Love Happens Anyway

by RJ Scott

  And then, when I was thirteen, the towers fell.

  My dad ran the three blocks, telling my mom to close the doors, to stay safe.

  He never came back.

  I hugged her now, and Sara pushed herself in for our family hug.

  “Dad would have been proud,” Mom said, “of his kids and this place.”

  That was all she needed to say. Sara and I knew that he’d be proud of us, we saw it in every hug and word of love from Mom. We went to the window, as we did every time we were together here, and looked up at the tip of the shining tower that dominated the Financial District skyline now. Crystal and metal reached for the sky, and it was beautiful, I never tired of seeing it, thinking of my father and his brother, running into tower two, not knowing if they’d make it out, but convinced they were doing the right thing.

  “Thinking of you,” I murmured, and my mom and Sara said their own thing, our own personal prayers, before we went back to work. Sara’s husband, Lester, was in the kitchen, Sara disappeared into there to help, the bar was clean and the beer was cold, and it was getting close to our two p.m. official opening. I didn’t expect crowds of people; cops, firefighters, paramedics, the type of people we attracted here, had all kinds of varying shifts and we wouldn’t have tourists in here on day one, the sign on the door made that clear.

  But we would have family and friends of people we knew, and by ten minutes past two there were fifty people in the bar and it was noisy. I didn’t see Derek, but part of me never expected to see him. He’d said he would come, but I hadn’t heard from him since our trip, and thought that this could actually well have been a step too far.

  I took a break, just to catch my breath, and it was on the way back that I caught sight of him. My heart jumped. In jeans and a blue button-down, he had his back to me, but I knew it was him. He was looking at our gallery of photos, a beer hanging loosely in one hand, the other pushed into his pocket. I’d recognize that man anywhere, just from the way he held himself, the way his hair at the back fell in loose waves that just skimmed the shirt, and the way he was absolutely still.

  I stepped closer. Should I interrupt him? The wall was all pictures from that day, the side of Halligans thick with dust, the emptiness of the skyline behind it, the starkness of twisted metal, the badges of those friends who hadn’t made make it back. It was a spot where people could think, every bit as much as the memorial three blocks from here.

  His whole body sighed, I didn’t know how else to describe it, but he slumped and then drew himself tall, and I knew I could interrupt and talk to him.

  “Hey.” I bumped elbows with him.

  He smiled at me, a quick but sad smile. “Your name is here, Devers? You lost someone on 9/11?”

  “My dad, and my uncle. Both served, my dad a firefighter, my uncle a cop, both retired. They didn’t even think about not running toward the devastation.”

  “It seems trite, but I’m so sorry for your loss.” He leaned into me.

  “Thank you.” I was used to giving that reply, and most of the time that ended the conversation, but maybe Derek needed to talk about the morning everything changed for us all.

  “We were thirteen,” Derek said, “both of us in school that morning.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and briefly touched mine, probably wondering how much the crowd knew about me. I appreciated the gesture, and laced my fingers with his; I didn’t have secrets as a serving firefighter and I didn’t have them now.

  Aside from not telling my mom and sister how I got the last bit of money that helped us across the finishing line.

  “I think we all grew up so fast that day,” I said and his smile reassured me that he agreed with my observation. I needed to change the subject because his eyes were bright with emotion. “What do you think of Halligans?” I asked and turned him away from the memorial wall.

  “I love it, the concept of it, which isn’t a concept at all.” He smiled at me, “I love how each part of it has memories, and that there is history here. Was it your dad’s bar then, after he retired?”

  “Mom and Dad invested in the place, when he retired, and it was hard after he’d gone. We all worked here as much as we could. Then, last year a car took the corner a little too fast, went into the side of the building, made the whole thing unstable, at the same time as…” I tapped my leg. “Y’know, so I invested, my sister and her husband invested, we wanted to rebuild, revamp, all without destroying the feel of the place.”

  “You get a lot of service guys in here?”

  “All the time.”

  “Then yeah, you’ve done it right, it’s a second home, a place to reflect, and talk, and create that other family we all need.”

  He sounded sad but he got it. He didn’t see it as bricks and mortar, or a chance to make money, he understood that this place meant something.

  I tugged him to the bar, which took a while as it seemed everyone wanted a piece of me, to congratulate, or to remember my dad and uncle, to ask about Mom, to meet Derek.

  “This is my friend.”

  “This is my friend, Derek.”

  “He’s in advertising”

  “This is my boyfriend. Derek.”

  Where it slipped from friend to boyfriend I don’t know, but he didn’t correct me and shook everyone’s hands and took kisses on his cheeks from women, and through it all he was smiling or deferential or happy or sad, whatever was needed. He would think I was keeping up the act, where really the word boyfriend sounded nice when I said it.

  “Mom?”

  She looked up from where she was crouched, shifting clean glasses to a new shelf, and saw our joined hands.

  “Hello,” she said. I held out my free hand to help her out. She waved the hand away. My mom was capable of taking care of herself thank you very much.

  “This is Derek, my friend.”

  I felt him tighten his hold. Had he wanted me to say boyfriend? Did he want me to perpetuate a lie with my family? Was that right when in two days the lie would be over, the contract fulfilled?

  Mom didn’t miss a beat, pulling Derek in for a hug, and holding him a little longer than I expected.

  “Mrs. Devers.”

  “Call me Maggie, same as everyone else,” she corrected.

  “You have a lovely place here, Maggie,” Derek offered.

  “Who’s this then?” Sara joined the group, and her eyebrows rose at mine and Derek’s joined hands.

  “This is Derek.” I didn’t qualify what he was to me. He was just Derek, and we were holding hands; let them reach their own conclusion from that.

  She awkwardly half-hugged him, a bottle of merlot in her other hand.

  “Really nice to meet you.”

  “And you.”

  “So, do you happen to work in advertising?”

  “I do,” Derek smiled.

  Sarah winked at me and then as she passed she said, for only me to hear. “Not such a stuffy ad-man now, huh?”

  The rest of the time Derek was there, until seven, he mingled with cops and firemen, and families, and seemed at ease. When he reached me and explained he had to go because of a family obligation he looked genuinely regretful, and I decided to walk him out. Because I needed some Derek-me time, just the two of us, to thank him for coming. That was all.

  Only when we were outside and he pushed me into the alley behind Halligans, and up against the wall, kissing me as if we would never kiss again, did I think that maybe this was exactly what I’d wanted all along.

  “I enjoyed this a lot,” he pulled me down for another kiss. I could do this all night, blow off every responsibility I had just to keep on kissing. He had this way of twisting his hands together behind my neck, holding me steady, gripping hard, and I wanted so much more. “Do you ever think how ironic this is?”

  “What? Kissing?”

  “No, that I ordered a firefighter and that was what I got.”

  An uncomfortable regret nestled in me at the reminder, but I laughed it off and pulled him in for
another kiss. No point in answering a rhetorical question; I’d gotten guys before when they found out what I did, that attraction to danger I guess, and I didn’t want that with Derek.

  “Did you ever think about what happens after Monday?” Derek was shy as the kisses grew sweeter and less need-kiss-now.

  “After your staff Christmas event? Think about what?”

  “About the contract.”

  “There won’t be a contract.” I attempted to keep all trace of hope out of my voice. Was he interested in something more than just these four dates? Five if you included today, which was loosely a date, I guess.

  “I know,” and he was bold with it. “Would you want to date me? Maybe for real? See how it went for a few meals out, or a Rangers game, or something?”

  God, that was exactly what I wanted, but I tried not to appear too eager. “I think I’d like that.”

  He kissed me again, but continued talking as if I hadn't just agreed to everything. “Because we’re good together, compatible, we know that much, and when I’m in bed with you, I feel that maybe I could be a good—”

  I cut off his justification essay with a kiss, which deepened so quickly that I was hard and pressing against him, looking for more. A cough separated us and Sara was there at the open kitchen door.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she began, although the quirk of her smile said otherwise, “but the beer needs…” She waved her hand vaguely.

  “I’ll be there in two.” I responded with an equally ambiguous wave.

  She laughed and the door banged behind her after she went inside.

  “I really do have to go,” Derek said.

  “One last kiss,” I demanded, and cradled his face. His hands went to my biceps and held me, and we kissed.

  As if it was our last kiss; knowing it had to last until Monday and the staff event. Our final contracted date.

  And then he left and I couldn’t believe how hollow I felt as I watched him walk up the street and away.

  The bar was heaving, the beer still flowing, the chatter loud, but I had a feeling in my chest and I rubbed at it idly for a moment before realizing what it was.

  Something more than like. Something I couldn’t let free just yet.

  Something as close to wanting to love as I’d come with a partner before.

  What the hell?

  Luke

  As soon as I got in the car for our last scripted day, having spent the last two days thinking about kissing Derek again, I knew something was wrong. We didn’t kiss, or touch, and if anything, he was so focused on driving the snowy roads that he looked like an old woman with bad eyesight. Hell, his knuckles were white with tension.

  I considered reaching over and patting his hand or something, but it was snowing so much that he wasn’t wrong to be concentrating.

  He pulled up in the same spot he’d parked at before, but the building was lit up inside and people were being dropped off in cabs.

  “I need you to make me look normal tonight,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at me; nerves edged his words, and I wasn’t used to this much worry from him.

  “What do you mean?”

  He released the grip on the wheel and laid his hands in his lap, and then turned to face me. He was pulling at his lip with his teeth and I wanted to stop him. With a kiss so soft and sweet that I would get my fix of him for a while.

  “I interned here,” he began. What that had to do with anything I couldn’t figure out, but he didn’t seem to know where to start.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  He blinked at me. “Yeah, I was expected to see the business from the ground up and I loved it. Working on accounts, sketching my ideas, putting out proposals, debating what was good and what was complete shit. You know, people would talk to me at the water cooler and now they don’t, because I’m management, and they all call me sir, except for Moira but she’s balls to the wall and just…” He stopped and shook his head a little; he’d lost track. “I don’t actually want them to call me sir, or scatter as soon as they see me. I’m still Derek. So tonight, we need to show them I can laugh and joke just as they can.”

  What jokes? I hadn't seen any evidence of him cracking jokes, but maybe inside Derek there was a clown waiting to pop out and surprise me.

  “I don’t know if I totally understand what you mean.”

  “Just hold my hand, and joke, and make me look like a real person. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Also, I need three PDAs tonight.”

  Only three? That was disappointing. Where was the kissing, and the hand touching, and the hugs that we’d had at the bar? Why did I feel like the damn contract had been pulled out and slapped onto the dash between us?

  “That’s very specific,” I said, hesitantly, because hell, Derek seemed as if he was about to snap.

  “I need one when we arrive, I checked out the room we’re having this event in, and there is mistletoe right in the doorway at the main entrance, so you need to kiss me. Then maybe another kiss if we dance, and finally, I need you to spontaneously hug me after my speech.”

  “It’s not exactly spontaneous if we plan it.” I was trying for a joke but it fell flat when his expression showed horror that I’d even said that. My good mood began to slip. I’d been looking forward to this, newly bought snowman tie and all.

  His tone was desperate. “I know, but can you make it appear spontaneous.”

  “I’ll try.” Something about this whole situation, the scheduled PDAs, Derek’s earnest expression, that fact that were sitting in the car, had me smiling. I couldn’t help it.

  “Are you laughing at me?” Derek asked.

  “No, but you have to admit this is some funny shit.” I was blowing any semblance of professionalism with this, but part of me needed Derek to loosen up a bit and go back to the man who had kissed me as if there was nothing he’d rather do.

  Then he surprised me with a smile of his own. “Fuck, I’m being absurd, aren’t I? I mean how long should the kisses last, should we use tongue?”

  I couldn’t resist him again, all smiling and his lips parted just so, but this time I didn’t go in for the kill, I just touched my lips to his gently and he relaxed into the kiss. When we parted he had his eyes closed but he was smiling.

  “That doesn’t count as an official PDA. It was just practice.”

  His eyes flew open. “Absolutely, of course. I want more than three PDAs you know, but we can save the rest for afterward.” He opened the car door, collecting his overcoat from the back seat, and I did the same, although my coat was less over and more parka.

  A nice parka though.

  “One other thing,” he said before we moved away from the car. “I need to talk to my parents alone tonight. Are you okay if I leave you alone for a length of time?”

  I waggled my eyebrows at him. “I run a bar, I know partying.”

  “Good. Good.”

  He locked the car. I took his hand and together we walked around the building.

  “How many people will be here?” I asked as we passed a group of around eight or so huddled and smoking in the cold, exchanging nods with their boss and his friend.

  “Two hundred or so,” Derek said, as if that wasn’t some huge number I’d have to act in front of.

  I pulled him to a stop, tugged him away from the building. “I thought this was an office party.”

  “It’s a company party, the whole company.”

  Shoulders back, I gripped his hand. “A little warning would have been useful.” I’d been hoping for fifty or so people who were all slightly drunk and wouldn’t notice if Derek and I weren’t entirely fitting as we should. Two hundred meant that, statistically, some people would be completely sober. By the time we’d reached the main door I had pushed all the nerves and concerns to one side in a box marked shit I can’t deal with now. I was already close to telling Derek his three PDA thing had made me go from chilled and happy to worried and stressed, right back to being the hired help.
/>
  A young guy inside the main door took our jackets, and issued us with tickets which Derek pocketed, and then I saw it. The people, the Christmas decorations, the soft lights that twinkled in the dark, and there, right in the middle of the door to a room the size of a freaking ballroom, there was the mistletoe. Derek was saying hello to someone, a woman with fiery red hair who had her scarlet nails scratching at his suit jacket, and fueled with irritation, I went full on boyfriend mode.

  I held him steady, made sure my leg was solid, ignored the twist in my muscle, and I kissed him. Right there under the mistletoe. I leaned him back until there was nothing he could do but cling to me. At first he was pliant, and then as I deepened the kiss, because, why not, he squeezed my biceps. I let him up, my thigh aching, but it was worth it to see his damp lips and the spark of heat in his eyes. I pulled him in for a hug.

  “Was that okay?” I whispered in his ear.

  In answer he stepped back and smiled at me, but this close I could still see the tension in him. Clearly, I’d fucked up “Don’t make me a fucking laughingstock,” he said under his breath. That hurt, but yeah, I guess I’d gone a little over the top. I stopped him to talk to him but he carried on regardless, coming face-to-face with the people in the ballroom, all of whom would have gotten a pretty good look at what had just happened. We walked in, or rather he walked in. I was more like dragged through people who wanted to talk to him.

  “This is Marcus.”

  “This is Marcus, my boyfriend.”

  “Yes, this is Marcus.”

  I did my best, wow, nice to meet you, aw shucks, yes I’m a firefighter, responses and slowly we made our way through the crowd.

  And then we came face to face with them. I knew this was the hard bit, because they were assholes that I really didn’t want to see again, but there was Jim, John and Julian, three men, each with their wives, standing in this weird row. Not a single one of the six seemed impressed by me at all. Not even my most charming kisses to the back of the ladies’ hands, or my comments about how wonderful the event was, raised a smile.