Every day the old girl gets a little brighter and a lot more alive.
It almost feels like watching someone being resuscitated and brought back to life.
Where she once was rubble and cracks, now she’s vital and robust.
Leo and his crew have worked miracles, turning a building that once looked ready for demolition into a grand and luxurious structure that sits proud on her cliff, reigning over the sea beyond.
Sometimes, I wonder if Macs will ask me again to be a bigger part of her, but I’m still unsure if my answer would be any different.
I like being there with him. I like working with him. I don’t need a job title to do that.
I have noticed the stress of finishing the place to a deadline only he seems to know is taking its toll on him. He gets tired far more quickly than I’ve ever noticed before, but when I mention anything, he uses his usual trick of deflection, typically by means of his mouth on my cock, proving he’s not tired at all. Or, at least, never tired of me.
One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is my memories.
The months have almost tricked me into forgetting the very unusual start to our relationship, despite the feelings I carry for Macsen only getting stronger.
I can forget that we’re supposed to be eternal lovers who come back life after life, decade after decade, to always find one another.
I can forget how much he believes all this to be true, mostly because I believe it, too. But without the proof of my recollections, it’s easier to think of us as normal like everyone else.
We aren’t reincarnated soulmates.
We’re just Ellis and Macs.
My first love.
My last love.
And I know I am his.
Love. I still haven’t said it. I know he’s waiting.
Every time the word tickles at the tip of my tongue, it feels so insignificant. One word containing only four letters cannot express the depth of feeling I have for Macsen Evans.
It’s more than words.
It’s more than a simple, yet complex emotion.
It’s more than love.
So, I hold back, even when I know he sees it in me.
He sees my love for him, and he allows me to hold back the words because he knows that setting them free scares the shit out of me.
And the crazy thing is, I love him even more for it.
“Hey, Leo. Macs around?”
The big guy pushes up from the floor, stepping carefully around the marble tiles he’s laying, his colossal frame completely blocking the doorway in which he now stands.
“Yeah, he was down on the beach with the guys rebuilding the jetty.”
I give him a thumbs-up, and turn to walk away, but his next words stop me.
“Tell him to take it easy, would you? He was looking grey earlier and almost collapsed out on the terrace. Blamed it on too much sun, but the man looks bloody exhausted.”
I nod, feeling tension creep into my jaw. I’ve asked him time and time again not to push himself. He’s sometimes been spending twelve hours a day over here, and then still waking up at the crack of dawn to watch me surf, claiming it helps his mind relax when he sees me riding the waves.
“Will do. Thanks for the heads up.” Leo doesn’t need to know how angry and anxious I am. No, I’m going to save that for the stubborn man himself.
When I get to the terrace which overlooks the private beach below, I stop for a second to locate Macs. He’s exactly where Leo said he would be, waist-deep in the sea, hands extended high as he helps two other men lift heavy wooden posts.
There must be well over a hundred steps down to the beach below, and I don’t even register a single one of them. My feet hit the sand what feels like seconds later, and I’m right at the water’s edge within a few strides.
Don’t ask me how I manage to stop myself from calling him out and telling him to get his arse out of the water, but I do. I wait until someone sees me and gets his attention.
The beaming smile on his face when he turns his head and sees me standing there, barely tempers my fury. I don’t understand why he insists on pushing himself so hard. It’s like he’s racing against a ticking stopwatch only he can hear, and seeing me stony-faced in response to his happiness has him handing over his duties to someone else, and wading through the shallows towards me.
The closer he gets, the more his smile drops. It’s as if his mask of cheerfulness slips away to be replaced by enormous fatigue.
Leo was right. He looks grey.
“What do you think you’re doing, Macs?” When he’s right there in front of me, my anger evaporates, turning instead into concern. “And don’t say ‘helping out’. There are plenty of blokes here being paid to help out.”
“I like to keep busy, Ell. It’s no big deal.” His attempt at nonchalance fails, and so he does what he does best. “Now you’re here, maybe we can stop for lunch. I picked us some up on the way over. It’s from the little deli you like in town, the one a few doors down from Jozef’s. I’ve got it in the cool box in the car.”
Deflection, again. Fleeting eye contact.
“I don’t want lunch, Macs. I want you to promise you’ll slow down.”
He turns his head to look at the men working, then further out across the sea, his eyes catching on a gull that swoops low, seeming to glide across the surface.
“I will, soon. I promise.”
“Don’t do that, Macsen. Don’t try to placate me with words that can encompass any amount of time you see fit.” He turns, and finally his eyes meet mine. “Soon is what? A week? A month? When this place is finished and open for business?”
His eyes close, and if possible, he looks even more drained than he did a second ago.
“I don’t know, Ell. I haven’t felt when it’s time, yet. I always know to listen to my gut, and I haven’t felt it.”
“For God’s sake, Macs. Can you please listen to me instead of your bloody mystical gut for a change? Listen to me who is here and is tangible and telling you you’re doing too much.”
His eyes open, and the sadness within them seems endless. With a watery smile, he finally concedes, “Okay, I can do that.”
I stare at him a beat in silence, trying to work out the catch, trying to see if he’ll deflect once more.
“Okay. Good. That’s good.” Hand outstretched, I wait for him to take it. “Let’s go and grab that lunch you got us. You look about ready to drop.”
Almost like my final word is connected by a string to its meaning, that’s precisely what he does.
He drops.
His hand weakly lifts to reach mine, his eyes roll back in his head, and before I can grab him, he lands sideways in the water.
“Shit. Macs. Macs.” I haul him up under his armpits, my feet sinking into the soft seabed. “Call an ambulance. Please!” I yell over my shoulder, the sound of multiple bodies splashing as they stride through the sea, telling me that every man on this beach is rushing to help.
Someone grabs his legs, and we lift. Another person helps me with his head and shoulders, and we carry him out of the shallows and onto the sand.
His once grey pallor is now white, his skin almost waxen in the bright sun.
“Carefully. Set him down, give him some space.”
My head finds his chest, and I’m relieved to hear his heartbeat, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of my belly.