Kevin

The clanging and ringing of slot machines follows me as I push through McCarran International Airport’s bustling maze of travelers. The smell of flame-broiled burgers, the sounds of crying and laughing, and the occasional barking dog compete in vain to capture my attention. Upon arrival at my destination, I join the throng of people crowding around gate C-5.

As the jet takes to the sky for the ninety-minute flight to Albuquerque, I realize it’s been almost two years since I last set foot in the Duke City. That was the summer of 2010 when my singing partner and lover Robbie McMaster and I attended PrideFest with our good friend Raphael Delgado, the man who owns my heart. Today I’m returning home, not for a joyful reunion with my childhood companion, but to keep vigil at Jasper Monroe’s, my father’s, deathbed.

Since my dad first received his Alzheimer’s diagnosis three years ago, Raffle has taken care of him, managing Dad’s care, along with the specialized needs required for Raffle’s disabled mother. I call her Mama D, because she’s the loving woman who nurtured me as a child growing up in Albuquerque. His unselfish care of our parents has earned Raffle’s place in Heaven. ‘Raffle’—it’s the name I gave him when we were children—the name that comforts me. He called last night to tell me Dad’s refusing to eat or drink and to recommend I come home, since Jasper’s growing weaker. After conferring with his doctor and setting Dad up with hospice support, I’m on my way to say goodbye.

Is a child ever prepared to say their final goodbye to a parent, even one who’s as flawed as Dad? I’m not prepared but I’m not using Dad’s faults to keep me from doing the right thing. God knows I’ve done enough of that already. We all carry a flaw of some sort or another. Mine’s abandoning my dad to Raphael’s care while I pursued my dream of becoming Layona Beach, my drag queen persona. Yet, people say I’m flawed because I’m queer and a drag queen. Perhaps that’s the king of flaws, I don’t know. I’m so tired and stressed over Dad’s dying, I’m not making any sense.

I wish Robbie were here to support me, but our boss wouldn’t give us both time away from the club where we entertain—he with his guitar, and me with my singing and entertaining as Layona. So I’m making this depressing trip alone to watch my father die. I’ve never seen anyone die, and I’m afraid. After reclining my seat, I put in my earbuds and use the music to muffle the drone of the jets, but there’s no amount of music capable of silencing my thoughts.

Dad’s been dying a cruel, demeaning, and slow death since my senior year in high school. That was the year he discovered me practicing my female impersonations. The beating he gave me was so severe it put me in the hospital with broken bones and a broken heart. Oh, I know a broken heart doesn’t need hospitalization, and my cracked ribs drove me to my knees and not my heart. The moment I recognized Jasper Monroe hitting me, I realized he would never love me, Kevin Monroe, like the father I’d always wished for. That was the night the idealized father I’d held in my heart died. Now, with mixed feelings, I’m on my way home to sit with him while his body expires.

It wasn’t until I was eleven that I went to live with Dad. My mother had dropped me off on his doorstep, like an unwanted litter of kittens because she’d suspected I was gay. I shudder to think what she might have done if she’d ever confirmed her suspicions. She probably would’ve drowned me at sea and continued to collect child support from Dad. She’s an evil woman, my mother.

I’m embarrassed to admit I used to envy her because she was beautiful and desired by many men. When she readied herself to go out at night, I would yearn to be as beautiful as she. I craved to dress up in her gowns, and make up my face, wanting men to desire me. Yep, that’s right. I wanted men to want me. Not in a sick, pedophilic way, but just to pay attention to me and to make me feel important. I’ve always known I’m gay and the only person I ever confided in was my childhood friend, Raphael. Turned out Raphael’s gay too, although he’s taken his sweet time coming to terms with his sexuality.

My morose thoughts stray back to my dad. When I was little, I watched television, longing for a father like those famous dads of the sitcoms—fathers who hugged their sons and handed out sage advice in times of crisis. How often did I yearn to have my dad hug me? Jasper Monroe spent most of my life ignoring me, but I kept my hope alive that someday he might change.

His impending death will kill my hope and change so much of the status quo to which Raphael and I’ve become accustomed. I’m uncertain how we’ll cope. If I know Dad, he probably has his funeral preplanned and paid for. I’m sure Raphael has the papers outlining Dad’s last wishes. Certain Raphael will manage all that needs to be done to make things easier for me, I ponder the financial ramifications for Mama D and Raphael. Dad pays Raphael to take care of him and rents his house out to one of Raphael’s friends. He pays for Mama D’s caregivers and has provided the food for the household since I lived there. I guess I’ll inherit whatever’s left after his passing. Besides the house, there’s not much more. I suppose the rent will continue to go to Raphael, and I’ll offer a small amount of financial support. Raffle’s still working on his degree and the burden of full financial responsibility for Mama D’s care would end his dreams of teaching.

The pilot announces our approach to the Sunport. I prepare for our arrival, following the attendant’s instructions—place table tray up, adjust seat upright, turn off electronic devices. Outside the window, the familiar vistas of the Sandia Mountains rise in the distance. The muddy Rio Grande comes into view as the plane flies over the river on its flight path toward the airport. The grinding noise of the landing gear, and the bumpy approach that’s an Albuquerque certainty, announce my arrival home. Home where Raffle waits for me, home where Raffle’s broken my heart more times than I like to remember, and home where my dying father lies unaware of my arrival. In no hurry to face the inevitable, I wait until the cabin is emptied of its passengers before I deplane.

Cassie, our friend from high school, meets me at baggage claim, where I’m waiting to pick out my suitcase among the assortment of bags traveling in circles on the squeaking carousel. She waves her arm to catch my attention, wearing a bright smile on her face, and a cute man with a friendly face and sleek, styled blue hair on her other arm.

“Welcome home, Kevin. Gosh, it’s so good to see you.” She envelops me in one of her patented bear hugs after releasing the blue-haired cutie who stands back, rocking on his heels, and waiting for an introduction.

“Thanks, Cassie. It’s nice to be home.” I smile at the blue-haired guy and offer him my hand. “Hi, I’m Kevin. You must be Bluke. Raphael’s mentioned you.”

“Sorry, meet Lucas,” Cassie adds. “He’s the same guy, but with a grown-up name. Lucas, this is Kevin Monroe—Jasper’s son.”

“Hey, man, good to meet you. Sorry about your dad. He’s a good guy.”

“Lucas has helped out with Jasper since you moved to Las Vegas. Mama keeps Raphael plenty busy, so he coordinated the hospice care for you, while making sure Jasper’s comfortable.” Cassie’s love and pride for Lucas is nearly tangible.

“Thanks, I appreciate all you guys have done. These are my bags.” I grab the handles of my cobalt-blue hard-side suitcases as they circle by me. The set is a gift from Robbie. He says the color matches my eyes, and since we’re a successful act, I need proper diva-style luggage, and Layona agrees. So I gave up my ratty old brown case I left home with, and I now travel in style.

After we exit the building, we locate Cassie’s hot, candy-apple red sports car in the parking garage. It’s the same one she drove in high school. It’s still just as beautiful now as it was back then, with its classic lines, leather seats, and an engine which purrs like a contented tigress. She hands the keys to Lucas and crowds into the back seat, leaving the passenger seat for me and my longer legs.

It doesn’t take us long to get home, and fortunately for me, nobody expects small talk. When we pull up in front of Raffle’s house, the first thing I notice is the wheelchair ramp I built for Mama D when she first had her stroke.

Raffle and I fought over his refusal to come out of the closet and acknowledge I love him. We said too many hateful things to each other, and I moved back across the driveway. When he went to Arizona to drop out of school and close out his dorm room, I built the ramp. It was my way of showing him and Mama D my love and willingness to take care of them.

The memory is bittersweet because I was so angry, and yet, to build the ramp, I used the carpentry skills Raffle had patiently taught me. Each summer, I’d help him with the odd jobs he had. We did yard work most of the time, but sometimes there were fences to repair or a dog house to build. He’d shown me how to use the power tools and let me cut the lumber. Of course, me being me, I talked all the time and missed the part about measure twice, cut once. I was more the cut twice or thrice class of carpenter. But Raffle’s the best. He never complained or yelled at my incompetence. There are still times I long for those carefree summer days…

He grins at my clumsiness, which causes his dimples to appear, which in turn tickles my stomach, which makes me forget the measurement and requires me to cut the wood—again. It’s a vicious circle. Thank goodness this dog house we’re building is for Shadow, and Dad’s paying for the lumber. Laughing good-naturedly, Raffle pats me on the back, tells me to focus, and makes me do it again. Heck, if Dad had been here, he would’ve sent me to my room and completed the task on his own, all the while shaking his head with disappointment at my manly ineptitude. Raffle always has the patience of Job, and I know he will make a great teacher.

Like most afternoons, Raffle and I sit on the porch steps, drinking lemonade and waiting for Mama D to come home. Shadow wags his tail and chews on the nearest stick or darts after the ball Raffle tosses his way. More than chewing, Shadow loves for Raffle to chase him. Shadow stops two feet in front of Raffle, tilts his head to one side and drops the ball. Before Raffle can pick it up, Shadow latches onto it, with dog drool dripping from his jowls, and runs. Unable to avoid the inevitable, Raffle chuckles at Shadow’s antics, gets up and runs around the yard until they are both winded.

When Mama D drives up in her battered car, I always help her. Mama D’s heavy sigh, and the fatigue on her face as she carries her bag of groceries sometimes worries me. I jump up from the porch, relieve her of her burden and say, “Hi, Mama D. Let me carry your bag.”

With her limp hair hanging past her shoulders, rather than coiled in its usual tidy bun, she lumbers up the porch stairs. She hands me the lightest grocery bag, and as always, there’s a bright smile for me and a cheerful “Hola, mijito”.

“Raffle? Why does your mama call me mijito?” I ask later, when we’re returning from a trip on Mac and Psycho, our bicycles named by yours truly. “I’ve heard her call you mijo, but I was wondering about me. What does mijito mean?”

“It means she likes you,” Raffle answers, removing his helmet and hanging it from the handlebar. “In Spanish ‘Mijo’ is slang for ’mi hijo’, or ‘my son’. It’s an endearment like sweetie or honey. Mijito translates to ‘my little sweetie’. Comprende hermanito?” Raffle teases as he pulls my ever-present ball cap over my eyes.

“All right, now what’s ‘air man e two’? What does that mean?” I take off the cap and brush my hair out of my eyes. I’m exasperated, knowing I mispronounced the word.

“It’s ‘h-e-r-m-a-n-i-t-o—hermanito’. The h is silent, and the word means ‘little brother’,” he replies with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

Raffle was like my big brother when we were growing up. It’s a dynamic I’ve fought against for almost five years. Even now, I still catch Raffle wanting to call me ‘hermanito’. Sometimes, he’s in the midst of a sentence, and there’s an awkward pause as he fights his urge to refer to me as ‘little brother’. It’s those awkward moments that make me realize it’s not the right time for Raffle and me to be together as a couple. Until he accepts me as the man who loves him and not as his ‘hermanito’, I’ll continue living apart from him and waiting for him to love me as a partner and not a little brother.

Bluke, or rather Lucas, turns off the engine, bringing me back to the present. The silence in the car cues me to open the door. Time to step inside the house to face Raffle and my new reality. I sigh and take my time because I still want to put off the unavoidable duty of sitting with my dad. After opening the car door and stepping onto the pavement, I glance across the driveway at Dad’s house. It appears the same except for the landscaping which needs tending. The paint’s faded under the harsh Albuquerque sun. The empty yard and silence of the place saddens me without the welcoming bark of my dog Shadow. Poor Raffle put him to sleep last year after a respiratory infection.

Lucas carries one of my bags into the house while Cassie stays with me, waiting for me to get my headspace in order before going in the house. The air hitches in my chest as I take in slow deep breaths. Cassie hugs me while I gather my courage, whispering words of encouragement and sympathy. She takes my hand and leads me up the ramp as I drag, not just my feet, but also my fashionable blue suitcase.

A pall of sadness fills the once warm and inviting living room of Mama D’s house. The heaviness in the air is nearly tangible as melancholy and death compete with the once-happy aura of home. Lucas takes the suitcase I’ve been holding and places it next to its mate by the door. He tells me Raffle’s waiting for me while he sits with Dad. He and Cassie hug me and, after a quick assurance they’ll return, Lucas takes Cassie’s hand and they leave me to find Raffle. There’s nothing to do but make the short trip to Dad’s bedroom alone.

From the living room down the hallway, to Dad’s door is fifteen feet. With leaden feet and a heavy heart, I make the longest walk of my life. I don’t want to do this, my mind screams. I don’t want to see what awaits. Tears fill my eyes and blur my vision. I dread hearing Dad’s gasping as he fights to hold on to his place in the physical world. I don’t want to touch his paper-thin skin as it grows colder with his passing. I don’t want to know death’s smell. I don’t want to taste my fear as I’m sitting alone with my Dad in his final hours. But, this isn’t about my wants—it’s about my dad’s needs.

With a trembling hand, I turn the doorknob, sending up a silent and selfish prayer Dad has died peacefully before my arrival. I push the door open. Dad’s breathing is the first thing I notice. I’m both disappointed and relieved God chose not to answer my ludicrous, self-centered prayer.

Raffle sits in a chair next to Dad’s hospice-provided bed. It’s hospital bed, with a puffy mattress which cushions Dad as if he’s lying on a cloud. He has dozed off with his head hanging forward, and his chin resting on his chest. In the center of the bed lies a tiny and emaciated stranger, not the man I remember. He wears a soft gown, and a clean white sheet covers him from his armpits to his feet. There’s a small tube in his nose, attached to a machine whirring in the background. I recognize the oxygen concentrator from my hospital stay. Dad’s skin appears translucent. The highway of blue veins on his skeletal arms is visible beneath the pallor of his complexion. His face is gaunt, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones sharp and hollow, and his lips parched and withered. With each breath, he gurgles in the back of his throat. His long, gray hair has thinned and turned white since I last saw him. It’s braided and lies across one shoulder and onto his chest, enhancing his peaceful appearance as he sleeps. Despite our strained relationship, I reach out and caress his arm, noting the coolness of his fragile skin against my warm palm. I squeeze his forearm, wanting to send him my strength and make him aware I’m here. When he moans, I draw back my hand. Raffle snaps his head up at the noise and gazes at me with confusion before he breaks out into the smile I treasure and love. His smile awakens the dimples in his cheeks. Behind his glasses, his dark eyes sparkle.

“Kevin,” is all he says before he stands and pulls me in for a welcoming hug. I breathe him in, holding onto him like the lifeline he is and always has been. I’m twenty-one, and I still rely on him to make me feel safe, to keep me together, and to fulfill me. I’m home, and without a second thought, I cup his cheeks and kiss him, relishing the feel of his lips beneath mine as he returns my kiss, both of us unmindful of the dying man lying in the bed next to us.

“Rafe, shouldn’t you get Mama out of bed before Kevin—”

We jump apart like two guilty children playing doctor. I turn toward the doorway, filled by a beautiful black man whose impressive muscles shout their right to be admired. Wow. I take a minute to realize I know this man.

“Leander Ivory Cassius Knight… I’ll be damned! I haven’t seen you since Josh and I dated. What’s that been, like, five years? You’re looking good, guy, but when did you get so big?” A minute later, I notice he’s not as happy with my presence as I am with his. We had plenty of good times together when Josh and I were dating. Leander was always around as Josh’s best friend. He’s a good guy, and he’s also Lee, the medical student or something Raffle’s been seeing for the last couple of years. They met during the Delgado pandemic of 2010, the year the household came down with the flu. Now he has found his boyfriend and me, locking lips. I hope he’s not the type to hit because he has some serious guns there and could put me through the wall with ease.

Raffle jumps to placate his unhappy boyfriend. “Lee, will you help me get up Mama? I know she’s anxious about Jasper and eager to welcome Kevin.” Lee huffs and crosses the hall to Mama D’s room. “I’ll leave you with your dad. If you need anything, just ask.”

With a tilt of my head, I acknowledge Raffle’s exit and take a seat in the chair he vacated.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” Leander’s angry timbre comes through the closed door. I crack the door, and without an ounce of shame, I listen as he berates Raffle. “The diva’s here for, what, five minutes…and you’re locking lips? I suppose, if I come back tonight, he’ll have you bent over the kitchen table.”

“No! Kevin’s not like that, and for that matter, neither am I.”

I can’t believe Raffle allows Lee to speak to him that way. I’m about to join them and kick his gargantuan ass back to whatever rock he crawled out of, but Raffle’s words stop me cold.

“I’ll make it up to you later. We’ll go to your parent’s pool house, and you can do that thing you like to do…”

“Mother’s remodeling the cabana.”

“Then we’ll…”

Their voices fade away, and I wonder what may have come next. The front door slams, and soon thereafter, the sounds of a motor revving and tires screeching fill the air.

Now, I’m alone with only Dad’s gurgling breaths for company. I block out what I heard, turn my attentions to the dying man.

I thought I’d made my peace with Dad when Robbie and I came home for Christmas two years ago. Raffle had given me a worn photograph of Jasper holding me when I was a toddler, and a letter Dad had written from the psych hospital. When he’d realized he’d beaten me and hurt me, he admitted himself for evaluation. That’s when Dad had received his Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

Wary of what he had to say, Robbie had read the letter to me, which triggered a faded and distant memory of Dad and me playing in a park. He was fun and loving, and not the cold remote man I grew to know. Dad wrote he loved me, was proud of me, and accepted my sexuality. By the time I’d received his letter, Dad was so lost in his own mind we didn’t have time to share our emotions. Now there’s a void within me which will never be filled.

I pet Dad’s forearm, sad to see him so emaciated. The frailty of his hands with their long slender fingers, lying against the starkness of the sheet unsettles me as I lace my hand with his.

Upon closing my eyes, I’m transported to the night these same hands pummeled me into unconsciousness. Phantom pain slices through my ribs and left arm at the hideous memory which refuses to die, no matter how much I try to extinguish it. I’m not ready for this—to sit alone with the man I never had the chance to know. Who is he—the gentle giant of a long forgotten remembrance or the violent man who had no time for his son? The tragedy isn’t that he’s dying, but rather he’ll forever remain a mystery. I slip my hand from his, rise from the bedside chair and exit the room, unable to bear the burden of his imminent death.

“Mi mi mo! Mi mi mo!” Mama D’s joyous greeting helps to lift the cloud of anguish which has surrounded me since I received news of Dad’s dying. Her crooked smile, with the dimples the mirror image of Raffle’s, brightens my mood. I stoop to hug Mama D in her wheelchair. She pats my back with her good arm and hums. The other arm lies lifeless in her lap, her hand curled inward from non-use. Josh will be disappointed to learn her hand has contracted. He was her physical therapist after her stroke and had taught me how to continue her therapy so this wouldn’t happen, but then I moved away, and my poor Mama D has paid the price.

With my stubbled cheek against the softness of her skin, I inhale Mama D’s almond fragrance, which always brings me comfort and peace because it’s hers. “Mama D, you look beautiful as always. I’ve missed you so much.” Her chocolate brown eyes fill with tears. They show not only her joy at my homecoming but also her sadness for Dad. “Please don’t cry, Mama D. You’ll break my heart with your tears. I know you’re glad I’m home again, and I love you for it. I also know your heart’s breaking over Jasper leaving us. He’s a very lucky man to have you in his life—loving him. Do you want to sit with him?”

At her silent nod, I push her wheelchair into Dad’s room. After moving the chair at the bed’s side, I park her next to him and place his hand in hers. She holds her rosary and worries the beads as she prays for my dad. I exit the room, leaving her to ask for God’s blessings with no disparaging thoughts from me.

I find Raffle sitting in the kitchen wearing a frown and sipping a cup of coffee, and ask him about Leander’s noisy departure. I pour myself a much needed cup of java and apologize for running off his boyfriend.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Kevin. Lee’s well aware of our relationship. I’ve tried to keep him at arm’s length for the last two years, but he’s a very stubborn man and refuses to leave me to myself.”

“It’s not a stalker kind of thing is it, Raffle? He won’t become violent?”

“No, at least I don’t think he would. I’ve been honest with him since I returned home after our first Pride event in Phoenix. He knows my feelings for you. I guess what he doesn’t get, is you and Robbie are a committed couple, yet I’m content to wait for you.”

“Here I thought I was the one waiting on you. What do we need to do to make this work? I want to move forward, but you’re still reluctant. Have you left the closet and locked the door behind you?”

“Why does it have to be all or nothing with you? Why can’t we start slow and move forward at a pace I’m more comfortable with?”

“I’ve been living openly, as a gay man since I left here at eighteen. I can’t hide in the shadows of your closet. I won’t be a secret you’re ashamed of. It would kill me. But what really has me confused is you were out with David, you’re out with Lee, but for some reason when it comes to us you—”

Hearing his heavy sigh, and seeing the fidgeting of his hands around his mug causes me to change topics. I tamp down my frustration and ask, “You know what? This isn’t the time for this discussion. Tell me what’s going on with Dad.”

Visibly relieved, Raffle relays what the doctor has said. He tells me the funeral’s prepaid and all the arrangements are made. The hospice aide will come in tonight and stay with Jasper so we can sleep. The nurse thinks Dad may pass tomorrow or the next day. My strong-willed dad will likely draw out his dying while fighting to stay bound to this earth.

“Where should I sleep—since Dad’s in my old room? Shall I ask David if he’ll put me up next door?”

“No, you sleep here. David has two friends from the casino staying with him until the house they’re building is completed. You sleep on the couch, or with me. If you want, I’ll take the couch and give you my bed—whichever one you prefer.” Raffle’s nervous, and his ears turn pink, a sure sign he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. I find the fact his emotions are painted on his ears endearing. It’s a quality he’s never outgrown, and one I hope he never loses. It’s one of those things that makes Raphael…Raffle.

While Raffle spends the rest of the afternoon studying, I sit with Dad and Mama D while she prays for Dad, who sleeps, unaware of our presence. The room’s warm and oppressive. Before long, my head’s bobbing as I struggle to stay awake. Unable to fight the fatigue in my bones, I drift off and dream of happier times riding bicycles with Raffle along the riverbanks. The times spent in the shade of the large cottonwood trees are among my most treasured memories. Raffle and I sat in the shade of the branches for hours in the summertime while I listened to him reading from his favorite books.

“Mi mi mo.” I awaken at the sound of Mama D calling me and peek at her, wondering what she needs. She points a finger at Dad, who’s opened his eyes. His blank gaze is unrecognizable as my brilliant, strong-minded father. The last time I saw him, he was just retreating into the abyss of unfamiliarity, but there were still fleeting glimpses of awareness in his sharp gaze. He watches Mama D, unaware I’m in the room. Soon he shuts his eyes as sleep overtakes him once again. I wonder if his momentary awakening will be the last time Dad’s awake. Mama D’s pitiful hiccup and rivulets of silent tears breaks my heart. My only comfort for her is a soft kiss against her temple before leaving her to her prayers.

Soon Charlotte or Zoe, her nighttime aides, will be here to put her to bed. Exhausted, I turn in early and opt to sleep on the couch. Wrapped in the comfort of the colorful old serape which has been here since the day I met Raffle, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of home.

In the darkness of the house, I hear Dad’s oxygen machine humming as I try to sleep. After an hour I give up the fight, and since I’m unable to put my thoughts to rest, I check my phone for messages. There aren’t any, and I hadn’t expected there would be. Robbie’s working and keeping Vegas hours, often not coming home until dawn and sleeping until mid-afternoon. Maybe that’s why I’m restless—because my body’s on Vegas time. I abandon any pretense of sleep and make my way down the hall with intentions of checking in on Dad and Mama D. Dad’s door is closed, and the hospice aide’s sitting with him tonight. When I peek in, Dad’s sleeping and the aide’s reading her e-book. I make my way to Raffle’s door, while Charlotte’s voice filters through the hall as she talks with Mama D.

“May I come in?” I ask after a soft rap on his closed door.

“Sure. What’s up, Kevin? Jasper?”

“No, he’s fine. Sleeping and looking peaceful.”

“You want company? I’ll come and sit with you.” Raffle throws the sheet back intending to get out of bed. Unable to help myself, I laugh out loud.

“What’s so funny?” he asks as he glances around the room for what has caused my hilarity.

“You—you’re still wearing hobbits all over your ass. Thank God, my Lord of the Rings sleeping shorts made their way to the rag-bag after four years.”

“I like the hobbits, and I like the elves, but the fabric against my tender bits is exquisite. Cassie gives me a new pair every Christmas and on my birthday. Don’t ask me where she finds them.”

“She must own stock in the franchise. They are comfortable, though. I miss the feel of the silk against my skin.” Seeing him sitting there in the center of the bed, his bare chest toned with a smattering of dark hair surrounding his nipples and an enticing treasure trail disappearing beneath Hobbiton, I realize how much I want him. My senses are begging me to touch his bare skin, taste his lips with my kiss, inhale the unique essence of him, listen to him moan his pleasure, and watch him come undone beneath me.

“Well, did you want me to come and sit with you?” His question shakes me from my wayward thoughts, and I try to recall why I had come into his room before his muscles distracted me.

“No, I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to ask if I could sleep in here—with you. But it’s not a good idea.” With one last longing gaze, I turn away, intending to leave.

“Kevin, come here.”

When I turn back around, he has his arms outstretched toward me, inviting me into the circle of his embrace. I stare at him, trying to read his intentions on his masked expression. What’s he offering me—sex? Solace? Sleep? Then I realize it doesn’t matter because he’s my home, he’s my safety net, he’s my past, he’s my future, and he’s my everything. I slip into the bed and lay my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me, holding me secure in my place by his side.