by Anyta Sunday
His stomach gurgled. Loud.
Heath chuckled.
Will pulled himself out of his arms. “Gah, I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“What? Yesterday?”
“There was nothing in the cupboards. I’ve been living off stale crackers and cheese. But then I ran out of cheese. I’m going to get something to eat.”
“I’m coming with you,” Heath said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. How foolish I’ve been.”
“I’m just going downstairs to raid your fridge.”
“Or . . . ” Heath leaped off the bed. “I’ve a better idea. I’m taking you to Eureka.”
Downstairs, Heath grabbed his bag, and cell phone off the charger.
Wait a sec. His cell phone, and he was turning it on.
Will lunged for the phone and nicked it from him.
“What’s that about?”
Will thought to the messages he’d left, the groveling. That insane idea he had that he’d walk Murky every day.
“How do you clear messages on this thing?”
“You left me messages?”
“How do you delete?”
“Oh no you don’t.” Heath whipped it off him and started listening to the messages, “What’s so—” Heath’s eyes twinkled as they met his, and Will bit his bottom lip. “I can’t have heard that right.” He touched his screen. “Have to listen to that one again.”
After he heard it a second time, Heath dragged him to the car. “I’m so testing that offer of yours.”
Will laughed and when he hopped into the car, he felt, for the first time, the Commodore was the perfect way to drive. “Wait,” he said, feeling the weight as he moved his shoulder bag to his feet. “I forgot.” He pulled out the gift. “This is . . . this is for you.”
Heath stared at it, and gingerly took it from him. “Thank you.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
It took Heath all of two seconds to tear away the ribbon and blue paper. His hand clutched his gift, and he laughed. Leaning over, he kissed him. “It’s perfect. Now buckle up.”
Will lifted the belt and pulled to the lock-attachment-thingy. Heath took his gift, a small ballpein hammer, and hit the belt home. A few seconds later, the Chili Peppers were on and Heath’s thumbs hit the steering wheel in time to the music. At the traffic light, he turned down the volume. “I’ve a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Will replied.
“Next Sunday it’ll be two years since my brother died. I’d—I’d really like it if you came to his grave with us.” Heath laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Please?”
Of course. He nodded.
* * *
The next Sunday morning, he, Heath, and Vicky shared a somber breakfast. He could hardly taste the cheese he ate or the coffee he drank, but he continued to eat to bear the silence. Heath’s eyes were glazed as he stared at the fourth empty seat at the table, and Vicky kept clearing her throat—as if she wanted to say something and break the silence, but couldn’t.
A moan came from outside the sliding door. Murky padded across the veranda, tail down, and pawed at the glass. Did he know what today was too? Or could he sense Heath and Vicky’s distress?
Watching the dog whine and press his body against the door had Will feeling sorry for Murky. Vicky shivered as the dog barked and glanced at him over her shoulder. She cleared her throat again. “Sounds like it—” she stopped, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. “He,” she said quietly. “Sounds like he needs a walk.”
Still with glassy eyes, Heath pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll sort him out.”
“N-no,” Vicky said. “Stay with Will, I—Just stay here.”
Heath frowned, his eyes focusing on his mom. But she didn’t acknowledge his questioning look; instead she grabbed a jacket, her keys, and Murky’s leash, and took the dog for a walk.”
Will packed the dishes in the dishwasher and scrubbed what couldn’t go in, leaving Heath to watch the backyard as he gripped his coffee, sipping occasionally.
“Do you want . . . should I maybe go and come back later?” Will asked after he was done.
Heath’s head jerked in his direction. “No. Please don’t, it’s . . . it’s . . .”
“Okay.” He smiled and sat back in his chair.
Heath reached over and took his hand. “Thanks.”
They sat like that until Vicky came back and put Murky into his kennel. When she turned toward them, Will noticed her make-up was blotchy. She tried for a courageous smile, but it came with a fresh wave of tears. She ducked her head and came inside, bee-lining for the bathroom.
When she re-entered the kitchen, the only clue she’d been crying were her bright eyes. Heath got up and hugged her. “Thank you,” he said to her. “Thank you.” Then he steered her into a chair and poured them all another cup of coffee.
There was a tentative peace between them until Mr. Wallace arrived. He came in, cradling three large bouquets in his arms. “The door was open,” Mr. Wallace said, carefully setting the flowers on the bench. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Will tensed, waiting for Mr. Wallace to see him. Heath’s dad hadn’t seen Will since the last little . . . scene a few months back.
Mr. Wallace sighed and looked up. When he did, he caught sight of him, and his cheeks flared with heat. “What’s he doing here, Vicky?”
Heath jumped to his feet, cup almost tipping off the table in his hurry. “Dad, I’ve told you. Things are different now. Things maybe you’d have more clue about if you called more often. Or heck, even if you emailed. Being up in Christchurch is no excuse.”
Mr. Wallace stepped back and looked toward the bench of flowers. “They’re different?” he said, as if sounding out the words.
“They are,” Will said. Why not? He wanted to stand up for Vicky, too. “Vicky and I are friends. We go out for coffee sometimes, we take walks at the beach, and sometimes I come here for dinner, too. There’s no harm in what we do or in what we have—in fact, I’d say it’s the opposite; we each bring a little joy to one another. And that’s not going to change.”
Heath bent over and kissed him. “You bring a lot of joy.” Then he faced his dad. “So please let it go. I want my boyfriend to get to know the dad I like, not this one.”
Vicky’s chair legs squealed as she got to her feet. “Nicely said, boys. Greg, can I see you in the lounge, please?”
Heath waited a moment when they left, then moved to the opened doorway to listen. Will smiled. That was his kind of guy.
He inched closer, curious too, and Heath curled a finger to join him, smiling slightly.
“I fucked up in there, didn’t I?” They heard Greg say.
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry, Vicky. It’s not my right.”
“No, it’s not anymore.” There came a shuffling. “These are for you. Signed and dated. I hope you’ll be happy.”
Heath bit his lip and Will wrapped an arm around his waist. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Um, yeah,” Heath said, voice cracking. “I just . . . I . . . maybe listening in isn’t a good idea.” He stepped back from the door, and Will went with him.
Heath slumped onto a dining chair and snagged Will’s hand as Will sat next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Will said softly. “How can I help?”
He shook his head. “Actually, I think I’m relieved. My mum needs some closure and I’m glad she’s finally getting it.” He sighed and looked at Will. Then out of the blue, Heath tugged him off the chair and onto his lap. Their noses bumped, and Heath held Will’s hips steady. They were so close, but Heath didn’t kiss him. Not right away at least.
“I’m really glad she’s getting it,” Heath said, “because I know it helped me—I only wish I’d talked to you earlier, Will. I wish I’d just told you how I felt, how hard some things were. I wish I could take back time and let you know. I don’t want to make that mistake again. And I wish, I really wish I co
uld have said—”
Will kissed him, cutting him off with a gentle kiss. “We can wish a lot of things, Heath, but it’s not going to change the past. Let’s put that behind us and move on. If you wish, wish for the future, for things we can do something about.”
Heath rested his forehead against Will’s. “You’re beautiful, Will. Thank you for being here. And I want you to know something: you’re delusional if you think you’re leaving at the end of this year. I want you with me here all the time, and some way, somehow, I’m gonna make it happen.”
*
Rain pattered lightly over the grass, the grey marble headstone, and the bouquets of fresh flowers at Vicky’s feet.
Heath gripped his hand tight. So tight he could feel his pulse thrumming through him. They stood behind Vicky and Greg, under a large evergreen tree with sweeping branches.
“I have an apology to make to you, William,” Vicky said, after she’d told him how much she missed him. “I want you to know how sorry I am for not looking after your dog. Heath has done a wonderful job with him, but I—well, I’ve hated him for living instead of you. I took that out on him.” She looked out over the rows of headstones and back to William’s. “It’s my goal for the next year to work on that.”
Greg took her hand, and bowed his head. When it was his turn, he too apologized for things he’d screwed up, promising to work on them. But the apologies were brief, for the most part Vicky and Greg shared little anecdotes with William: funny stories they thought would make their son laugh, and as they told them, they laughed, too.
Vicky glanced at Heath over her shoulder. “I think your brother has some things he’d like to share with you now,” she said. “I think you’ll like what he has to say.”
She and Greg said goodbye and moved to the trunk of the tree and waited. The rain was getting stronger, the tree catching the heavy drops, but building them to bigger ones that plopped down on them.
Heath let go of his hand and rummaged in the bag he’d brought. “I have an umbrella in here somewhere,” he said. “Bought one the other day. Ahh!” He took out the small yellow thing and opened—
Will swallowed.
Heath had bought his very own Mickey Mouse Monstrosity.
He held it over them, and Will helped, their hands touching.
“William,” Heath said softly, “I want to tell you about something very special that’s happened to me. And I’m sure you’ll appreciate the element of . . . freakiness in this story.” Heath looked at him, their eyes catching a moment. “This is the story about how I fell in love with Will Sharp. . . . ”
>>> The End <<<
Acknowledgments
Thanks to all my betas for reading and making suggestions on earlier versions of this story, without you, Heath would have been harder to fall for.
Cheers to my editor, Teresa Crawford, for fine-tuning this story and catching me on my slip-ups. Without you, there would have been too many typos to count, and one corny-as-hell epilogue. More thanks to my mum, who steered me away from using pucker in a scene to do with nipples (and who continues to tease me about this).
Two-thumbs up to Natasha Snow for her amazing cover art.
And last, but not least, a big thanks to my husband and kid who put up with me while groaning and moaning as I re-wrote chunks of this book. I swear, sometimes I don’t know how you put up with me.
About Anyta
A born and raised New Zealander, Anyta Sunday has been exploring the literary world since she started reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Inspired, stories have been piling up in her head ever since. Fast forward to her mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), and she started putting pen to paper. When she’s not writing or chasing her kids around, she’s reading, hiking, watching a Joss Whedon series, attempting pilates, or curling up with her two cats. Updates on her projects can be found at anytasunday.com.
Anyta loves writing romance, mainly contemporary gay M/M. Another favorite genre of hers is fantasy, but also there the romance is never far away. Her books have been translated into German, Italian and French.
Contact: http://www.anytasunday.com/?page_id=386
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The series continues...
“The F Words”
Enemies to Lovers Book 4
Rory A. Phillips is sick of being haunted. Sick of hurting. Sick of being so fucking lost. Whenever he ‘sees’ his best friend William, he’s packing up his motorbike and on the move. But is there a place he can run to that will ever be free of William? A place where he could ever learn to love? A place he can call home?
After losing his last living relative, Eric Graham moves to Wellington to start a new job and a new life. Alone—save for his grandpa’s ashes he can’t bring himself to scatter in the sea. The only guy in the city he knows is a homophobic prick that he’d rather have nothing to do with—but he just can’t stop running into him.
Rory and Eric, both grieving and alone, are searching for a way to move on.
And maybe the best way to do that is together.
“The F Words” - available now
ALSO AVAILABLE
Leo Loves Aries
"Leo Loves Aries" is a sweet, slow burn, M/M romance with HEA. This New Adult, college, GFY, friends-to-lovers novel can be read as a standalone.
A new person will enter your life in the early year, Leo. Look past any moments of frustration they might bring and laugh—this could be the start of a thriving friendship.
Theo Wallace usually laughs at the horoscopes his mom sends. Still hung up on his ex-girlfriend and practically friendless, this one begs him to reconsider. Because a friendship that stuck, that thrived...
Well, that would be a reason to leave past pains behind and look to the Bright Future.
When his sister Leone challenges him to find her the perfect date for a spring wedding, Theo uses it as a chance to make new friends. Theo’s ex economics tutor and newest roommate Mr. Jamie Cooper seems to be a possible and convenient match. Real convenient. Like written in the stars, convenient.
All he has to do is make sure this Jamie is good enough. Could really be The One for her, and the friend for him.
But watch out, Leo, the stars have a surprise in store...
Other Books by Anyta Sunday
Gay Romance
(Enemies to Lovers Series)
Shane & Trey
St-st-stuffed
William
The F Words
*
(Signs of Love Series)
Leo Loves Aries
Scorpio Hates Virgo
Gemini Keeps Capricorn
Pisces Hooks Taurus
*
(Love & Family Series)
Taboo For You
Made For You
*
Liam Davis & The Raven
Shrewd Angel
Rock
Nest
Novellas
Get It
DJ Dangerfield
The Douglas Fir
500 Kisses
Bird Meets Cage
