by Liz Crowe
He bought a bunch of lilies to take to Vivian; peered around the space once more, filled with countless sidewalk cafes, flower merchants, and tourist-level junk shops. Smiling at the man who ran the café, he tucked his newspaper under his arm, turned, and plowed straight into the man he’d though dead, that he’d mourned for a solid two years before allowing himself to feel again. That he’d lived through torture, pain, and emotional agony with since returning to Istanbul nearly six weeks ago. Tarkan.
Caleb gasped and stumbled back. Tarkan stared, as if he were a ghost, or invisible, with that deep, chocolate gaze that had haunted his dreams for years. Caleb held out a shaking hand, wanting more than he wanted to take his next breath to feel Tarkan’s skin. To prove that he was an actual living thing. “Tarkan.” His voice was loud in his ears but barely a whisper. He couldn’t get his breath. His pulse raced. His beloved…alive.
Tarkan froze and gaped at the vision in front of him. Caleb had almost fallen when they’d collided and now stood, bent over, one hand reaching out to him. But he couldn’t move. It was as if he were encased in a glacier, one that would take centuries to melt. He blinked, the one involuntary movement left to him other than a heartbeat. His lungs moved, forced a puff of air out of his lips. He put a hand to his throat and turned away. He couldn’t do it. He had to go.
“Wait!” Caleb’s loud voice made him stop, close his eyes. The voice that he’d played in his head for so long, using it to keep him alive, was the one he need escape from now. His throat opened up enough for him to call out.
“No. Leave me,” he cried before he staggered away, through the busy weekend crowd at the bazaar—an odd mix of locals, students, tourists, and pickpockets—he fit in here, blended. His life before was over. But when a hand closed around his wrist, he didn’t struggle. When the hand pulled him close, pressed a tall, strong, familiar body to his, he broke. Caleb caught him on the way down. Like he always did. Like he knew he would. The world narrowed, then greyed, then blacked out.
The moonlight streamed in through the small window. Caleb watched as Tarkan came to slowly. Observed his once strong body as it clenched and writhed in apparent agony. He sat, pulled the man to his arms again and rocked him until he quieted.
“She…she…was….” His once distinctive, strong voice had broken, rough as if he’d been a lifetime smoker. Caleb knew it was from the water boarding, the rubber tube forced into his throat again and again as water was poured into his stomach until he essentially drowned, only alive because they stopped in time, let him retch, and throw up the water.
“I know, my love. I know. It’s all okay now. I’m here.” Caleb could not resist. He touched his lips to Tarkan’s to prove to himself it wasn’t a dream. The animal noise that rose from Tarkan’s throat as their bodies reconnected startled him then made his long neglected need rear up, take over, his cock springing to instant attention. Tarkan moaned and clutched at his hair, his neck, kissed him hard, brought them both to a sitting position.
“Whoa, whoa…wait.” Caleb forced himself to stop. Tarkan’s eyes were wild, frightened, and it broke Caleb’s heart all over again. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just, go slow. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Tarkan nodded and laid back. “Water.” He croaked. Caleb grabbed one of the three bottles he’d brought with him and held it to his lover’s lips. The thin shadow of the man Caleb had loved for so long sipped then gulped, and fell back onto the pillow once again arm over his eyes. When he moved, opened his eyes, Caleb was dismayed by the depths of sadness in their darkness. His Tarkan had never been down, or depressed. Raw fury at what those fuckers had done rose but he bit it back. He leaned into the hand Tarkan put at his cheek.
“I like this look. It’s rugged.” Tarkan’s voice rattled through his psyche.
Caleb smiled and rubbed the reddish light beard he’d let grow. “I promised your sister I’d shave it for the wedding.”
“Wedding.” Tarkan sighed. “To the Greek.”
“Yeah. Surprise.” He waved his hands around like a stupid game show host. Anything to see that smile.
He was rewarded with a ghost of a grin. A good start. “Move over. Give a guy some room.” Tarkan shifted and Caleb curled around him, held him close. And they talked. And Caleb felt his world, so long tilted off its axis, right itself once more. While Tarkan slept, he stayed awake, willing the whole thing to not be a dream, or a nightmare he’d wake from screaming like a banshee. It wasn’t. He pressed his lips to Tarkan’s shorn hair and sighed as the man finally relaxed.
Chapter Sixteen
Two Weeks Later
Lale’s jerked her arm out of Andreas’ grip as she paced back and forth across her parents’ kitchen. The place had calmed considerably since Tarkan had been located. But everyone was irritable, wanting to see their beloved family member with their own eyes. Lale had tried to understand letting Caleb ease him back into the fold. But it pissed her off and her hormones were fucking raging, which didn’t help. She’d finally stopped throwing up and now climbed all over Andreas with seeming endless lustful energy. He’d flopped back on the hotel bed last night and literally cried “Uncle” before tucking her into his side and drifting off to sleep.
She needed a drink, a cigarette, a hit of X, something. But then again, while the touch of her man’s hand on hers calmed her considerably, her perverse, contrarian nature was reveling in the hormonal stew she must be brewing. She lashed out at him. “Let go of me, God dammit.” She pulled an old cigarette from her purse and stuck it in her mouth. Andreas didn’t say a word, plucked it from her lips and broke it in half before tossing it in the trash.
“Next?” He stood, huge arms crossed, staring at her. Buyuk Anne made the sign of the evil eye as she passed him. Lale did the same. His booming laughter made them all smile.
Lale tried to frown at him. “Seriously, why are we putting ourselves through this? Now? Shouldn’t we be celebrating my brother’s return from the dead? Not having a fucking over-the-top shotgun wedding?” She tapped her foot, wished for another cigarette. But let him pull her into his embrace.
“Because, Lale. Your mother needs this. Your father is dying. They are all processing what happened to Tarkan in their own way. Hell….” She looked up, surprised at the emotion in his voice. He lowered his lips to hers briefly. “I need this. Can you honor that, at least?” She sighed. God he was good to her. She did so not deserve him.
He chuckled and cupped her breast under the black silk she’d chosen for the rehearsal dinner. Damn the man. Her nipples peaked immediately and warmth flooded her panties. “Better not, or I’ll make you yell Uncle again, only over there, in the broom closet. How embarrassing.” She tossed him another evil eye over her shoulder, linked arms with her grandmother, and headed out to the waiting limousines.
The ride to the Consulate General’s home for the rehearsal was short and stressful. Her mother’s lips stayed pressed together in a thin line. Elle tried to calm the fussy baby. Ayla climbed all over everybody. Lale used every ounce of her control not to lash out at them, to open the door and run screaming to the car behind them, yank Andreas out, and hightail it back to Las Vegas. They’d agreed to settle there. She could work for a friend who had an events planning business. After the baby, of course. Lale put a hand on her stomach and smiled.
At the rehearsal dinner, Andreas kept a hand on her leg the entire time, keeping her from being too twitchy. Even her family could tell she was calmer in his presence, which went a long way towards redeeming her fiancé for being so unforgivably Greek. By the end, she was exhausted and had her head on his shoulder while he charmed her grandmother who, after a few cups of Raki, seemed willing not to spit on the floor every time she laid eyes on the man. Caleb pulled his chair close, and she sat up as the family gathered around him. She nodded at him and whispered. “It’s okay. They’ll understand. Go ahead and tell them.”
He explained to the whole family what he’d told her earlier. That Tarkan would be
coming to the wedding tomorrow. After everyone settled down, Caleb stressed that it would extremely difficult for him, that he wasn’t sure he was ready but that Caleb had convinced him it was the perfect moment. At one point he looked down, and Lale put her arm around his broad shoulders.
“I love him. You all know that.” His eyes were a brilliant blue as he looked back up and gazed at each of them around the table. “I can’t…we can’t imagine how he feels right now. I don’t know how we got so lucky to have him back, but I—” his voice broke. Lale bit her lip. Andreas leaned in to her.
“He loves them both.” His voice was low. She nodded without looking back at him. “Damn.” He sat back and crossed his legs, letting his hand dangle onto her shoulder, just enough of his presence to keep her settled.
“I want you all to know that no matter what happens, I consider you my family. Now and always.” Without another word he stood and strode out, leaving the whole room in an uproar. Lale collapsed back into Andreas’s arms. She was hollow, empty, not a tear left as she watched her dearest friend leave the restaurant.
***
The ride back from the rehearsal dinner was even worse. Caleb had joined them in the limo but stayed quiet, and had been mostly absent for the last couple of weeks. Emre knew he’d reconnected with Tarkan. And it had taken a lot of energy not to yell at the man to bring his brother back. To share him. Let the rest of the family revel in his return from the dead. But Andreas had talked to him after Adem had left. Told him the story about the mobile phone number and Adem’s text. Emre hadn’t asked for it either. Because if he had it, he knew he’d call. He shut his eyes. God, he needed to see his brother again. To hold him, feel him, prove to himself he was indeed, alive. Their connection as young boys had been incredibly strong. They’d slept together from birth until they were nearly nine years old. When Tarkan had taken to piling the bed with toy cars and army men and Emre wanted his space.
The connection loosened as teens, when they attended the French high school in Istanbul and ran in different crowds. Then college, two separate schools in America. They spoke multiple times a week, eventually by text mostly or email. And that summer, back in Istanbul when Caleb had showed up in their lives, and then later when he’d met Elle. Well, the rest was family history, he guessed. And now, he fairly thrummed with need to see his twin once more.
Emre looked over to find Caleb staring at him, his deep blue eyes clear and untroubled. A first, for a long damn time. Andreas shifted next to him, obviously a little uncomfortable in the back of the limo.
“Hey, Zorba, I thought you NFL types were used to traveling by limousine.”
“Nah, we were more luxury bus types. You know, so we could walk the aisle and shake off the nervous energy.”
Emre smiled at his future brother-in-law. The guy had a handful of a life ahead of him, but Emre was glad he was here. Was thankful for his apparent control over Lale’s wild tendencies. He patted the man’s knee. “Relax. It’s fine. We’ve got your back.”
Caleb laughed. “Yeah man. You are gonna need it.” Emre poured them all a shot of one hundred year old scotch from the limo’s bar, and they toasted.
“To family.” Emre smiled at the Greek man who’d captured his sister’s heart and soul and at Caleb, the man who had done the same for his brother.
Chapter Seventeen
The Next Day
Elle jiggled Aslan in her arms, quieting him as Ayla ran around in her too-expensive dress. It was unseasonably hot. But a breeze blew from the Bosporus, whipping everyone’s hair, and rustling the tent edges. The string quartet and harp player set a lovely ambiance, but something wasn’t right. Elle sensed it. She sought out Emre, thought if she could lay eyes on him she’d feel better. But he was nowhere to be seen. Likely with Andreas somewhere, doing shots or whatever men did to convince other men at the last minute that getting married was actually not a bad idea.
She smiled as her mother-in-law appeared, and took the baby from her. “Come, my dear, walk with me.” She followed the slight woman as they wandered to the edge of the super manicured lawn, right up to the tall hedges bordering a precipitous drop off to a neighborhood below, marveling at her inherent ability to calm fussy babies. “I never thought I’d escape this place. This.” She gestured up to the looming grey building that now served as a museum. “It was my prison. Emre’s father rescued me.”
Elle put an arm around Vivian’s waist. “It is an awfully romantic story.”
Vivian sighed and shifted the now sleeping baby to her other arm. “Yes. It is. I’m glad I lived it. Just like I’m glad I lived the rest of my life with all of you. And now that Tarkan is…well, is making his way back to us, I’m—” Her voice broke, and Elle pressed her forehead to her mother-in-law’s, letting her own tears flow freely.
“Hey, mind if I break this up? I’d like to hug my wife.”
Elle wiped her eyes and stepped away. Levent stood, leaning on a cane, tall, distinguished, and handsome, but frail. Love shone bright in his eyes as he gazed at Vivian. “It was not a rescue, mind you,” he said. “More like a release into the wild.” Vivian smacked his shoulder. “Where is my son? I thought we were to see Tarkan today….” He looked around.
“I know, my love.” Vivian handed the sleeping baby back to Elle. “We all want to see him. But Caleb warned us. We mustn’t make a fuss. He still needs space.” She turned to Elle. “I realize you have to leave next week.”
Elle startled at the change of subject. Emre must have told her. “Well, yes. I do. I have to…you know get back to work.”
“I do know, my dear, and I wish you the best. I will send Emre quickly home behind you.” Elle swallowed hard, watching the two of them together. She’d seen her father-in-law’s medical records and knew just enough from pharmacy school that he had at best a few months left, unless a suitable donor could be found. Which was very unlikely, as he had refused to come to America with them and wait for one there. She and Emre had talked long into the nights of late and had decided Elle would return to California and convince the company to let her divide her time between the two countries. If they wouldn’t, she would simply resign. Family came first.
Ayla came rushing up then, squawking that Auntie Tulip needed them. She was crying in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out. Vivian gave Elle a look. “I knew we would not get through this day without some kind of Lale outburst.”
Elle laughed. “Want me to go?”
Vivian touched her arm. “No. She’s mine. Just like that one.” Vivian pointed to Ayla, who at that moment, was spinning in circles like a whirling dervish then falling to the ground and getting her dress completely grass-stained. “Is yours.” She patted Elle’s shoulder. “See you on the other side.”
Some sort of mild uproar occurring over by the back entrance caught Andreas’s eye. Lale’s mother walked in, followed by Elle then Caleb. They all smiled and waved at him. He gave the group a weak thumbs up in return. In truth, he thought he might throw up. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his black trouser clad legs and continued pacing. His first wedding had not tied him up in knots like this. But that had been a lifetime ago, to a woman he had no feelings for compared to how he felt about Lale.
He wanted this. Hell, he was the one who pressed the whole thing and had even hoped he would get her pregnant if he were honest with himself. A completely foreign desire to him and a little freaky. He paced back, letting the wind cool his brow. Emre appeared at his elbow, handed him a cold bottle of beer to match his own. He took it, and they clinked glasses. The ice-cold lager went down fast and smooth.
Emre began. “I want to thank you—”
Andreas held up a hand. “Stop right there. I love your sister. I loved her the first minute I laid eyes on her. Before I even knew of you and your brother and all of this.” He motioned around at the pomp and circumstance.
“I know that now.” Emre grabbed a couple more bottles from the cooler in the tent and popped them open. “I’m not talking about whatever mi
racles you work with Lale. I mean, for all of this. For taking charge, and letting Caleb do…what he’s doing. Convincing the rest of us to wait.”
Andreas shrugged. He watched as first Lale’s mother, then Elle, then Caleb exited the building where Lale was hiding, probably crying, or smoking, if he knew her. And he did. He narrowed his eyes at the tall, freshly shaven blond man. “What d’you think will happen with them?”
Emre sighed. “I have no idea. But I hope Adem finds happiness. He deserves it. He’ll be here today, too, you know.”
Andreas looked up at the sky as it passed from late afternoon to early evening. “Yeah, I know. Lale thinks she can finagle the three of them together somehow.” Emre raised his eyebrows. “She, well, we think Caleb loves them both, equally. And that it might work, if they all agreed.”
“Sounds complicated to me.”
“Yes, but what relationship isn’t? Anyway that is her grand plan today. I told her not to be disappointed if it didn’t work. But she, well, you know how she gets.”
“Say no more.” Emre slapped his shoulder.
Andreas sucked back the rest of his second beer. The wedding planner lady was motioning for him. He looked over shoulder, just to fuck with her. Emre laughed. They sat a few more seconds, watching her panic then stood, put their empties on a small table and straightened their ties “Shall we, my Turkish brother?” Andreas pointed to the tent where the gathered guest waited.
“We shall, my Greek brother.” Emre smiled, and they walked towards the tent.