Building forever, p.1
Building Forever, page 1
Building Forever
The Rebuilding Year, book 2.5
Kaje Harper
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
Copyright © 2017 by Kaje Harper
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KajeHarper
Cover by Karrie Jax
Formatting by Beaten Track Publishing – beatentrackpublishing.com
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted is a model.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Content warning: For adult readers over the age of 18 only. This book contains explicit sexual situations between two men.
Four years ago, Ryan and John decided they’d wait to get married until it came with full legal equality. Now, thanks to the Supreme Court, that historic moment has finally arrived. But three hundred miles separate Ryan’s hectic residency from John’s busy campus job. With a son in college, a daughter choosing her future, and a rambunctious Irish Setter needing attention, planning a wedding isn’t simple.
Of course, even the most perfect ceremony can’t solve all their problems. What does it take to build forever?
Dedication
This one is for Jonathan, with hugs for the tough days, and thanks for all you’ve done for my writing career. I hope you like a taste of sweetness for two guys you know well.
Acknowledgements
Once again, Eric and Kira have generously given of their time and talents to beta read, and make a story of mine better. I really appreciate the insight and error-catching. Thanks to Ashley for skillful proofreading, to Deb for fitting my formatting in her busy schedule. And a big thank you to Karen, for checking my medical details and explaining the difference between a break room and a call room. You all made this story happen.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Other Books by Kaje Harper
Prologue
June 2014
“Fuck her!” Ryan paced in and out of John’s sight over Skype on the laptop screen, too agitated to sit down in front of his camera. “Fuck them all! Where do they get off, playing with people’s lives?” He pitched his voice to a falsetto. “Oops, I guess you gays aren’t really human after all. Try again next time.”
John managed nothing more than a wrung-out, “Yeah.” In spite of the comfort of his warm, sun-lit, coffee-scented kitchen, all he could feel was the void left by Ryan’s absence. “Oh, yeah.”
“I was so ready for this. For you.”
“I know.”
For months that spring, as Ryan moved through residency-planning, and exams, and huge, gut-churning stress, they’d waited for a ruling in the equal-marriage case pending in a Wisconsin Federal Court. Just two weeks ago, they’d had to leave for Ryan’s Minnesota residency, with the issue still in the air. John had pointed out, just once, “It’s legal in Minnesota” to which Ryan’s “No” had been absolute. With Torey waiting for her own state to come through, he’d agreed.
They’d parted on the steps of Ry’s Minneapolis apartment building, John trying to hold the ache in his heart at bay with fierce hugs and promises. Then he’d driven six hours home, back to this half-empty house. But still, they’d been buoyed by hope.
And it happened. That magic moment, just last Friday, only a week after their parting, when the judge struck down the marriage ban. Lesbian and gay couples just like them had been waiting at county offices around the state, for clerks to start issuing licenses, and some did, that very night. He’d called Ryan, who’d tried to laugh as he said, “I can’t. I fucking can’t come back right now. Soon, yeah, I’ll have that weekend off. Anyway, we can look forward to it. Soon.” His exultation mixed with frustration came clearly across Skype, making John ache to reach through the damned screen and hug him. But they’d planned, and shared the joy of finally being equal.
Now, only a week later, the judge’s stay on that decision cast all their hopes back into limbo. No marriage for them now. Maybe not ever. Dammit. He rubbed his eyes.
On his laptop screen, Ryan paced another turn. “I even saw some motherfuckers talking about jail for the clerks who’d issued the licenses.”
John tried to be realistic, against the tightness of his throat. “That won’t happen.”
“Is Torey okay? What did she say?”
“She cried.” John’s daughter had just turned seventeen and started dating her first steady girlfriend. He’d held his shaking child in his lap, like when she was small, wishing this hurt could be solved with a kiss and a Band-Aid. He’d tried to reassure her that the people who thought she was less worthy were a tiny, vocal fraction of going-extinct, bigoted, old people. It’d been scant comfort, when they held her future hostage. “But then she rallied. She’s tough. She’s painting protest signs.”
“Go Torey!”
“Yeah. I’ll be out there with her.”
“You?”
He knew his smile was more of a grimace. “I’ve been quiet too long.”
“You hate conflicts and fights.”
“For my kids? For you? I’d do more than just march with a signboard. But that’s where I’ll start.”
Ryan leaned toward the camera. “I’m still flying home in two weeks, for an overnight. This doesn’t change that.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to kiss you in the airport, and we’re going to have as much fucking gay sex as we can cram in two days.”
“Hopefully not in the airport.”
“Hah. Sadly, no.” Ryan rubbed his face hard. “Would serve them right. How dare they say what we have is less than real?”
“We may still win the appeal. Some people think we have a good chance.”
“I hope. But that’s what? Months from now? And we could lose. Fuck them!”
“Mm.”
“I should call Torey.”
“She’d like that.”
“When I can stop swearing, maybe.”
John had to laugh. “You’re afraid of offending Torey?”
“Don’t want to be a fucking bad example.” Ryan sat back in his chair, looking exhausted.
“Are you okay? Surviving your first rotation?”
“It’s rough. I need— I’m not sure. My focus has been for shit.”
“Sorry.”
“God, no, John, none of that is your fault. If anything, it’s mine, obsessing over our legal status.”
“It matters, though.”
“Yeah. But it’s screwing with my head to wait like this, holding our breath, while they kick us in the gut.”
“What do you want to do?” Get married in Minnesota? Stop planning a marriage? He didn’t care. Well, he did, but most of all he wanted happy, confident Ryan back. Whatever that took. “Your call.”
“Our call. It’s about both of us. You have to consider the kids. Husband trumps boyfriend in a court.”
“Cynthia’s not going to take me to court about custody at this late date. The kids don’t come into the timing. Or what we do.”
There was a long silence. They just sat there, together and not, three hundred miles of painful space between them. In the quiet kitchen, the sound of Mark’s guitar filtered downstairs, a plaintive melody. Mark hadn’t said much when the stay was announced, just retreated to his music. He’d been up there all day, scrounging meals at some time when John hadn’t been around. Other than a rear view as Mark took the dog out for a run, John hadn’t set eyes on his son. That sounds like a sad song.
Ryan must have heard the notes, because he tilted his head and said, “How’s Mark?”
“Excited about heading off to college in the fall. Sorry to break up his band. Seems okay today. Upset for us, I think.” I’ll check on him when we’re done. Sometimes Mark was so quiet, he was hard to read. The judge’s decision wouldn’t have been personal, like for Torey, but Mark felt things deeply.
“You’ll miss him. When he moves out.”
Hell, yes. “You’re changing the subject.”
Ryan sighed deeply, like all the breath was going out of him. “Yeah. I don’t know. What do we do now? I’m too tired to think straight.”
“We can just shelve it till fall.”
“Or…” Ryan rolled his neck painfully. “How about if we move the goalposts? To where there’s no more wondering, no more yanking a win out from under our feet.”
“Huh? When?”
“The Supreme Court. You know this is going there, sooner or later. They’re going to have to rule on equal marriage.”
“Eventually.”
“Soon. The Circuit courts are in conflict. They have to take it.”
John couldn’t help wincing. Because yeah, hope and fea r. What if they vote no?
Ryan said, “So how about this? When the whole country is told that you and I are the full equivalent to you and Cynthia, and no one in fucking Mississippi or North Dakota can deny it, then we get married.” He sat back in his chair and tipped his chin up, with something of his old confidence.
I hate waiting. But Ryan’s lines of fatigue seemed to have eased slightly, and maybe this would settle him down. Whatever you need, Ry. “That could work.”
“You don’t mind?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been yours without that piece of paper for years. Right now, I need you to get through, um, PGY-1.” That was what Ryan called first-post-grad-year-from-hell that he was doing now. “Without going insane.”
Ryan huffed a laugh. “Yeah. That’s the challenge.”
John reached toward the screen, up at the camera. “I wish I could do more. You’re sure you don’t want me out there?”
“Nope. Slow and steady, like we planned.” Ryan reached out in his turn, a hangnail-chewed fingertip filling John’s screen for a moment. “Touching would be amazing, but we both know how to wait for what we want.”
Speak for yourself. He ached for a hug. Giving and receiving. “Right. Yep.”
“We can do this.”
“Absolutely.”
“Minor set-back.” Ryan’s eyes gave that the lie.
“Painful damned set-back.” He couldn’t help saying it, once more. “God damn it, she could’ve let people hope.”
“She can’t stop us hoping. Give Torey a big hug for me. Tell her I’ll call her. Same for Mark.”
“They’re looking forward to seeing you in two weeks, too.”
“We might fit a few minutes in for them, around all the sex.”
He chuckled despite the ache in his throat. “Big talk.”
Ryan’s green eyes had brightened, as he leaned toward the screen. “We will get married eventually. Fuck the bigots.”
“Must I?”
“No. Keep it all for me.” Ryan’s smile was wry, but real. “I love you, John Barrett. Nothing changes that.”
“I love you too.” The outside world could deny them, and disrespect them, and insult them, but they couldn’t touch this. But after Ryan signed off, heading into another on-call shift, John sat there in his chair, staring at the laptop. With Skype gone, an article about the stay on Wisconsin’s gay marriages appeared on his screen. The tangle of protests, of bitter disappointments, of wait times that’d robbed couples of the chance, and refunds they’d likely not get, and all the morass of uncertainty, made his eyes blur. Some couples were heading to Canada or Minnesota. Some vowed to fight on.
He’d never been a fighter, preferring reason and discussion to slogans. But now, for this, it was finally time to get out sign boards and his paints, and be part of demanding change…
Chapter 1
June 2015
Ryan Ward cradled his elderly patient’s hand, having her move each finger in turn. He could only muster half his attention. The rest was focused on thoughts of John, and on monitoring a region near his belt buckle. Not the usual region. In the pocket of his lab jacket, his phone sat silent, not vibrating, and not vibrating, not— Ryan gritted his teeth, and forced his mind back to his work. “Which finger tingles the most?”
“This one.” The frail lady flexed her ring finger, curling it part way. “It twitches.”
Ryan peered closer and his pocket chose that moment to buzz. He jumped and his fingers slipped off her wrist. Her weak hand landed on the bedcovers.
“Sorry! Jes— wow, sorry.” Ryan felt the flush of heat across his face. “Did that hurt?”
“I’m not fragile,” she snapped. “Just surprised. Who’s that calling you?”
“It’s not important,” he lied. “Here, I promise I won’t let go again. Let me see that finger.” As some kind of penance, he made himself do the most slow and thorough neuro exam of his life, before leaving her room. But in the hallway he couldn’t hold out anymore.
He ducked around the corner, into an alcove by the bathrooms, and pulled out the phone. Held it in his hand. Stared at the flashing “text” icon. One new text. Until he looked at it, it could say anything. Schrodinger’s text, both answers possible until he looked.
Don’t be such a wuss! John had sent the text. Schrodinger’s box was already open for him.
Ryan touched the screen. Read the words. ~SCOTUS voted YES!
He reeled hard enough that his shoulder hit the wall. Yes. YES! Fumbling, he hit the icon and held the phone to his ear.
“Hey, there.” John’s voice was somehow always a surprise, deeper and richer in his ear than he could hold in memory.
“Hey. We won, hu-uh?” He pressed his lips tight against an unexpected voice wobble, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Wish I was there to celebrate.”
“Me too.”
“What was the vote?”
John’s warmth cooled slightly. “Five to four. Close. But Kennedy’s opinion for the majority was inspired. Listen.” There was a pause, then he read, “Far from seeking to devalue marriage, the petitioners seek it for themselves because of their respect— and need— for its privileges and responsibilities. And their immutable nature dictates that same-sex marriage is their only real path to this profound commitment.”
Well, that isn’t going to shut off the stupid waterworks in my eyes. He blinked hard. “I like that.”
“The whole text is long, and it’s all great. Words to live by.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me, John?”
“Anytime. Anywhere.”
“Right there in Wisconsin, where we live, with our friends and family, in a country where it is now fucking legal! Yes!” The word came out as a whoop of joy, and a nurse passing down the quiet corridor looked over at him. He couldn’t hide his grin, and waved his phone at her. “Gay marriage! We won!”
She smiled warmly, and hurried on.
“Who was that?” John asked.
“No clue.” He had to laugh. “Someone. She smiled.”
“God, I wish you were here.”
“Me too. Where’s Torey?”
“At her mom’s. She wanted to sleep over here tonight and wait for the decision, but Lily wasn’t feeling well. Torey decided sister-cuddling had to take priority.”
“Will you call her?” She’ll be over the moon at the news.
“As soon as you get off the damned phone, yeah.”
“Ditching me to cater to the kids again,” Ryan joked.
“You know I wouldn’t do that.” The thread of anxiety in John’s voice was probably a measure of how much time they’d spent apart, with Ryan doing his residency three hundred miles away. Usually John knew when he was joking, even on a touchy subject.
“John. Sweetheart.” The word bubbled up unexpectedly, and a rush of love tightened Ryan’s chest. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I do know. Now I have to get back to work, and you have to call your kids and tell them we’re getting finally married.”
“When?”
“Mm. Still the sixty-four dollar question.” Ryan pressed an arm against his stomach, against a flash of nausea. He and John had battled anger and tears across the miles, that hot June screw-you-gay-people night when Wisconsin had issued the legal stay to their hopes. The final state decision in October hadn’t been enough to fix that.
This. This is enough. “I’m coming home those five days in July. How about then? You’d have to arrange it all though. I’d fly in, say ‘I do,’ bugger you senseless, and fly back out.”
“Not drive?”
“It was a figure of speech. Yeah, I’d probably drive.”
“And I might bugger you senseless.”
He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I love you, John Barrett. I have to go.”
“Call me later.”
“I’ll call you fiancé.”
“Mm. Okay, I like that. Husband will be even better. Later, Ry.”
Ryan stood for a second, breathing into his silent phone. Yeah, husband will be the best.
He wanted to call everyone, to tell Andrea, tell his friends from med school and his brothers and sisters-in-law and just shout out to everyone what this moment really meant. But for now, he had half of a long shift left to go, and plenty of patients waiting for him. He resolutely ignored a couple of new texts popping up from friends and took a final look at his home screen. Fri, June 26, 2015. 6:22 a.m. although the decision had no doubt come out on the hour. A date to remember. He turned off the phone, and stuck it in his pocket. Despite a massive lack of sleep weakening his bad leg, his steps were light and quick as he headed down the hall.
