Page 109 of Hope & Harmony

“A surprise for you,” he answered, grin impossibly wider, as he picked up the box and carried it to the table. Light, then, whatever was inside, despite the size. “Was going to give it to you after our last show in San Diego.”

“But Boston is gonna be our last show now.”

“So, I’m guessing by your logic, you think you should open it now.”

He rose on his toes and pecked his husband’s lips. “You know me so well.”

Gino lightly shoved him toward the sink. “Wash your hands first, pastry monster. You and Marsh together are dangerous.”

They were both still laughing when Bennett returned to the table, box cutter in hand. “Is it aframedconcert poster?”

“Not exactly,” Gino said as he plopped into one of the chairs. “And be very careful with the knife.”

Bennett nodded, then carefully sliced through the tape at one end of the box. He set down the cutter and slowly drew out the bubble-wrapped, framed something, foam bumpers on each corner. He popped those off, then ran a finger under the pieceof tape keeping the bubble wrap secure. Inside was definitely a framed picture of some sort, wrapped in butcher paper with a kitchen twine bow.

Pausing, Bennett glided his fingers over the thick brick red paper, remembering his dad, remembering how Middle Cut had come by its name. Gino’s hand landed on his back, a comforting, commiserating weight, no doubt remembering the same, remembering all those afternoons they’d practiced on the loading dock of the butcher shop Bennett’s late father owned. The other businesses at the industrial park where it had been located loved the free music; the neighbors where they’d each lived, not so much. “I miss them.”

“I know you do, baby. They were good people.”

Good people who’d had Bennett in their forties. They’d passed a few years back, ten months apart, his mother first from cancer, then his father from a stroke. More likely a broken heart—the pair never could be apart for too long.

Bennett understood that, even better now than he had several months ago. Giving Gino those divorce papers had been the last thing he’d wanted. In retrospect, it probably would’ve broken him for good if Gino had taken those papers, signed them, and left. But if that was what Gino had needed, Bennett would have given it to him. Would give him the world.

And his heart, forever.

“Open it, babe,” Gino said, rubbing his back.

His hand was shaky as he untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper, and he was glad for Gino’s swift reflexes; his husband surged to stand beside him when the picture inside was revealed, when Bennett gasped and tears instantly filled his eyes.

“How?” was all he could manage around the lump in his throat.

“Pays having FBI agents in the family, especially when they’re friends with a bunch of hackers and bounty hunters.”

Laughter escaped past the lump, the thought of Levi and Marsh leading a team to find a beat-up, yellowed sketch of the primal cuts of a pig, with Bennett’s red crayonOINKscribbled in one corner.

This precious, assumed-lost memento once again in his hands.

“You remember that day?” Gino asked.

“Like it was yesterday. We were at the shop, doing history homework, and I looked up at this picture over Dad’s counter and said,The band is called Middle Cut.”

“And that was that.”

“And that was that,” he repeated as he skated his hands over the sketch he’d drawn.

Until Gino carefully slipped it from him and set it on the table. He twined their fingers together and lifted their joined hands to his lips. “Middle Cut was there before our first tour, and it’ll still be there after this last one. It will always be where we are.” He lowered their hands over Bennett’s heart. “Because it’s right here.”

Bennett leaned forward, returning the kiss to their hands, then to his husband’s lips. Their love, their music would be right here with them, always.

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