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It was raining steadily, just like the first time Zane had been here.
He didn't care. Well, he cared, but not in the sense that it was going to alter his actions. He'd prepared for this moment for months, and he wasn't going to let something as mundane as the weather get in his way. He laid a beach towel on the wet grass, sat cross-legged on it, and propped the umbrella over his shoulder to keep him dry, then unzipped his leather jacket and reached inside. He pulled out the packet he'd kept safe and stared at the words scrawled in black felt-tipped pen across a sturdy envelope.
If I don't make it back.
Zane vividly remembered the moment he'd been handed the envelope. They'd been standing at the airport terminal, Eli in his uniform with his seabag slung over his shoulder, Zane in suit and tie on his way to work. Norfolk International was plenty busy no matter the time of day, and enough sailors and soldiers and Marines flew in and out that nobody noticed one more. It was part of the ritual, a familiar groove they'd worn over a decade. Zane always went to the airport with Eli to see him off; they'd have a coffee and a pastry in the terminal, say their last goodbyes, and then Eli would hand Zane the letter, always with the same instructions.
If anything happens to me, wait until six months after they put me in the dirt and then you open that. You open it a minute sooner, and I'll haunt your ass, and not in the fun way.
He almost smiled at the memory. He'd given his due promise, almost a formulaic one at this point, and they'd shared one last embrace before Eli walked through the security checkpoint. Zane had always watched until Eli disappeared at the end of the concourse, to hold onto the sight of him as long as he could. Eli never looked back, always marched on straight-backed and proud like the goddamned Marine he was.
This time, though...this time he had. He'd stopped and looked over his shoulder. Even from that distance, Zane could see his smile. He'd also seen the tears in Eli's eyes, and now he wondered if Eli had known in that instant he wouldn't be coming home. He wondered if he'd known.
He turned the envelope over in his hands for a moment. Well...here they were, six months after Eli's burial. Not his death, his burial. Zane knew why Eli had specified that. He'd been special ops, a Force Recon Marine, and they'd both known that if anything had ever happened to him, Zane—and Eli's mother—would never be given all the details, maybe not even the date of his death. And Eli had known Zane long and well enough to know that he would be exact about timing, which meant that if he didn't know a date, he'd drive himself crazy trying to calculate six precise months. Or else convince himself Eli'd been dead for weeks before he was notified and open the letter sooner than he was supposed to.
The burial, though...he'd known about the burial. He'd stood next to Eli's mother as she tearfully wrung her handkerchief over and over, watching the detail from Arlington carry the casket into position, listening to the graveside service and wondering distantly why nobody Eli served with had come. It hadn't been until much later that he'd learned the rest of Eli's team was still on deployment—still doing the job he'd died for. She'd apologized afterwards, sobbing in Zane's arms, telling him she wished she'd been able to choose any other day for the burial, but it had been the first day available and she hadn't wanted to risk waiting.
So they'd buried Eli, in the rain, at ten o'clock in the morning, at the tail end of the first home stand of the season. On what would have been his thirtieth birthday.
Zane glanced at his watch. The minute hand clicked into position. It was exactly ten o'clock. Exactly six months.
He slit open the envelope.
The letter was hand-written, which didn't surprise Zane. It wasn't that Eli didn't trust technology. It was more that he felt it had its place, and when it was something serious, he had always insisted it needed to be handmade so the recipient knew how much thought went into it. This had a lot of Eli in it. There were blots where the pen had stuttered, smudges where he'd dragged his arm through it or something, and places where he'd obviously been so overcome with emotion or rushed so hard that his handwriting became nigh-unreadable to anyone who hadn't had twenty-five years' practice at deciphering it.
Zane stared at the letter for a moment, not reading it, just looking. He was aware that his hands were shaking slightly. Even after six months, even after everything that had happened since...he wasn't sure he was ready for this. Still...he'd promised.
Taking a deep breath, he began to read.
Z -
If you're reading this, then I guess I didn't make it home.
You'd think these letters would be easy to write by now, considering I've written one every time I've had to leave you since we were eighteen years old. And they are, mostly. The first one was hard. I fucking bawled my eyes out that first time. But they got easier. The last few times I've written them, they've been old hat. Dash off a few pithy words, make a few inside jokes, drop a couple puns, and hey presto, you've got a letter you're never going to read, because I'm going to tell you to shred it the minute we're done catching up.
This time, though...I don't know, Z. I've got a feeling this might be the one you actually have to read.
I've never felt that strongly before. I mean, you know I've been in situations where I think “oh, shit, I'm gonna die,” but I've never believed it. And it's always been in the moment. I've never sat on the bathroom counter, watching you sleep in the other room, and told myself that I had to hold on to that moment because it's probably going to be the last time I see it. I don't know why. I don't know anything about this deployment that I haven't known about every other fucking deployment that I've ever been on, which is to say jack shit. I've got no reason to suspect that I'm going to be in a situation any more dangerous than I've been in before, or that there's any reason to believe I won't come back.
But I do. Somehow, as I'm writing this, I've got a bad feeling that this is it. I'm not going to tell you that because I don't want you dwelling on it while I'm gone, but it's true. I hope I'm wrong. I hope I come back in one piece bitching about whatever stupid shit Six got us into this time and you laugh when I start ranting and that part of my soul that always gets jagged when I'm away smooths out and settles and I know I'm home again.
But just in case I'm right, I'm writing this letter.
There's a lot I want to tell you, and I don't know if I have the words in any language to tell them to you, but I'm going to try. And you're going to sit your ass down and listen.
First and foremost, I love you. Fuck, I don't have to tell you that, but I'm telling you anyway. I've never loved anyone like I love you. Not that I had the chance, since I think I've been in love with you since you gave me all the blue crayons out of your 96-pack because I was so upset that I broke the one I had in my little box of eight, but still. You've been my best friend since we were five and my whole fucking world since we finally got our heads out of our asses and admitted it, and my life has been infinitely better because you were in it. I need you to know that and I need you to hold on to that.
Now the hard part.
If I know you, and I do, you're sitting next to my grave right now, probably leaning against the tombstone, and your hands are shaking. (And if you've got alcohol anywhere near you, if you've so much as touched a drop in the last six months, I swear to fucking God that I will climb out of that grave and kick your ass from here to eternity. You're stronger than that shit.) I can see it clearly. It probably helps that I can actually see you right now. You know I usually write these letters while you're at work, but...I've been putting it off. I'll admit that. As I'm writing this letter right now, I'm sitting on the bathroom counter next to the window because there's enough light from the moon that I can see what I'm doing. You're asleep—at least I fucking hope you're asleep, because if you wake up and catch me I'm going to do something stupid like tell you everything I'm writing now—and I keep stopping to just watch you. It's kind of making this harder to write, but I don't want to look away. And I have to write it. This is my last chance. I'm leaving in the morning, and if I don't give you this letter, not only will you know ahead of time something's up, but I won't be able to tell you everything I need to.
Okay. Here goes nothing. Zane, I love you. I want you to be happy. And that means I don't want you to be feeling guilty right now.
I know you miss me. I know you're still mourning for me (hell, it's only been six months, and I know you still miss Becky and she's been dead for ten fucking years). But...well, I also know you've probably met my boys by now.
You've probably met Ty.
I wrote a letter to them the other day. Never done that before, but there are some things I realized I wanted—needed—them to do if I don't make it back. That one I'm going to carry with me on deployment, so they'll have it, and I'm going to tell them not to open it before they get back stateside, so don't worry, I'm not going to make you deal with that shit. But in it, I told them some things and made them promise some other things. One of the things I made them promise is that they'd go to a Tides game, sit on the visitors' side and cheer for our team (no matter who they're playing against), so I'm sure you'll run into them. Another thing I made them promise is that they wouldn't have any more secrets.
And then, like a fucking coward, I didn't tell them mine.
You know one of them, of course. It's you, Z. How much you mean to me. They still think you're just my best friend, and unless I get the courage to tell them on this deployment, I'm going to die still not having told them. I don't know if you've told any of them yet, but you probably should. They need to know.
This secret, though...this one I probably won't tell them, even if I do tell them about us, because I know they'll think less of me. I don't care if you tell them, but right now, it needs to be something I tell you and only you, because it's most important that you know.
You know how I kept saying I was going to invite my boys to meet you, and then putting it off? It took me a lot longer than I really want to admit to realize why I kept making excuses to not introduce you to them. I thought it was because of DADT at first, and then I thought maybe it was because I know what Johns is like and I know he's going to freak the fuck out when he finds out and I don't want him to do that in front of the rest of Sidewinder because if he's an asshole about us it'll drive Six so far back into the closet he'll wind up having afternoon tea with a fucking faun. But now I'm sitting here on what's probably the last night I'll ever spend with you, and I have to admit the truth. Even if I'm praying you'll never have to read this.
I finally realized that it's not Owen stopping me from introducing you to Sidewinder. It's Ty.
Not, I want to make it clear, that I think he'd be a dick about it. Far from it. I mean, I've told you often enough that he's bi. (He still doesn't know I know that. I'm not going to tell him, either. He deserves the delusion that he still has some secrets, right?) He wouldn't even give me shit about my choice in men, and, see, that's the reason I'm reluctant.
Did I ever tell you about my grandma's gifts? She used to swear she could see the future. Say all kinds of cryptic bullshit and then later you'd be in a situation where it was happening and go “oh, fuck, THAT'S what she meant”. And she told me once, just before she died, that I had her eyes. I don't know if either one of us can actually see the future or if we're just really perceptive, but...fuck, I'm rambling because I REALLY don't want to even think about this, let alone write it. But I know it's the right thing to do.
So here goes.
I haven't wanted to introduce you to Ty because I know that the minute the two of you meet, you're going to fall in love with each other.
And since I haven't told Sidewinder what our relationship is, Six wouldn't see anything wrong with falling for you. He'd hide it, sure, because he's so wrapped up in the macho bullshit his dad impressed on him and he's just as afraid of losing our boys if he tells them as I am, but I know he'd probably be subtly flirting with you and trying to get you alone and I don't know that I could handle seeing that without decking him. And I know you. You'd fall for him then and there and feel guilty because you're with me, and you wouldn't say anything and you'd try to ignore the flirting, but at the same time I'd have to watch you and know you're miserable and don't want to admit it. I also know you don't share, so suggesting we try an open relationship or a three-way or something like that wouldn't work for you.
But now I'm dead, if you're reading this, and you've met Ty. I don't know if you've just started flirting with each other or if you're actually in a relationship right now or if it's somewhere in between, but I know that no matter what you're doing, once the initial rush of emotions burned off, you started feeling guilty as shit. And Z, I'm telling you right now: Knock it the fuck off.
I don't want you mourning me for the rest of your life. I don't want you letting my memory stop you from moving on. I don't want you wallowing. And I sure as shit don't want you backsliding into what you did back in college after Becky's accident. Ty's going to heal a part of you that you don't even realize is broken. Maybe he already has. And I am giving you my blessing, you hear me? I want that. I want you both to be happy, and I know what's going to make you happy is being together. I want it so much that if by some fucking miracle I do survive this deployment and come home to you, I'm going to tell you. And you're probably going to laugh it off and tell me I'm being ridiculous, but I'm going to prove it by introducing you. Even if it kills me to watch.
Grandma told me, the day she met you, that you were destined to die in the arms of the love of your life. If you're reading this letter, Zane, that ain't me.
I'll always love you. And I know you'll always love me. But I also know you have a fuck of a lot of love to give, and Six needs it badly. And he's got a lot of love he isn't giving to anyone right now, and you need it too. You know what it's like to be loved like that. He doesn't. Teach him for me, will you? Get between him and the memories when they get too close. Kiss the shit out of him when he does that stupid thing that makes your heart turn over with love (I don't know what it is with him and I probably don't want to know what it is, but I know the thing you do that always makes me want to kiss you so I know what I'm talking about). Screw him through the wall to piss off that conservative old bitch in the next condo. Put his name on the seat next to you at Harbor Park and force him to love the games in spite of the designated hitter. Hold onto him with everything you've fucking got until death comes for both of you, and then kick the Grim Reaper's ass to give yourselves a little bit more time.
When you get to the other side, I'll be waiting for you. For both of you. I'm going to hug you both so hard and tell you how happy I am, and you'll fucking believe me because it'll be the truth. And it had better be a long, long time in the future.
Okay. I think I've made both of us cry hard enough. I'm going to stop now before I end up flooding the fucking bathroom. I'm going to seal this letter up, put it with my shit for tomorrow, and then come back to bed. I want to hold you for as long as I can. I want to breathe you in. I want to know that, whatever the fuck happens after this, at least we have tonight.
I love you, Zane Zachary Garrett, with my entire heart and soul. And I am always with you. From now until the end of time.
Have a long and happy life, Zane.
Love always,
Eli.
For a long moment, there was utter silence. Dimly, Zane was aware of the usual sounds of the cemetery—people talking, feet crunching on gravel, the soft rasp of tires on concrete, a handful of birds that had decided this was as far south as they were going this year—but he didn't register any of them. He sure as hell didn't see them. Tears blurred his eyes so he could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone the page in front of him.
He had known.
That was why he'd been so touchy-feely that last morning, why he'd held Zane so tightly when they said goodbye at the airport, why his voice had cracked. Why he'd broken tradition and stopped to look back. He'd known that was it, that it was the last chance they'd ever have to see one another, and he'd wanted one last look at Zane before he left.
A new sound broke through the haze around Zane: a lone bugler playing Taps. That was the final straw. Zane curled around Eli's last letter and let the tears fall, sobbing in a way he hadn't in a long time.
Eli was right, even if Zane hadn't really let himself think about it. He had been feeling guilty for about the last six weeks, since the first night he'd woken up with Ty curled up next to him instead of Eli. It was why they hadn't done anything except cuddle and kiss, even though Zane could tell both of them desperately wanted to. He'd been the one to hold Ty at arm's length and Ty, God bless him, hadn't brought it up. God only knew what he was thinking, but he was still there, and that was something Zane didn't deserve.
Except Eli thought he did.
Gradually, Zane's sobs trailed away to hiccups, then stuttered breathing. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to regulate his breathing. Carefully, he uncurled himself and looked down at the letter. For the first time, he realized there was an addendum underneath Eli's signature.
P.S. For God's sake, Z, fuck him already.
Zane couldn't help the wet chuckle that bubbled out of his throat. Yeah, that was Eli to a T.
He would always love Eli. Miss him like he'd miss an amputated limb. But he realized Eli was right—Ty was something special. Zane recognized in him a lot of the things he'd loved about Eli. They didn't have the same history between them that Zane had with the boy who'd been assigned the seat next to his in kindergarten and shaped his life, but they had their whole lives ahead of them.
Eli'd known he was going to die. If he said Zane and Ty were endgame, he was prepared to believe it.
Zane pressed his lips to the letter, then folded it up and put it back in his jacket. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed the backs of his knuckles against Eli's tombstone.
“I promise, baby,” he whispered. “I'm not letting him go easily.”
He got to his feet and folded up the beach towel. Before leaving, he hesitated, then kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the cold marble. Whispering his love, one more time, he turned and headed for the entrance and his motorcycle. It was time to go home.
Home to Ty.