Well Written

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Marcus

" T hank you so much for coming." I force a smile as I draw my repetitive black signature across the title page, for what feels like the thousandth time today. "Your support means the world to me."

I feel my stomach twist as I speak the sentence, which has also, likely, been said about a thousand times today. It's not like I'm lying. I could never accurately express how grateful I am for my readers, because without them, I might not have ever felt comfortable being myself. It's just hard to sit here with a grin plastered across my face, when I still haven't heard from Kane.

I shouldn't have left. I should have just sent Nellie back here, and had her hand out pre-signed copies. But she was right. Her name would have been attached to that decision too, and I make her life hard enough as it is. It's shocking how I can write five-hundred pages of pure, literary genius, and not think to ask Kane for his phone number. I had planned to, yesterday morning before I left, but I should have done it the night before, when he was rushing out the door to go meet Clara. I should have fought for him to stay a moment longer, just like I should have fought for him twenty years ago.

But I ruined it all. And now, he'll like do whatever he can to forget me.

"We're past time," Janelle whispers, flashing me her phone screen. I glance up at her, then to the long line of anxious readers, excitedly awaiting their turn. "Should I tell them to go home?"

"No." I shake my head, then smile and wave for the next person to step up. "They've been waiting hours."

Janelle nods understandingly, then places a few new hardcovers onto the table beside me. Two elderly men step up to the table, both boasting beaming grins.

"Hello, Carsen," one says in a hoarse yet mousy voice. Something I love about my readers is that they're so diverse. There isn't one particular group of people who read my books. They're for everyone, from age eighteen to ninety-four. Seriously, I had a ninety-four year old woman approach me at a convention. But I guess that's the beautiful thing about art. It's for everyone.

"Hi!" I smile, and strangely, this one comes with ease. It may be the first smile today that I didn't have to beg to appear. "What are your names?"

The taller man's cheeks grow a deep shade of red, while the shorter one answers for him. "He's James, and I'm Frederick."

I look to James, allowing our eyes to lock before I say: "It's very nice to meet you."

An even wider smile breaks across his face, showing off his worn dentures. "Likewise," he says, his tone flustered and sweet. "I'm a really big fan. Well, we both are."

"Yeah?" I slide one of the copies in front of me, flipping open the cover to personalize it. "Which is your favorite?"

James looks even more nervous now, glancing at Frederick as if seeking the confidence to speak. It's sweet that even at this age, they are there for each other. He takes a slow breath, looking back to me.

"Well, Freddy likes The Jones Diary ." He chuckles, the color in his cheeks deepening. I didn't take Freddy for a freak, but for some reason, it makes me proud. "And me? Well, I've always loved the original, Harrison's Affair ."

Something in my stomach begins to sink, or, flutter, maybe? Nobody's favorite is ever Harrison's Affair . Nobody but Kane, of course. There are so many mistakes in that book, so many things I could've done better. But even to this day, it's not something I'd ever change. I wrote that story the way I needed to at the time. It's such a personal part of me, I hadn't ever really considered that others would love it the way I do. I begin to scrawl out the men's names on their books, following it with my signature.

"Why Harrison's Affair? " I ask curiously. My heart begins to thump in my chest, and I swear I get a whiff of coconut from one of the men. It reminds me of kissing Kane in the lighthouse, the way his cologne smells and how his lips tasted. Not just that night, but before. When we'd walk to Sully's then hide for hours in Roberta's, kissing and talking and touching. It makes me think of the years in between, when we could have been doing just that. I should have waited. I shouldn't have just left some dumb note for him to find, and think it was enough for him to follow me. After the months of hiding, the back and forth of it all, I don't see how it could be. Kane deserved more than a letter. Hell, he deserved more than a book. He deserved what James and Frederick have: A lifetime of love.

James' hands begin to shake, and he settles his weight onto the cane gripped in his hand. " Harrison's Affair is what made me realize I was gay."

"What?" My lungs deflate as the words echo off the inside of my skull. "Wait, so how long have you guys been together?"

James and Frederick exchange a bashful glance, then look back to me proudly. "Four years," Frederick answers. "Actually, we met at book club." He grins. " Harrison's Affair. "

James nods affirmingly. "Best four years of my life."

Heat swells in my chest, and instead of smiling at the couple in front of me, I stare down at the page my hand is rested on so that tears don't have the opportunity to well in my eyes. Simeon is already going to be pissed off enough when he finds out that I'm quitting traditional publishing. The last thing I need is for him to hear about how I bawled my eyes out in the middle of a signing. I allow the cold air to crystalize my eyes, before clearing my throat, and smiling up at them.

Here are two people who, even with the short time they have left, found one another and did not let go. Two people who spent a lifetime apart, and still spent their happiest years together. Hell, if James and Frederick aren't too late, then maybe Kane and I aren't either.

"It was really nice to meet you two," I say, sliding their books over to them. "Really, you guys are beautiful."

The couple nods sweetly at me, and Frederick carries the books as James slowly begins to walk away. I quickly look up at Janelle with desperate eyes.

"Book me the first ticket to Portland," I say, the thrumming in my chest growing louder. "Please."

Janelle nods, glancing up at the crowd in front of us. She leans in, her temple pressing against mine, and lowers her voice to a whisper.

"I don't think I have to," she says, gesturing to the crowd. My brows drop, and I'm about to tell her to "just book the damn thing" when I look to the next person standing in line.

"Do you mind?" Kane asks, raising his brows as he sets a book in front of me. I stare at him, blinking slowly as if his face will change into a stranger's if I look long enough. A soft chuckle slips from his lips, and he steps even closer to me, the familiar scent of coconut now fully conquering my senses. I want to grab him, plant my lips onto his, and turn this entire bookstore into the background of our happily ever after. Instead, I point at him, then to the book, then back at him, like that conveys any articulate message of love or longing.

"You—" I stutter, tilting my head with confusion. "But—" I stop again. It seems that my aptitude for words has simply ceased in Kane's presence, because every time my lips part to speak, nothing more than a word seems to tumble out. I don't understand. I left him, again, with nothing more than a note. One he didn't even respond to. How is he here right now? Why do I have the privilege of staring at the beautiful mess in front of me? Of smelling his scent, and feeling his gaze?

"What?" Kane asks, and I swear his voice is almost taunting. "Don't have the words, for once?" He pushes the book across the table to me, and I glance down at it, the foiled title flashing at me like a neon sign. "I figured I may as well add it to my collection. Books are worth a lot more if they're signed, y'know."

There's no fighting it now, and Simeon is going to be pissed. Tears well in my eyes and I stand up shakily. Kane doesn't hesitate any longer. He hurdles himself around the edge of my table, throwing his arms around me and pulling me in so tight that I can't breathe. But if this were the way I go out, I'd gladly die a thousand deaths. His body wraps around mine like a boa constrictor, my nose pressed into his broad shoulders as tears stream down my face.

"I got your letter," he whispers, his hand stroking the back of my neck. My knees shake beneath my weight, and I take a shuddered breath, gripping the back of his shirt tightly.

"Why didn't you respond?" I ask, my voice breaking. Kane's embrace releases, his fingers drawing to his back pocket to retrieve something.

"Not your email," he explains. "Though I got those eventually too." He holds up a small folded piece of paper, years of dust staining the outside of it. "This note. The one you left the first time. Clara found it under the window nook. I didn't—" His voice cracks, but he continues to speak. "I would have come. If I knew, Marcus, I would have come."

My pulse quickens, my throat tightening as Kane brings me back to that day. All this time, I thought he didn't come because of how I treated our relationship. Like it was a casual fling, like we were never really going to be together. Because it took being outed to my parents to accept myself, I thought that Kane had simply grown tired of it all. And I accepted it so easily, because it was fair. I denied our relationship to anyone who asked. I made him hide in a goddamned lighthouse with me, because I didn't want us to be seen together too often.

I sat at that train station for four hours, waiting for Kane. And the entire time, he didn't even know it.

"You're here now," I say, tracing his cheek with my palm. Tears prick Kane's eyes, and his hand wraps around the small of my back, pulling me close to him.

"I love you, Marcus. I have loved you for twenty years, and you make me want to be around for twenty more, just so that I can keep loving you." He tilts his chin up, grips the back of my neck, and presses our lips together. Sunlight beams through my body, filling up my chest as Kane's lips dance tenderly with mine. How I went twenty years without this, I could never say. All I know is that right here, right now, marks the moment when our life really begins.

One Year Later

"Are you ready, my love?" I call through the door. A loud huff billows through the wood, followed by a series of frustrated stomps. The lock clicks, then, hesitantly, the door swings open.

"It doesn't fit anymore!" Kane groans, his head falling to his hands. I look at him, head tilted as I analyze his tightly-fitting tux. The button holes are stretched, the black fabric appearing somewhat translucent against the white dress shirt below it. I smile, cradling his chin in my hand and lifting it up so that he has no choice but to look at me. His thick brows are furrowed over his narrowed eyes, and he lets out another displeased sound. "It's the stupid Zoloft," he grumbles. "I look like shit."

I lean forward, placing my lips gently against the crown of his head. "Don't talk about my soon-to-be husband that way," I say, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You look ridiculously handsome."

Nellie pops into the bedroom. She looks stunning, as always. The dark green jumpsuit she's wearing compliments her eyes, and her hair is pulled up into gorgeous, shiny Zulu knots.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks, her French-tipped nails tapping impatiently against her thigh. "We were supposed to be there twenty minutes ago. I didn't push my publishing date so that you could miss your own wedding."

Kane's brows furrow, and he shoots her a confused glance. "You pushed your publishing date because your editor is getting married." He gestures to himself.

"We'll be there in a minute, " I say, and she nods, stepping back and pulling the door closed behind her. I turn back to Kane, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "You don't need this." I toss it carelessly onto the bed, like it were a candy wrapper or an old receipt, rather than a thousand dollar jacket. "I don't care about what you wear to our wedding, Kane. I don't care if your new medication has made you gain weight, or if you can't get out of bed tomorrow because you're so exhausted, or if you get so trashed at the reception that I have to carry you home. All I care about is that when we're standing at the end of the isle, you say 'I do' and mean it." Kane sighs, and I find his hand, squeezing it. "Is that still what you want?"

His chin tilts up to look at me, and he nods. "Yes."

A smile breaks across my face, and I reach for his bow tie, straightening it out. "Then let's go see Roberta."

"Do you think it's weird to have our wedding in a haunted lighthouse?" he asks, following me to the door.

I shake my head. "No. I think it's romantic." I kiss the side of his temple as I open the door, allowing him to step through it first. "Like the rest of our love story."

"Yeah," he smiles, entangling his fingers with mine. "It was pretty well written."