Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

A silent sob wracked my torso and Hunter braced me through it.

“I’m a bad person, Hunter.”

Hunter murmured soft comforting sounds, but I was too lost in the stinging ache to hear his words.

“Come on, Marc. Let me drive you home.”

I twisted, facing him and his concern. “No, not there.”

He thumbed away a stray tear. “Because of how things are with your uncle?”

“Yeah. And . . .”

“And?”

I wanted to wake up in Hunter’s bed again. “Never mind.”

Together we moved him securely onto my back. He was heavy, but nothing I couldn’t manage. I stretched my neck. “Start nibbling.”

Hunter laughed, and then started nibbling.

Chapter Twelve

Eight hours later, Hunter transferred himself out of bed for his morning routine. I stretched over his warm vacant space and called out for him to hurry back.

He did, with supplies.

Hunter moved himself behind me and with superior upper-body strength and a strap on, fucked me until I came all over his sheets. I rolled in the puddle and playfully tackled Hunter to the mattress, stroking his neck and nipples until his eyes rolled back and he sneezed.

“There’s a link between the nose and genitals,” Hunter explained on our way to meet Victor. “Sneezes are like a release of the mounting itchiness inside my chest. My version of an orgasm, I suppose. It feels nice.” He eyed me. “That weird?”

“How much of a shit am I if it makes me laugh?”

“An honest one?”

I laughed. “Dude, I’m just glad you get off.”

Outside Victor Albacore’s house, at the base of his hedged steps, I caught Hunter looking at me. I chuckled, grabbed the handles of his chair, and pulled him up.

In my mind, Victor was an aged man with sad, wise eyes, and brokenness that clung to him. In reality, he was a fit older gentleman with an enviable crop of hair, and robust, full-of-life vocal cords. His brown eyes crinkled at the edges, and the only thing heavy about him was the way he leaned on his cane when he walked.

“Lost my left foot to a mine in Vietnam,” he said by way of explanation, tapping his cane against his metal leg.

We sat at the doily-covered table with steaming lemon tea. Hannah wasn’t around, but Victor promised she’d told him what we wanted.

I had the overwhelming urge to give him the Archie tin and tell him to read everything and realize how much Kyle loved him.

But a little tug in my gut said it wasn’t mine to give.

“You’re here about my relationship with Kyle Gable Green.”

We nodded.

I wondered if he could tell there was more between Hunter and me than how we’d introduced ourselves—as a writer and a photographer for the Scribe. Hunter had rolled into the close space next to me, and every time he laughed or spoke, I couldn’t help but glance at him.

“What happened?” I asked. “From your perspective.”

Victor took a long drink of tea. “You want to use my story in an article?”

“Our goal is to save the Lover’s Loop gazebo. The more stories we have . . .”

“Have you spoken to Kyle?”

Hunter answered. “Not until next week.”

Victor gripped the tiger head of his cane. “I’ll have to ask you not to write about our story unless Kyle gives you permission.”

“Off the record then?”

His story matched Kyle’s down to the horrible way they parted. The jovial tone drained from Victor’s voice, and he slumped with the weariness and heartache I had first expected.

I swallowed. “He never contacted you again? You went off to war and that was it?”

Victor sighed. “No. He came to my house the minute I returned and begged to get back together.”

I remembered the aching, regretful sorrow and love of Kyle’s letters. Dread sank through my stomach to my toes. “You didn’t forgive him?”

My voice sounded hollow. I couldn’t meet Hunter’s eye.

Victor answered, “I was in a lot of pain, I was angry. I’d lost half my leg.”

Desperation hiccupped through me. “He never tried again?

Victor inclined his head and stole my hope for a happy resolution. “He tried once more.”

“And?”

“I was broken, boys. He wasn’t. And he was important, he didn’t need . . .” Victor shut his eyes. “He kissed me, and I told him I couldn’t forgive him. That I didn’t love him anymore.”

I pictured Kyle, desperate on the doorstep, hands trembling as he pleaded for another chance. And Victor barely holding his gaze as he told him to leave and never come back.

I felt the ache of their rift as I imagined the final steps Kyle took away from Victor, head bowed in grief.

Victor continued talking, but I barely concentrated.

When he offered more tea, I declined, lurching to my feet. Every breath felt suffocating and thick in my throat.

Hunter eyed me worriedly and wrapped up for us with kind goodbyes.

In silence, I helped Hunter down the garden steps as Victor watched us from his porch.