Until me.
That is not a factor I take lightly, either.
I do not wish to lose phem, or alienate phem, or be estranged from phem.
Except this man is my life, my love, my mate.
My soul is bound to and twined with his.
I will not give him up. Not even for my family.
If phey truly love me, phey must learn to overcome whatever reservations phey might have, and trust me to know my own heart and soul, and how it speaks to me.
Because other than Davies, it is the only voice I will listen to from now on.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Davies
If only the nightmares will fuckingstop.
If only I hadn’t seen McMurtry’s body lying there in Engineering.
He’d been shot, probably by one of our crew.
Then again, I know if I hadn’t seen him for myself I might always be stuck in the denial phase of my grief, wondering if it really was him or someone else. Driving myself crazy.
Crazier, I guess.
It takes me nearly two weeks from when we return to the space station at Pfahrn to make myself get on a shuttle to travel down to the planet’s surface.
Pfahrn is a beautiful place. I know from what I’ve felt from Olarte that he’s worried about his family’s reaction to me, but he is not going to let it deter him from what we’re about to do.
And that is get married.
The shuttle lands near midday, and we make our way on foot the short distance to the government center nearest the transportation center, where we stand in line.
This is something else that I guess is universal among intelligent species—queuing for government paperwork.
It takes less than an hour to do it. I get the feeling the government official who marries us isn’t exactly thrilled to see a human marrying a Pfahrn, but the dude can go fuck themselves.
I don’t care.
Then the part I’ve been worried about.
We hire a ground transport to ferry us to Olarte’s family’s home. When we arrive, I feel the way Olarte’s hand tightens on mine as they unlock the front door and open it. While I’ve been here before, this time feels…different.
Foreboding in a way I never felt before.
“Is anyone around?” they call out.
We hear a voice from a back room. “Olarte?”
“It is I, and I am not alone.”
We walk in and, as always, I can’t help feeling like I’m a kid in a grown-up house. Everything’s bigger, of course, because Pfahrn are bigger.
From a hallway, Myarte, one of Olarte’s parents, emerges. “Why did you not let us know you were coming? We would have prepared a meal.” They walk over and embrace Olarte even as they glance my way.
