Shaking my head, I made myself focus on my job. The club was opening in a couple of minutes, and the evening promised to be a busy one. I needed to bring my A-game, not my is my boyfriend going to reconcile with his old girlfriend game.

  Besides, feeling threatened was pointless. I reminded myself of that time and again, but old habits died hard. They’d been on a one-way express trip to being sealed in the Temple as soon as he came back from his mission, and even if Julien was gay now—unless he was bi?—they’d certainly seemed in love back then. As in love as teenagers could be anyway. That never lasted, did it?

  Of course it didn’t. I sure didn’t know a damned thing about falling in love with someone at that age and carrying that torch into my adult life.

  The club opened, and merciful distraction poured in through the glass double doors in the form of one man after another in search of a drink. Within minutes, I had a crowd at my station, and my focus shifted to pouring, garnishing and serving.

  As the evening went on, the orders kept coming and the crowd kept thickening, and my mind stayed on the tasks at hand.

  Until I glanced at the entrance, and froze.

  I’d seen a lot of fish out of water in this club, but no one had ever looked as out of place as Kelly. She looked around with wide eyes, a protective hand on her belly, her conservative maternity dress standing out amongst all the leather and half-dressed men. Heads turned. They noticed her, and she noticed them, and she reminded me of a terrified deer who was about to bolt for the nearest exit.

  I turned to the customer I’d been serving. “Could you excuse me for one second? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, sure.” He waved a hand and continued flirting with the guy next to him.

  I slipped out from behind the bar and shouldered my way through the crowd to Kelly. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “I—” She looked around, blinking a few times. “Came to…”

  “I can take a break in about ten minutes. Do you mind waiting for me?” I gestured outside. “You can wait out there if it’s more comfortable than being in here.”

  Kelly nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait out there.”

  “Sure. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hurried outside. I couldn’t really blame her. This was hardly a world she would’ve been exposed to before, and considering how much it had intimidated me the first few times…

  I returned to my station and finished serving my patient—and still flirting—customer. The orders kept coming, but my focus was completely gone. Thank fuck for muscle memory, since that was the only thing that kept me from screwing up the drinks. Though I did absently put a little too much rum into someone’s Coke. He didn’t seem to mind.

  As soon as I could, I flagged down Liam and let him know I was taking my break. He took over my station and shooed me out the door.

  When I stepped outside, she got up from the bench beside the door.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “Busy night tonight.”

  “So I see.” She rested a hand on top of her belly. “Goodness, it’s loud in there.”

  I laughed. “You get used to it.”

  “I guess you’d have to.” She laughed softly. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just, um, wanted to thank you.” She gestured in the general direction of my apartment. “For taking care of Josh—Julien. He’s going through so much right now, and it’s good to know he still has a friend in you.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Kelly took a deep breath. “He told me everything that happened, Chris. Before you two went on your missions.”

  I cringed inwardly. If ever I’d truly regretted that night at our going-away party, it was because he and Kelly had still been together. It was an impulsive thing, something we’d done in the heat of the moment because the clock had been ticking down to when we’d be going our separate ways for—we thought—two full years, and I’d needed him to know, and he’d needed me to know, and a kiss had gone too far, and…

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said.

  “Don’t be.” She took my hand. “Maybe if I’d have known then, I’d have been angry, and I was when he first told me, but I understand now.” She laughed quietly and lowered her gaze. “Funny thing is, I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”

  Another soft laugh, and she shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I think deep down, I just kind of…knew.”

  I swallowed. “About him? Or about, um, us?”

  She looked in my eyes. “Both.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I can’t really explain it, except that now that I know the truth, it just makes sense.” She patted my hand and then released it. “And I’m honestly glad you two found each other again. Maybe you can both be happy now.”

  “Maybe we can.” The words came out as barely a whisper because I couldn’t find enough air for more. “Still, I really am sorry for what happened. Back then.”

  Kelly reached for me and pulled me into a hug. It was a little awkward because I was afraid of crushing her baby or something, but still comforting, especially when she said, “Everything’s forgiven, Chris. I’m just glad you and Julien are together, and you’re both okay.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could think to say.

  As she pulled back, she said, “I should let you get back to work. And Eli has the kids, so I’d better make sure they haven’t destroyed the house.”

  I chuckled. “I’d say to tell him hello, but…”

  She smiled again, though a little sadly this time. “Maybe someday.”

  “One can hope.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Okay. Good night, Kell.”

  “Good night.”

  As her minivan disappeared down Broadway, the taillights reflecting in Wilde’s tinted windows, I replayed part of the conversation in my mind. Her forgiveness—of both of us—had blown my mind in the moment, but now it crept deeper, made itself more genuine and profound. She wasn’t just offering up lip service or trying to dig in and find a way to coax either of us back into the fold.

  She said she’d forgiven him. She’d forgiven me. She wanted us to be happy.

  And I believed her.

  Because she’d called him Julien.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  And damn, it was great waking up in Julien’s arms. Our biorhythms had started to synch up a bit more, or he’d stayed awake long enough to blow through his military early rising, but we woke at about nine in the morning, and the first thing I noticed was his green eyes watching me, sleepily, happily, and now we were both grinning like idiots, but I so didn't mind that.

  “What? Am I talking in my sleep?”

  “I’d never tell you. Too useful.”

  I turned to face him fully and to avoid a crick in my neck looking at him, and just as I was fishing for some smart-assed comment, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. Likely Liam asking me to fill in for an emergency shift. I’m optimistic like that in the early morning.

  I reached over, managed to grab it without knocking over the lube bottle and peered blearily at the screen.

  One message.

  I tapped the screen.

  Mind coming for lunch at our parents’?

  Deb.

  Uh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Lunch invite to your parents’. Deb texted.” I handed him the phone, though there was nothing else, really.

  “So that’s the shootout at the OK Corral.” His eyes were wary.

  “Only question—who’s Wyatt Earp and who’s Billy Claiborne?”

  He laughed and kissed me. That haunted look at least wavered for a few minutes, but seriously, why did this family always choose meals for the hard questions and discussions? They were clearly trying to break me out of that eating habit. I just didn’t get a bite down while wrestling with stuff.

  I did my best to relax him—and me, dammit. No guy could worry very much while getting a champion blowjob, thank you very much, and we’d both enjoyed that sixty-nine sex, which meant no awkward talk and all senses engaged for a while. Shower, then kissing, too lazy to get worried and stressed out, and then breakfast in one of the coffee shops. The diversion tactics were pretty successful, but at about eleven, he glanced at his watch, though it was subtle.

  After I’d confirmed we were happy to come to lunch, Deb had told us to get there at one.

  Two more hours.

  “You sure about this?”

  Julien closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I grimaced. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  With a quiet laugh, he shrugged. “You know me too well.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, I may not be ready for it, but…I’ll do it. We’ll see how it goes.” He sat on the edge of my bed and dug through his rucksack. “I actually brought a few things home for the family. Stuff I picked up in Marseilles.” He laughed again and shook his head. “Don’t know if I meant them as peace offerings or what, but…” Trailing off, he pulled a small box out of the rucksack.

  When he lifted the lid, there were a handful of small items wrapped in paper, and wedged up against the side of the box was a thin stack of envelopes and folded papers.

  “You still going to give them to your folks?”

  “Might as well. Last meetings were too akward. Somehow, there never really was a good moment.” He carefully withdrew one of the objects, and the letters toppled over. He quickly put them on the other side of the box, propped up beside another wrapped object.

  “Letters from friends?” I had to bite back some lingering jealousy. He couldn’t so much as contact me while he was “dead”, but he’d exchanged letters with—

  “They’re, um…” Julien cleared his throat. He hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew them. “I told you about Timur. These are, uh, from him.”

  That didn’t help the jealousy. “Oh.”

  “We were mostly deployed together, but sometimes we got separated. Leave. Convalescence. Sometimes—”

  “Convalescence?” I arched an eyebrow. “What happened?”

  Without meeting my eyes, Julien tucked his arm against his side, as if protecting that scar he never talked about. “It’s combat, Chris. Things happen. And when they did”—he held up the letters again—”we wrote to each other.” Finally, he looked me in the eye, and then he smiled. He set down the letters and reached for my hand. “Relax. He’s over there. I’m over here.”

  And what if he comes over here? Or you go back there?

  There were a million questions on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t figure out how to ask any of them without sounding like a jealous, petulant boyfriend, the kind who’d expect his man to burn every scrap of evidence that he’d ever been with anyone else. I wasn’t that boyfriend. Never had been. But something about Timur and the way Julien’s eyes turned a little distant whenever he mentioned him…

  “Chris.” He touched my face, caressing my cheek. “It’s impossible for me to explain what Timur and I had, but it’s not…this. It’s not what we have.”

  I swallowed. Finally, I managed to ask the only thing I could think of: “Will I ever meet him?”

  Julien smiled. “I hope so.” He glanced down at the letters, then looked at me again, and his smile brightened a little. “He did make me promise to invite him if I ever got married.”

  “If you ever—” My heart jumped. “What?”

  Julien just winked, pulled me in and kissed me. Barely breaking the kiss, he added, “So, yes, you probably will get to meet him eventually.”

  I drew back and met his eyes. “That has got to be the weirdest marriage proposal I’ve ever heard.”

  He chuckled. “Consider the source.”

  “Good point.”

  “You still haven’t answered, though.”

  “Hmm, no, I guess I haven’t.” I cupped his face in both hands. Just before our lips met, I whispered, “I’d love to meet him.”

  “He’s a good guy. A good friend. I think he’ll make a great best man.”

  “Not if that involves kidnapping the groom. I don’t think I’d be quite up to liberating you.”

  “Maybe I’ll have him abduct you.” He grinned. “Just joking. I’m not going to share you.”

  Wow, we were already talking monogamy? And marriage? Granted, I was something of a serial monogamist—I guess the LDS upbringing was still very clearly in my moral fiber. Apparently in his too, casual sex and five-somes with legionnaires notwithstanding.

  “Okay. Between us, we got enough kinks nailed down to last us awhile.”

  “And you don’t know the half of it.” He kissed me again. “Who’s your best man?”

  Deb, probably. Kieran? “Uh. I’ll get back to you on that one.”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “What? Hurry?” He looked all innocent now (yeah, because that was very believable).

  “If you’d given up your citizenship, I could think I’m just a green card to you.” I huffed.

  He laughed. “It’s because of you that I’m even considering settling in this place. Réunion, or Seattle. Tropical island paradise, or…”

  “The best coffee in the world.”

  He laughed again. “That would be the Horn of Africa. Those folks actually came up with the idea to roast those beans and turn them into a hot drink. Just a little hop away from Réunion, incidentally.”

  “That French-accented superiority can go straight to hell.”

  We both laughed.

  “Speaking of going to hell”—he glanced at the clock beside my bed—”we should probably head toward my parents’ house.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Traffic’s going to be miserable.” I stood and offered my hand. “It’s still not too late to back out if you can’t handle this.”

  He took my hand and stood up too. “No, I think I need to do this. They can say their piece, I’ll say mine, and then we can all move on.”

  “Okay. Just say the word if you want to leave.”

  “I will.”

  ~*~

  The Hawthornes’ driveway was full of vehicles.

  I recognized Deb’s minivan immediately. There were two other similarly huge vehicles—a giant Suburban and an Expedition with seven stick figures in the back window. I suspected they were family. Maybe Julien’s other elder sister, or his younger brother, who I’d heard had an army of kids already.

  Those vehicles didn’t bother me, though. I liked his siblings well enough, and they’d never given me shit for leaving the faith.

  It was the black Lexus that made my skin crawl.

  Bishop Campbell.

  Fuck.

  “Looks like it’s a party,” Julien muttered as I parked on the curb.

  “Glad we were invited.”

  He laughed dryly. I killed the engine, and we exchanged a quick look before we got out of the car. On the way down the driveway, past the fleet of vehicles, I was tempted to take Julien’s hand and passive-aggressively let anyone watching—yep, there went the curtain in the kitchen window—know that we were together. But I didn’t. We stayed a platonic distance apart from the car to the front porch.

  Julien took a deep breath, set his shoulders back and rang the doorbell.

  His mother answered. God, but she looked like she’d aged another decade just since the last time I’d seen her. The shadows beneath her eyes emphasized how scarily pale she was, and her shoulders slumped like they were exhausted from carrying some giant, invisible weight.

  Without a word, she stood aside.

  As we stepped into the house, I saw Julien’s other siblings in the room. All of them. They were pale and tired too, as if every last one of them had been up all night.

  His mother closed the door and faced us. “Your father isn’t doing well, Joshua.” She gestured at the hallway leading back toward, if I remembered correctly, the guest bedroom. “He wants to see you.” Her eyes darted toward me. “Both of you.”

  Julien and I glanced at each other. I had no idea what to make of this, and by his wide-eyed look, neither did he.

  Silently, we followed her past Julien’s siblings and down the hall. She stopped outside the last door on the right, which was slightly ajar, and tapped on it with her knuckle. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open.

  The guest room had been converted into a makeshift hospital room. The bed had been replaced by a hospital bed, with monitors and an IV stand on either side of it.

  And my God, Julien’s father looked like he’d been through hell and back. His skin was almost translucent, hanging across bones and what little fat and muscle remained. The hospital gown even seemed too big for him. IVs ran from both of his heavily bruised arms, and an oxygen tube rested on his upper lip.

  On top of the blanket, beside his leg and with his bony fingers resting on its cover, was a copy of one of Gordon B. Hinckley’s books. Hadn’t we all had his work hammered into our brains during seminary? I hadn’t cracked any of his books in years but could probably still quote several of them verbatim.

  Beside the bed, Bishop Campbell sat with a Book of Mormon on his knee and his hands folded on top of it.

  “Joshua.” His father wheezed a little and, with what seemed like a lot of effort, lifted a hand and beckoned to his son. He patted the side of the bed, which shouldn’t have had so much room with a man who’d once been huge lying in it. “Sit with me.”

  Julien glanced at me. Then he did as requested and approached. He carefully sat on the edge of the bed.

  His father looked past Julien. “Chris. You too.” He gestured at the empty chair.

  “Me?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Without looking at the bishop—who was on the opposite side of the bed, thank God—I sat in the chair against the wall. I was close enough to touch Julien if I wanted to, but that wouldn’t have helped matters. So I didn’t.

  Julien’s mother closed the door, and the five of us were sealed inside this small room that was silent except for the machinery beeping and humming unobtrusively in the background.