“We already discussed that,” he said, quite sternly, keeping his voice low. “You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you.”
“I’d read your file, you see,” said Marston, grasping Kell’s hand gently and moving it. “There was the thought that you and Bede were partners, so I thought it too. I should have asked.”
“You will stop.” Kell rose up and pushed, and Marston fell back so Kell could half-clamber on top of him. “We could do this forever, but really. Stop apologizing. We’re here, now, you and I. We decide what happens next. We’ll talk, always. That’s the best way, isn’t it? Not you beating yourself up all the time.”
“You’re right again,” said Marston, and Kell bent close to kiss that small smile that he couldn’t quite see but knew was there.
He loved the feel of the smile growing a little more broad, wider, as though Marston had begun to open his soul, his very self, to Kell.
When he’d announced he was gay. When he’d run away. Gotten arrested. Arrived in the valley. At no point had he imagined his life would turn out this way, him astride a golden god of a man, brimming with love and joy that he’d hidden away for so long it was as if he’d forgotten how to be happy.
Only now, Marston had Kell in his life, and Kell knew he would work as hard as he’d ever worked to make sure Marston knew—
“I love you,” he said, whispering it against Marston’s warm cheek. “I think I always have, and I always will.”
He felt Marston’s breath catch beneath him, the pounding of that strong heart, and the sigh as Marston reached up to clasp Kell’s face, so very gently it made Kell want to weep.
“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” said Marston, low, lacing this with sweet, nighttime kisses. “And I’ve never felt it before, but I love you, Kell Dodson. I love you so very much.”
The last of these words cracked sharply in the calm of darkness, urging Kell to worry, to trace Marston’s face, to wipe away the faint tracks of dampness at the corner of his eyes. Those eyes, blue and gold, that Kell had so easily come to adore. He wouldn’t make Marston stop or tell him not to cry, because Marston’s feelings went deep and for them to surface was a gift.
He hugged Marston tight, drew him close, tucked his face in Marston’s neck, breathed in his scent, and knew he’d never been happier. Sure, there would be struggles and crossroads ahead of them, but in that moment, all of his dreams, even the unknown ones, had come true.
Chapter30
Epilogue
Snow furled around Marston’s legs as a wind whipped across the narrow snow track alongside the valley. Making the snowmobile turn into the shadow of snow-coated pine trees was a kind of blessing, though it wasn’t any warmer. He was glad for his snow pants and thick gloves and balaclava beneath his safety helmet, and even more glad to feel Kell’s weight on the snowmobile behind him.
How’s the trailer doing?he wanted to ask, but the balaclava and helmet wouldn’t allow for any kind of conversation, and even if they would have, the wind would have whipped his words away.
The trailer was a whisper weight behind the snowmobile and was packed with supplies for the blizzard to come. There were two cords of wood, a small tank of propane, coffee, sugar, milk, potatoes for baking in their very small stove, as well as steaks, two turkey breasts for roasting, veggies enough for an army, a chocolate cake that was well frozen by now, ice cream, and, of course, an entire box of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
There might have been a few extras in there that Kell had grabbed from the bodega shelves when Marston had been looking the other way, and that was fine with him. Kell should have what he wanted for Thanksgiving, especially since the weather had made it impossible for his mom to join them.
Currently, Mrs. Dodson was getting picked up at the Akron airport by Aunt Miriam, luggage, home-baked cookies, and all, and taken back home. The blizzard currently over the Rockies was a five-day one, and no planes were getting in or out, not at Denver International, Cheyenne International, and especially not at the little single runway local airport outside of Casper. Thus, Thanksgiving with Mrs. Dodson was canceled.
That morning’s phone call between Kell and his mom had been dotted with tears and promises for a future visit. Not Christmas, though. Marston and Kell were going away for Christmas, to the California coast, to stay at the cutest B&B just outside of Carmel-by-the-Sea.
It wasn’t going to be a honeymoon, but it was going to be damn well close, as Marston planned to propose. And with the small, black velvet box tucked in his very scaled back sock drawer, there was no way he wanted Mrs. Dodson as a witness.
Even as nice as she was, or seemed to be, over the phone, or sweet-faced over Zoom, he still didn’t want her there. Maybe she could come after the New Year, during the brief and always unexpected January thaw.
He wanted to meet her at some point, at the very least at the wedding, which Marston had been planning in his head for weeks. Something small. There was a nice little church in Torrington, and a grange hall for the reception, and two hotels, local places in the small, cute downtown, where the guests could stay.
That is, if Kell said yes.
Maybe all of this was something other couples discussed in advance. Surely, once Kell had said yes—and he would, right?—then he and Kell would plan everything together, right down to the color of the ribbons in the flower girl’s hair.
Who would be the flower girl? Clay and Austin, who both worked at the guest ranch, had a little girl, didn’t they? Bea, her name was, but maybe she was too old. Marston had no idea the required age range for a flower girl, but they had the internet, and once Kell said yes, they could look it up.
All of these thoughts crowded into Marston’s head, filling him, lifting him with a buoyancy that always came when he imagined a future with Kell, or even as he and Kell shared their day-to-day lives.
It was odd feeling so light and happy all the time, odd to wake up with a very beloved Kell in his arms, odd to look up with a sense of contentment from the online document where he recorded the temperature and wind speeds, propane usage, and the report from their daily rounds as they snowshoed around the valley. That’s what the two of them were there for, why they’d stayed behind in the valley, to keep an eye on things.
You’re the man for this task,Leland had told him.You and Kell both. You can say no, but I’m hoping you’ll say yes. I need someone here so that, come spring, we don’t have to start from zero.
What Leland was worried about, it turned out, was the tenuous hold the structures and plumbing had in the valley. Had the pipes been dug deep enough? Would the wooden platforms, now that the canvas tents had been taken down and stored in the Quonset hut, withstand the winter?
