"You do the same for me, sweetheart. I love that you always ask about Matthew, that you want me to talk about him."
"Did you know I met Matthew once? I interviewed him for a story back in New York," Henley said.
"No, I didn't. When was that?"
"About two years before the bombing? I was working on a piece on a series of mistakes Child Protective Services had made that had led to the death of some kids. He was one of the social workers willing to go on record."
"I remember that, but I didn't know you were the journalist. Matthew was determined to set the record straight."
"He did. He flat out acknowledged mistakes were made, but he also showed me that the majority of the social workers worked their asses off with endless dedication…and he was one of them."
"He was. No one had a bigger heart for those kids than he."
"Is it weird to say I wish I could've met him?" Rhett asked. "He sounds like such a wonderful person."
Calix turned half around and held his gaze. "No, because I feel the same way. He would've loved you. Hell, he would've called you a cinnamon roll and taken you under his wing… And if he could see me now with you, he would've…"
His voice broke, and tears shimmered in his eyes. Rhett squeezed his shoulder, wordlessly offering his support.
Calix took a moment, then cleared his throat. "He would be happy for me. He'd thank you for making me happy…"
Damn the stupid baby oil all over his hand and Calix's back. After that emotional statement, he needed to hold him…or be held. Rhett snatched up the towel and wiped most of the stickiness off Calix's shoulders, then cleaned his own hands. Calix yanked on his shirt and pulled Rhett close against him. More words weren't necessary.
"Levar and I have said this to each other as well, but that day took so much more from us than our loved ones. It took our innocence, our stability, our sense of safety and home," Henley said.
"It changed our future forever," Levar said. "We lost dreams that day, the life we had planned or imagined. That's the toll that can never be measured in numbers."
They all nodded, and even though the subject was heavy, Rhett's heart was light. He was in his boyfriend's arms in the company of his best friends, and they all spoke the same language. They understood each other. And in hindsight, could he have ever been truly happy with anyone who hadn't shared that experience? The experience that had defined his life for years?
"Thank god for second chances," Henley said softly. "For healing, for friends to help carry the load. For love."
Calix kissed the top of Rhett's head, and Rhett leaned back against his chest. Yes. Thank god for love.
39
The White House was festive, decked out in Christmas decorations. Sarah Shafer had picked the most appropriate Christmas theme: family. And she had done a remarkable job in showing what that meant.
Kids from all over the country had sent homemade ornaments, ranging from colorful pasta garlands from three-year-olds to intricately origami stars folded by teenagers. Every ornament was a labor of love, symbolizing hope and dreams, and the White House staff had hung them with care and dedication. The stunning trees stood throughout the White House and the West Wing, and the press had done lavish spreads on it, praising both her artistic choices and her efforts to bring the country together.
After Mrs. Markinson had died, they'd debated going for a more sober celebration, but Del had refused. As much as he had liked her, her involvement in the assassination had made her persona non grata, and Del had said she'd taken enough from them already. She would not take Christmas too.
He'd also made the tough call not to award her a state funeral, but he'd had little choice. Calix had been present when Del had spoken to the Markinson children and had told them about their mother's involvement in leaking information to Henley. Coulson had explained to them their mother was under FBI investigation but hadn't given any details.
They'd been too shocked to protest much. Coulson had clarified that leaking any of this to the press would not do them any favors and would tarnish their mother's reputation, which they had agreed with. Del had informed them a state funeral was out and that the White House's statement would be that she would be buried in a small family ceremony at the family's request—once her body was released. The FBI was still running tests.
Calix knew it was only a matter of time before the press would get wind of the real story behind her death. Their only saving grace was that it was Christmas Eve and that everyone had other things on their minds. In his case, Christmas dinner in the residence. He'd declined Del's invitation four years in a row, but this time, he'd said yes. No drunk Christmas for him this year, though his heart still ached. But with Rhett by his side, these holidays would be different.
Christmas trees decorated with silver tinsel and red balls lined the colonnade, and he slowed down for a moment. He'd walked past them before but never taken the time to take in the details. Every one of those red balls displayed a name of someone who had passed away this year—another one of Sarah's ideas. Americans from all over the country had sent in names of loved ones, and a team of decorators had painstakingly written the names on the balls, thus honoring the people who would be missed this Christmas. Calix had thought it an incredibly loving gesture from Sarah, and the press had felt the same way.
He brushed one of the shiny balls. "In loving memory of Gregory O'Donnell."
It made him smile, even as a lump formed in his throat. Gregory had been loved by someone enough to send a request to the White House to include his name here. Wasn't that what life was about in the end? About loving and being loved?
He'd loved Matthew with all his heart. Enough to feel frozen for five years after he'd died, unable to move on. Instead of considering that a bad thing, he now saw it as a testament to how much he'd loved him.
Here he was, well over five years later, and he still loved him. In a different way, yes. One couldn't love the dead like the living. But part of his heart would always belong to Matthew…and that was how it should be. True love didn't die, not even when death came in between, and his heart was big enough to love both Matthew and Rhett. It wasn't a competition, and Rhett certainly never saw it that way.
He wasn't sure what made him do it, but he dug out his phone and, with slow moves, pulled up the photo Rhett had taken that day, five years ago. He'd always had it on his phone, even though he never looked at it. But now he did, and his throat closed off so tightly every swallow hurt.
How strange and fitting Rhett had been there when Matthew had breathed his last breath. The second he'd seen the gaping wound in his chest, Calix had known Matthew wouldn't make it. All he could do was hold him and tell him how much he loved him. Matthew hadn't been able to speak, but his eyes had said it all.
Tears streaming down his face, he swiped to the next picture. A close-up of a smiling Matthew, taken on their wedding day. He'd taken Calix's name, and he'd been so proud. They both had been. Husband and husband—something they weren't even sure they'd ever see become a reality since gay marriage hadn’t been legal when they’d met. They'd promised each other love and faithfulness till death do us part, and they'd honored that. Death had parted them, but Calix was still alive.