Assets came first. He let his ego show up and got serious about each line.
His brain.
His degree.
Debt-free.
Positive reviews from his various clients.
Owen.
Daniel blushed as he scribbled a little heart next to his name. Did he have Owen? They’d parted on the stairs of Daniel’s apartment, where Owen had dropped him off the morning after the nonwedding. A kiss, an “I’ll call you,” and then Daniel was alone.
A day later, a text from Naomi let him know that Owen was locked in the studio but would call him as soon as he could.
That was when Daniel had gone to bed.
Shaking his head, Daniel cleared away the drama. He couldn’t rely on Owen, or Ander, or anyone but himself.
The list of cons about his life was unfortunately easy. His lack of clear direction. His dissatisfaction with his work. His loneliness. His nonexistent circle of friends.
What did he love to do?
The blank space stared back at him, white and lines pulsing under his tired eyes. He toyed with the black silk ribbon holding his place, flipping it so that the book fell open to a different page.
And saw the folded bit of paper he’d been carrying around for so long.
With tentative fingers he opened it, smoothing out the folds. His handwriting from the age of eight until his twenties, different inks and evolving slants and whirls. He blinked with surprise at just how many of his hopes and dreams were sitting there, lines crossed through; had he actually forgotten his own aspirations so completely that their fulfillment had escaped his notice as well?
Daniel picked the pen back up and crossed out a few more. The motorcycle from age thirteen was probably not going to happen, but he let his kid self keep it in the picture. Teach at Harvard? Had there been a period of heavy drinking he forgot about? Move to San Francisco? Probably not, but he was young. Who knew, right?
He scanned the list over and over, trying to find the pattern. Daniel Edward Green, from eight until twenty-two—the last time he had added something to the list.
What is it that you want?
The pen tapped against the paper, and Daniel let it rest on a blank space before writing out a new one.
Fall in love.
A second later, he crossed that off, a sad smile on his face.
Figure out what makes me happy.
Smile more.
Stop being alone.
When the phone rang after the last one, Daniel knew exactly who it was.
“Come to my office, please,” Owen said, sounding tired and halfway to hoarse. Daniel held the cell to his ear as he walked into his bedroom to search for socks and his sneakers.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asked, balancing against the dresser for a moment.
“Actually, I am. Just—please. I need to show you something.”
DANIEL TOOK
the PATH train to the city, jiggling his knee, hands tucked under his armpits as he stared at an advertisement for the MBA program at Pace University. Fortunately he didn’t believe in fate or the universe sending you a message, because that would have been weird.
At the Thirty-Fourth Street stop, Daniel hurried through the throng of afternoon riders and jogged up the steps around the slow walkers. He bumped into a man as he dashed toward the street to hail a cab—and managed not to blurt out a “what the fuck?” when he realized the guy was wearing an NYU sweatshirt.
If anything on his trek to Owen’s office said “Yale,” he was going to assume this was a fever dream.
A cab pulled up quickly, much to his relief.
NAOMI WASN’T
in the waiting room when he arrived; the silence of the offices was unnatural instead of just empty. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should call Owen on the phone or just yell. Then he heard a sound down the hallway.
Please don’t be Victor
, he thought.
A second later, a head poked out: Brittany waving enthusiastically from down the hall. “Come on in, we’ve just finished.”
Daniel walked toward her, bracing himself for Owen plus the film crew, which meant being professional and holding it together. Things he should have considered before arriving at the office in sweats and sneakers, of course. He peeked through the door into the darkened editing bay, finding only Owen and Brittany sitting in the posh dark chairs.
Owen’s welcoming smile—on a tired and unshaven face—was both wonderful and terrible. “Hey, love. Come sit down.”
He chose the chair closest to Owen—apparently not close enough, as the second he sat down, Owen grabbed the arm of the chair and pulled him closer until their knees bumped together.
“We finished editing the last episode. I wanted you to see it first,” he said, resting his hand on Daniel’s knee.
“It’s… well, it’s gorgeous. Owen is a genius.” Brittany stood up, bracelets jangling as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Boss, you are the best and whatever your next project is, you better call me first.”
“Promise.” Owen touched her arm, squeezing it briefly as he and Brittany shared a sweet smile. “You want me to mail your check?”
“And not give me the chance to come visit? Don’t be an ass.” She pointed at Daniel, her face serious. “You two take care of each other, all right? I’ll see you in a week or so.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel said, saluting her because that felt like the thing to do.
Brittany blew him a kiss, then took her leave, canvas bag over her shoulder and dreads flying. “Eat something, Owen!” And then she was gone.
Daniel gave his boyfriend’s arm a pinch. “How long?”
When Owen sighed and leaned away, fingers on the keyboard, Daniel knew the answer. Or at least he could hazard a guess.
“Show me the episode and then we’ll go back to your place. Order something, okay?”
Owen clicked a few times and the middle monitor came to life, the paused still of the show’s logo popping up. “I actually packed up and left the hotel. I’m, uh, staying here for a few days until I fly back to London.”
The words dropped into the middle of the room and exploded, emotional shrapnel hitting Daniel in the gut. “What?”
Owen didn’t look at him. “Victor is being difficult about dividing up the assets. I need to head back to London where our partnership was drawn up and go through the proceedings there. He’s going to fight me on, well, pretty much everything.”
Daniel felt the floor tilt beneath him. “Oh. Okay. I could—I could come with you, if you want,” he said, trying to clear the lump from his throat. “Moral support and stuff.” He rubbed his hands on the arms of the chair, trying to stay focused.
“You have a business here, Daniel.” Owen turned his head and Daniel saw the full extent of the strain. “And I need to focus on getting Victor out of my life.”
Without you there
was implicit.
“So we’re breaking up,” he blurted. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I honestly do not want to break up. Please understand that,” Owen said tenderly. “I’m too selfish to let you go.”
“Okay.” Daniel gripped the chair. Ander had left; Owen was leaving. This followed a very specific pattern in his life he should be used to—it had started with his birth and kept going until here he was, being left behind again.
“Daniel.” The urgency in Owen’s voice moved him enough to raise his head. Owen’s eyes sparkled with tears. “I’m in love with you. And I want us to be able to be together without the Sword of Damocles over our heads.”
Daniel climbed out of the chair and propelled himself into Owen’s lap, into his arms, in a rush. The chair squeaked under their combined weight, but when Owen closed his arms around him, Daniel refused to move. So they might end up on the floor—who the hell cared? “I love you too.”
“I wanted to tell you when we were dancing,” Owen whispered, frantically touching Daniel everywhere he could reach. “But I was trying not to be selfish.”
“You think it’s selfish to tell me you love me?” Daniel pulled back, cupping Owen’s face. “What is wrong with your brain?”
“Everything in my life is a mess,” Owen started, but Daniel was already shaking his head.
“Great, we match,” he laughed wetly. He shifted until they could rest their foreheads together, Owen’s arms keeping him close. “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I might want a motorcycle or to move to San Francisco or get my MBA. Or maybe I want to chuck it all and play harmonica in Central Park for quarters. I don’t know.” Owen trembled against him. “But I do know I love you, and for right now, that’s—so much more than I imagined having.”
Kissing Owen had been electric from the start—hot and intense and erotic—but right now it felt like a quiet affirmation as their mouths tenderly moved together. Nothing urgent. Not this time.
Just… knowledge. A surety in Daniel’s gut that said
this is it, this is the guy. Screw the rest of it.
It was the shortest list he had ever made.
Eventually the kisses tapered off. Daniel’s legs cramped up and Owen kept shifting Daniel’s knee out of his ribs.
“Do you want to watch the episode?” Owen murmured, stroking down Daniel’s back. “It’s really quite good.”
Daniel kissed his ear, then climbed off, legs rubber and back cramped as he stood up. “Will you eat with me after?” he asked sternly, reluctant to let go of Owen’s hand.
“Deal.”
“Will you come back to my apartment and spend the night?”
Owen’s smile was beautiful because this time it reached his eyes. “Yes.”
With their chairs side by side, Owen pressed play. Daniel tightened his grip on Owen’s hand as the music played and the first shots of Westlake came up.
“So pretty,” he said softly.
“Yes, you are,” Owen teased as Daniel’s face filled the screen. It was the moment before he made his speech on the dock, the one explaining what had happened to Ander and Rafe.
“Shut up. You can see my pores.”
“Gorgeous.”
“Can you tell I blew my nose on the sleeve of that tux?”
Owen laughed.
The scene switched and Ander appeared. Daniel’s throat tightened as he watched his friend nervously flit around the dock before the rehearsal.
“I have been dreaming of this day for a long time. As a designer, as a romantic. But as a gay man, I assumed it wouldn’t happen. Also, my terrible taste in men,” said the voice-over. “Until Rafe, of course. And then I thought, ‘This is my chance! I have the man, I have the law on my side, I have money and vision—I’m going to make this dream wedding happen.’”
The scene switched to Ander sitting on a blanket under a tree. Daniel recognized the setting—near Owen’s cabin—but not this particular interview.
“So here’s the thing about dreams—sometimes they aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Sometimes you plan and plan and shoehorn every wish into reality, and it’s still not enough.” He sighed, then looked away from the camera. “It’s been a hard few months. I am ashamed of some of my behavior, and oh God, I’m going to have to buy Daniel a freaking pony for all my yelling, but… maybe it’s better to know.” Ander’s eyes found the camera again. “Maybe it’s better to see all the cracks so you can fill them before it’s too late.”
And then Ander smiled, so bright and vibrant and shining that Daniel got a lump in his throat. “I love you, my future husband. This hot mess of a groomzilla is so damn lucky to have you. You understand me perfectly, even when I don’t understand myself.”
Daniel was stunned. “When was that?” he asked, eyes still locked on the screen.
Ander was walking now, hands in his pockets as he roamed the grounds of the estate.
“Noah found it on one of the extra cameras. I don’t know when he did it.”
“That shirt—he was wearing it after—” Daniel blew out a breath. “After we had our argument.”
“He heard what you were saying,” Owen said.
The scene changed again to the morning of the would-be wedding. Music played over shots of the prep: the barn’s design coming together, the caterers and band arriving.
Rafe’s voice began as the video sped up, condensing the transformation into minutes instead of hours.
“When I met Ander, I was mechanically going through my life—get up, go to work, come home late, work more, and then sleep for a few hours. Nothing excited me; nothing fulfilled me. And then—well, I never imagined someone so alive and so passionate would notice me.”
Rafe appeared on camera, leaning against the front of one of the cabins. “Ander is a fighter—he’s always been. Always had to be. I think about his life, how he grew up, and I am so proud that he chose me.” His face softened. “Sometimes, though, we forget. We become those unhappy people again. I work too much, Ander gets….” He chuckled. “Ander gets to be more Ander than the world can handle. I had to learn what that meant and how to be the right partner when it happened. Mostly I watched Daniel.” Rafe winked at the camera. “Their friendship is a gift to my relationship with Ander that I didn’t expect. I see how much they love each other, even if they are so different.”
He paused, thoughtful. “They fight like cats and dogs, like brothers sharing the same tiny bedroom. But they love each other so devotedly. They stick together no matter what. And I knew how much I wanted that with Ander. I wanted that—partnership. That solid foundation. Daniel has taught me how to understand Ander, as well as myself. In many ways, he isn’t just Ander’s best man—he is mine.”
Big fat tears rolled down Daniel’s face. “I hate you all,” he croaked as Owen put a box of tissues in his lap.
“Shhh, this is my favorite part,” Owen whispered.
Childhood pictures were spread on the grass, with a slow pan over each. This was Ander’s life, from a sparse few baby pictures to a semiserious first day of school to prep school, where suddenly Ander had a smile and a partner in crime. His and Daniel’s story, including the picture of them from the lake, told in squares and rectangles.
Daniel gulped for air.
Then the camera slid to them as adults, where Rafe now joined them. At their housewarming, at Christmas parties and summer excursions. At last, it was just the two of them, Rafe and Ander, cheek to cheek, always turned the same way—toward each other—always sharing those secret smiles that spoke of pride at being together.