The Fiancé (It's Just Us Here Book 6) Read online

  I wasn’t a writer anymore.

  I might still be making a small passive income from my writing—and I had released those five small romances that were on my hard drive for years... and I did market them so that they sold. But I wasn’t a writer like that anymore. I was a businessman. I was in business with Nick and Travis. They needed all my attention. I had to cold call companies all day, everyday. I used my writing skills to craft engaging emails and small speeches.

  I was no longer a fiction writer. I was fulfilling my other dream... to help people newly diagnosed with autoimmune disorders. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m doing. I am not the guy that Mark used to know. I am never getting back together with him. Not ever. And I sure as shit don’t need him. I have my company and my friends and we’re doing just fine.

  Fine.

  Another Monday Morning

  I SPENT THE WEEKEND mourning the loss of my relatively new friend Suhail. We would surely grow apart. Mark would put a strain on our relationship that would eventually break us. It would be easier for Suhail to be completely out of my life than to straddle both continents. That’s why he had resisted joining my dev team.

  There were times I believed Suhail had honestly considered joining the team. It was easy to get him excited. I could get him talking about ideas and coding structure—all of which was way over my head.

  But he resisted because he had a very good reason that I couldn’t foresee—he was still with Melanie.

  I didn’t go for a run that Sunday morning for the first time since I changed my schedule. Instead, I went with my parents to the boat and we took my grandpa out for a fishing trip. We had made a lot of trips out to the country to visit Grandpa since the beginning of the year when my grandmother passed away. Grandpa was not the same man. He didn’t have the same spirit. His dementia had always been worse than Grandma’s, but now that she was gone, his condition deteriorated. It was like he didn’t care anymore. I mean... he still cared. He cared about his family and he cared about keeping all his sons and daughters together.

  But he was ready to die.

  He’d always been one to talk about death. He had lived long enough to see all his friends die—first in war, then to cancer, and finally to old age. Grandpa had been talking about his death for ten years. Grandma had always been the upbeat one. I once told her that Grandpa was moody and she made a rising motion with her hands. “You know how he is,” she had said. “You gotta lift him up.”

  I tried to lift him up. My parents tried. My aunts and uncles tried. My cousins tried.

  It was all to no avail. He was ready to go, and that’s all there was to it. His mind had given up and his body was following closely behind. He had been so healthy for so long (remarkably healthy), other than the loss of his memory. He had been on antidepressants all summer, but it’s like his body knew it was time to go. His cancer came back. He had prostate cancer once when I was a little kid. That had been the sole serious illness between my two grandparents that I could remember. My grandparents had harrowing stories about raising their kids and how they had almost lost my aunt when she was a little girl and was sliced by the blade of an ice skate. Grandma and Grandpa had all kinds of stories.

  Stories they never wrote down. I had tried—for years—to get my grandparents to write little stories beside their old pictures. Grandpa loved to tell stories. I promised them I would type their words and scan the pictures and scan the slides and I would get them all printed if they would just write it down.

  They never did. They never told their story.

  And the house fire melted all their pictures, slides and film.

  THAT FOR SURE AIN’T happening to me.

  Dear Reader, if you’ve read this far, you’ll know that I’m obsessive about recording the ones I love. I’m obsessive about telling Mark’s story, and telling it as I experienced it. I’m also fitting our friends, my makeshift family, into this narration. I couldn’t stop myself even if I tried.

  This is what I have to do. I have to feel like a part of me will exist after I am gone. That’s the truth of it all. I’ve always known that I would never have children. Even if I were with a woman, I don’t think I’d want biological children. I love kids, but I wouldn’t want my son or daughter to go through what I go through. I wouldn’t want them to inherit my autoimmune disorder. I wouldn’t want them to inherit whatever it is going on up in my head. I just want to have healthy kids. If I could have children and know that they would be normal... I would take that deal in a heartbeat.

  But if any kids were conceived with my DNA... I think we can all agree that they wouldn’t be normal. Just like half my cousins and aunts and uncles aren’t normal. Thanks Grandpa Sullivan. May he rest in peace.

  I SPENT THAT WEEKEND in a funk. We went for a boat ride and instead of letting my mind drift away as it usually did when I was on the water, I thought about Mark. I remembered how on the first boat ride of the year I let his golden necklace slip through my fingers and into the muddy waters of Lake Michigan. I recalled the bitter melancholy. It was like I was burying him when his necklace dropped into the surf. I made sure my parents were occupied at the front of the boat. We pounded through the waves. Then I rested my hand over the edge and let the waves touch my fingers, touch the necklace. Then I let go.

  I had thought I could let Mark go after I rid myself of his necklace. It hadn’t happened quite that way. I had to get involved with a nice young woman before I could stop obsessing over Mark. Even then, thoughts of him still crept into my mind. What can I say? He was the love of my life... the person I had loved most deeply. If I saw something funny, I could still visualize his reaction. If I did something stupid, I could still see his engaging smile and hear his teasing words. Mark made life so simple and beautiful. Life was easy to live with Mark at my side.

  I THOUGHT ABOUT MY former lover that entire weekend... all thanks to Suhail’s big fat mouth. I decided to go for a run on Monday instead of going to the gym with Suhail. (Seeing as he was in the process of abandoning me, I could abandon him first!)

  I hadn’t gone back to my favorite park since the Big Fight. I didn’t know if Mark still went there or not. All I knew was that Mark and I shared a lot of memories in that place and he knew my routines, so it had been prudent to change everything. I ran in different parks and made sure to change every couple runs. My old favorite was still the best, but that location was lost to me.

  That Monday, however, I ran in my favorite park, the one with all the memories. It was a bad idea, but I was feeling risky. I had always run in that park on Monday. That had been my routine for two years while my body recovered from its weakness. Mark knew where I ran and how I ran and which direction I took in the loops. If Mark was looking for me... he could find me in that park on a Monday morning. Of all my routines, the Monday morning run was the one I valued the most and was the hardest compulsion for me to give up.

  I pulled in the driveway with my heart beating wildly. I looked for his car in our usual parking spots, but then chastised myself for being silly. Why would he be here? Stupid, stupid. Were you really thinking he might be here?

  I shook my head while parking under my favorite shade tree. I got out and stretched on my favorite picnic table. I walked my usual warm up. It felt good to be back in my favorite place.

  I glanced around the parking lot again, just to make sure Mark didn’t drive in after me. He never was an early bird. There were several cars near the entrance to the trails. It was a beautiful morning—about nine thirty. I had gotten a late start that morning, mostly because I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to go back to my favorite park... on a Monday.

  I hadn’t told anyone I was coming here. I was an adult—I didn’t have to tell anyone. Yes, it might cause another relapse and I’d need to start on the antidepressants again. That’s what had happened after I said goodbye to Mark’s necklace—I had started to spiral again and Stacy said I should go back on the medication.

  Shit, it’s going to happen a
gain. I shouldn’t be here. It’s going to make me depressed. All the things we did in this place. We ran naked. We jacked off. We teased and we flirted and we were a couple. I shouldn’t have come here.

  Then I told myself I was being silly. Almost a year had passed since that naked run. It was a fun memory. Why did it have to be painful? I could enjoy those memories with Mark and value them for the excitement that they were. Mark had been a lot of fun. I didn’t have to sanitize that from my mind.

  I jogged down my path. My favorite path. I took the same circuit that I always did. I smiled. It felt great to run under the trees that I knew so well—to run up and down the little dips and dives that I knew so intimately. Even my legs were happier. They liked running on crushed gravel. I’d had chronic shin splints in high school, which is why I hated running on hard surfaces.

  I ran for five minutes with my head down. I passed two joggers in the loop. I raised my head to look at them briefly. I lifted my left hand in a wave, but they looked away before they saw me and didn’t respond.

  City people.

  I was wearing my favorite running tank. I usually wore my old basketball shorts, the ones I had used before Mark forced me into those small running shorts. But that morning I wore the shorts that he had forced me into. Nostalgia? I guess I really did want to relive those fond memories.

  I remembered the first time I had gone on a run with him. He thought he was so tough. He barely made it a mile.

  I was jogging slow. Mondays had always been my hard workouts, but I wanted to savor my memories. It wasn’t like I had a running companion to push my pace. It wasn’t like I was training for a race. I was allowed to indulge my memories.

  I passed a third runner.

  I looked up, raising my hand automatically.

  I glanced at the runner.

  I saw that it was Mark.

  My legs coasted to a stop.

  I saw Mark.

  I saw him flick me a surprised smile.

  I stopped running and looked at him as he passed. My heart hammered.

  I wanted him to stop.

  I wanted to follow him.

  I wanted to say something.

  I wanted to...

  Fuck! Did that really just happen! Shit, shit, shit! What do I do now! Shit, damn, fuck.

  I pushed my legs into the gravel and started my jog again—it was no longer a pleasant jog. What should I do? I couldn’t make up my mind. Shit, I can’t even think. Shit, shit, shit. What do I do?

  How the hell was I supposed to get out of that mess? Mark. In the park. SHIT!

  I jogged another mile and my mind was no closer to being made up. Obviously, if he tried to talk to me, I was going to yell at him about how much I hated him and let him know how much pain he had put me through. He would know alright. I was going to crush him. I was going to crush him like a bug with my teeny, tiny feet. Mark wouldn’t know what hit him. So, he dared to come down to the park and run my favorite trails and smile at me? Like everything was alright! Fuck him!

  I cut my run short. I hesitated at a branch in the trail and took the shortest loop. Then I questioned my decision. Why was I trying to get to the end so quickly? I turned around and took the longer loop. Mark will probably be gone by the time I finish this loop. If he knows what’s good for him... he’ll be gone. He’ll be so fucking gone. I’m going to tear his fucking head off. Fucking Suhail, reminding me about Mark. Shit, this is all Suhail’s fault.

  I snorted.

  And Ryan. Fuck Ryan. Mr. You-Were-So-Happy... I wanted to scream. I’ll show you happy. Happy is having my park all to myself without having to worry about Mark showing up on a Monday morning. That’s what I’ll do. If I see Mark, I’m going to scream at him to leave me my Monday mornings. LEAVE THEM TO ME! Dammit!

  I walked the last four hundred yards of the tree-lined edge just before the field when the parking lot came into view. I took my time heading up the small hill and stopped on the top for a calming breath, then debated which side of the hill I should go down. I could walk the trail backwards. I could pretend like my run was supposed to be six miles—even though Mark knew I never ran more than four because of my creaky knees. I could pretend like I was training for a marathon and needed to run ten miles, or fourteen miles. Hell, I’d run as many miles as were necessary to make sure I never saw Mark. Yeah, that’s a great answer. How long was your run? Long enough to make sure I never saw you.

  I was proud of that response. I also had a few other jabs lined up. If Mark tried to use those puppy dog eyes, I would strike back. I had prepared long and hard for the first time I saw him. I had written out my responses. I had practiced them. Stacy had given me quite a few nasty things to say to Mark. She was good at that.

  I walked down the hill towards the parking lot with poisonous thoughts in my mind. I scowled as I looked across the parking lot. Mark’s car wasn’t around, but it hadn’t been earlier either and he was still on the trails. I walked cautiously along the path, wondering if Mark had been camped out in this park for the last five months waiting for me to show up. Will he jump out of the trees and grab me? Force me to be his boyfriend again? Shit! Why am I even thinking anything close to those thoughts! We are never getting back together. I’m going to yell at him so much that the park ranger is going to have to ask what’s wrong. I’m going to punch him in the fucking nose if he suggests we should get back together. He has no idea how much pain I’ve been through. He’s never seen me that low.

  I’m going to show him. If he tries any funny business, I’m going to show him how low I was... and then I’m going to break him like he broke me. This is the closure I’ve been looking for.

  I was momentarily convinced that my upcoming meeting with Mark—there was no doubt in my mind that he was waiting for me—was going to bring me closure.

  I could be real stupid sometimes. I was probably cloaking my mind in denial to get me through this difficult encounter. I thought my heart was ready, but there’s no way I could have ever prepared enough to see Mark again. We had shared so much, had such a good friendship—and it had burned to the ground in one bright, painful flash. There was too much anger for me to put into words. I could have written my speeches for a hundred years and never would have gotten it short enough to explain how horrible he had been to me. He just... ended it. He pulled the plug. Yes, I wrote some silly things that were against my normal character and, yes, I had hidden them from him and, yes, I had published them on the internet and a lot of people had read them.

  But I didn’t do what he did to me.

  I saw the pavilion—our pavilion—the place where we made first contact.

  Mark was sitting at the table where I usually sat for voice-typing. He was talking into his phone.

  Our positions were the exact opposite of what they had been a year ago. This time, I was coming off a run, looking for a guy I had passed on the trail and Mark was the one at the table—voice-typing. I’m sure he was voice-typing. He was trying to be cute.

  I smiled involuntarily, then clamped down and scowled.

  Fucking fuck. He’s going to make this hard. As much as I had prepared to confront Mark with my anger, he had also prepared for the first time he saw me... and he was absolutely ready to meet me in the park and in that very pavilion.

  Let him be cute. I didn’t have to get worked up about it. I could be cute, too. I could walk up with my shirt off and try to flirt with him. Hey, look at my abs... what are you doing? I don’t know, I just wondered. Looks cool. Ah, nice, working. Yeah, dude. Bro. I’m so interested in whatever it is you’re doing at this table and I’m trying to get you to look at my abs.

  I walked into the pavilion ready to yell at him. That’s what I decided. I was going to rage. Mark was going to feel my wrath. I was going to be mean and nasty and—

  “Hey,” I said.

  Mark looked up and immediately stopped speaking into his phone. He stared. I had expected him to smile if he wanted to get back together (I mean, why else would he be here?).
He didn’t smile. He looked like he wanted to run away. I felt like I should run away first except my feet had somehow melted into the concrete.

  “Hey,” I said again. “I saw you running.” I muttered my thoughts into an embarrassed silence.

  Mark came alive, like he had momentarily forgotten how to breathe, but now he was back to normal. “I saw you, too. Didn’t know if you would come talk to me, but I saw that your car was still here.” He nodded to the parking lot.

  “I was going to run a long time, but figured you’d just wait if you really wanted to talk. You’ve got me cornered. What do you want to talk about?”

  “You can leave at any time,” Mark said. “I don’t have you cornered.”

  “What do you want, Mark? Why are you in my park?”

  “Do you come here often?” he asked.

  No. I haven’t since we broke up. I found a different park.

  “This is my favorite place to run. If you’re going to be here and ruin it, I’ll find someplace else.”

  “Don’t. You can have it. I don’t want to—I just wanted to see you—tell you I’m...” His voice faded into silence. I wasn’t about to break it. Let him wallow in the awkwardness. What the fuck did I care?

  “Me too,” I said. What the literal fuck! Don’t let him off the hook! Don’t talk to him! Don’t be nice to him! Be mean! Be dirty! Remember how he hurt you! “You really hurt...” me.

  “I know,” Mark said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck,” I said, with my voice suddenly ready to break. I could feel him, how much he wanted me, how much he regretted our Big Fight. The reason I was so devastated after our Big Fight was because I knew how devastated Mark had to be. I knew he didn’t mean the things he said. I knew he didn’t want to break up—he really thought that the two of us were meant to be together. He really believed that he would be with me—and me alone—for the rest of his life.

  That’s why I had spiraled. That’s why I’d felt so much sadness. I only felt strong emotions like that when I felt them through other people. And I knew Mark so well... I knew him without having to do any thinking. Yes, he could surprise me, but I knew his heart. And his heart was supposed to be mine, just like mine was supposed to be his.