Page 58 of Pages of My Heart
“Red, you were, are, and will always be a hopeless liar.”
“Am not!”
Charlie nips at his neck, and Thomas hears the smirk in his voice when he says, “You are when it comes to me.”
Thomas rolls his eyes, but he has a big grin on his face. Sitting up a little, he reaches for the soap and passes it to Charlie, who cleans him with tender hands until Thomas insists on turning around and returning the favor. There really isn’t any room for them to move about, and they laugh hysterically as their bodies slip and slide against each other, the water spilling over the edge of the tub and pooling on the floor.
They can’t be fussed walking back into the heart of town, so they eat a simple meal at the motel diner and then head straight back to the privacy of their room. Over dinner Charlie told Thomas stories about the men at boot camp, and he’s satisfied Charlie isn’t attracted to any of them. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous or feel threatened, but often he can’t help it. Charlie loves sex and wants it almost every day, in some form or another. They said vows to each other and privately refer to each other as husband, but he still feels insecure about not being able to satisfy Charlie’s needs when they are apart. That is why he so desperately wants to make this a memorable weekend.
The room has a small radio, so they slow dance together for a few songs. It’s something they’ve done so often at homethat when Thomas closes his eyes and rests his chin atop Charlie’s head, he’s almost fooled into believing everything is normal. Afterwards, they curl up on the bed in each other’s arms and listen to Bob Hope. It’s the first time in nine weeks Thomas has felt relaxed and content, and he refuses to allow another goodbye to cast a dark shadow over his mood. Pulling Charlie closer, he connects their mouths, reminding himself to take things slow. To savor every moment. For the longest time, they just kiss, and the world falls completely away like leaves on an autumn tree.
“Take off your uniform.” Thomas’s hands reach for Charlie’s buttons.
“Let’s get into bed,” Charlie says, a little breathless.
They both stand and shed their clothes, watching each other with the intensity of new lovers. They slip under the blankets and press their bodies back together, soothed by the warmth of belonging. Charlie still has his dog tags around his neck, and Thomas lifts them, reading them for the first time. It hurts to see Charlie’s next of kin—the person to notify if he is wounded or killed—listed as Loretta Miller. The next of kinmustbe a family member or spouse, and Thomas knows that he doesn’t qualify in the eyes of the army, the government, or anyone for that matter. But knowing doesn’t take the sting out of it.
“What is it?” Charlie asks, sensing Thomas’s sudden mood change.
He drops the tags and raises his eyes to Charlie’s face. “It's just . . .” He sighs, unable to continue. Heshouldn’tcontinue.
“You can tell me,” Charlie encourages.
“But I shouldn’t. Talking about it doesn’t change it. And it’s just me being morose again.”
Charlie brushes Thomas’s cheek. “You know what happens if you bottle things up.”
“It just . . . it makes me . . .angryand . . . and fuckingsad”—the words are coming out in stops and starts—“that I’m not listed as your next of kin. That Ican’tbe listed, even if you wanted it.”
“Why does it feel like part of you believes I wouldn’t, even if I could?”
Thomas rolls onto his back, staring up at the speckled ceiling. “Would you?”
“Tommy . . .” Charlie shuffles over and leans against Thomas’s chest, looking down at him. “You know me better than that. I hate that it ain’t your name that I carry around with me.”
He closes his eyes because he can’t bear to look at Charlie right now. “You realize if you . . . if you die”—he chokes out the word—“I have no say in your funeral. No claim to any of your belongings. My name won’t be on your tombstone as your spouse. It’ll be like you and I never even existed.”
“Well,” Charlie sighs dramatically, “I guess I better not fuckin’ die then.”
Thomas’s eyes fly open and he glares at him. “This is no joking matter!”
“Tommy, it don’t matter what my dog tags say.” Charlie runs a soothing thumb over the crease between Thomas’s eyes, then down his nose and across his lips. “To me, you are my spouse, and my family, and Evie will always make sure you know what happens to me. Now stop talkin’ about this depressing shit and let me tell you about drill Sergeant Kerns and all the screws he’s got loose.”
They talk for hours. Charlie makes him laugh until his stomach hurts with tales of Sergeant Kern’s crazy antics. At one point he even gets out of bed to impersonate Kerns while buck naked. Thomas understands that boot camp has been hard and thathumor is a way to get through it. Men are raised to cover every sign of weakness, and Charlie is nothing if not an expert at that.
Around midnight, Thomas has Charlie lie on his stomach so he can massage his aching muscles. Starting at his shoulders, he moves down Charlie’s toned back and over the curve of his ass, ending at his ticklish feet, where he coaxes delicious giggles out of him. Thomas then reverses course, but this time using his mouth—kissing, licking, and nibbling Charlie from his toes all the way back up to his shoulders. While his hand strokes through Charlie’s freshly washed hair, he kisses and nuzzles the back of his neck, humming contentedly to the sound of Charlie’s blissful sighs.
Thomas gently nudges Charlie’s legs apart and settles between them. He presses Charlie’s hands to the mattress, threading their fingers together in an act of both possession and devotion. Charlie is loose-limbed and pliant beneath him, and Thomas settles over him, hot and heavy, with his chest pressed to Charlie’s back. The warmth of Charlie’s body welcomes him home, and Charlie writhes and gasps, and Thomas’s heart feels full once more.
Charlie
Charlie emerges slowly from sleep, sighing with satisfaction at the warmth of Thomas’s body behind him. He wriggles around to face Thomas and settles back in, nestled under his chin. It takes him one, maybe two minutes before he remembers . ..
They’re not at home, sheathed in the safety of their bedroom.
And soon, he’ll once again be ripped from his lover’s embrace.
The realization weighs on him, making him feel so much older than his twenty-six years. They began with two nights, and now within the blink of an eye only one remains. There is conflict in him between wanting to squeeze every word, every look, every goddamnthinginto the next twenty-four hours and wanting to simply remain in this bed bathed in Thomas’s touch, his skin, his scent.
