by Aiden Bates
Chapter Four
The trees rushed by, a black blur. Occasionally, a car would come by, heading in the opposite direction, and it too would be a blur of light and noise. As he got farther and farther from Stellar, the houses became further and farther between, and they were all blurs too.
The only thing that wasn’t a blur was the speedometer on Raff’s bike, and that showed clearly that he was doing seventy down the winding road. It felt damn good.
The bike was an extension of his body, and had been for sixteen years. Sure, he might get a hefty speeding ticket if he happened across a cop right now, but Raff wasn’t being reckless. He knew exactly what he and his machine were capable of. And there were rarely cops out here.
During the straight stretches of road, when he didn’t have to focus on curves, he looked up and caught glimpses of the moon rising. Not quite full; it was still providing enough light that he could see the road clearly. It was dark and peaceful. The stars were out. The air smelled of pine trees.
Despite only having spent less than two full summers in Stellar, Raff already felt a strong connection to the wilderness here. He knew he looked like a proper New Yorker, with his street style and his somewhat Italian looking features (though, who really knew?), but on the mean streets of Brooklyn, he felt rather out of place. He liked to take his time, walk slow and look around, and the only place you could do that in NYC was Central Park . . . and only if there wasn’t a jogger or a horse-drawn carriage behind you. And he rarely got to ride his bike for any length of time in the City. He had to head toward upstate, and that was a pain in the butt. It was enough to drive a man to drink, so to speak.
As much as he enjoyed New York, he needed this. Long stretches of road where he could open ‘er up and ride. Sometimes he would even take his helmet off, if the roads were dry and there wasn’t a lot of traffic. When he was riding, he could either collect his thoughts and work out his problems, or completely clear his mind in Zen-like focus on the road in front of him.
Tonight was a thinking night, but he wasn’t working out problems. He was reminiscing.
After their engagement, they didn’t see the point of waiting long. Raff was poor and Chris’s savings were earmarked for the surgery. They only needed to find a time when the majority of their friends and family could attend a short but meaningful ceremony in the City. They made phone calls instead of sending out invitations.
Chris had a lot of family: his folks, his sister, his three elderly aunts on his dad’s side who all lived in Connecticut (two of whom were happy spinsters and one who had a husband and four kids), and one maternal uncle who was, in his own words, “gay as a tangerine”. The cousins all had significant others and a few had kids. There were a few college friends that Chris wanted to include.
“But what about you?” Chris asked, looking down at his own guest list. He was worried about Raff’s “side of the church”, so to speak, being empty.
Raff laughed a little too loud. Chris and the rest of the Chambers clan were in for a treat. There were about fifteen guys from the foster home days that Raff stayed in touch with; good men who had either never heeded the siren song of drugs and crime, or who had learned their lesson and cleaned up their ways long ago. Raff had been to several of his “brothers’” weddings, and always knew that he would one day return the favor. Many of them were already married or in committed relationships, and a few of them had kids as well. His “side of the church” would do just fine, thank you very much.
Six weeks after their engagement, on a beautiful late-summer evening, Chris and Raff went back to Alberto’s for their wedding. Caroline and a few friends had decorated the place modestly but elegantly, with candles everywhere and white linens, and in the back corner was a simple arch lined with tiny lights, greenery, and white and red anemones. Someone had hooked up an old iPod shuffle to the restaurant’s sound system, and slow rock and blues played in the background.
Their guests were waiting for them. There was the Chambers family, including all of the cousins and several of their babies, and there were Raff’s “brothers”, in black leather, bushy beards, facial piercings and huge smiles. Everyone was simply united in the joy of seeing two of their favorite people exchanging vows. When said vows were exchanged in front of a notary, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, from the biggest biker to the gayest uncle. When they were announced “husband and husband”, a loud shout of joy rang up from the group, even through their tears.
By the time the cake was cut, Chris’s dad was sharing golf tips with Buzz from the group home, and Caroline was making plans to get work done by Rooster’s wife, Tattoo Annie (“Something small and discreet,” she said, “Maybe a flower on my shoulder”). The gay uncle was dancing in a circle with all of the kids. Everyone said it was the best wedding they’d ever attended.
Maybe it was the cappuccino and tiramisu, but when Raff and Chris got back to their apartment, they were too wired to sleep. They changed into more comfortable clothes, decided to go for a walk and, as they walked, they talked.
After four years, they already knew each other well, but they never seemed to tire of each other’s stories or ideas. This time, they discussed Chris’s surgery; they tossed around baby names; they contemplated having more than one child; they planned their dream retirement. They told each other stories about their first kisses and their first heartbreaks—stories they’d already told but wanted to hear and share again. They discussed whether they wanted to be cremated or buried, and what charity they’d love to leave a fortune to.
Again and again and again.
They walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and decided to cross it, and then they walked it back and watched the sunrise. When they were tired of talking, they just held hands and enjoyed being with each other. Husbands.
After the second trip across the bridge, Chris had a wicked blister so they grabbed a cab. By the time they made it back to the apartment, they could barely make it to the bed. They slept entwined, exhausted, happy.
Certainly, everyone said that their own weddings were the best days of their life, but that usually was about the perfect dress or tux and the best meal and funny best-man speeches. Raff didn’t believe most of them could claim the level of simple joy and satisfaction that his wedding night brought him.
A shape ahead on the road shook Raff from his reverie and brought him back to the present. He had to be more alert when he was riding. Slowing as he approached the slow moving blob, he then slammed on the breaks at about two hundred and fifty feet away.
It was a bear.
A black bear, he quickly recognized with relief. They were still to be respected, but they were known to be much less aggressive than their grizzly cousins. From the size, he guessed it to be a female.
Raff took great pleasure in watching the magnificent beast from the safe distance. Her thick fur gleamed in the moonlight as her powerful muscles propelled her across the road. Unexpectedly, she paused in the middle. Raff began to wonder if he was going to have to turn around right there and run.
Suddenly, she made a low grunt, and to Raff’s delight, two cubs ran quickly to meet her. They were adorable and reminded him of his own little cub asleep at home. The mama bear seemed to look again at Raff but, not sensing a threat, she headed to the other side of the road with her little ones close to her rump.
Adrenaline coursed through Raff’s body, and he felt himself quivering ever so slightly. He scanned the area ahead and saw no sign of the animals, so revved his engine and took off again before the mother bear decided he was a danger to her babies after all. He felt like there was a permanent smile on his face.
Chris is going to love this.
Then there were tears of joy at the involuntary thought. Chris was the one; he was always the one, and he would always be the one that Raff wanted to share with.
Raff had to pull over one more time until his vision was clear, and then he headed straight back to his little family at Stellar Landing.
When he
got home after his ride, Chris was sound asleep, and Raff couldn’t blame him. He needed his rest. As Raff slipped into bed beside him, he watched his omega’s face for a moment. It was peaceful at least. Raff would have been distraught if his husband was sleeping anxiously for any reason, especially if it was because of their fight. He watched him for a while then, when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, he listened to his deep breathing until he himself fell asleep.
As promised, Chris left early the next morning to head to his office in Fairbanks, leaving a sleepy Raff lying in their warm bed, his eyes barely open but his brain already working.
Chris kissed him before leaving, as he always did, and Raff was able to say goodbye. Chris was wearing one of his custom-made button-down shirts, which he always wore lightly starched, and a pale turquoise tie that Raff and Elizabeth gave him last Father’s Day. It made his green eyes take on the slightest aqua tone.
“You should wear blue more often,” Raff mumbled.
With a smirk and a wink, Chris replied, “Get a few more minutes of sleep, handsome. You’re delirious.”
But once the door was closed, Raff was alert. The baby would be up shortly and he liked to plan his day in the quiet over a cup of strong black coffee. As the pot dripped and the air filled with the delicious scent, Raff opened up his laptop.
While people often praised him for being an “enlightened” alpha—being the stay-at-home dad while his husband worked a full-time job—there was definitely some of that alpha pride inside. Raff insisted on paying his fair share of all the couple’s joint expense.
Chris didn’t like that, at first. He said things like, “My money is our money.” He worried that Raff was stressing himself unnecessarily.
But Raff started out with nothing and had worked just as hard to get ahead as Chris. Maybe harder, since he didn’t get a leg up from two parents in a stable home. He took great pride in contributing, and he liked to be able to buy things for Chris and Elizabeth with his own money.
Of course, working as a part-time director at a rehab facility didn’t pay nearly as much as a defense attorney, so the bills were split proportionately. Raff brought home twenty percent of their combined income, and he paid twenty percent of the mortgage, twenty percent of the electric bill, and twenty percent of their monthly retirement savings. Chris insisted on paying for his own expensive suits and dry cleaning; Raff insisted on paying for his two motorcycles—one in New York and one that stayed in a garage in Alaska—and their repairs and maintenance. Raff was satisfied with the arrangement and, eventually, after much conversation, so was Chris.
Raff also had his own savings account for personal expenses. Sometimes he liked to surprise Chris with a little gift, without him seeing it on the bank statement or credit card. It wasn’t much of a surprise if his husband could see how much it cost before Raff even gave it to him.
Now Raff opened up his account and made some mental notes of the figure he saw. Then he picked up his phone.
“Hey, Caroline? How are you? Listen, I need your advice as the only fashionista I know. Where can I buy the nicest leather attaché case that Chris has ever seen? Like something that will blow his mind. No, no special occasion. Just want to let him know how much I appreciate how hard he works.”
He took notes as she chatted with enthusiasm, thanked her, and ended the call before pulling up the specific websites she mentioned. His eyes grew large as he checked out prices.
Wow. These are . . . a lot.
He revisited his bank account and made more mental calculations.
Then, with a resolved sigh, he opened up a tab for Craigslist and created a new listing.
For sale. 1980 Harley-Davidson Sturgis. Excellent condition . . .
Chapter Five
The drive from Stellar to Fairbanks was a beautiful one. It started out with winding roads through sky-grazing trees and, on sunny days like today, the sky was a lovely blue straight overhead. Once out of the wilderness, the road met the highway, which led straight into Fairbanks. It wasn’t too long, but long enough to enjoy a good book on MP3 or a podcast, and the traffic was never bad at all. Compared to some of the commutes New Yorkers had to make, this was a cakewalk.
Fairbanks was what Chris considered a small town, but it was heavily populated compared to the rest of Alaska and it had a very high crime rate. That’s what had appealed to Chris’s higher-ups when he proposed that he start a new office in “the Last Frontier.” Lots of business. They didn’t even know the half of it. Chris was fielding twenty-five calls a day from people looking for representation for themselves or a loved one, and he finally hired an administrative assistant in June when he opened full-time.
Yolanda was a lovely older woman: smart, skilled and a little crazy in the best possible way. A defense attorney’s office could get intense and she handled it all with aplomb and a sense of humor. At the end of the day and the end of the week, she was just as happy as at the beginning. Plus she wore the most amazing outfits. She wouldn’t have been able to dress that way in New York City, and Chris considered that, if and when his bosses came out to see the Fairbanks office, they might not approve of her, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.
“Good morning, Yo,” Chris greeted her.
She was already hooked up to her headset, and she raised her perfectly manicured finger with a smile to let him know she was on the line. Chris put a small box on her desk. He liked to bring her a treat once in a while.
When she burst into his office a few minutes later, she was wearing the gift: a silver comb with a vivid peacock feather.
“Mr. Chambers, you know me so well. Thank you! How does it look?”
“Perfect. I saw it at a craft fair over the weekend and it had your name all over it. And please, call me Chris.” He’d asked her one hundred times, but he knew she’d refuse yet again.
“Boundaries, Mr. Chambers! If I don’t show you respect, your criminal clients certainly won’t!” She ran back out to get a call.
“Innocent until proven guilty, Yo!” he called back after her with a laugh.
The smile fell from his face when he looked at the stack of files she’d already placed on his desk. These were cases that needed immediate attention: clients or opposing counsel to call, document to file, agreements to consider. There had to be thirty files, mostly defense cases but some civil litigation and estate planning. He did a quick mental calculation: it was eight in the morning, average of thirty minutes per case—twenty minutes if he rushed—and maybe he could get home by seven o’clock tonight. He went to the kitchen, got a cup of coffee—Yolanda made it double-strength—and then got right to work.
He opened the first file, a University of Alaska student whose parents had too much money and didn’t want their precious baby to suffer for his DUI, but Chris couldn’t focus.
His husband and baby were still at home, getting ready for their day together. Raff would be taking her with him to the rehab center, where she would play in a playpen in his office, chatting incomprehensibly to every smiling face that walked by. Raff would be sitting behind his desk with his feet up, making calls and placing orders, or walking through the facility with Bizzy strapped to his back, taking inventory and greeting the patients. He would be smiling, because Raff was a smiler and everyone would say to each other or themselves, “What a great guy,” because Raff was a great guy.
A great guy who wanted to go on a romantic vacation with Chris, and God knows why but Chris had turned him down last night.
Chris’s career was taking up more and more of his focus, even in Alaska, but the whole point of summering in Alaska was to spend more time together.
The first time they came to Stellar, just to check it out, they rented a condo for the week. The condo itself was clean but hideously decorated, with a polyester bedspread that had to have been made in 1975, cheap beach artwork (in Alaska??), and mismatched silverware. But the view from the eleventh floor unit was breathtaking.
“Who cares a
bout art when you can stare at this all day?” Raff said, as he stood at the window.
Chris was next to him, six months pregnant, rather miserable and sore at the time, but he had to agree. The next morning when they told Holly, the owner of the Stellar Café, that they were already in love with the town and building, she told them that there was a two bedroom unit for sale. One phone call and two eggs-Benedicts later and they were touring the empty unit on the tenth floor.
The view was even better there, as it was an end unit with wrap-around windows, and the condo was much nicer. The previous owner had installed a modest kitchen upgrade and an impressive new master bath, and there were no tacky oil paintings on the wall. Surprisingly, it was well within their budget. It wasn’t fancy—except for the amazing shower—but it was perfect.
The realization that they were buying a summer home made the two men giddy. Chris felt like his hard work was finally paying off, not with material possessions, but with life satisfaction. His determination had allowed him to afford a costly surgery so that he could create a little life with his alpha, and soon they’d have a place where they could decompress and enjoy the simple things together. Living the dream at such a young age.
Before they headed back to Brooklyn, the residents of Stellar Landing threw them a little welcome party in the building’s recreation center. Apparently, during the winter, the building was only half full but, during the summer, there were hundreds of residents, and it seemed like they all turned out for the party. A disco ball hung from the rafters, and the resident DJ—aka Gladys, a young woman with crazy hair who made it her personal mission to plan several parties a month—was playing everyone’s favorite 80s hits. The banquet tables seemed to be straining from the pot luck food, and there were about ten pies at the end. DJ Gladys had also made the pies. She was apparently the resident powerhouse.
