by Kim Fielding
“But… can he stay? If Tomismoran is angry—”
“I made a pledge to Goran that he may remain. A god’s pledge is sacred. Nobody can break it—not even my father. Don’t worry, Michael. Goran will stay with you forever.”
Oh, gods. There were no words for what Mike was feeling. He supposed it was what a condemned man might feel if, on the eve of his execution, he were informed he’d been pardoned.
“Thank you so much,” he said to Ariana. “If there’s something I can give you to show how grateful I am—”
“Weave a beautiful life together. That will be thanks enough.”
And she was gone.
That left the four humans in Mike’s living room. Goran looked huge and oddly misplaced, with the TV behind him and his boots tracking Nenahde dust onto Mike’s beige carpet. And although Goran was still clutching one of Mike’s arms, he was frowning. Mike had a terrible thought. “Gor? Did you want to come here? It’s not your world. It’s going to be so different for you.”
“I’d live on the moon if you were there, Mike.”
“Then… Jesus, Goran. Welcome home.” More hugs were in order, and they would have soon progressed to something more active, but Mom and Marie were watching. Mike looked at them a little self-consciously. “Mom, Marie… I’d like you to meet my husband.”
They stared at each other. Mike would have been willing to bet Goran had looked less terrified going into battle. But then Mom flew around the coffee table, flung herself at Goran, and wrapped him in her arms.
“Welcome to the family, honey,” she said.
Chapter 21
GORAN LEANED over the stone wall, a brisk wind whipping his long hair. “What are those, Mike?” He pointed far out and down, where a sandy peninsula jutted into the Pacific. The sand was dotted with brown shapes that looked big even this far away.
“Seals,” Mike answered.
“Are they edible?”
“Um, I think so. But the State of California frowns on it. You’d probably end up in prison.” Mike was slightly relieved Goran no longer carried a sword. Goran wanted to buy a new one to replace the one he gave Ariana, and Mike spent weeks patiently explaining why Goran couldn’t walk around looking like he was ready to decapitate people. They’d ended up with a compromise: a big knife that Goran kept hidden inside his black motorcycle boots. The boots had sealed the deal. Goran had fallen in love with modern footwear, and with tight jeans and jockstraps.
“Oh,” Goran said, slightly disappointed.
“Hey, you’re the one who nixed the hunting trip.”
Mike had a plan. He and Goran would rent a cabin and Goran could go after deer or turkeys or something. Mike even offered to do research on hunting regulations. But Goran had opted for the coast instead; he’d seen photos of the ocean and wanted to see it in person. Fine with Mike. Before Mike could make reservations, though, Goran used his newly developed phone skills and invited Mom, Marie, Jeff, and Cleve along.
“I thought we’d have a romantic weekend, just us two,” Mike had said.
Goran gave him a quick hug. “We have lots of time together. I thought some family would be fun.”
And he was right—family would be fun. Besides, Jeff had booked them condos owned by the timeshare company he worked for, which meant the lodging was free. And this way Mike would have a little audience for his planned surprise.
With the blue sky behind him and the blue ocean beneath him, with his hair a mess and his plain white T-shirt stretched over taut muscles, Goran was breathtakingly beautiful. Best of all was his smile. He looked like a man who’d permanently escaped his ghosts. “Will we be able to swim in the ocean?” he asked.
“You can give it a try. But it’s really cold.”
“I want to try anyway. But right now, I feel like I’m flying.”
“We can someday, if you like. Go in an airplane, I mean.”
Goran whooped like a child on Christmas.
They bundled themselves back into the car. Goran watched carefully as Mike started the engine, backed out of the space, and pulled onto the highway. Goran was looking forward to driving lessons soon, once his reading improved a little more and the lawyer they’d hired got his paperwork settled. The lawyer hadn’t asked too many questions about why Goran had no ID. Maybe she thought Goran was an illegal alien—which was true, actually. But she was a friend of Marie’s and good at her job, and she’d pulled a few acts of creative paperwork that Mike didn’t want to know about. Soon Goran Carlson would have papers officially declaring him a citizen of the United States.
Mike’s Civic hugged the curves as they twisted and turned their way north. The windows were rolled down so they could smell the salt air, and Goran sang along with Mike’s MP3 player. He had a particular fondness for early eighties pop music, but Mike had banned any Olivia Newton-John in his presence. He ended up with a lot of Michael Jackson and Duran Duran instead. It was one of the hardships Mike now had to bear, along with the fact that his husband thought baseball was boring.
Goran drummed his fingers on the windowsill, and Mike smiled so broadly his face hurt. He’d been doing that a lot these past few months.
The other members of their party probably hadn’t stopped at every scenic overlook along the way, so Mike and Goran were the last to arrive. Everyone exchanged hugs. If Goran wondered why Mom’s embrace was especially enthusiastic, he didn’t ask. They had three separate condo units, side by side, but the living rooms were a little cramped for six people. At Jeff’s suggestion, they all walked down a sandy pathway that led to a boardwalk. After a few hundred yards, the boardwalk widened into a semicircle of several wooden benches with an ocean vista behind. Birds flitted back and forth through the brush, and gulls called from high overhead.
Everyone took a seat on the benches. Jeff and Cleve were practically in each other’s laps, Mom and Marie weren’t bickering for a change, and Goran looked radiant. He told Mike that sometimes he woke up in the morning afraid it had all been a wonderful dream. Mike understood—he felt the same way.
Goran’s attention was caught momentarily by something in the waves, and Mike took advantage of that to slip off the bench and to the little open area in the middle of the semicircle. He dropped to one knee and waited for Goran to look his way.
Goran did—maybe because he noticed their companions’ sudden silence. His mouth dropped open. “Mike?”
Mike pulled a small box from his jacket pocket. “I know we’re already married in Nenahde, Gor. But I’d like to make it official here too. I’d like a California wedding, with rings and cake and tuxes and the whole nine yards.” He flipped the box open to reveal the ring he’d bought. It was a plain wide band of black tungsten and silver. “Um, but before I ask you formally, um….” He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth.
And in his terribly off-key voice—and in front of an audience of five, plus any eavesdropping gods—Mike sang Etta James. “At last….” It was awful. His low notes bottomed out, the high notes squawked, and the notes in between wobbled all over the place. And by the end of the song he was crying again, dammit. So was Mom and—to Mike’s later amusement—Cleve.
But Goran only smiled. And when the song was mercifully over, Mike said, “Will you marry me, Goran? Again?” and Goran threw himself onto his knees so they could embrace. Mike almost lost the ring in the fierceness of it, but Marie charged over to grab the box and save the day.
“Of course I’ll marry you, Mike,” Goran said. “How could I not marry a man who’d sing like that for me?”
“It was a sacrifice. I wanted you to know how much I mean it.”
Mike was an ordinary guy with an extraordinary lover. He believed that together they’d have a long, happy life, the strands of their fates woven indelibly together. He had learned one thing for certain: there was no use continuing to disbelieve in fantasy when you were living one every day.
And, oh yeah. True love? It turned out that was real too.
About
the Author
KIM FIELDING is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.
Kim can be found on her blogs:
http://kfieldingwrites.blogspot.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog and on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites.
Her e-mail is [email protected], and she can be found on Twitter at @KFieldingWrites.
The Bones Series from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
The Bones Series from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Also from KIM FIELDING
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
