Resilience Read online

  “As you wish,” Tyler said.

  “I did not deserve him,” Marcus said. Tom held out the box of tissues to Tyler so he could grab more as he dabbed at Marcus’ eyes. “And I most definitely did not deserve you. You went on to find the perfection you needed that I likely never could have given you. I’m sorry for what I did, for how I acted. I was…” He sighed. “I was a selfish idiot. Completely.”

  Tom noticed as the man spoke that his breath lightly rattled in his chest. His skin looked paper thin, veins starkly visible in his hands and arms, bruises of various colors on both arms mute testimony to previous IV sites.

  “It’s in the past,” Tyler softly said. “Forgiven, forgotten.”

  “Truly?”

  Tyler nodded and gently squeezed Marcus’ hand. “Truly.”

  Tom passed Ty more tissues, this time for him.

  And he took a couple for himself. He also slid his chair all the way next to the bed and reached over Marcus to hold his far hand. He couldn’t stop staring at the IV where it was taped to his arm.

  Marcus felt even frailer than he looked, if that was possible. The Marcus he’d met in Seattle, aside from the circumstances, had been a handsome man, considering his age. He’d basically shrugged off the wicked punch in the jaw Tommy had given him. Sure, he could see why Ty had been attracted to Marcus in the first place, not even counting the BDSM stuff.

  That man, however, had long since disappeared, eaten away by the cancer and age.

  And, he surprisingly found, he could no longer hold on to his grudge. Not and still look at himself in the mirror.

  * * * *

  Tyler had tried to spend the flight not thinking about Marcus or what he’d say, knowing whatever he’d planned would be chucked out the window as soon as they arrived.

  He’d been right about that.

  “I realize that I know very little about you, when I think upon it.” Tyler hoped his smile would lighten the mood slightly. “You were adept at probing me for information.”

  “I loved to listen to you talk. Not just your accent, but…” Another weary smile from Marcus. “You had an inner fire then that I wished to curl up against and spend eternity next to. Energy. Brilliance. I had read your books, and getting to know the man who wrote them made me feel…alive in a way I had not felt before.”

  Marcus’ gaze focused on Tom again. “Is he still eager to make things perfect?”

  Tom mustered a smile. “Yep. Always. Nevvie and I have to hound him to relax sometimes.”

  Marcus looked at Tyler. “And your father?”

  “Still alive. He was widowed nearly five years ago.” Tyler reached over and patted Tom’s thigh. “He married Thomas’ mother, who had been widowed over twenty years. They were happily married for twelve years.”

  “Ah, a second chance. But I am sorry for your loss, both of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And your children…”

  They talked, Tyler gently steering the conversation back to Marcus time and again. He wanted to have this, a good memory, such as it was. Wanted to know more about him.

  Wanted to understand why a man would reach the end of his life and be so utterly alone.

  Tyler also didn’t miss how the longer they talked, the more labored Marcus’ breathing became. The pauses longer. The way he tended to zone out in the middle of a sentence.

  They held his hands, Tom eventually moving his chair to the other side of the bed so he could be more comfortable and still hold Marcus’ hand.

  Nurses quietly came and went, unobtrusively checking on him. Goossens returned at one point and sat at the small round table in the far corner, working on his laptop and not interrupting them, barely even noticeable. He did bring Tyler and Tom coffee and sandwiches from the hospice kitchen, but other than that did not disturb them. Tyler even took a selfie of himself and Marcus, managing a smile, and one with him and Tom and Marcus. The only pictures he had with the man.

  Something.

  Anything.

  It was nearly five local time when Marcus’ voice trailed off and he stared at a point past Tyler’s left shoulder. Stared for so long that Tyler actually glanced back to see if there was something there. When Tyler looked at Tom, Tom was staring at Tyler, an eyebrow arched but saying nothing.

  “Is it time then?” Marcus quietly asked, but Tyler didn’t think it was either of them he was speaking to. “It’s so good to see you, love. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

  A chill rippled down Tyler’s spine but he forced himself to remain where he sat.

  Marcus squeezed their hands, the ghost of a smile curving his lips. “Thank you for coming to talk to me and letting me apologize, Tyler, Thomas.” His voice sounded barely above a whisper. “I have to go with him now. I want to go with him. I’ve missed him terribly and I’m ready.”

  “Until we meet again,” Tyler softly said. “Be well, my friend.” He leaned in and kissed Marcus’ forehead. “Thank you for allowing us to say good-bye. I shall never forget you.”

  Marcus smiled a little and gave him a nod. Then, like that, he closed his eyes.

  Tyler watched his chest rise, fall, rise…

  And one last, slow exhale.

  All was still.

  He didn’t want to move, at first.

  It was Tom who finally eased his hand out of Marcus’ and rose, stepping over to the door, opening it, and then signaling for someone. He stood to the side as a nurse walked in and, without speaking, merely giving them a kind, practiced smile, she leaned in and listened to Marcus’ heart with her stethoscope, then in several places—his chest, against his neck.

  Finally, she straightened, noted the time on a notepad she took from her pocket, and left, quietly shutting the door behind her.

  Tom walked around the bed and stood behind Tyler, his hands on his shoulders. Goossens closed his laptop and walked over, not speaking.

  Tyler stared at Marcus’ face, remembering the man he sat and played cards with that first night they’d met, the first man he’d given himself to.

  The man who had gutted his soul and, indirectly, led to Tyler’s second divorce when he couldn’t figure out how to make himself trust again at that time.

  The man he’d wanted to hate even as some tiny part of him never quit loving and missing him.

  Tom draped his arms around Tyler’s neck, his chin gently rubbing in Tyler’s hair. Tyler reached up with his free hand and held on to his arm, unable to let go of the limp hand he still held.

  “I often wondered,” Tyler finally said, “what I’d say to him if I had the chance to face him once more. Or how I’d feel if I learned he’d passed.”

  Tom didn’t say anything, simply held him.

  Tyler stroked the back of Marcus’ fingers with his thumb. “If he had not left me behind, I would not have you. Or Nevvie. Or our children.”

  Tom kissed the top of his head. “I know, sugar,” he whispered. “It’s okay to grieve him. I got you. That’s why I’m here.”

  Tyler squeezed Tom’s arm. “After he told me that night in Seattle that he was alone, part of me wanted to tell him to eat his heart out, and yet still I couldn’t find it within me to be that cruel to him.”

  “That’s because you’re a good man, sugar. You have a good, sweet, kind heart. You don’t want to hurt people, even when they hurt you. That’s one of the things I love so damn much about you. You’re kind.”

  “I put six bullets in Alex.”

  “You saved our lives. That has nothing to do with kindness. That’s love for your family.”

  “Should I have reached out more to him? Perhaps—”

  “No. You did what you needed to do for you. For us. Stop the stinkin’ thinkin’ right now.”

  Tyler slowly nodded. After patting Tom’s arm so he’d release him, Tyler stood, leaned in, and kissed Marcus’ forehead one last time before gently placing his hand on the bed and withdrawing his fingers.

  “May you know peace, wherever you are now.” H
e patted Marcus’ hand and then turned away into Tom’s awaiting embrace.

  Chapter Seven

  They couldn’t leave immediately. There were forms for Tyler and Tom to sign, and final arrangements to sign off on. Marcus had already selected the undertaker and pre-paid for the cremation, but as his heirs, Tyler and Tom now had to finalize everything.

  It was nearly an hour later when Goossens drove them away from the clinic. Tyler felt…numb.

  He stared out the window as the city passed, no idea where they were going or even where the flat was located.

  Goossens didn’t try talking, didn’t engage them in idle chatter.

  Tyler liked him, could see why Marcus had used him for all those years. He seemed a calm, unflappable chap.

  When Tyler had first returned his call, Goossens had asked if they’d prefer to stay at a hotel, but Tyler nixed that idea. It was silly to spend the money.

  He also wouldn’t deny he wanted to spend some time in the man’s home.

  Getting to know him, in some way.

  The flat was a condo in a four-story walk-up in an older, affluent neighborhood. There were eight apartments total in the building, and Marcus’ apartment—their apartment—was on the second floor and overlooked a small park. There wasn’t an elevator. They didn’t see any of their neighbors, although they heard the occasional TV or music playing.

  “How long did he live here?” Tyler asked.

  “I believe thirty-five years, approximately. The purchase date should be on the deed. I can go to my office and look, if you’d like.”

  “That’s all right,” Tyler said. “No need to do that tonight. I was simply curious.”

  Had he somehow been talked into returning to Brussels with Marcus, it would have been his home, too.

  He cut off that line of thinking. Marcus hadn’t made any such offer at the time.

  And there was too much good in Tyler’s life for him to even want to go down that mental road.

  Goossens helped them bring their bags up. At the door, he produced a ring of keys. “He had me hire a cleaning service a couple of weeks ago and get it ready, just in case. When you told me you were coming, I went shopping yesterday and got some basics for the kitchen for you. I did not think you would be in the mood to go out quite yet.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said. “Do we owe you anything?”

  “No, it is taken care of.” He unlocked the apartment and they followed him inside as he started turning on lights and pulling curtains open. Tom followed him around while Tyler stood in the living room, staring, unable to…focus.

  By local standards it was huge and had probably cost quite a lot, even though it was small by American norms.

  Comfortable, tidy, wall upon wall of floor-to-ceiling books. A long hallway to the right paralleled the interior wall and doors opened off it on the left to a bathroom, a bedroom used as a study, and then the master bedroom with en suite bath. The kitchen was open to the dining room and living room area. A small balcony running the length of the apartment was accessible by doors from the living room and master bedroom.

  Goossens made sure they knew how to operate the kitchen appliances, which included a small washer-dryer combo, and handed Tyler a huge, sealed manila envelope that was stuffed thick and bulging, along with the keys he’d used.

  “These are for you. There are some papers in there from Marcus, along with other items. Would you prefer I return tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

  “Afternoon,” Tom said without waiting for input from Tyler. “I want to make sure Ty gets some rest. He met me in Atlanta and never even got to go home between New York and here. He needs the downtime.”

  “Very good. I shall return around two to take you to my office so we can begin officially transferring everything to you both. If you need me before then, do you still have my cell number?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said.

  “Good. The phone here works still, so you can call me on that if you need to, regardless of the time of day or night.” He shook with them. “Again, I apologize for the circumstances, and my sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said.

  Tom walked him out while Tyler collapsed onto the sofa without even taking off his coat. He stared at the envelope in one hand, the keys in the other.

  What fresh hell is this?

  It still didn’t feel real.

  Marcus is dead.

  Even thinking it didn’t feel real, not when the man’s memory had lingered in his soul for decades, literally over half his life.

  Tom locked them in and removed his coat, hanging it on an empty hook next to two other coats in the entryway. “I’ll call Nevvie and update her.”

  Tyler nodded. He knew Tom had texted her upon their arrival in Brussels to let her know they’d made it safely.

  “You feel up to talking to her or the kids yet?”

  Tyler shook his head.

  He couldn’t look away from the envelope, kept clutching the keys, letting them dig into the flesh of his palm.

  He was vaguely aware of Tom walking down the hall, the sound of a door closing behind him, the low, sweet rumble of his drawl as he talked.

  The large envelope’s contents strained the metal clasp holding the flap, which had also been glued shut. Tyler realized he didn’t even know if the handwriting on the front was Marcus’ or Goossens’.

  The keys were easier to start with. As he studied them, he realized they were identical pairs, two of each. The apartment building’s front door, smaller ones Tyler imagined probably accessed a mailbox in the lobby. The apartment door. Another set that looked like full-sized house keys.

  No car keys.

  After a long, deep breath, Tyler lifted his head and looked around, slowly taking in his surroundings, absorbing them for the first time. This half of the apartment—the great room area that functioned as living and dining room, and the open kitchen—sat at the front of the apartment building. Open and airy, the corner faced northwest, which meant it would receive late afternoon sun in the waning light, as it was now.

  Tyler realized the place didn’t feel musty per se, but…stagnant. Unlived-in despite the proof of recent residency all around. A pair of glasses left on an end table by the sofa by someone who’d never again wear them. A stack of mail on the table.

  The other overcoats hanging by the front door.

  Tyler left the envelope and keys on the sofa, stood, and slowly shucked his overcoat. On numb legs he walked over to the coat hooks and reflexively wrapped his arms around Tom’s, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

  His.

  It still felt warm from his body.

  Tyler hung his coat over Tom’s, on the same hook.

  Then he turned his attention to one of the other coats. He pressed his face to it and inhaled, faintly smelling Marcus, his cologne, his scent.

  One that had haunted his dreams and nightmares.

  The other, one lighter than the first and obviously for warmer weather, smelled vaguely the same.

  The bookshelves in the great room drew Tyler. In English and other languages, from non-fiction, tomes of literary criticism and study, to politics and history, poetry, fiction—classics and modern—a diverse array apparently not arranged in any particular order. Perhaps Marcus had a method, maybe not, but if so it wasn’t one Tyler could immediately discern.

  A flat-screen TV, VCR, DVD player. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, but functional.

  The four-person table could be expanded to seat six. The two extra chairs sat flanking one of the windows, one with a cardboard box sitting on it. Tyler walked over and opened it, peeking inside.

  Old magazines. Some several months old, some years old. Culled for recycling, perhaps? Hiking, travel, history—some in Dutch, some in English, a few in French.

  Marcus could speak all three. Tyler knew Marcus’ accent was due to him being a native Dutch speaker from having grown up in Brussels. He’d gone to university in London, and received his doctorate fr
om a university in the United States, before returning to Brussels to teach at a university here.

  On the wall between the two windows were several frames of photographs large and small, some of them collages. Pictures of a younger Marcus and another man, years spent together, detailing their history. The other man had blue eyes a different shade than Tyler’s and straight, fine, dark brown hair.

  Jean-Claude, no doubt.

  All around Tyler silently screamed the walls of the flat, history and memories no longer accessible to any living human being not there when they occurred. Locked away forever.

  Why me?

  Tyler had already made up his mind what to do with Marcus and Jean-Claude’s remains, but he wasn’t sure if he’d face pushback from Tom and Nevvie.

  He hoped he didn’t, because right now, it was the only thing he absolutely was sure of.

  * * * *

  Tom rubbed at his forehead, a headache threatening. He thought he might be a little dehydrated and made a mental note to drink some water when he got off the phone with Nev.

  “So is he doing okay?”

  “I don’t know, baby girl. You know how he is, closed-mouthed unless we take a prybar to him. I think he’s still processing.”

  “Maybe you should get back out there to him.”

  “I will. In a minute. I need a moment to myself. To…process.”

  “Now you sound like him.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Marcus was a lonely, dying old man, and Tyler was the epitome of grace, as always. How’d I get so fucking lucky?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That he picked me that day. I would have been too chickenshit to make a move on him. I could barely put a coherent sentence together when I talked to him at the book signing. But he picked me. Why?”

  “Because he loves you. Just like I love you.”