Chapter 33
the thirty third chapter
AMOS
When was the last time I slept through the night?
All the way through until dawn, without noise or light to disturb me?
Even at the lake, I woke early.
Too much on my mind, after that fireside conversation.
But here? Here I feel completely at ease.
Beth’s home is a much needed haven.
And now, the man I love has finally made peace with his past.
I feel the heaviness soften.
A leg moves beside me.
Marco has woken first.
That never happens.
Opening my eyes, I see that the sun has yet to emerge.
But the sky is brightening to a soft pearly grey.
I reach out my hand, waiting for a handsome somebody to tell me the name of the birds that are serenading us outside our window.
But instead he whispers in my ear.
“You smile in your sleep. I never knew that.”
He tugs the blanket higher to keep my shoulders warm.
We melt into each other.
“Must have been smiling cos I'm the luckiest man in the world.”
He thinks he knows where I’m going with this.
“Excuse me,” he huffs. “Have you seen who I wake up next to?”
“I haven't,” I tease. “Is he cute?”
“So cute that I can't bear it.”
A playful hand rouses me below.
But I hold my ground.
“Who says I was smiling about you?”
I roll on top of him.
“Maybe I was dreaming about the second helping of plum cobbler Beth promised me.”
“And you’d better share it,” he laughs. “Or there'll be trouble.”
“I like trouble,” I flirt. “Do your worst.”
◆◆◆
Beth has packed us an early morning breakfast to go.
But it’s almost quarter to eight by the time we step out the door.
“Long road ahead of you,” she sighs. “Gotta make sure you two are well fed.”
She loads the back seat of the ute with chiller bags.
Frozen leftovers from last night’s feast.
Double batch of cookies in there too.
Maybe we can just take her with us.
She gestures to Marco.
“This guy used to pinch the baking off the cooling rack while I had my back turned.”
“Sounds like something he'd do,” I smirk.
We watch fondly as he slides down the hallway in his socks.
In this house, he’s allowed to be the kid.
“Gonna use the bathroom before our thirteen hour drive,” he hollers.
◆◆◆
Before I climb into the truck, Beth places a gentle hand on my arm.
“You’ve been taking such good care of him,” she says.
“I try. But…”
“I've never seen him this happy. Or this calm.”
Her eyes brim with thanks.
The feeling is mutual.
“Amos, the way he looks at you says it all.”
I appreciate the kind words. Really.
But all I’ve done is keep my promise.
Marco’s the one who pulled himself out of the dark.
“Beth, you should have seen him yesterday. I was so proud of him.”
“Wish I'd been there, hun. I’m sure it was intense.”
“His dad’s a piece of work. I almost decked him.”
Her halo slips for a moment.
“If I ever cross paths with that bastard, I'll probably take a swing at him too.”
I picture Ray getting clobbered by the nicest woman on the planet.
To be fair, she'd probably win.
“Trust me,” I say. “I wanted to make him suffer. The way he treats them both…”
“Bet you did, hun.”
I lower my voice.
“He tipped a beer on her head. Called us faggots.”
Her mouth presses into a firm line.
“And that’s probably him on a good day,” she sighs.
“Old man smelled like a dumpster. The whole house did. He's even more feral than I expected.”
Her eyes drift back to the house for a second.
“I'll never forget the day I saw those bruises. Or the split lip. And the burns.”
I comfort her with a hug.
“Selfish wanker buggered off to the pub as soon as he realised he'd lost that war.”
“Of course he did,” Beth scoffs. “Amos, if you ever do hear from Louise…”
“We'll call you.”
I give her hand a squeeze.
“I’ll help however I can. She’s only a couple of hours drive from here.”
“Thank you. It broke him to leave her there again.”
She releases a heavy breath, then lightens the topic as Marco returns.
“And don’t be strangers. You're welcome here anytime, both of you.”
She says it as though we live down the street.
And I kind of wish we did.
“Yeah, but next time we're flying,” he says, bounding down the stairs.
“Two hour flight beats a week of driving,” she grins.
Turning toward him, she cradles him in her arms.
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too.”
“You look happier,” she says. “And in love.”
“I am.” Marco smiles at me coyly. “Very.”
He draws a circle in the gravel with the toe of his shoe.
“Wish I'd had the balls to drive out here sooner. I'm sorry, I just…”
“I understand, sweetheart. Too many memories.”
“Yeah.”
“But I'd love to see that cheeky face of yours more often.”
“Good luck keeping us away,” I smile.
◆◆◆
He’s stolen my hoodie, claiming it as his pillow.
“I like the way it smells,” he whispers. “It's a you smell.”
Scrunching it against the passenger window, he zonks out.
He’s barely kept his eyes open since we neared Barcaldine.
We stopped for lunch briefly.
On the outskirts of Morven, he wakes again.
We’re stuck behind a bus.
He eyes the passengers with curiosity as we pass it.
“Feels different than before,” he says. “Travelling through these towns.”
“Different how?”
“This time I'm heading home. With a man who feels like home.”
I’d like to be his home forever.
And ever.
And ever.
Where do I sign up for that?
We carve a line across the map.
By late afternoon, we’re passing through Yuleba.
“You know,” he says in a sleepy haze, “Small towns are sort of beautiful.”
“Hmm,” I nod. “Beautiful in a way that cities never could be.”
Not just because nature’s voice is less muffled out here.
“People notice each other,” he says. “They don’t rush. They know how to slow down.”
“Very true,” I reply.
“I’ve been needing to slow down,” he yawns.
And with that, he returns to dreamland.
He must need it.
The last few days have zapped him of energy.
◆◆◆
I miss him when he sleeps.
But the endless stretch of road gives my mind plenty of time to wander.
In less than a year, our love story has bloomed.
I met a man who learned to survive by building a fortress.
And now he’s peeled back the layers.
He’s softened enough to let love in.
To let the universe spin without him countless days in a row.
It inspires me to do the same.
Mile after mile we drive, a river of wheels flowing in each direction.
Freight trucks and campervans to our right.
Pencil listed towns appearing on signs to our left.
Dulacca. Columboola. Goombi.
That last one’s not in the notebook.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “We need to add Goombi.”
Nearing an off ramp just before sunset, I pat his knee.
Nope. Still out like a light.
I don’t want to leave him.
But I’m desperate for a quick dunny dash.
Legs crossed to hold it in, I scrawl him a message.
The only pen and paper I can find is my sketchbook.
Back soon, my love.
Need to pee xx
◆◆◆
And that was my intention.
Yet somehow, I return carrying three large watermelons.
The owner of the fruit stall carries a couple more.
I try to open the door as quietly as possible.
One of them rolls under the truck.
I lay on my belly to retrieve it.
Marco wakes to find a stranger peering in through the window.
He probably can’t see me down here.
“G'day, I'm Trevor,” the fruit guy says.
I stand to my feet.
“Hey, you. Look what I found.”
“So many,” Marco mumbles half coherently.
Loading the melons into the back foot well, I pad them with whatever I can find.
Waving farewell to Trev, I close the door.
Marco’s hair sticks up on one side, face still flushed from his snooze.
He snuggles in for a hug.
“Baby, you got five?”
“Yeah, that's all he had left.”
He pauses to do the math.
“That's almost a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“He knocked it down to one twenty. But I figured, you missed out on so many birthdays when you were little. And these ones taste so much better than the city ones so I…”
He interrupts me with a kiss.
He has a habit of doing that.
And then he starts to cry.
“Bub, what's the matter?”
I smudge a tear with my thumb.
“You love me,” sleepy Marco weeps.
“Completely,” I grin. “And I don't know how to stop.”
Smoothing his hair, I kiss him on the forehead.
“You’re gonna be stumbling over my half empty tea cups until you’re ninety.”
“Ninety nine,” he vows.
The world dims around us.
We drive beneath our painted sky until city lights steal it away.
◆◆◆
When we wake on Sunday, the stars are still faintly visible on his wrist.
But only just.
Twisting his hand in the sunlight, he traces a finger across the miniature galaxy.
“They're almost gone,” he says.
“Almost.”
“What if I want to keep them indefinitely?”
A soft smile forms on my lips.
“I might be able to help with that.”
He holds his arm alongside mine, ink beside ink.
One story is permanent.
The other is temporary.
For now.
“I choose forever,” he whispers.
For me, this moment feels almost as intimate as touch.
“You want me to bring your sky to life?”
His nod is subtle but sure.
“We can't let them disappear. They’re from that night. You drew them right before you told me…”
Our mouths hover inches apart.
“Told you what?” I tease.
But I know damn well.
Heat rises between us.
An almost-but-not-yet kiss.
“Amos…”
“Mmm?”
He places a hand on my heart.
“Indefinitely.”
And the look in his eyes tells me that we’re not just talking about ink.
I’m not sure how I’m gonna get off this mattress.
With one word, he’s melted me into a puddle.
“Promise we’ll go slow?” he asks.
“We’ll go slow,” I nod. “I’ll be so gentle.”
His tongue warms my nipple, a sensation that ricochets through my body.
My sweet little tattoo virgin.
“I’m gonna take very very good care of you,” I whisper.
“VIP package?”
“Wait and see…”
“You've already left an indelible mark on my heart,” he says.
“It was only a matter of time before I surrendered.”
◆◆◆
“Meet you there around one?” he says. “I have to swing by my apartment.”
“See you soon, my love.”
I park in the usual spot, leaving the studio door sign flipped to closed.
Vonnie has held off all bookings until Tuesday.