Chapter 23.5
the twenty third and a half chapter
AMOS
I’ve stolen the keys.
Gonna take my man for a spin.
“So strange to be in the passenger seat of my own car,” Marco laughs.
Passing through the Hendra intersection, he gives a dramatic sigh. A thumb hovers over his phone for a moment before he starts typing.
“Naughty clients?” I ask as we turn toward New Farm.
Marco glances up from the screen.
“Remember how I've been playing cupid between Deacon and Porter? It was going so well, but now somebody’s getting cold feet.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Something like that. Deacon’s a little too fond of the closet.”
We swerve into the parking lot.
Pressing send, he passes me the phone.
I raise an eyebrow, but he nods for me to read it.
Porter: How was dinner with the fam?
Marco: The kindest, most wonderful people ever. I adore them. You would have rated his dad's cooking a ten.
Porter: Nice.
Marco: You okay?
Porter: Yeah, I was just hoping to meet Deac's family soon. But he's being a muppet.
Marco: Give it time, he's wild about you. It's not easy to come out.
Porter: That's the thing. His closet seems to have a revolving door. He goes back in whenever his mates or brother are around. Karma for when I was young and stupid, I guess.
Marco: He's a keeper, okay? He'll find his way back. You of all people know that work mates can be the toughest ones to tell.
Porter: I hear ya. It just sucks.
Marco: Yep. But he's got a heart of gold. And you’re so good together. Don’t bugger it up. Be patient with him.
Porter: I'm trying. What should I say?
Marco: Nothing. Just keep loving him and he’ll do the rest.
Porter: : (
Marco: : p
Warmth ripples through me. Marco watches my reaction with curiosity.
“Took me three years to come out to my family,” I admit. “They were awesome about it, obviously. But sometimes you've gotta make peace with it on your own, before you can tell the rest of the world.”
“I guess,” he sighs. “Maybe Deacon’s still getting used to seeing himself as gay or bi.
You know… realising that he’s allowed to love Porter and be one of the boys.
It's mostly his brother and Dad, I think. And the guys from the truck yard. He’s heard them crack homophobic slurs about other people. ”
I remember how it felt when I went through that phase.
“If I found it daunting to come out around people who are extremely open minded, I can only imagine what it must be like to do that in a blokey blue collar environment. It’s hard enough as it is.”
Marco gives me a cheeky smile.
“So we shouldn’t drive a forklift through the yard telling everyone how much you love having my cock in your mouth?”
“Best not to make them jealous,” I wink.
◆◆◆
Our laughter melts into a kiss.
I nuzzle my face between his legs.
His gasp is soft, hips lifting slightly.
“Hungry?”
“Mm-hmm,” I nod.
“What kind of hungry?”
“Both.”
I reach behind him to open the door before we get carried away.
“Your keys, Sir,” I say, dropping them into his hand.
“Wait,” he replies, removing a small silver fob from the chain. “This one's yours.”
Our eyes meet for a second.
“Mine?”
“Your key to my apartment,” he points upward. “I had a spare made while we were at the mall today.”
I’m flooding with emotion, but I try my best to play it cool.
Marco shifts in his seat, suddenly shy.
“You can come and go anytime,” he says. “Even without texting.”
I know how much of a big deal this is for him.
His heart has been through the wringer.
I reach into my pocket and unloop the door key from my lanyard.
“For you,” I say. “I have a spare. At least I think I do. If it's not where I left it, I'll climb up the fire escape.”
“Risky,” he laughs. “Now that you’ve taught me to be spontaneous, I might start showing up after midnight, or whenever I miss you.”
“I hope you do,” I smile.
◆◆◆
I wake in the early hours, as I often do.
Midnight has come and gone.
The noise from the street has me craving the peace and calm of the lake.
But Marco sleeps through it, thankfully.
One arm loose across my chest, his breath is deep and blissful.
A lock of hair falls across his forehead.
His expression is unguarded in a way that only I see when he’s awake.
This is my favourite part of being an insomniac.
A glimpse of the man I love, when he feels most safe and at ease.
I search for Mark in Marco’s face, imagining him small and vulnerable.
I think about the boy who grew up beneath a blanket of stars.
A canopy that outshone every inch of his shadowy world.
The boy who followed those power lines toward the unknown.
Toward risk and toward love.
I’ve never met another soul so brave.
I can barely fathom the courage it must have taken to leave behind his painted sky.
To leave behind his mother and his monster.
I marvel at the quiet determination that has lived inside him from such a young age.
He keeps walking forward even when the road ahead is uncertain.
“I love you,” I whisper. “More than life itself, I love you.”
It’s not the first time I’ve told him this while he sleeps.
And it won’t be the last.
My gaze drifts toward the bedside table.
Marco’s planner rests there beside his phone and a small stack of books.
The cover is slightly worn at the edges from daily use.
I open it slowly, careful not to wake him.
Flipping to September third, I pause.
So far, the schedule for that week is fairly quiet. Impressively so.
Only one or two appointments and a few notes in the side column.
Marco is getting better at delegating.
I discover a thin black marker next to the water bottle.
Pulling the cap off with my teeth, it makes an unexpected pop.
Marco stirs, stretching his leg to one side.
Frozen in position, I wait.
In an empty corner, I sketch a handful of tiny stars.
They scatter across the margin and onto the next page.
I pause for a moment.
Then underneath them, I write a quote.
Something I remember reading years ago in a book.
A line that's echoed ever since the night of the storm.
These words resonate even more since our lake conversation.
For I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Sarah. Sarah somebody.
Williams?
I let the ink dry, then close the planner gently.
Marco shifts further beneath the blanket.
Raising it over his shoulder, I settle back against the pillow.
My fingers skim through his hair.
And soon my eyelids grow heavy as I fade in and out of consciousness.