Between the Shadow and the Soul - 29. Birthday Bash Part 1 - Forerunners of Fate

February 3, 2017

"Are you avoiding looking at me?"

His cheeks flaming crimson, his eyes continued meandering about the room, deftly avoiding where I stood. "No, man," Kyle mumbled.

"I can't count the number of times you saw me in nothing but a towel at the gym. Why are you being weird all of a sudden?"

Basketball Boy waved a hand in my general direction and expelled a disgusted breath.

"Fuck, dude," I chuckled. "Did you become a prude in Florida?"

Casting a stern gaze at me, he huffed derisively before announcing in a mocking tone, "It's a survival trait, man. Isn't that what you told me?"

I grinned and shook my head. "Come on, don't be silly. You're like a pendulum swinging way in the opposite direction."

"So?" he challenged.

"Listen, Kyle, what you don't look at is just as important as what you do look at."

"Huh?" His confused expression tickled me, but at least he was finally looking at me, if only for a brief moment.

Oh to be young again, when the world is new and gay social etiquette is a quagmire ready to snare every unsuspecting and unprepared queen.

"Hey," I began with a beaming grin as he turned away again, "you have to find the middle ground. Unless you're sure it's safe to flirt, treat everybody the same. If you're attracted to someone, don't stare obsessively but don't avoid looking at them either. Both actions are obvious and telling."

When he turned around, he didn't look uncomfortable, only curious. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Huh ..."

Shaking my head and biting back yet another bit of laughter, I toted clothes to the bathroom where I intended to dress.

"I'll be in Orlando in a few weeks," I announced nonchalantly.

"Really?" he repeated, his eyes finally meeting mine with more purpose and less insecurity, enthusiasm in his voice. He licked his lips as his eyes made a quick circuit of my towel-clad body. I almost laughed. Again.

"Yeah. I'm traveling to all the locations where I had employees so I can take them out to a nice lunch and say goodbye to them properly. I mention it because, if you're interested, you're welcome to come to lunch with us while I'm down there."

"Wow ..." he muttered with curiosity. "How many ex-employees do you have?"

"Maybe a thousand."

"What?"

"Dude, don't shout. I'm across the room, not the state."

"But a thousand?"

"Right. Less than one thousand one but more than nine hundred ninety-nine. Give or take a decimal."

What's the big deal with a thousand?

"Asshole," he sneered with nothing but humor behind the words. As his face calmed into something less expressive, he asked, "How many locations?"

"Uh ... Counting Dallas?" He nodded. "Eighteen."

"Isn't that expensive? I mean, come on, man, you flew me out here for the weekend just to attend your birthday party. Now you tell me you're flying all over the country just to say goodbye to ex-employees?"

His face slowly morphed from a sly inquisitive stare to that infamous blank expression, the one that meant consideration, thought, observation, analysis. Then his eyes narrowed as he quietly asked, "You're rich, aren't you?"

The heat of my blush flamed across my cheeks. Lowering my face, I looked away, shrugging.

I'd almost forgotten how smart he is. And observant.

When I looked back, his expressionless gaze met my own. Almost as if reciting a dictionary entry he explained, "Your car ... You told me you bought it with cash. And your house ... You bought it the day you looked at it, and you admitted you don't have house payments—at the time I didn't think about it. Your hotel room—no, fuck the room shit, I meant your hotel suite ... You've said you're not really worried about the cost even though you're still paying your part of the house bills. And this party ..." He gestured vaguely around the room, no doubt meaning to encompass the hotel and the ballrooms downstairs and anything else associated with the event. "You got me a really nice hotel room—shit, I mean suite, and yours is even bigger; you have a ballroom—"

"Two."

"What?"

"Two ballrooms."

"Damn it! Fine. You have two ballrooms and food and drinks, you even said you have rooms reserved for anyone who has too much to drink or gets too tired to drive home."

Of course he's been cataloging everything, filing it away for later. The kid's mind is scary sometimes.

Shaking my head, I wandered over and dropped onto the bed beside him. Head ducked, cheeks red, I shyly glanced at him before saying, "There's something I need to tell you, Kyle."

"Okay ..."

Turning a little so I could face him, I admitted, "You're going to find out at the birthday party anyway, but I think it's important that I tell you personally rather than as part of a crowd."

He shifted a bit so he could face me, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I work because I love technology, but I don't actually have to work. My grandfather left me a large amount of money when he died."

With the same impassive tone one might use when saying grass is green or rain is wet, he observed, "But you don't act rich."

I laughed. "I'm not sure how rich people are supposed to act. Still, I'll take that as a compliment."

"You don't live in a huge house, own a bunch of cars, have a lot of stuff. And you don't flaunt it!"

"Then that was a generous compliment. Thank you! But seriously, Kyle, I'm a pretty simple guy when it comes to stuff. I have a car I like, a house I like, I have the music and books and movies I like. What else do I need?"

"How much are you worth?" Before I could react, he immediately corrected himself. "Oh fuck! I'm sorry. It's none of my business. I'm sorry!" Standing, he wandered to the door then back to the bed, a bundle of embarrassed nerves. Back to the door and back to the bed then back to the door, all while I remained silent. Eventually he returned and stopped beside me. "But you seem so normal," he deadpanned.

Again I laughed. He joined me, shaking his head at his own statement.

Kyle plopped down on the bed beside me, bumped me with his shoulder, said, "You're never what I expect you to be, man."

"I hope that's a good thing," I quipped as I stood and walked to the bathroom, deciding it was time to get dressed.

"Yeah, of course it is. You just ... I don't know, man, you're ... I mean ... Fuck! I don't know what I mean. You're just the coolest guy ever. When I think I have you figured out, you spring something on me and make me realize you're even cooler than I thought."

I tossed a shy grin over my shoulder. "Thank you. I'm glad somebody recognizes my greatness."

"Fuck you!" he said through a chuckle.

It took all my intellect to stop myself from tossing back something like "In your dreams" or "Not now, I need to get dressed." My usual flippancy died at the hands of common sense and affection, knowing any such comment would not only kill our levity, but it would also make light of his feelings even though I'd never dream of doing such a thing. In time we'd reach that place, but we weren't there yet.

After slipping a pair of boxer briefs on under the towel, I yanked it off and finished drying. Then I applied some deodorant.

Once I'd stepped into a pair of slim jeans, I stood upright, pulling the jeans up to my waist before zipping and buttoning them. Glancing into the bedroom I found Basketball Boy staring at me with that patented blank expression.

Fuck, dude, does he ever stop?

"I need to tell you something."

His wistful yet determined tone made me ask gently, "What about?"

"Nate."

This is the conversation I meant to start. Why's he ahead of me?

Realizing that, irrespective of what he had to say, I'd have to wade into the dangerous waters of his emotions by telling him what I hoped to accomplish this weekend, at this very party no less, I walked back to the bed and sank down beside him, wrapping an arm around him. I leaned my head against his, took a deep breath.

"It's obvious."

Surprised, I asked, "What is?"

"I can see it in your face. I can hear it in your voice. Ever since you picked me up at the airport you've been so ..."

"What, Kyle?" I prompted quietly, hushed, respectful.

"You've been so full of hope."

Blinking several times, unsure of a proper response, I waited rather than offering some banal sentiment or meaningless interrogative.

He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. And though I felt no tension in his shoulders and saw no pain in his body language, I knew they were there, lurking just below the surface, swimming in the dappled light of revelation and disclosure.

"It felt really good," he continued, "when I saw you waiting for me just outside security. You couldn't hide how happy you were to see me. But there was something else. I knew it had to be Nate."

"Kyle—"

"I told my mom."

I sat upright and looked at him. "Told her what?"

He blushed, such a cute thing on him because he rarely did it, though he seemed to do it a lot around me. Ducking his head and finding it left him inches from my bare chest with his eyes aimed right at my nipple, he lifted his face to meet my gaze, his blush deepening.

"I was depressed. She said it was more than just moving. She already knew, but you know how she is, asking in a way to get you to admit it without her having to ask directly."

"What are we talking about?"

"How I feel about you." His voice was barely a whisper.

I remained silent. He had a point that I didn't see coming, so I had to wait for him to make it.

After a deep breath he said, "I told her how I feel. About you. She said she knew. She said she understood why it couldn't amount to anything. She said you'd still be one of my best friends for life, like the big brother I never had. I agreed. Then I told her about how you feel about Nate. I know I shouldn't have, it's not my business, but I was hurting and frustrated and I needed her to understand why moving made it worse, like I was losing my chance because I wouldn't be around. That's when she said something that really made me stop and think."

"What did she say?" My voice was low, reverential, supportive. I rubbed my hand across his back to let him know I was listening, I was there for him.

Basketball Boy squared his shoulders and met my stare directly. "She told me to put myself in your shoes. She said I should consider if your feelings for Nate are as strong as mine are for you. She asked me what I'd want you to do if you love him that much. She asked me how I thought you should proceed. She asked me what was more important, wanting you to wait for me or wanting you to be happy. She reminded me that you've known Nate longer than I've been alive and your feelings for him have been around all that time."

He looked away for a moment, glancing about the room, then his eyes met mine when he said, "And she told me she'd thought you two were a couple from the moment you moved in."

"You—"

"Yeah, same as me. I remember. Because it seemed so natural and obvious, the way you guys are with each other, the bond you share, the way you're always taking care of each other, the affection, the trust. It's everything a relationship is supposed to be, but it's not quite there yet, right? I thought so." He shrugged, looked apologetic. "She left it at that. It gave me a lot to think about. In the end I realized you're already a couple in my mind. You always have been. I still fell in love with you like a silly schoolboy; I couldn't help it. But I realize what you feel for Nate is as important as what I feel for you. How can I resent you for that? How can I resent him? How could I want to take that away from you if I love you? Does it hurt? Sure, but that's my problem, not yours."

His blue eyes were bashful and misty, but they were also unflinching.

I pulled him to me and hugged him tight, resting my chin on his head. "You never cease to amaze me, Kyle. My life is so much richer with you in it."

His arms wrapped around me as he rested his cheek against my chest. With a little nod he said, "I know. You're just lucky to have me, snookums."

Our laughter was rich and pleasant and honest.

After he pulled away, still looking at me, I stood and walked back to the bathroom. "I'm going to try to win Nate's heart tonight. I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't give it my best shot." Glancing over my shoulder at him, I asked, "Know what I mean?"

Resigned yet not upset or unhappy, he nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean, cupcake."

"I needed to tell you. I want you to understand. I don't intend it to hurt you, Kyle, please believe me. But I couldn't live with myself if I acted before you knew."

His sigh was eloquent yet subdued. "I wish things were different. I wish I was a few years older and we had a chance. We have to play the cards we're dealt, though, don't we?." He stood and walked to me, pulled me into a brief yet sincere hug, mumbled against my chest, "It doesn't change what I feel, but I hope it works out for you, Greg. I really do." When he pulled my face toward him, I didn't hesitate. He dropped a chaste yet loving kiss on my lips before turning and going back to the bed.

"Thank you," I breathed, my voice hoarse and full of emotion. Shaking my head, in awe of this kid, I told him with more strength in my tone, "Thank you. You're amazing. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." As I headed back to the bathroom, I added through an ear-to-ear grin, "And cut it out with the pet names. That's totally uncalled for!"

"Okay, honeybunny."

* * * * *

We migrated to Basketball Boy's suite next to mine so he could take a shower and get ready. When he meandered out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, I had to admit he was looking better than ever. He was really going to break some hearts down in Florida. And I hoped he was going to win the heart of some boy worthy of what Kyle had to offer, which I kept discovering was far more than most sixteen-year-old boys.

As he approached his bed, I stood and put out a hand, lightly touching his chest to stop him. "Wait a minute."

Turning and looking at me in surprise, he shrugged a silent question.

I retrieved a velvet pouch from my pocket. Reaching inside it with my fingertips, I pulled out a wide, leather-strapped bracelet with a heavy silver bar connected by strings of leather looped through eyelets. The metal was hammered such that it looked like silver raindrops in motion each time the angle of the light scintillated across its surface.

"What is that?" he whispered, eyes locked on the jewelry.

First I showed him the back. It had his full name and the date engraved there, plus the event: Silver Rain Birthday Bash. Beneath that the inscription read, "For Kyle, my brother, with love." A nearly silent broken gasp escaped his lips. Pulling his right arm toward me, I wrapped the bracelet around his wrist and tightened the buckle to ensure it wouldn't fall off. Once I felt certain it was secure, I released his arm, allowing him to inspect it.

"It's beautiful ..." he muttered, fingers lightly tracing the silver and caressing the thick leather. "God, it's so ... so awesome." His eyes came up and locked on mine, a question swimming in their blue depths.

"It's my birthday gift to you, Kyle. It's also a key to the party. It'll get you in the door and it'll get you anything you want to eat or drink. Except alcohol, which you can only have if I'm with you."

His eyes fell back to the bracelet, his fingers still touching, feeling. "It's your birthday," he pointed out as his eyes met mine. "You're not supposed to give other people gifts for your own birthday ..."

"That's what I do, Kyle. You'll understand more at the party." I gave him a quick peck on the lips and a light hug.

"What's Silver Rain?" he inquired as I turned to walk away. "Wait a minute! Isn't that—"

"At the party ..." I replied over my shoulder.

"Okay."

Stopping at the bedroom door of his suite, I turned back to him and explained, "I have to head downstairs. As soon as you're ready, come find me. We're in the Trinity Ballroom on the third floor. You can't miss it. Just follow the signs for the Silver Rain Birthday Bash."

"Okay ..." he muttered again, smiling.

* * * * *

Greeting arrivals as I offered last-minute instructions to the folks manning the ballroom foyer while they registered guests and verified invitations and processed raffle entries and checked coats and purses, I glanced up in time to see someone step out of an elevator and head in my direction.

The sight that met my eyes overwhelmed my senses. My breathing hitched then stopped with a gasp, my eyes grew wide trying to drink in the sight of him, my heart hammered in my chest, my stomach did all sorts of flips and tumbles, my mind went blank save for one thought: Nate.

He wore a fitted seafoam button-down shirt with faint chocolate brown marbling that made it look earthy and iridescent, the top three buttons left open and showing just the right amount of the perfect chest beneath; faded jeans that fit like a glove, accentuating every muscle as he moved; dark brown low-heeled boots; and a thigh-length brown leather coat with a zipped-in black hoodie. He looked ... perfect.

Self-control seeped from my bones as my knees trembled, every part of me wanting to run to him, draw him into my arms, do unspeakable and intimate and affectionate things to him. But mostly to just hug him, kiss him, be thankful he came.

As soon as his eyes landed on me, Nate tossed a half-smile my way, his cheeks darkening a touch as blood rushed to his face. And all the while his eyes twinkled, those deep brown pools of bottomless emotion and thought, those earthy windows into the soul of the man who was the other half of me.

Fuck me running, he's beautiful ...

His blush immediately deepened and he ducked his head.

Oh yeah, he was tuned into my broadcast. I had to be mindful of that lest he perceive some measure of my plot before I had time to enact it.

Glancing over my shoulder at Trey, one of my employees, I reached out and waggled my fingers as my mouth opened. But before I could say anything, a black velvet bag was gently laid in my palm. Blushing slightly, letting his face fall before looking at me, the five-eleven cute blond kid with the football player's body and luscious hazel eyes quietly said, "For Mr. Sawyer, boss."

My eyes snapped to Trey's, both humor and gratitude in my expression. Under my breath I told him with a chuckle, "Thank you. And stop calling me boss, Trey. The name's Greg."

A mischievous smirk appeared on his face as if by magic, playfulness dancing in his eyes. "Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say, boss."

Fighting off another chuckle, I spun around just as Nate reached me. I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, kissing his cheek before breathing in his ear, "I'm so glad you made it, Little Big Man, I'm so glad you're here."

He trembled bodily, a shiver that translated through the embrace right into my very being. I squeezed him tighter even as he turned his face into my neck and replied, "I'm happy to be here, G-Man. And I'm really happy to see you."

We held each other, oblivious to the activity around us. I inhaled his scent and felt dizzied by it. His face pressed against my neck.

If I don't get a move on, I'll stand here all night holding him, never letting him go, staying like this until they sweep away the ashes of my bones.

Following another deep inhale to secure that smell in my senses, I slowly released him and pulled back. Nate's eyes were wondrously bright and so very emotional.

I cupped his cheek and said in a breathy tone, "Let's get your coat checked."

He nodded, mumbled, "Yeah," didn't move and didn't take his eyes off me.

I stretched my arm across his shoulders and turned him around, pulling him against me, then I moved us to where we needed to be. Nate pulled his phone out of his jacket and slipped it into his jeans, shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Karry, another employee. She was the first person available to take it from him.

Her fleshy cheeks flushed a bit when she looked at Nate, at me, back to Nate, then back to me. She retrieved a check receipt, separated the stub, handed that to my best friend as she took the jacket from him, and said, "I'll take care of it, Nate." Then to both of us: "You two have a wonderful evening."

Stepping away from the ballroom entrance to a secluded spot behind the coat and purse check area, I gently turned Nate so his back was against the wall. "Roll up your right sleeve," I told him.

Without hesitation he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled the shirt up a few times, revealing his deliciously vascular forearm, muscles obvious with each move, his dark skin smooth and vibrant.

Lifting the velvet bag and reaching inside with my fingers, I pulled out another bracelet, exactly like the one I'd given Kyle. "Read the inscription," I said, flipping it over and handing it to him. He took it from me slowly, reverently.

Like Kyle's, Nate's bracelet had his name and the date plus the name of the event on the underside of the silver bar. Beneath that, again like Basketball Boy's, was a personal inscription, a heartfelt expression: "For Nate, the man who possesses part of my soul, with all my love." Under that was a paraphrased quote from the seventeenth sonnet of Cien sonetos de amor: "It is your eyes that close when I fall asleep."

Yeah, I had to work quickly to have that added before the party, but a man in love is a man driven to great feats in need.

Nate's hands trembled so briefly and so slightly that it might have passed unnoticed had I not watched carefully. Rising like the morning sun, his gaze lifted to meet my own at a speed recognizable only in increments.

When his mouth opened and closed, also slowly, I reached out and took the bracelet from him, then I took his right hand and pulled it forward enough so I could put it on his wrist, loosening the buckles just enough to give it a snug, secure fit.

I stepped forward, pinning his hand between us, holding it against my heart so he could feel the hammer that pounded there. Again quoting the sonnet he originally quoted to me, I crushed his hand against my body and held it firmly as I said, "Your hand upon my chest is my hand."

His inhale stuttered. A variety of emotions cascaded across his features, his eyes communicating thoughts and feelings in a waterfall of activity. Yet he said nothing.

"Don't think, Nate. Feel." I leaned forward just enough to kiss him, not a passionate or erotic kiss but rather an intimate and loving one, a kiss that lasted several seconds during which his other hand gripped my arm with increasing pressure. "Don't think about it, Nate," I said against his lips, my voice low and husky. "Just feel." Then I kissed him again, brief yet full of my soul.

He trembled, his grip on me almost painful, but his other hand remained flat and pressed against my chest above a thundering heart that threatened to shake me apart. And there his fingers curled just a bit, as if gripping the beating center of me, as if holding it, as if communing with it.

I backed up, still holding his hand, weaving my fingers through his and holding him tight.

"I don't want you to think about any of it tonight, Nate," I whispered. "Tonight, Little Big Man, all you need to do is feel. That's all that matters," I added, reaching out and touching his chest above his heart. "Just feel it here and don't worry about the thoughts that try to get in the way."

His eyes were soulful, his lips quivering, his heart pounding. Shaking his head, he mumbled, "I don't know what to do with you."

"Just feel. The rest will follow." In a lighter tone I said, "Come on." I cocked my head toward the doors to the ballroom. "Mom and Dad and the rest of the gang are here. Let's go get a drink and see if we can find them."

"Okay," he breathed, a worded sigh. He gripped my hand like a lifeline as I turned and pulled him in my wake.

* * * * *

"He's only allowed alcohol if I'm here to approve it."

The bartender grinned and nodded before giving Kyle a conspiratorial wink. Though it made Kyle feel like he had an ally if he aimed to misbehave, it was for show since they'd never server a minor unless they knew someone else was taking the blame.

Turning my attention to Basketball Boy, I asked, "On that note, want a beer?"

"What's that Chinese one we had that time?"

"Tsingtao."

Back to the pretty bartender he asked, "You have that one?"

"Sure, sweetie." She fetched the beer, opened it and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said before taking a sip, immediately closing his eyes and adding an appreciative moan. All very dramatic, of course.

The bartender smiled and snickered before embarking on other duties.

At a quarter past eight, the ballroom already held nine hundred people or more by my estimate, and more trickled in at a steady rate. Thankfully we stood at the VIP bar, tucked away and hidden from the masses, secluded between the two ballrooms yet accessible via the open doors as long as you had a bracelet to get you by the gatekeepers.

"Obviously," Keigan began with a gesture encompassing the ballroom and the rapidly growing crowd, "there are things I don't know about you." His jesting tone belied his serious expression.

"Like you speaking Spanish, it must be stuff that never came up before."

"Touché." His grin was radiant, his dimples on full display.

Yannis touched my arm with affection as he said, "For my part, I'm honored to be invited, Greg. I never knew you were the man behind Silver Rain."

"Neither did we," Malinda added, snuggling up to Brandon as means to alleviate any ambiguity in her use of the inclusive "we."

Kyle's expression of realization swung in my direction, his mouth already open.

Cutting him off I explained sheepishly, "You might say I've been hiding from it for a while, but thanks to some timely intervention—" I offered an appreciative look to Uncle Farid, Aunt Jan, Mom and Dad whilst simultaneously squeezing Nate against my side. "—I'm getting back on track. Better than that, even."

"What do you mean?" Brandon inquired.

"All will be explained later," I told them in a tone that asked them to drop it for the time being. "Right now," I continued, slipping my arm from Nate's shoulders and taking his hand in mine as I put my lips against his ear, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

His shiver delighted me. His squeeze of my hand delighted me. His nod and simple "Of course" delighted me. Though not a bit of it was out of the ordinary for us. Which pleased me. For if I hoped to step us from what we were to what we could be, I needed to be damn sure we were back to being what we were previously before trying to move forward from there.

"Pardon us," he said to the group with raised eyebrows and a humorous look of curious interest.

Smiles and nods sent us on our way.

* * * * *

Unless we left the ballroom area altogether, the most private place I could find was at the end of the VIP bar behind a screen of plants that hid boxes of drinks and glasses and napkins and other necessities for the alcohol trade. Despite our proximity to the ballroom doors and the small group at the bar, the spot offered enough privacy to suit my immediate needs.

"What's up, G-Man?"

Taking both of Nate's hands in mine, I dropped my head for a moment and breathed deeply, then I looked into those beautiful dark brown eyes and opened the windows to my soul, hoping he was receiving me five by five.

"I want to come home, Nate."

His gasp was quiet yet evident. His eyes widened a bit, his eyebrows rising, and though his mouth dropped open a wee bit, I could still see his pleased grin.

"Please ..." he whispered, squeezing my hands. Nervous yet hopeful, he met my gaze without blinking.

Stepping closer, I released his hands and grabbed his waist, letting my fingers trace tiny patterns. His hands immediately mirrored my own, resting lightly just above my hips, his fingers gripping me through my shirt, slowly kneading my skin. I couldn't tell if he even knew he was doing it.

"I can't live without you."

His words pierced me to the core, brought unshed tears to my eyes. I couldn't look away, for the same emotions stared back at me from his face.

"I need to make sure you want me to come back."

"Of course, G-Man! I never wanted you to leave."

"Does knowing how I feel change that?"

His cheeks darkened with a blush. He blinked, his eyes glancing away briefly before returning to mine. Confusion and turmoil collided in his expression. No doubt the vestiges of Richard. Well, we'd see about that.

Pulling him closer until we were pressed together, I looked down into his eyes and whispered, "I have to know, Nate." When I let my lips brush against his, he shivered, his eyes fluttered closed for just a second, his hands tightened on my waist. And he pulled me toward him, as though I'd left room.

But when his eyes popped open again, I could see it, that unremitting fear. I was ready, though.

Resting my lips against his, letting us share our breaths with each other, once again he trembled, his grip strengthened, his eyelids twitched and lowered, his breathing shallowed and became rapid.

"Don't think, Nate," I whispered against his lips, letting him feel the words more than hear them. "Just feel. Feel with me, Nate. Stop thinking about it and just feel with me." I brushed my lips against his before asking, "Do you still want me to come home despite how I feel?"

"Yes ..." he moaned, leaning into me that single millimeter it took to bring our lips together. It wasn't a kiss so much as a touch, a promise, an agreement that we had things to say that were worth hearing.

"I've sacrificed too much by not having you in my life," I said. "Even if it means suffering alone for the rest of my days, I can't live without you, I can't give you up, I can't continue betraying what we have."

Although he'd been quite tactile throughout the evening, as we often were, Nate again leaned forward the hair's width needed to brush his lips against mine. His eyes closed and his breathing ragged, I wondered if he even knew what he was doing.

Then he smiled against my lips. Though his face still looked like emotional turmoil and though his body shook with trembles and fear and nervousness, the smile struck me as incongruous yet meaningful.

"I don't know what's going to happen, Greg, but you need to come home," he mumbled. "Please ..."

I cupped his cheek with the palm of my hand, rubbing a thumb just beneath his eye.

"It's time for my speech," I told him quietly, "but we're not done, Little Big Man. In fact, save the last dance for me."

Then I kissed him, a real, passionate, intimate, powerful kiss. I poured my soul into it, into Nate, into the man I so dearly loved. When I realized I intended to slip my tongue into his mouth, I backed off, dropping smaller kisses on his lips, wrapping my arm around him and holding him up as his legs shook and his knees buckled.

Turning slightly so I could rub my cheek against his and move my lips to his ear, I whispered, "Save the last dance for me, Nate. It'll be special, I promise."

I stepped back and looked at him, his wits lost and his mind racing and his body wanting and his heart telling his intellect to go fuck itself and his tongue tracing his lips to capture the last bit of my taste. When his eyes popped open, though, I could see the shadow of Richard darkening the moment, I could see the fear, I could see the desire to escape, to deny.

So I grabbed his hand and dragged him with me. "You've never missed the speech, and you really don't want to miss it this year. Things are changing."