The Fishermen (Infidelity #2)

by C.P. Harris

“You don’t even know me,” he whispered. “And I don’t know you.”

“Makes sense,” I said with a shrug. “Because I don’t even know me. Not really. And I’m betting that you don’t even know you.”

“You’re stalling,” he said.

“No, you’re stalling,” I shot back.

“The ride’s almost over, ...

I wasn’t the same flirtatious guy looking to get a rise out of the grumpy older man. I’d since been hurt by that older man, and I was scared that he would know that this time the words actually meant something to me, that this time they would be the truth.

“The ride’s almost over, Mr. Bear,”

“What if I don’t want it to end?” I asked.

“Enough talking. Should we see what we’re made of?”

“Hell yeah,” I said. “Let’s do it.” With a synchronized deep breath, we squeezed hands and looked down.

“Where do you go when you leave me here alone at night?”

“I didn’t realize you noticed I was gone,” he said, his breath evening out.

“Is it a shock that I still can’t sleep...

“You come with me now, or you stay here. Those are your only options, Leland.”

It was everything I’d wanted. Everything I’d hoped for but knew I would never have, down to every last detail, every last petal. But I’d never told him. I’d always been too chicken-shit to speak this into existence, and I knew if I told Franky, he wouldn’t have rested until it happened, and so I’d made a game out of him finding out, knowing he never would because I’d never be brave enough to tell him.

I want daisies, Franky. Daisies everywhere so I’ll never forget to be brave ever again.’”

I wasn’t the only one overcome by the moment, by how symbolic it was, by how long it took us to get here.

I want you to choose. You get to choose because this dream will be as much yours as it is mine. I want you to help me craft it with your bare hands. I want you to help me make my dreams come true. Will you do that for me, Franky? I know you will, so you get to choose. Surprise me.’” He looked at me through damp eyes before reading the letter’s closing, as if he’d read it so many times it was now etched onto his brain. “‘Love, Leelee Bear.’”

“You were beautiful,” he said. “You still are.”

“Turn around, Leland,” he said hoarsely.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Be brave, Leele...

“Maybe one day we can both be daisies,” I said, tears tumbling down. It was my favorite of the three options I’d given him in the letter, because not only was it something he’d said to me before, it was my way of begging him to choose me. My way of reminding him that we had plans to be great together.

It said you and I are in this together. No matter who else is in this space, it’s just you and me. It said I’m just as scared as you, but together we could all be daisies.

“I haven’t painted in years. I might not know how to anymore.”

“So you’ll practice. Every day and every night, with me by your side, you’ll remember how,” he said.

“Where do you see yourself in five years, Leland?”

“Not this question again.”

“Answer me, p...

“Why stop there?” I asked. “Why not half a century?”

“How about several millennia?” he whispered.

“I think I like the sound of infinity more,” I...

“Where do you see yourself in this lifetime, and every lifetime ...

“Somewhere still wanting you, Franky.”

I’m not going anywhere without you, Leland. Never again. You either come with me or I stay here with you.

“Nothing could make me go, Leland. Nothing.”

“I can’t believe you waited out here all of this time for me.”

“You’re worth the wait. Now, do I get to s...

“Yes,” he said.

“Do I get to spend the night too?”

“Yes,” he said as breathlessly as th...

“Did I pass the test?”

“A-fucking-plus,” he whispered back.

I hadn’t lied when I said I’d be somewhere still loving him in the next lifetime. I hadn’t lied the first time I’d said it either. I would always want him, and I now knew that no matter how much I prepared myself for him, no matter how much hindsight I now had, and no matter how much more my own life had to offer me, Franky still had the power to break me because there was no protecting oneself from the type of love we shared. You went all in, guards down, hearts exposed for the taking.

“Lace,” he said, or more like hissed. “I love lace.”

“I know,” I said, the words shivering.

“I love lace on you,” he clarified. I ...

“Your hole is mine to take, to use, to abuse, whenever the fuck I so please,”

“My hole, my body, my everything,” I managed to get out, “is all yours.”

“I love you,” he said, landing strike after strike. “God, I love you, Leland.”