Cricket (34 page)

“No worries,” Ryan said. Henry could hear Ryan’s parents—his in-laws—
fuck
—talking in the background. He still hadn’t met them. At Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Burgess had accepted an invitation from a friend to spend three weeks skiing in the Swiss Alps. They’d spent a big, messy, silly holiday at Stella’s house, the four adults working behind the bar at the pub for a few hours over lunchtime, then going back to Stella’s cottage for a late lunch. It had been like no Christmas Henry had ever had before… and he’d loved every minute of it.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Henry said. “Just thinking too much. Stella will be here in a minute with her entourage, and I still need to get a room set up for her.”

“Stella’s chilled. You don’t need to worry.”

“Not worrying,” Henry insisted. “I’m being organized. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yup. Laters.”

Stella arrived on her own, which was even worse, because Henry was forced to entertain her. She’d had her hair pinned up and adorned with sunflowers. It was perfect, bright and bold, just like she was. And despite the fact that it was her wedding day, she insisted on helping get the house ready, and because he was pressed for time, Henry agreed.

Ryan arrived next, without his parents but with Henry’s suit.

“Thanks,” Henry said, accepting the suit bag and ushering Ryan in from the cold, giving him a quick kiss on his cold cheek that Ryan turned into something more.

“I need to go change,” Henry said, laughing as he pushed Ryan away, aware that he was probably flushed now too.

“Want a hand with all those buttons?”

“You can probably undo them quicker than I can do them up.”

Ryan gave him a lascivious grin. “That was the idea.”

“No! Too busy. Go find Stella.”

Once changed into his charcoal-gray suit and crisp white shirt, Henry set about looking for the brother and sister duo that would be causing no end of trouble if left unattended for too long. His first stop was the kitchen, and he was more than a little surprised to find Ryan not there. Usually, Ryan took it upon himself to “test” any food that was left too close to him.

They were in the parlor room—Nell’s room. Ryan had obviously found a bottle of champagne from somewhere, and they were drinking it out of the wrong kind of glasses, not that Henry minded. Not really.

“Come here. I’ve got you a glass,” Ryan said, patting the love seat next to him.

Stella was changed into her dress, which they had bought from a boutique in Bristol. It was a long column of gray silk, the pattern mixed with white and gold and peach and a bright yellow that stopped the whole thing looking too much like a fairytale. It was elegant enough to be a wedding dress and simple enough to show off the fact that she was a thirty-six-year-old bride with a child and didn’t give a fuck.

The colors in the dress perfectly matched the flowers in her hair and the soft silver polish that coated her fingernails. She wasn’t a woman who wore a lot of makeup. The delicate blush on her cheeks and gloss on her lips was more than enough to complete the picture.

“You look amazing,” Henry said as he accepted the glass of champagne and took the opportunity to sit down for the first time in…
hours.

“Thanks,” she said, grinning. “You look pretty dashing yourself.”

Henry laughed. “So, this is it. The calm before the storm.”

“There will be no storm,” Stella said emphatically. “It’ll ruin the fireworks.”

“Okay. No storm.”

“Mum and Dad are on their way, they’ll be here any minute,” she told him.

In response, Henry downed the rest of his champagne. Ryan squeezed his knee and leaned in to kiss him.

“They’re going to love you,” he said. “Both of them are so excited to meet you.” His phone chimed, and he grinned as he read it, raising his eyebrows and giving Henry another kiss before going to get the door.

“Look,” Stella told him, topping off both their glasses. “Think of it this way. Even if they hate you, and they won’t, but if they do—fuck it. They live in Spain for forty-eight weeks of the year. You’ll never have to see them. And Ryan worships the ground you walk on, no matter what Mum and Dad think. So relax.”

“I’ll try.”

T
HE
first surprise of the day was Shenal turning up with Paul.

Stretton House wasn’t allowed to hold religious ceremonies, so the vicar had been invited as a guest, rather than the one conducting the service. Apparently, he was more than happy with this. There were very few weddings he got to attend without being involved.

Even though the two of them had been invited separately, Shenal arrived in Paul’s car and held his hand as they took their seats for the ceremony. Henry noticed and elbowed Ryan in the ribs, nodding toward the happy couple, who were busy staring intently into each other’s eyes.

“I knew it,” Ryan whispered.

“I knew it before you did!” Henry exclaimed, affronted at the suggestion.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Shh. Here comes the bride.”

Another one of Stella’s insistences was that the ceremony would be very short. They exchanged vows, rings, kisses, then (in true Stella style) announced that the bar was open. It took a while for Henry to relax. He was worried about the house and about the wedding and whether other people were having a good time.

It was only when Ryan dragged him into the hallway closet and thoroughly kissed him that he forgot anything outside of Ryan’s lips and strangely tickling fingertips even existed.

Much later in the evening, Ryan’s mom—Henry wasn’t comfortable thinking of her as
June
just yet—cornered him.

“Come walk with me,” she demanded, threading her arm through his and leading him out to the back of the house. Henry followed obediently into the freezing night air and pressed the button to light up one of the portable heaters they’d borrowed from the pub for the night. It worked on a timer, and clearly there hadn’t been anyone out here in a while.

“Do you smoke?” Ryan’s mom asked.

“I try not to,” Henry said, his voice holding an apology.

“Terrible habit,” she said as she pulled a tin of tobacco from her pocket and deftly rolled a cigarette. “I only do it when I’m back. Lord only knows why. Too hot to smoke out there.”

She lit it, inhaled, then passed it to Henry, who took a few puffs and handed it back. He was reluctant to admit—aloud or to himself—quite how good it felt.

“I like you, Henry. I might have only just met you, but I get a feel for people sometimes. And I get a good feeling from you.”

“Thanks.”

June laughed and wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt at protection from the cold. Henry waited, wondering if it was his turn to speak.

“I love him, very much. I want you to know that. People are already saying that we only got married so I could stay here and run the business, but that’s not true.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” June said. “A wonderful gift. I knew of Nell, of course. Everyone around here did. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back for the funeral.”

“That’s okay. It was organized very quickly.”

“You don’t need to justify your relationship with my son to me, Henry.”

“I—uh. Thanks. I think.” He accepted the cigarette, inhaled, passed it back, and realized there was maybe a tiny hint of marijuana in it. Henry pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing—Ryan’s mom was hilarious.

“Did you know he was gay?” Henry blurted before he could stop himself.

“No,” she said lightly. “It was a little bit of a shock, at first. The thing is, and this is going to sound strange, but when I look at you, I don’t necessarily see a man. I see a person who is the most perfect partner Ryan could ever wish for. You’re his whole world.”

“And he’s mine.”

“Yes. So, I don’t think sexuality is really that big of a deal. You fit together.”

“Yeah,” Henry said softly. “We do.”

June stubbed out her laced cigarette and stuck the end in an ashtray. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

“Henry, could I give you some advice? As a woman who has been married to a Burgess man for the past forty years.”

“Sure,” he said with a smile.

“Love with your whole heart,” she said, squeezing his hand tighter. “Talk to each other. Have lots of sex—
lots
—that can’t be underestimated. And whenever things get tough, and they will get tough, Henry, remember how you feel right now. That always works when I wonder why I’ve been with Dave for so long.”

“I’ll remember that,” Henry said.

“Let’s go back inside,” June said. “It’s bloody freezing out here.”

A
T
A
few minutes to midnight, everyone piled out of the house to wait for the fireworks that had been set up to go off from the far end of the grounds. It promised to be a spectacular display, and Henry turned most of the lights off in the house to prevent too much light spilling over.

The patio heaters were suddenly all on full blaze again. Even so, people huddled together for warmth. Ryan tugged Henry away from the crowd of people, off to the side where his little vegetable garden looked over the kitchen window.

“It’s too cold,” Henry muttered as they moved farther and farther away from the heaters.

“Oh, grow a pair,” Ryan told him.

“The pair I have are trying to sneak back into my body.”

Ryan snorted with amusement.

“What did my mum want with you?” he asked as he turned Henry to face the end of the garden and wrapped his body around Henry’s from behind.

Henry tucked his arms up into his sleeves and held onto the arms that were holding him. “Just to talk,” he said. “She gave me some advice about holding onto you for as long as she’s been with your dad.”

“Oh God,” Ryan sighed.

“I know,” Henry said, giggling a little. “Apparently the key is to have a lot of sex.”

Ryan was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I could have gone my whole life without hearing that.”

As the countdown to the New Year started, Henry leaned in and kissed Ryan’s neck, then whispered in his ear. “You’ve changed my life. Do you know that?”

“You’ve changed mine too.”

T
HE
farmhouse was cold when they finally arrived home, somewhere around three in the morning. It had taken a while to usher all the party guests out of the house and back to their homes, most of them making the decision to walk rather than try to get a taxi or drive. The living room still had the embers of a fire glowing in the grate, just enough to keep Hulk warm where he was sleeping on the rug.

Ryan pulled the door closed to make sure the heat didn’t escape during the night, then followed Henry up to their bedroom.

Neither man bothered to shower before bed. They both stripped off their expensive suits and let them fall to the floor wherever they landed before rolling into bed and each other’s arms. Henry yawned widely and sought out his favorite spot on Ryan’s chest, with his head tucked under Ryan’s chin.

There was still a thrill in holding each other like this, having permission from the universe to be with each other, despite all the odds that had been consistently stacked against them.

“It was a good night,” Ryan said sleepily as his fingers combed through Henry’s hair.

“It was,” he agreed. “You can come down and help me clear up in the morning if you like.”

“Sod off.”

“Love you too.”

“Love you, Henry.”

With toes warming on each other’s legs, they drifted, snoozed, then slept.

As the sun began to rise on the first day of the New Year, Ryan Burgess held his husband close to his chest. Even though he was fast asleep, Henry was smiling.

About the Author

A
NNA
M
ARTIN
is from a picturesque seaside village in the south-west of England and now lives in the slightly arty, slightly quirky city of Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grassroots theatre (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, baking weird and wonderful sweets, learning to play the ukulele, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading, and creative ass-kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.

2nd place winner of the 2012 Goodreads M/M Romance Member’s Choice Award “Best Musician/Rockstars” for
Tattoos & Teacups
.

Website: http://annamartin-fiction.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/missannamartin

Tumblr: http://annamartinwrites.tumblr.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annamartinfiction

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5251288.Anna_Martin

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NNA
M
ARTIN