by J. M. Colail
“Don’t worry about it,” Scott said cordially. “So, how’s school going for you?”
“Really good,” I answered, nodding my head. “I’m still taking a lot of gen ed classes, but I’m taking two history classes that I really like.”
“After next year, you’ll really be able to focus on your major. And you won’t have to bother with any more bio classes,” Scott laughed, taking a long drink of his beer.
My eyes widened, my face turned beet red, and I slapped Wesley’s arm again. “You told him?” I asked in a loud, outraged whisper.
“It was too funny not to share,” Wesley answered, patting my leg under the table.
“That’s because it didn’t happen to you. Sheesh, is there anyone you didn’t tell?” I said embarrassedly, folding my arms across my chest. “You forgot to tell me your brother graduated from college, but you remember to tell him that?”
“C’mon, Toren. It really is funny, and besides, I’m sure you’re not the only one that’s happened to,” Michele said, trying to comfort me, but it only embarrassed me more that she knew too. “We’ve all had our share of embarrassing experiences,” she said, glancing at Scott. “I was still living with my parents when we got engaged and one afternoon—yes, you guessed it—my dad walked in on us,” she confided blushingly. “Talk about mortifying!”
I laughed and her disclosure did make me feel a little better.
“The thing that gets me, though,” Scott added with a laugh, “is they’re still letting me marry her.”
“It’s probably only because I was on top,” Michele countered quickly.
We finished dinner and started talking about the wedding. Tomorrow, after the rehearsal dinner, Wesley would go rent a tux. The wedding was Saturday at four o’clock with the reception immediately following. Wesley would need to leave early and Scott spoke with a friend to come pick me up before the ceremony if I didn’t want to hang out at the church.
The check came and Wesley grudgingly let Scott pay. We stopped at a convenience store and bought a case of beer, some soda, and snacks, before heading to the hotel. Scott and Michele helped us to our room and then left a little while later. I took my suit from the suitcase and hung it in the bathroom to pull out the wrinkles. Then I called my mom to let her know we arrived safely. Wesley filled the bathroom sink with ice and put the beer bottles in to keep them cold. We drank the rest of the evening and went to bed around midnight, tipsy and tired.
IT WAS a beautiful day. The sky was partly cloudy, but rays of sunshine broke through and bathed everything in golden light. Wesley got dressed and he looked incredibly handsome in his tuxedo, with his hair slicked back. One of Scott’s ushers came to pick up Wesley about three hours before the wedding for pictures, but I decided to stay at the hotel because Mr. and Mrs. Carroll were going to be there, and I didn’t know if they even knew I was here. Half an hour before the ceremony, a friend of Scott’s came to pick me up.
The church was pretty and old. Families and friends mulled around, happily chatting before the ceremony. I strolled around the church, making sure I was any place Mr. and Mrs. Carroll were not.
As four o’clock neared, the church began to fill with people. I waited until Mr. and Mrs. Carroll sat down in the first pew on the right side. I slipped into the fourth row at the end because all the aisle seats were taken.
The minister quieted the crowd and Scott stood in front of the altar with his hands folded. He looked very handsome with a graceful elegance and my heart swelled with happiness for him. The minister said a few words and then the ushers and bridesmaids came down the aisle with smiles and bouquets. Wesley and Emily, Michele’s younger sister, walked down the aisle and took their places. Wesley patted Scott’s back and smiled genuinely at him, and butterflies flitted in my stomach. Then the “Wedding March” began and Michele and her father started down the aisle. She looked beautiful, and I glanced at Scott, who was taking deep breaths with glassy eyes. At the altar, Michele’s father hugged her and placed her hand in Scott’s.
The ceremony was beautiful, touching, and even humorous at times. When Scott and Michele were exchanging their vows, Wesley found me in the audience and smiled warmly. I mouthed the words “I love you” and his eyes widened, his face turned red, and he quickly looked to the front again.
At the end of the ceremony, Scott and Michele joined for a sweet, gentle kiss and faced the congregation. “I happily present Mr. and Mrs. Carroll,” the minister said joyfully and the small church erupted with applause. Scott and Michele beamed as they walked down the aisle together as husband and wife.
I was given a ride to the reception hall by the same friend of Scott’s that picked me up and we took our seats. I was at a table with Scott and Michele’s friends, only a few years older than me, and I felt comfortable there. When I introduced myself, I was surprised that they had already heard about me. They told me how happy Scott was that Wesley and I came and about how he was so worried. I felt happy and confident; I knew just how much Scott wanted Wesley, both of us, to share in the celebration.
The wedding party arrived a little before six o’clock and everyone in the reception hall clapped and whistled at the newlyweds’ arrival. Wesley sat at the head table for dinner and gave me reassuring smiles all the way through. The meal was often interrupted with the clinking glasses of toasts, usually initiated by the guests at my table.
After dinner, the DJ began spinning in earnest and the open bar was constantly busy. Wesley met up with me and we watched from the side for the first dance and the father-daughter dance. Then the dance floor was overrun with Michele and Scott’s friends and family. Wesley went to get us some drinks from the bar and I sat down, watching the excitement from the sidelines.
“You got a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here,” Mr. Carroll’s voice thundered above me. I looked up and saw Wesley’s father standing in front of me with his arms crossed. “Just what the hell are you trying to do?”
I swallowed hard and stared at the tall man towering over me. Everything had gone so well today that I nearly forgot the threat the man imposed. My eyes teared up and I wished with all my heart that Wesley would come back.
“I asked you a question. What are you doing here? Why the hell are you doing this?” Mr. Carroll demanded, his voice even more severe. At last, Wesley came back and I breathed a sigh of relief, but Mr. Carroll redirected his anger at Wesley. “Just what the hell are you trying to prove? What is wrong with you? I told you not to bring him,” he said, sneering at me. “Just the sight of him is disgusting! You had no right….”
“Shut up,” Wesley said, his voice edged with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you? If you don’t like it, just ignore us. Better yet, don’t even talk to us. Go to hell,” Wesley growled, taking my hand and turning his back to his father.
Mr. Carroll slapped our hands apart and stepped into Wesley’s face. He was at least six inches taller, but Wesley stared up at him defiantly.
“You think this is funny? I told you not to bring that little faggot here,” Mr. Carroll snapped.
Wesley’s eyes sparked and he pushed his dad back. “Don’t you fucking say that! Don’t you ever say that!” Wesley shouted.
Mrs. Carroll and Scott stepped in at the same time, restraining Mr. Carroll and Wesley, respectively.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Scott shouted, staring at his father. “I wanted them here, so if you’ve got a problem with it, come to me!”
“Scott!” Mrs. Carroll interrupted, surprised by her elder son’s outburst. Perhaps she was expecting this confrontation with Wesley, but not with Scott. She looked around embarrassedly; the argument between Mr. Carroll and me had turned into a spectacle. Michele was standing by Scott and even her parents were in the near background.
Mr. Carroll turned on me again with fire in his eyes. “This is all your fault!” he shouted. “Get the hell out of here!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Wesley yelled, stepping in front of me.
I
had never heard his voice so rabid before and it scared me. I was a fool to think I could come to the wedding without something happening. Wesley always defended me and now Scott and even Michele were lending me their support.
“I love him,” I said, stepping next to Wesley. “I don’t care what you think, but I love Wesley with my whole heart and there is nothing you can do to change that,” I said in a surprisingly firm voice. Wesley looked at me and I narrowed my eyes at Mr. Carroll. “And it’s not your choice anyway. You can say whatever you want, but I’ll never stop loving him. And by the way, we’re gay. We’re not faggots; we’re gay.”
Mr. Carroll looked at me with a bewildered expression. He probably wasn’t expecting a queer to stand up for himself. But his anger redoubled and he started shouting, screaming at me. But Scott stepped forward and held up his hand.
“Go home, Dad. If this is the way you’re gonna act, I don’t want you here,” Scott said darkly, shaking his head. Mr. Carroll began to rant again, but Scott cut him off. “I said, go home. I don’t want you here.”
Mr. Carroll stared at Scott, then Wesley, then me. He turned on his heel and shook his head. “I thought I raised you better than this,” he said as one last jeer.
“Yeah, we have to thank Mom that we didn’t turn out like you,” Scott replied, stealing the last word.
Mrs. Carroll followed her husband out of the reception hall and Scott turned to me with an apologetic expression. Wesley sat down in a chair and breathed like he had been holding his breath. The DJ was still playing music, there were people on the dance floor, and I felt relieved that it wasn’t as big a spectacle as I thought it was. Michele’s parents stepped back and returned to their friends with smiles. Me, Wesley, Scott, and Michele stood together.
“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry,” Scott said, shaking his head ashamedly. “I… I don’t know what to say, except I’m sorry.”
I touched Scott’s shoulder and smiled gratefully. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. If anything, thank you for defending us,” I said.
Scott excused himself and I pulled a chair next to Wesley and rubbed his back. He had downed both the beers he brought for us. Tears were at the edges of his eyes and I ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Tor. I’m so sorry,” Wesley said quietly, staring at the ground. “I’ve never actually wanted to kill anyone before.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I said, rubbing his back again. I smiled and laughed softly. “You said it yourself; you can’t choose your family. But you chose me and I chose you. And I would again and again and again.”
Wesley finally looked up at me with a smile, when Scott tapped me on the shoulder. He was smiling ear-to-ear and held his hand out to me. The song “Hero” by Mariah Carey started playing. “May I have this dance?”
Scott grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. He locked his arm around my back, held my hand up, and swayed me to and fro across the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but laugh and I glanced at Wesley, watching us with a blank, open-mouthed stare. Michele grabbed one of her bridesmaids and began dancing, and then their friends paired up with same-sex partners and filled up the dance floor. I looked at Wesley again and he was laughing. The tension in the pit of my stomach broke and I hugged Scott.
“Thank you,” I said, with tears rimming my eyes.
“Thank you,” Scott answered. “It took some huge fucking balls to stand up to my dad like that. And thank you, too, for making my brother so happy.”
I smiled timidly and Scott waved to Wesley to come over. Wesley cut in and wrapped his arms around me. I felt like crying, but instead I laughed when I saw Scott dancing with Michele’s father.
“I love you. So much,” Wesley said and kissed me simply on the lips.
He smiled and my world was bright again, so I kissed him. “Thank you for loving me.”
J. M. COLAIL currently lives in a suburb of Detroit with her dog, Maizy. She graduated from the University of Michigan-Dearborn with a bachelor’s in anthropology. She loves reading and writing and works at a bookstore, which is bad for her wallet. She is looking for the perfect girl to make all her dreams come true but having fun while she does it.
For Alina, Melissa, and the rest of the girls’ night crew; and for Brandon:
Without your relentless encouragement and support, this book could not have been written.
I love you all.
Chapter One
“JACKSON STRANGE,” the nurse read out, her eyes meeting his across the nearly empty waiting room. She checked something off on her clipboard. “The doctor will see you now.”
Jackson stood, trying not to put too much weight on his left leg—and trying not to look like he was limping. Too late; Aunt Bella Bitoni was as perceptive as she was competent—and blunt.
“Stop right there, mister,” the nurse told him. Her normally laughing black eyes were hard today, and focused completely on his leg. She pursed her lips and pushed a lock of silvering black hair out of her face. “Bobby, have you got the wheelchair in there?”
Aww, man. Jackson nearly groaned out loud. He hoped she wasn’t going to write to his mother. “Bella, I’m fine—”
But Bobby, the teenaged evenings-and-weekends receptionist, was already wheeling the damn thing into the backs of his legs. They collapsed, fire shooting up from the left knee. “Dammit, Bella! Ow!”
“Thanks, Bobby,” she said, ignoring him completely. The two other patients waiting snickered. “I’ve got it from here.”
Jackson gave old man Bender from the grocery store an unpleasant glare as Bella wheeled him into an examination room. “Dr. Dan busy today?” he asked, mostly to keep her from lecturing him for walking on his injured leg.
“Dr. Dan’s seeing about Star Hamilton’s girl. She’s due any day now.” Bella didn’t look up from filling in his chart. “We’ve got a new man in; he’ll look after you.” She put her pen down at last and scowled at him from behind her no-nonsense spectacles. “As for you, Jackson Strange, you should know better! No telling what damage you’ll do to yourself next. And you’ll break your mother’s heart. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Damn it; why did she always have to play the mom card? “No, Aunt Bella,” he mumbled. Did they teach guilt-tripping in nursing school nowadays or what?
Aunt Bella grabbed the chair at the computer desk across from him and peered around the monitor, spectacles obscuring her eyes. “What did you do to yourself this time?”
Jackson sighed. He would have to hope for doctor-patient confidentiality on this, or Bella’d be writing to Calgary in no time. “Some fool left his toolbox out. I tripped, cut my leg open on a raw girder.”
Bella winced, but she was typing away. Probably checking whether his tetanus was up to date. “By the way you were limping you’ve either let it get infected or it’s fresh and you’re gonna need stitches.”
“I’m not that stupid,” he protested. He’d only let an injury get infected once; that had been more than enough, thanks.
“Hmph. Depends on who you ask.” Bella finished her data entry and looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “You need a place to stay while you’re recovering, you call your Uncle John or me, you hear? Don’t let them send you back to work before you’re ready.”
He bit his tongue to refrain from pointing out that it was his own business—literally—to manage and he’d go back when he was damn well ready, which was usually right away. He didn’t like leaving someone else in charge. “Yes, Aunt Bella.”
Bella closed the door.
Jackson let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It had been a strain, hiding the pain from his aunt. God, he hadn’t needed to swear this badly since the Flames lost the Stanley Cup finals. He pressed his closed fist into his left thigh, grimacing and cursing under his breath.
The door opened, admitting a tall, slender man in a lab coat.
“Who the hell are you?” Jackson growled, not letting up the pr
essure. Detachedly, he noted a growing red stain above the knee of his jeans.
“I’m Dr. Piet,” the man said, not too sharply considering Jackson’s attitude. He consulted his chart. “You must be Jackson Strange.”
“I go by Jack,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’ll forgive me for not standing up.”
“Bella didn’t give you anything for the pain?”
“She thinks I should suffer for being careless.”
“Hmm. We’ll have to agree to disagree.” He went to a cupboard and sorted through the various medications. “How bad’s the pain? On a scale of one to ten?”
Oh, thank God, Jack thought. Morphine. “I dunno. Seven? Worse than the dog bite to the calf, but not as bad as the time I accidentally set myself on fire in high school.”
He could hear the sadistic amusement in the doctor’s voice. “Are you accident prone?” Then, before he could even answer, the prick of a needle at the curve of his shoulder.
Almost immediately, he could feel the pain begin to dull. “Oh, Doc. I think I love you.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.”
Morphine-sedated, it was hard to tell what he meant by that. The sudden respite from pain also gave Jack a chance to look up at his lord and savior.
Dr. Piet—Julian, according to the name on the lab coat—hardly looked old enough to have a medical degree. He had no facial hair to speak of, and his skin was smooth and fair over sharp cheekbones. He had dark hair—sort of long and unruly, for a doctor—and darker eyes, which were definitely at least a little bit amused. “Are you stoned enough for me to look at the injury yet?”
Jack stared at him for a minute. “You want me to take off my pants?” He didn’t know if he could do it, even with the drugs to kill the pain.
“I could cut them off if you prefer, but it’d be easier if you stripped. More room to move around. And you won’t have to walk out of here naked.”