Page 157 of The Finish Line
“Well, if he’s not willing to secure you long-ter—”
“Finish that sentence,” Tobias says evenly. “Please, finish that sentence.”
Russell rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to wrinkle that suit, Hugo.”
Tobias sets his gin on the bar and discards his jacket, rolling up his sleeves, giving me a shot of arm porn. Memories surface of my time here, of days gone by, as the burn starts in my throat and Eddie brings out a pitcher of beer while Jeremy racks the pool balls. Stick in hand, Tobias glances over at me and lifts his chin in question as I nod in reply while my emotions threaten to take over just as “Wish You Were Here” begins to chime from the jukebox.
It’s not perfect and not altogether the reunion I hoped for. Some of us aren’t here. But this isn’t then. It’s in my love’s eyes I see the same hint of sadness, and we hold our gaze until we’re both strong enough to break it. For the next hour, I watch the three of them drink and bullshit, chiming in here and there. For the most part, my enjoyment comes from watching the camaraderie from nearly a lifetime of knowing each other, growing up together, a foundation built long ago before me. And while some things change, love remains the same. So we drink to that. We celebrate now, the new normal even as we tiptoe around the absence of a few irreplaceable Ravens—those who have passed and those who moved onto a different present as we all will when our time comes. And our time is coming sooner than later.
But we have tonight, and it’s enough.
Buzzed from a few hours of beers with the boys, I light my red sparkler as the band marches by playing Christmas carols and catch Tobias scanning the crowd for the umpteenth time from where I stand at the edge of the street. When the sparks run out, I walk over to where he sits.
“If this makes you nervous, we can go.”
“We’re covered,” he assures me, his posture rigid as he sits back, bundled in a snowman blanket in a lawn chair we picked up on the ride over.
“Is that why you look constipated?”
“Yeah,” he says absently, and I burst into laughter and join him in the chair, kissing him in hopes of erasing the confusion from his expression. Instead, he tilts his head, returning my kiss, so he’s got one eye on the crowd. Laughing into his mouth, he pulls away and gives a sheepish upturn of his lips.
“We can’t live like this, Tobias.”
“Just give me some time to adjust,” he assures.
“How long?”
“Around seventy years,” he says matter-of-fact, and I shake my head and smile. He taps the plastic arm of the chair and I lift his fingers and kiss them in an attempt to quiet some of his anxiety.
“We’ve got eyes everywhere, so what is it that’s bothering you so much?”
“Cecelia, I do want to marry you.”
I turn in his lap and look him over to see his expression is grave.
“Color me confused, Frenchman, but you don’t seem too excited about it.”
“That ends now. I’m not going to push important shit to the back burner anymore, and I’ve kept this confession to myself long enough. This is a conversation we need to have.”
“It can all wait, Tobias. I’m no... I mean... put it this way, my biological clock is completely silent for the moment.”
“I’m kind of hoping you’ll wait on a different clock.” He swallows. “Before we do anything permanent.”
I frown. “What?”
“I’m...” he shakes his head, emotion flitting over his features. “I would marry you right now, Cecelia. Right fucking now, I would give you a ring, a wedding, big or small, pledge my love, but I can’t give you those promises because I might not be able to see them through, to keep them.”
“If we’re talking about fidelity, I may just fucking shoot you.”
“I may be sick.”
My body jars as volts of shock slice through my veins. I can barely manage to get the words out. “What do you mean sick?”
“You know. You’ve always known.”
Two seconds is all it takes as he conveys to me the truth in his eyes.
“For everything I do, there’s a reason behind it.”