Robert stared at his wife, just as shocked as the rest of us to see the ever-stoic Ms. Kelly act like anything other than a queen. And then the room broke in loud laughter and cheers while Andrew and Joel and Hayley were wrapped up in hug after hug.
Spencer grinned over at me. “Personally, I think our night on the veranda was enough of a public debut. But I’m glad we didn’t miss this. Families are such weird things. Beautiful. Stressful as hell, but beautiful. Plus, I’ll be talking about Robert for weeks at the firm. Everyone in San Francisco swears I’m making up all the stories about everyone here. I wish I’d got that one on video.”
I didn’t get to respond before Gilbert came over and slung his arm over my shoulders and thumped my chest. “We might as well book an appointment right now, Doc. My big sister just announced that she’s carrying my best friend and his husband’s baby. Just when you thought you were about to get rid of me.” He winked, and then his smile and tone transitioned from teasing to serious. “I’m glad you guys are here. You’re family by this point, and I’m happy for you both.” He jabbed me in the chest. “And remember, if anybody in town gives you shit, give me a shout.” He waggled his finger between Spencer and me. “And that includes your sister and your ex-wife.” He scowled, thinking. “You know, your family is about as fucked-up as mine. Maybe you should start making counseling sessions with me. I’ll even do one better than you do. I’ll offer you a punch card—ten sessions and the eleventh one is free.”
We laughed good-naturedly at the ribbing, but in truth, my heart was warmed by the entire thing. Things were going to be tense with my father, probably forever, and I wasn’t sure how much longer it would take to get back to normal with Erica, if we ever could. But I had my mother, and my brother and his family. It had looked like Spencer was going to have no one, but now... His thoughts were clear as I watched him look around the room, pausing on certain members of the Bryant and Kelly families. I doubted Robert knew what a gift he was giving us by taking us under his roof as if we were one of their kin, but the emotions playing over Spencer’s face were priceless. Although, knowing Robert, as flighty and outrageous as he was, he’d probably known exactly what he was doing.
Twenty-Two
Spencer
The buzz of Connor’s tattoo gun filled my ears like a swarm of bees. The feel of the needles plunging into my skin only served to increase that sensation. It had been so long since I’d gotten the tattoo I’d forgotten how much it hurt going over the shoulder blade.
“You’re gonna feel like a new man, Spence.” The buzzing ceased as Connor wiped a wet towel over my skin and dipped the tattoo gun into a small reservoir of ink. “I can’t believe you’ve had this eyesore on your body for so long. If I’d known, I’d have tied you down and fixed it. That shit should be illegal.”
I couldn’t disagree with him, on any level. “Better late than never, which is a saying I’m coming to appreciate more with each passing day.”
“Well, in this case, you’re probably right. The tattoo was so poorly done, that this will be one of the easiest cover-ups I’ve ever had to do. It’ll look perfect, I promise.” He patted my shoulder, then switched the gun back on and returned to the tattoo. Though Connor was huge, like a cage fighter, and covered in tattoos, his nature was gentle. As much as it hurt going over the bone, I was willing to bet it would’ve been much more painful with another artist’s hand. As I recalled, the first time had been extremely painful, but at the time, that had seemed only right. As if the pain could burn away the gayness that tattoo was meant to condemn.
How life had changed. That first tattoo, given by a stranger in a dark, dirty tattoo parlor. A tattoo representing a man I told myself I was but feared I’d never be. And now, a man who was becoming a friend ushered me into his spa-like business and offered his talent to transform a symbol of lies to something beautiful, real, and represented so much that I had to be thankful for.
The chime of the front door cut over the buzz of the tattoo gun. I bet it was Donovan. I glanced over, but couldn’t see past the half wall that designated Connor’s workspace.
Connor lifted the gun once more as he twisted around and gave a wave. “Donovan, over here!”
Donovan looked nervous as he stepped into the space.
“Hey, you made it.”
Donovan nodded a greeting at Connor and bent down to give me a quick kiss. “I sure did.”
Connor chuckled. “You look a little sick, Doc.”
I studied Donovan for a second. He did look worried. “Huh, I didn’t know you were afraid of needles.”
“I didn’t say I had a thing about needles.”
I couldn’t keep from laughing, and Connor joined in.
“You’re both bastards.”
That only made us laugh harder.
Donovan tried to glower, but a smile started to form.
“Why are you nervous, babe? I’m the one getting work done, not you.” I twisted to see him better, making sure Connor was getting ready to start working again first. “Unless you have a thing about someone else’s blood.”
“No, I’m not queasy about blood, though I can’t imagine why anyone would want to see it on purpose.” He studied me for a moment. “So we’re not getting matching tattoos?”
I was pretty certain there was only relief in his tone, but maybe there was some disappointment too. “No matching tattoos. Not exactly our style, is it?”
“Well….” Donovan shrugged. “I’d get one if that’s what you wanted.” Relief. That was definitely the sound of relief.
I couldn’t believe he’d thought I’d asked him to meet me at Lavender Ink to get a set of matching tattoos that we’d never discussed. “Is that a little easier to say now that you know that’s not why you’re here?”
He laughed softly, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Maybe a bit.”
“You really are adorable. I didn’t even think about that option. Sorry to have worried you.” Suddenly, I was nervous. Maybe rightly so. Maybe I should’ve talked to him about this before I was already under the gun. Might as well find out. “So, ah… you wanna check it out?”
“Can I?”
“That’s the reason I asked you to come down here. Although, judging from your reaction to the thought of us getting a tattoo together, maybe I should’ve cleared this by you first instead of using it as a surprise.” Shit. My heart sank. How had I thought this was a good idea? “If it’s something you’re not comfortable with, I’m sure we can change it again.”
Connor made a noise, and though he didn’t use any words, his opinion on that idea was obvious.
Donovan didn’t reply, just moved to the other side of the dentist chair—tattoo lounge, whatever it was—that I straddled. He still didn’t say anything, but I could feel him lean closer.
“Hold on, there’s too much blood and ink.” Connor squirted what I assumed was water over the tattoo and then wiped it away.
Donovan sucked in a gasp. “Oh my God.”
Connor had finished the black outline about half an hour before and had moved on to the color portions, but I wasn’t sure how far he’d gotten. Though I was certain it was obvious what it was. The blurry and atrocious lion was transformed to a clear Grizabella. Beside her, where there had been only blank skin before, sat a wolf, its head lifted into a howl. When I’d last checked the outline in the mirror, I’d been shocked how great it looked. I’d tried to prepare myself for the cat part to be a bit of a mess, given that it was a cover-up, but it hadn’t been. It was beautiful, and Connor had said it would only get better as we went along. “You’ve been quiet back there quite a long time, Donovan. You’re making me nervous.”
Donovan stepped back around, and knelt in front of me so I could look at him on the same level. “Cats and Into the Woods? Really?”
Connor swiveled in his chair and stood. “I’m going to step out for a second, grab a smoke. Give you boys some time.”
I sat up straighter, my heart sinking. “I’m sorry if that
freaks you out. It just seemed the perfect thing to do. Take a symbol of my past, of all the repression and being someone I wasn’t, and turn it into my new life, my life with you, where I can finally be who I actually am, and love who I love. And it’s about how we got together, obviously.” I reached out and took his hand. “And I love you. I always have, I always will.”
Donovan swallowed, but didn’t speak.
Shit. “I really wasn’t trying to freak you out, Donovan. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head frantically. “No. No.” He swallowed again. “I’m not freaked-out. I’m just….” He searched for words, but my hope dared to dart back up. “I don’t know. I just can’t believe this is finally real. That you’re actually mine, and you’re not planning on walking away.”
How could he even think I’d ever walk away? I’d wanted him for so long, and he was even better in reality than I’d imagined in my fantasies. “So, you’re okay with it? I didn’t just fuck something up?”
His shoulders slumped “God, no. I’m blown away by you, that’s all. Blown away by life finally being this good.”
Relief washed over me. And a fresh wave of all I felt for the beautiful man in front of me. “I’m glad. And I feel the same. Thank you for loving me for so long, for saving your heart for me all these years.”
“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” His eyes glistened.
“Then that will be forever.” I turned to humor, feeling like it was all too much at the moment. I probably shouldn’t get this tattoo and then make it sound like I was proposing. “Which, considering Connor is a much better tattoo artist than the original one, will be exactly how long this tattoo lasts.”
“I am more than okay with that.” He kissed me.
Maybe I should do it. Right then and there. I had no doubt that I’d be spending the rest of my life with Donovan. Why wait?
Connor cleared his throat from behind us. “I hate to interrupt you two, but I’m assuming that reaction means the tattoo is still a go. I have another client in two hours, and from the looks of things, you’re about to turn my shop into your own little porn studio. I love you both, and you’re each extremely handsome men, but that is not something I want to see. You’re way too much a part of the gang now.” He cocked his head. “Although, considering you’ve been ushered into the Bryant and Kelly families, you each need to get the Lavender Shores tattoo we all have. You know, as show of devotion.”
Donovan whipped around to stare at Connor, his skin going pale.
“Oh my God.” Connor laughed. “I was kidding, Doc, though I wish you could see your face. Priceless.”
Epilogue
Donovan
Two months later
I swear from the look on Spencer’s face, we could’ve been at the opening night of the most awaited musical on Broadway. Hell, not just his face. He was so happy he was nearly giddy. I was willing to bet he truly wouldn’t be half as excited if we actually were in New York. And all for a dinner theater production to boot.
When I’d bought the tickets a couple months before, I’d already known what my plan was. Though, I didn’t really allow myself to think about it too much. Just in case I decided it really was too soon or it wasn’t a step we needed to take, or some other excuse. It could’ve been enough to spend another weekend in San Francisco, one night at Spencer’s favorite musical, and the next night at mine.
However, as Connor had wiped clean the tattoo on Spencer’s back, and I realized what it was, I’d known that I was going to go with my original intent, that it wasn’t too soon, and that it was even more perfect than I’d thought.
After more than three months together, I truly couldn’t picture a life without Spencer. Being with him felt easy and natural. It felt meant to be. Still, just because something was meant to be didn’t mean it inevitably happened. Maybe without Paulie’s party, Spencer and I would’ve taken longer to act on our attraction. Maybe neither one of us would have ever gotten up the nerve. Who knows, maybe even the costumes came into play. My halfhearted wolf prosthetic allowing Spencer to know it was me, while his phantom-masked cat-furred face hid his identity from me until it was too late. Exactly the way it was supposed to be.
The quality of the production was decent, definitely not New York worthy, but not high school theater either. The food on the other hand I suspected came from Schwan’s. Even that, though, as Spencer beamed through his dinner, I was nearly convinced we were at the five-star restaurant, one that matched our suits. I couldn’t help but laugh at him a little. I dared to lean closer and whisper over some old cat’s song. “I had no idea you had such an affinity for chicken cordon bleu. I’d think you are a child of the 60s.”
Spencer speared a piece and held it up, his eyes twinkling. “Chicken, ham, and cheese, all deep-fried. What’s not to like about that?”
I was willing to bet this particular creation had been microwaved, not so much deep-fried. But it clearly didn’t matter to Spencer. He didn’t give me a chance to respond anyway. “The Glamour Cat number is two songs from now. It’s short, but one of my favorites. Such a heartbreaking moment, how Grizabella has fallen so far from where she used to be.” He stuck the chicken cordon bleu in his mouth and turned his attention back to the stage.
I had gained a little bit of respect for the show when Spencer had forced me to watch his recorded version of the production. He talked the entire way through, explaining each connection between the cats, which ones he loved, which ones he found lacking. To be honest, the only other time I’d seen it, I was never able to get past grown men and women wearing tights, makeup, and what equated to fur coats and fake tails. I found it silly. However, after Spencer’s explanations, and watching the show now, combined with his adoration of it, I couldn’t help but see the charm. Nor to draw parallels.
In many ways, the show was disjointed. Just a bunch of different cats singing about themselves. More biography of different felines than an actual plot. But maybe that was life. After my years as a therapist, I knew there was no maybe about it. We were all the stars of our own production, the world circling around each of us, not necessarily because we thought we deserved such a thing, but simply because that was how our brains and souls worked. All those disjointed lives bashed together and circled one another, forming communities of friends, families, and towns. I could only imagine what our show would be called and what each of the characters in our stories would sing about. Erica, my father. Spencer’s parents, Emma, and Ethan. Spencer and myself. I would have to run the idea past Spencer later. I was willing to bet he’d have some insight. Probably had a cat name for each one of us.
I allowed myself to be captured by the songs for a while, though really, Spencer held my attention the most. Over the past couple of months, the nerves that I’d always noticed below his surface seemed to have disappeared. And I could finally see the confident man who was a successful lawyer. Though he didn’t have that cutthroat quality to him, he was powerful, and strong, and happy. Maybe that was it more than anything, he was happy.
I was happy. And content for maybe the first time in my life.
So content that some fatalistic part of me warned that I should let sleeping dogs lie. Not rock the boat. I pushed that aside, though; I wanted it all.
Song after song went by, each story of every individual cat unfolding. Finally, Grizabella began to sing “Memory,” letting me know the intermission was mere minutes away. I wasn’t sure if I could do this. I was terrified. I was going to propose in the middle of the theater? What had I been thinking? In the middle of dinner theater no less!
Spencer glanced at me, flashing an enraptured smile before turning back to Grizabella. He was so damn beautiful.
Yes, not only could I do this, not only did I want this more than anything, but this really was the right place to do it. A public display of our love for one another, of my devotion to him. And yet, we weren’t in the middle of Lavender Shores, in the middle of our families, our story was just that. Our story. Abou
t Spencer and myself. About the long journey it took to get here, about all that lay in store for us.
Grizabella held out the last notes of “Memory,” and the small dinner theater erupted into applause. Spencer stood, clapping loudly. As the applause began to fade, the houselights brightened. People began to stand up from their tables, but Grizabella spoke again. “Before you all get up for intermission, if I could ask you to please take your seats. We have a very special moment to share with you.” She waited for the shuffling of people sitting back down to subside. “If I could please have Donovan Carlisle and Spencer Epstein join me onstage please.”
Spencer turned wide eyes onto me, looking a mixture of excited and terrified. “What did you do?”
I shrugged. “I got the VIP experience. You get… backstage passes for after the show. And at intermission they—”
I didn’t have to figure out how to finish that sentence, Spencer grabbed my hand and practically pulled me through the tables to the stage. Which, honestly, was appreciated, since I wasn’t sure I was able to walk on my own.
Within a matter of moments, there we stood, in the middle of the huge junkyard, diners staring up at us expectantly from their seats, and a woman dressed as a 1980s disco cat holding a mike out. “Which of you is Donovan?”
I managed to raise my hand.
She smiled, suddenly looking more feline than I’d noticed before, and handed me the microphone. Without another word, she took a few steps back, partially disappearing beside the massive trash can lid.
Spencer watched her go and then looked back at me. Confusion crossed his features for a heartbeat, and then his eyes widened once more.
He knew. No doubt. He knew.
He didn’t look like he was about to run away, so that was a good sign.
I’d practiced what I was going to say at home. Some humorous little speech to the audience leading up to introducing Spencer going on about how wonderful he was. All of that flitted away. Instead, holding the mike in one hand, and digging into my pocket with the other, I dropped to one knee in front of him. I had to readjust quickly to be able to pull the ring out of my pocket, but then I held it up to him. “Spencer Epstein, I’ve…” I glanced over at Grizabella. She still smiled. She was still by the huge trash can lid. What had I been thinking? I turned, looking out at countless faces, some of whom already had hands over their mouths as they realized what I was getting ready to do. Or what I was doing so horribly.
The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3) Page 22