Once my man was settled on the couch with the purring cat on his lap, I made a quick tour of the apartment. In the bathroom,the rack that usually hung from the showerhead lay in the tub, shampoo and conditioner popped open and leaking. The toilet paper had somehow been extracted from its cat-proof cover and spun out in festoons across the floor.
I popped my head out to call to Griffin, “No permanent damage, other than another roll of TP.” Setting things to rights was the work of a couple of minutes, then I headed to the kitchen and lifted the prepared pitcher of banana smoothie out of the fridge.
Cinder must’ve heard the refrigerator door click because she came prancing in, her head cocked.
“Nothing for you, brat,” I told her. “Sometimes the refrigerator doesn’t mean kitty treats.” As I turned away and began pouring two glasses full of creamy drink, Griffin came in, opened the fridge, and got out a half-full tube of tuna Churu from the butter compartment. Which was now the cat-treat compartment.
“Damn it,” I told Griffin as he held the fish paste down for Cinder to lick. “I’m glad I’m never parenting kids with you. They’d be spoiled out of their little minds.”
He picked up the cat and she gave me a smug look from his shoulder. But when he came over to me, she struggled down and trotted off, intent on more mischief.
Griffin drank a sip from his glass, then took my face between his hands and kissed me. His mouth was tinged with antiseptic and banana, and was still the best thing I’d ever tasted. I hugged him close and gave in to my need to just hold Griffin and breathe against him. He was safe and here with me and he loved me. Those were more miracles than I ever had a right to expect. After a few perfect, silent moments in my arms, he brushed my cheekwith a kiss, then picked up his glass and gestured me to the living room.
I grabbed my drink and followed.
We sat down side by side, his thigh pressed to mine. I put my arm around him, loving that I could be the big guy, the support, the safe haven for his tired frame. He leaned on me and sipped his drink, coughed, then wrestled his notebook and pencil from his pocket.
“Someday I’ll write a song about how safe, how loved you make me feel.”
I chuckled. “You can dedicate it to me and make Yolanda jealous. Oh, I sent her that video hello. She was over the moon.”
“You’re a good man.”
“She was awesome when I needed a friend most, and you’re the one who made the video.”
Griffin flipped to a new page.“I can’t be sorry I left, twenty years ago, although I’m sorry we didn’t manage to keep in touch. I can’t even regret Rocktoberfest. Because whatever we did led to this. And this is perfect.”
“You smooth-talker, you.” I kissed the rim of his ear. Off in the bedroom, something fell with athump. I sighed. “Almost perfect. Because I really, really want you to move. Not just to avoid creeps with cameras who ambush you in the parking lot, but so we can have a bigger place.”
He scribbled,“We?”
I let go of him so we could see each other’s eyes. His were wide and blue, a little tired and so, so gorgeous. “Yeah. You and me, together. I don’t know when. Mom’s not quite ready to gosolo and that house is big for her. But one day, you and me, and someplace with a roomy shower, better windows, and three bedrooms.”
“Three?”
Ticking them off on my fingers, I said, “One for us with a large soft bed, one for your music stuff, and one to create a giant playground for your demon cat so she will stop pouncing on us at night and biting our feet and knocking things over.”
“You think that would work?”
“If we put, like, a dresser and a bookcase in there and set up all kinds of unbreakable knick-knacks on them, and a giant climber, and maybe a running wheel—?” I broke off as Cinder paced into view dragging a pair of cheap ear buds by the cord. When she saw Griffin, she dropped them, gave a soft meow, and scurried over, leaping into his lap and curling up.
I mock-sighed, looking down at her. “Will it work? Nah. But maybe we can reduce the body count.”
Griffin eased his wrist out from under her possessive paw to write,“She’s a sweet cat.”
“She’s an awesome cat.” I stroked her head, then trailed my finger over the back of Griffin’s strong hand where the veins stood out. Damn, I liked every bit of him. “She’s perfectly imperfect like you and me, so she fits right in.” I moved my touch to his cheek where his stubble had been trimmed short and tidy for the surgery, then to his soft, slightly chapped lower lip. Crooking my finger under his chin, I raised his gaze to mine. “Do you want that as much as I do? You and me and the holy terror of a cat in our own place, for all the days and months and years we can have together?”
He raised the pencil as if to write something, then dropped it onto the coffee table, cupped the back of my head in one warm palm, and kissed me. His mouth and his touch said everything I’d ever wanted to hear. He let the notebook flutter to the floor and threaded my hair with his other hand. Between us, the cat purred softly, contemplating new and better evil, no doubt. And no hit song ever written, not even Griffin’s, could top the look in his eyes as he sealed our love with groggy, stale, post-op, unbeatable kisses.
When we broke the kiss, I snugged him close against my body. I could be his pillow now, his shelter from the storm, the place he came home to. “Get some rest,” I told him with my mouth in his hair. “Forever is just starting now. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Epilogue
Eight months later
Griffin
Sun filtered through the trees outside the park gazebo. Bright patches dappled the concrete paths and splashed light and shadows across the blankets, shawls, shirts, and dresses of the wheelchair-bound folk parked there. The overhead shelter’s posts and roof beams sparkled with rainbow tinsel. I wondered how much of the decor had been recycled from Owen and Harvey’s wedding. Lee had stored a bunch of that stuff in the nursing home basement. Waste not, want not.
