. There is one pre-requisite though. And it's kind of important.”
“Uh huh?”
“My nephew Ollie wants to know... do you like dragons?”
Marco ponders the question with the seriousness it deserves.
“What kind of world would it be without dragons?” he muses. “If only I'd brought mine with me, they could have kept the fire going last night.”
I adore him.
Fuck, I adore him.
We sink onto the couch and I ease his nerves with a shoulder rub.
Best to warn him though.
Ollie is undoubtedly going to make a beeline.
“Just so you know, a certain five year old is gonna claim you as his best friend before you even step in the door.”
◆◆◆
“Take a left here,” I guide him. “The grey bungalow under the fig tree? That's us.”
He pulls to the curb.
“Mum's going through a bit of a mosaic phase, by the way. She's halfway through grouting the path, the mail box, and the stairs.”
“Ah I see what you mean,” he smiles. “Very colourful.”
He twists the key from the ignition, his exhale slow and steady.