Love Is Proud Page 8

  Sawyer started things off, when his turn to speak came. “We want to change up the program a little. I’d like to invite Rocco Maroni and Ridley Cumberland to join me up here now.” He waited for a smattering of applause to fade from the obviously confused crowd. “They’re calling me a hero—for writing checks, basically. I found a way to take a little money and make it a lot. I give back. Why wouldn’t I?” Sawyer shrugged. “My father was killed in the line of duty during a hostage situation. These two…” He nodded toward Rocco and Ridley, who had joined him on the small stage. “When I found out what they did last Christmas, it made me want to turn this whole thing down. I can’t live up to that. But someone said something to me recently that makes me proud to accept your accolades now.”

  Ridley took over next. “I hope none of you ever need or have to be the kind of hero who carries someone from a burning building or out of some sort of horrific nightmare shooting scene. The world we’re living in, some might claim that to be inevitable. Though I thank God those selfless men and women, those kinds of heroes exist, and please, let’s take a moment to cheer for them and then a brief moment to remember those who couldn’t be saved.”

  A standing ovation erupted, followed by a moment so quiet Rocco could hear the clock tick up on the wall.

  “My dad once put on rainbow leg warmers and danced to ‘Maniac’ from Flashdance right beside me.” Ridley waited for the laughter to subside. “He’ll always be my hero for that. I met a couple of kids…heroes in their own way, and the four of us, including Bart down there, too shy to join us, want to give up our time for them. One is living open and proud and not thinking twice before helping someone who needs it. The other has beaten all kinds of odds to have a better life than anyone would have predicted knowing his circumstances. Despite his anxieties, he ran toward chaos just this morning, not away. Someone needed him. He was there. That’s a hero. Let me ask you all something. By any chance, has someone here been ordained over the past year or so in order to officiate at gay weddings?”

  Fifteen hands shot up.

  “Why am I not surprised? Bart…you want to go find the kids?”

  Adam and Kick came out a few minutes later, squat Adam in Rocco’s tux, Kick wearing Bart’s. Despite how thin Bart was, it still hung loose.

  “It’s not a beach in Florida,” Sawyer said. “But how would you two like to get married right here? We’ve arranged for a day off. Your boss is awesome…on fleek. Is that a cool phrase for it?”

  “Probably not coming from one of us,” Ridley teased.

  “You’re probably right. Nonetheless,” Sawyer said, as the two young men stood there gawking. “We’re turning this into a celebration of love and pride, a celebration of you. What do you say?”

  The ceremony was short. Kick and Adam held hands. Rocco and Ridley and Sawyer and Bart held candles from which the officiant had the couple light one of their own. At the end, Kick got his guitar, and he and Adam sang to each other, the song they’d created together.

  “My favorite part was the rap section,” Ridley said afterward. “‘You can’t choose my iden-ti-ty. Judgin’ is for Ju-dy.’” He recited the catchy lyrics. “Nice.”

  Sawyer offered the pair a week in Hawaii, during the reception that followed. “You can do this all over again, if you’d like.”

  “We can’t accept…”

  “Yeah, you can,” Bart told Kick. “He’s going to pout. It’ll be a whole thing. Take it. Enjoy.”

  “And I’d like to help you both out with school…jobs…any way I can.”

  “You’ve been way too generous already, Mr. Ettinger. All of you, and Miss. Frankie, too.”

  “She’ll give you the week off, she said. This seems to be a great place to work.”

  “It is.” Kick smiled. “Like family.”

  “There you go. We’d like to be a part of your extended family, too,” Ridley told him. “Family comes in all forms. Our work family…the LGBTQ community…We’re one big gay group of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and cousins when time comes to celebrate or comfort one another.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Kick almost looked one of them in the eye.

  “Thank you, too.” Rocco was stunned and nearly knocked over when Adam threw his arms around him.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he told him. “It was mostly Rid and Sawyer.”

  “Naw. I know it was all your idea. You come off as some tough jerk, but you’re a romantic deep down.”

  “That he is,” Ridley said.

  “Who asked you?”

  “Kiss him.” Adam put Ridley’s hand in Rocco’s.

  “Uh…no.”

  “Come on. You know you want to. If not here, in the safety of your big, gay family, when?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s complicated back where you work. This is here.”

  “Some of our fellow officers are in the audience.”

  “And you don’t think they know?” The kid was persistent. “Especially the ones who would attend something like this? Besides, I know you think you’re all that, but no one is even looking at you.”

  “At least fifty people are looking at me.”

  “So they are. That makes it even better. Kiss him.” Adam kissed Kick. Sawyer kissed Bart.

  “Damned peer pressure.” Rocco kissed Ridley, a quick peck, but then something more meaningful, something natural, in a way he just felt.

  “There you go.”

  “Happy? Now get out of here. You don’t need to spend your wedding day with old people.”

  Kick shook everyone’s hand. Adam hugged them, and then they were gone.

  “I guess it’s time to head back to the real world,” Ridley said. “I won’t lie. It hurt a little bit when Kick called me sir and you called us old, Roc.”

  “Five, six, eight years between us and them…” Sawyer chuckled. “Should I keep going? How come suddenly it feels like we’re all a hundred?”

  “Well, it was nice meeting you both.” Bart offered his hand.

  “You know what? No. We’re still young.” Sawyer stomped his foot, like maybe he was thirty-something going on eight. “We don’t have to be out of here for a few more hours. Remember last night? Why not come up to our room for a drink and…whatever?”

  “Whatever?” Rocco asked, both brows about as high as he could raise them.

  “What happens in Vegas…”

  “Ettinger…we’re in New York.”

  “I could fly us to Vegas.” Sawyer seemed quite serious. “Double wedding?”

  “Or we could just take the elevator upstairs…for now. Come on.” Rocco led the way.

  * * * *

  ABOUT DAVID CONNOR AND E.F. MULDER

  We are really proud to take part in this collection. Thank you, JM, for putting it together. You’re amazing. For more information, visit facebook.com/mmromcomsinprint.

  To read more about Rocco and Ridley, check out Iced Out by David Connor. For Sawyer and Bart’s story, look for Angel Wings and Bullets by E.F. Mulder.

  Sparrow by T.A. Creech

  Marita’s gaze slid towards the glass double doors as they opened, a rush of warm spring air heralding the arrival of yet more newly acknowledged adults. They were fresh from high school graduation, same as her and the rest of her friends crowding the big diner.

  This group smiled and chattered like a flock of bold sparrows dressed in even bolder clothes. An eclectic mix of people who sported patches on their bags, retro and uniquely combined outfits, and confidence that oozed with every step any of them took. Drama geeks, was Marita’s guess. No one else she knew could exude both that level of uniqueness and backbone all at once.

  One girl at the back of the crowd caught her attention like nothing else. She was petite and gorgeous. The muted and sheer butter yellow overshirt she wore highlighted her creamy skin, but Marita couldn’t tell what kind of undershirt the beauty had on because of a thick folder clutched in her thin arms. Slim thighs were wrapped in a black mi
ni-skirt that matched black bitch boots and hid everything from her knees on down to her dainty feet.

  Endless, slanted black eyes drew Marita’s gaze upwards. Slightly rounded cheeks gave the stranger’s face a delightful softness, and the lithe throat begged for love bites. A pert nose supplied the girl an air of mischief, as did the way her short hair spiked around whatever clip kept the dark tresses off the back of her neck. Such a beautiful sprite of a girl.

  The crowd moved closer to the bland white counter Marita and her friends had claimed for the evening, the left half anyway, and the laughing beauty plunked down onto the cracked red stool next to Marita. For a moment, Marita held her breath, stunned. She was even more gorgeous up close.

  Black eyes glanced at her. “Hi.”

  Marita flushed at her attention. “Hi.” The girl twisted on her seat to give Marita her full attention, an impish smile lighting her up, and Marita was helpless and mute for a second in the face of the stranger. “What’s your name?”

  “Kiku.” Her voice was a brazen tinkle of chimes and Marita smiled without meaning to. Such a sweet sound. “What’s yours?”

  “Uh,” and she blushed over her stumble. Stupid! “I’m Marita.”

  Kiku covered her smile with her dainty hand and why was she doing that? Maybe she was laughing at Marita? God, what a goober and this pretty girl was going to turn away over it. A waiter dropped a milkshake in front of Marita like she wasn’t about to die from embarrassment, but it got her attention back on Kiku as he asked her what she wanted.

  “A Shirley Temple, please.” Then Kiku’s black eyes were back, and Marita was pinned under that look like a monarch butterfly. “Did you just graduate, too?”

  “Yeah!” Marita latched onto the subject like the lifeline it was. Anything to save her from her embarrassing stumble. “Came straight here afterwards with my friends.” Although that was pretty obvious. She was still dressed in the traditional black gown. “Kind of my last night out before I start college courses this summer. Wanna get a jump on my degree.”

  Kiku hummed as she tasted the soda the waiter placed on the counter. “Sounds like a good idea. What degree are you after?”

  “Anthropology.” Marita turned her eyes away and stared at the countertop between their spaces. Her mama hadn’t been happy about that.

  “Sounds fun,” Kiku said.

  Marita looked back up. “Are you going?”

  “Of course,” Kiku did a complicated little bow on her stool. “I’m going for drama. Well, Master of the Fine Arts.”

  Marita giggled. Kiku was absolutely adorable. That was the only excuse she had when she reached out and took that petite face in her hands and dropped a feather light kiss on Kiku’s soft lips. No more than a peck, but Marita yanked herself back as soon as someone whistled a little catcall from the right side of the diner.

  “Oh fuck, I’m sorry!” She buried her face in her hands to block out the stunned expression on Kiku’s face. Damn it, Marita knew better than to accost girls and here she was, stealing a kiss like it was acceptable behavior. Her mama would’ve have gotten stern with her if she had seen it.

  A warm touch of fingertips to the back of her hand made Marita lower it, and she was greeted with Kiku’s blushing smile. “There’s no need to be sorry. I liked it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Kiku pulled Marita’s hands into hers with a squeeze. The contrast was stark, Kiku’s smooth and pale hands against Marita’s light brown skin. “Just surprised.”

  “So, uh.” Marita floundered under Kiku’s black gaze, and she carefully extracted one of her hands from the soft grip to rub at the back of her neck, thick dark amber curls trying to tangle her fingers. “So, maybe I can take you out for coffee tomorrow? Get to know each other?”

  The question hung between them for an unbearable moment, and Marita held her breath. Just the few minutes they’d talked had Marita smitten with this sprite of a girl. And maybe this date would turn out to be nothing. Didn’t mean Marita planned to pass up the opportunity. If Kiku agreed to a date. The urge to cross her fingers was hard to ignore, but damn, she was half sure Kiku would decline. What a mess, which Marita knew was entirely her own fault.

  Finally, Kiku nodded, possibly to herself. “I would be absolutely delighted to have coffee with you.”

  The grin that split Marita’s full lips was so wide, it almost hurt. “You’re sure?”

  Kiku gave one more squeeze to Marita’s hand and blushed. “Sounds like fun. I haven’t been on a date since senior year started and you’re hot. I would be stupid to say no.”

  Marita preened.

  * * * *

  ABOUT T.A. CREECH

  I am a house-parent to a rambunctious small child and happily mated to an equally rambunctious military spouse. My adventures in writing began with fanfiction, and once I was hooked I never looked back. I love to write queer romance with a speculative fiction bent. For more information, visit tacreech.com.

  Her by Nanisi Barrett D’Arnuk

  I watched her as she stood in line at the food court. She was still the incredible woman I’d fallen in love with almost twenty years ago. Of course time had added a bit of grey to the roof and a brick or two to the foundation, but not too many. All of us had that happen over the years, but a few tried to hide it behind an artificial color from little plastic bottles that was applied every few weeks, or longer jackets to hide any overflow.

  Twenty years ago I’d lived way across the country and our relationship consisted of phone calls, emails, instant messages, and romantic cards, and gifts. Our focus was on seducing each other long-distance. We’d visited back and forth a couple times when one of us had a few days free. But as time went on, it got harder and harder to board that plane to go back home.

  We’d discussed the possibility of commuting; spending the summers at my house near the Long Island beaches, and the winters at her house in the foothills of the beautiful Rockies.

  We had also talked about me moving there. It would have been a hard decision to make. I would have to move because she couldn’t; she had children, two teenagers and a ten-year old. I’d met them and got along well with her daughter and younger son. There was a bit of tension between me and the older boy, but I had the feeling he had his own demons to come to grips with before he could accept our lifestyle. I don’t think the almond-colored hair, the hazel eyes, bright smile, and readily expressed opinions were the only things he’d inherited from his mother.

  I looked up from my thoughts as she placed a tray on the table.

  “Beef with broccoli and green tea,” she announced as she placed one plate in front of me with an open green bottle of light brownish liquid.

  “Looks great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  She placed her own plate and drink on the table across from me and slid into the chair there.

  The food court at the mall wasn’t where we usually stopped for lunch, but seeing we were there and it was lunchtime, it seemed logical, especially since we hadn’t completed all our shopping.

  She picked up a set of chopsticks and proceeded to put some of the sweet and sour pork into her mouth. I used a fork to pick up my food.

  “This isn’t as good as The Happy House,” she noted after a moment.

  “I think we discussed that the last time you got it here.” I smirked.

  “Did we?” She looked up at me.

  I nodded. “But I think that was months ago,” I reminded her.

  “Still, I should have remembered.” She frowned and attacked her food with a renewed vengeance. If she had paid for that, she was going to eat it, but not with the eat slowly and savor the experience type of eating. No, it was the get it finished and then go get something that tastes better type of eating. “Don’t let me order it again.”

  I smiled to myself. She always used the words don’t let me when she needed to remember something. When she first did that I thought she was talking to me, but over the years it became clear that she was talking to herse
lf.

  “How much more do you have to pick up?” I asked. I peered at the three large bags in the chair next to me.

  “I need a half-dozen more twelve-by-sixteen frames with glass and on the way home I have to stop and get wood to make them into shadow boxes.”

  She made small wooden sculptures, reminiscent of Japanese bamboo work. Some of her work was small and could be made into jewelry, while others were large enough to stand alone as pieces of art. She placed many in shadow boxes to keep them from being damaged. Both sold very well at art shows and were highlighted at one of the small boutiques on Main Street. She had also started a website that sold both her work and my photos. We were hoping that one day our work would take off and be seen in larger venues.

  “What do you need?”

  I had told her earlier so she already knew, but being absolutely certain was just her way of dealing with things. “Just to get the groceries,” I answered. “I told Tyler I’d make my special cranberry chicken tonight.”

  “You spoil him,” she frowned at me.

  “We haven’t seen him and Bobby in ages,” I reminded her.

  Tyler, her older son, had finally come out right after he graduated from high school. He’d started at a junior college near home but had lost interest in his courses during the second year. I suspect the fun he was having in his newly-found lifestyle contributed to it. He’d dropped out, landed a minimum wage job, and moved out into an apartment with a friend. Several months later, he had finally admitted the relationship with his roommate was much more than friendship.

  That had lasted almost five years. Bobby came along a few years later and had lasted ever since. I loved them both.

  “Why do we always buy Chinese here?” I asked as I put the last of the broccoli into my mouth. “There are other types of food in the food court.”

  “True. But, do you really want greasy hamburgers or a hot dog made from who-knows-what? Even the chicken isn’t cooked that well and the pizza is never thick enough. We make all those foods so much better at home.”