Page 48 of For the Rest of Forever

“And I’m . . . so tired of fighting sometimes. Sometimes I just . . .”

Greg’s stomach flipped and twisted and did all sorts of painful things as Allen trailed off and didn’t say whatever horrible truth had been about to come. He closed his eyes and rubbed one hand up and down Allen’s back slowly, lovingly.

“You can rest now, darling. Just rest and let me take care of you. Let me love you.” Greg pressed a kiss into Allen’s hair, even as Allen nodded into him, still shaking. “But please also... don’t ever stop fighting those words. They’re untrue—all of them. It’s not terrible that the kids are worried about you. They just care about you because you’ve had a positive impact on all their lives. They’re learning empathy and compassion, and they’re learning how important it is to let the people they care about know it. And youareincredibly strong and brave. And youareworthy of love—my love, the love of our friends and neighbors and the whole community. You are worthy, and youareloved, and you are enough.” Greg felt himself start to shake then, and he breathed yet another kiss into Allen’s hair. “Please don’t ever give up. Don’t ever stop fighting. But also know that you don’t have to fight this alone. I’m here for you, Allen. Now and always. You are not alone. No matter what mountains we face, we’ll climb them together. I love you, Allen Westin—and that willalwaysbe true.”

They sat there together for some time, neither of them moving, even to drink more of their tea. And Allen stayed silent, except for the sound of a heavy breath every once in a while. Greg both wished and didn’t wish he knew what was running through Allen’s head right then. More of the same intrusive thoughts, probably.Which was why Greg should suggest they do something—anything—to distract him from all of that.

Greg looked out beyond the small, rocky beach in front of them, out across the water, and he thought back to the first time he and Allen had stayed here at the cabin nearly fifteen years ago, before it had become an official rental property. The owner, Janice, was a friend of Greg’s mother, who was now living down in California in a small retirement village along the central coast. Janice had bought the place in 2007, with the intention of living here full time, and Greg and Allen had come up to help her with some repairs. They’d stayed an extra few days, and Greg had, of course, taken the opportunity to explore hiking on the island for the first time and had gotten some amazing photographs at several different locations on the island, and Allen had come with him. The hikes hadn’t been terribly strenuous, at least not compared with some of the hiking he and Allen had often done on the mainland at that time, and Allen had been more than capable of it then.

But as he thought back on it now, Greg realized the hiking and the photography were not his favorite memories from that trip. Like so many other times, his favorite memories were of much smaller moments.

Like the time they’d been sitting here on that first trip—sitting in this very spot—and they’d seen a group of three humpback whales swimming south through the channel.

And that time—also on the first trip—that Allen had found some old poetry book in the bookstore in town, and his face had just lit up with the biggest, most brilliant smile Greg had maybe ever seen as he’d skimmed the pages.

And again on that same trip when Greg had found out Allen had never eaten s’mores before, and so they’d gone shopping and then made s’mores over the firepit. It had been so fun and messy, and afterward, they’d danced to softmusic under the stars...

“We should make s’mores tonight,” Greg said, finally breaking the silence. “We’ll have to run into town—or I can go alone—but... we should definitely make s’mores tonight, after dinner.”

Allen let out a softhmmand then straightened up a tiny bit and tilted his head back. His eyes glistened slightly, but his cheeks were dry. “Only if you’ll dance with me afterward,” he said quietly, and a small but obviously hard-fought smile grew on his lips.

Greg blinked back tears of his own and reached up to cup Allen’s cheek. Then he leaned in for a soft, warm kiss, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Allen’s. “Anything you want, darling.”

Chapter Twenty

Allen

“Mmm, I think Iagree with you, dear,” Allen said as he sat back in his lounge chair and took a second bite of his s’more. “The dark chocolateisbetter. And it melts slower, I think?”

“Yes, exactly,” Greg said, nearly beaming as he sandwiched a perfectly toasted marshmallow between two graham crackers. “The dark chocolate isn’t as sweet, so it balances the sweetness from the marshmallow and the graham cracker. Plus, the melting temperature is higher, so it’s not quite as messy too. And that method of toasting the marshmallow—good idea, darling. It worked just right.”

Greg stepped away from the firepit and took a seat in the chair next to Allen’s, biting into his third s’more of the evening. Allen was only on his second, and he figured it would probably be his last since he was still full from the incredible dinner Greg had cooked earlier. He licked some chocolate off his fingers and watched his husband do the same. Then he took another bite and looked outover the top of the fire toward the water. It was fairly dark since the moon wasn’t out yet, and he could just make out a few lights dotting the shore on the other side of the channel.

It felt peaceful, and for the first time that day, he was starting to feel relaxed. Actually, really relaxed. No more buzzing in his fingers or that hazy sort of exhaustion that had been hanging over him all week long. No more weirdness in his chest—that feeling he’d had all day like his heart was struggling to maintain a constant rhythm. And no more overwhelmingly intrusive thoughts—at least, not so bad that he had to keep distracting himself with other things.

A warm, gentle hand covered his, and Allen smiled and turned to look at his husband. Greg was studying their hands, his expression soft and thoughtful, and when he finally glanced up at Allen, his eyes were just as soft and so kind. His thumb rubbed over Allen’s knuckles, and he looked like he wanted to ask a question, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes flitted down to Allen’s lips, and then he leaned over toward Allen in invitation.

They met halfway in a slow, chocolatey kiss that deepened briefly as Greg’s tongue teased its way into Allen’s mouth, tasting and exploring in the most undemanding way. Allen made some quiet sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and Greg’s hand caressed lightly up his forearm and then continued higher to cup his cheek.

“Mmm, yeah,” Greg murmured as he pulled back just slightly. He dipped back in for another kiss, their mouths slanting together in a way that somehow just surrounded Allen in a swath of warmth and love. Greg hummed into the kiss and then broke away. “Thatisgood chocolate.”

Allen smiled in agreement and then turned his head and pressed his lips against Greg’s palm. When he opened his eyes again, Greg was watching him with some content, hopeful smile, his thumb stroking back and forth along Allen’s cheek. It felt good. So good.And it was a deep feeling that seemed to spread through him, all warmth and certainty and love.

As though Greg knew what Allen was thinking, his smile grew just a little more, and he kissed Allen’s forehead. “I love you, darling.”

Allen closed his eyes again. “I love you too,” he said quietly, and he leaned into Greg’s touch, letting himself feel all the comfort and love Greg was offering. He wanted to say a little more too; he felt he should say something more. Greg had been just wonderful all afternoon—taking care of everything, making sure Allen was comfortable and happy, and somehow doing it all without any expectations and in a way that didn’t make Allen feel any guilt about any of it.

He just felt loved. He felt that same deep feeling of warmth and certainty and love, and it was so much better than everything he’d been feeling for the last couple of weeks that it was almost overwhelming.

“This is perfect,” he said, his voice low and maybe a little rough with emotion. He straightened up and smiled softly at Greg again before he looked back out over the fire toward the water. Greg’s hand slipped down to cover Allen’s, just as it had earlier, and they both sat in silence for a few more minutes, finishing their s’mores.

Eventually, Greg stood, gathered up all the leftover food, and disappeared into the cabin for a moment. When he returned, he stopped behind Allen’s chair, set his hands on Allen’s shoulders, and began massaging gently. It was another thing that felt good and relaxing, and Allen closed his eyes again and took a long, slow breath as the light touch continued. Greg massaged his shoulders and neck, then moved to his upper back, rubbing with sure, soft strokes. It was a slow burn—a glow that spread gradually, reaching all the way down to his toes. And when Greg’s warm lipsbrushed against his cheek just below his ear, Allen shuddered as some stronger need tugged at him.

“I still owe you a dance, don’t I?” Greg whispered, and he pressed a kiss to Allen’s earlobe and then moved lower with another kiss and then another, trailing a quiet path down to Allen’s jawline.

“Mmm, yeah. Yeah, I think you do,” Allen managed as another jolt of heat rushed through him. He tilted his head back slightly, and Greg hummed as though in approval and shifted to press a kiss to Allen’s lips, his hands stilling on Allen’s shoulders.

With a gentle squeeze, Greg straightened up again, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone as he stepped around the side of Allen’s chair. A moment later, Greg’s lips twitched up into a half-smile, and some soft, melodic song began to play. It took a few seconds for Allen to recognize the tune, but when the artist began to sing their cover of “How Long Will I Love You,” Allen gasped softly.

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