Cricket (32 page)

In the meantime, he tried to keep things normal, going to the nice supermarket that took twenty minutes or so to drive to, in the next town over, and getting nice groceries to make something good for dinner. He shopped, selecting steaks and the ingredients for sauce, planning to use Ryan’s vegetables to make dinner for them both.

When he arrived home, Hulk was sitting on the front step of the house, maybe waiting for him, Henry decided, when the dog’s ears pricked up as he pulled the car onto the drive. Or maybe not, when he went back to sleep again.

Henry was forced to step over the dog (who refused to move) as he let himself into the house and put the groceries in the fridge. He could see Ryan on the deck out back, sitting hunched over, closed in on himself. It was another heart-wrenching image.

Once he was done, he stepped outside and shut the door behind him. Ryan’s head whipped around, and he was immediately on his feet.

“I didn’t hear you get back.”

“Yeah. Just a minute ago. What’s up?”

“I want you to stay,” Ryan said, stepping forward and gripping Henry’s hand so tightly it hurt. “I want you to stay so, so badly. But I don’t want you to make a decision just because that’s what I want. I want you to have whatever you want too.”

Henry gave him a damp smile. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t have it.”

“What if you could? What if you could stay? What would you do?”

“To be able to stay?”

“Yeah.”

Henry shook his head. “This is stupid.”

“What would you do if I said I found a way for you to stay, but it’s completely crazy? Like, completely, undeniably fucking insane?” Ryan’s voice was a little breathless now, his eyes a little wild, conveying his desperation so openly.

“I’d say….” Henry sniffed. “I’d say, what is it?”

Ryan licked his lips, cupped Henry’s cheek in the palm of his hand, and pressed a soft kiss to Henry’s lips. He broke them apart again before it could lead to anything else and dropped his forehead to rest against Henry’s.

With his eyes closed, Ryan whispered, “Will you marry me?”

Henry’s one single sound caught on his breath, a mixture of shock and laughter. “What?”

“Marry me,” Ryan repeated. “Marry me and stay here.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“I thought you never wanted to get married again.”

“I want to be married to you,” Ryan said defiantly.

A hushed whisper: “You’re crazy.”

Ryan laughed. “Yeah. Probably. Henry, I don’t know if this is going to last another week or for the rest of our lives, and no, I didn’t think I would ever get married again because I never thought I’d ever feel like this for someone else. So right now I have the choice of being married to you and getting to keep you, or letting you leave and maybe never seeing you again.”

“I’m not sure either of those choices are a good thing,” Henry said.

“I am.”

“Oh God,” Henry said, suddenly feeling very light-headed and very sick. “Oh, God.”

Ryan managed to maneuver him to sit down on the step and pressed Henry’s head between his knees, rubbing his back reassuringly and encouraging him to take deep breaths.

“I didn’t ever think I’d react like this when someone proposed to me,” Henry said.

“I’m not going to lie, Henry,” Ryan responded, “I’m starting to feel a bit like that myself. You haven’t answered me yet.”

“That’s because you’re insane!” Henry exclaimed.

“I’m insane because I want to marry you?”

“Yes! Wait! That wasn’t a ‘yes I’ll marry you’, that was a ‘yes you’re insane’.”

“Henry,” Ryan said, his voice softening from the heated exchange of words. “Please. I love you. Marry me.”

Try as he might, Henry couldn’t stop the tears that were threatening to spill over. He never cried. Not from things like this.

“You realize that’s the first time you’ve said that?”

“What?”

“That you love me.”

“I love you,” Ryan said again. Then he shouted it. “I love Henry Richardson!”

“Shut up,” Henry said, laughing and pushing his shoulder. “I love you too.”

“And…?”

“And of course I’ll marry you.” But it wouldn’t have been
them
if he didn’t caveat his declaration in some way. “You horrible man.”

N
ATURALLY
, it wasn’t as simple as “just get married and stay in Cheddar forever.” Nothing ever was, Henry mused, as they drove back to the village after a quick trip up to Weston to register their intent to form a civil partnership. He was impressed at the research Ryan had already done, and was prepared for the questions that were thrown at them when Henry produced his passport and admitted he was a US citizen.

They had to wait fifteen days now, until they could make it legal.

“You don’t have to agree to this,” Ryan said as he reached for Henry’s thigh and squeezed it. “We can back out at any time.”

“I don’t want to back out,” Henry said calmly.

“Because it might not be easy.”

“I don’t care. It’s worth it.”

“I was thinking—”

“That’s a shock,” Henry interrupted. The hand on his thigh squeezed a little tighter.

“I was thinking,” Ryan continued, “that we’re not going to be able to do this properly in fifteen days. Not a proper wedding. We should just go and sign the documents now, then have a ceremony and stuff next year.”

Henry was silent for a long moment while he thought about what Ryan was saying… then thought about it some more.

“Hmm.”

“Look, we’re not going to be able to get my parents back here, your parents over here, food and accommodation and suits and all that shit done in two weeks.”

“Honey, you underestimate my powers of organization.”

Ryan laughed. “No, I don’t. I promise. But I want to be able to give you something spectacular. Not something we cobbled together in a couple of weeks because that was all the time we had. I want us to be able to do it at the house.”

“Stretton House?”

“Yeah. Not the farmhouse. Jeez.”

“We shouldn’t tread on Stella’s toes either,” Henry said softly. “It’s her wedding New Year’s.”

“Exactly,” Ryan agreed. “All we need is two witnesses. Once it’s all done and we’ve gone through all the interviews with the Border Agency, then we can relax and plan.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Waiting two weeks was hell.

Henry couldn’t dislodge the feeling in his stomach that he was doing something wrong. It was like being back at school, waiting to be caught out for cheating on a test. His mom wasn’t very happy with his decision not to go back home, even less pleased when he tried to explain that he had a new home now, that he was in love. His promise of a trip back to see her as soon as he could didn’t go all the way to placating her, but it was a start.

He thought that telling her he’d fallen in love had softened the blow slightly as well. He’d never admitted that to his mother before, not once in all the years he’d been with Drew. Still, her overwhelming response had been disapproval. Let her disapprove, Henry had decided. He was his own man now. This was his decision. His marriage.

Oh, fuck.

It was raining on the day they’d booked to drive up to Weston and sign the civil partnership documents. He’d thought it a bad omen, until Ryan had pulled him into a hug and sang Alanis Morissette lyrics (off-key) into his ear—“It’s like rain on your wedding day….”

Ryan had explained the difference between what the British called marriage and civil partnership. The word “marriage” was a religious one and the term “gay marriage” thought to be too inflammatory. Once they’d signed the documents, they would have all the same rights as a heterosexual married couple. Henry’s stomach clenched.

They’d decided not to exchange rings or vows or names. That would all come later, Ryan had insisted, when they had a ceremony in front of all their family and friends. Henry had pushed the initial disappointment about not having a wedding ring from his head—that wasn’t what this was about. He would get all that early next spring, maybe a year after they’d first met. For now, this was as much a formality as anything else. Not that this self-reassurance had any effect on the butterflies in his stomach.

Andy, Stella, and Jack would be their witnesses, the first two signing the document for them. Giving Jack Jack pens was a bad idea. Henry had learned this the hard way.

“Is this it?” Stella said as Andy parked behind Ryan’s truck in a side street next to the registry office. “Not much, is it?”

“Not like the grand old mansion where we’re getting married, darling,” Andy said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek. “Come on, you two.”

To keep his hands occupied, Henry scooped Jack up and carried him up the short flight of stairs that led to the reception desk. He was thankful that Ryan was doing all the talking. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d be sick.

The registrar was a woman, a nondescript, middle-aged woman with blonde hair she’d tied up in a twist.

“We’re just signing the documents today. Is that correct?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan said and pulled out his binder full of documents. She smiled at him and double checked the spelling of both their names as she filled in the paperwork.

“Sign here, please.”

The four of them took turns to print and sign their names. Then the registrar added her own with a flourish, added the date, and gave them official copies.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Henry murmured.

“Go on, give him a kiss,” Stella said. Her voice was teasing, and Andy scolded her, but Ryan was already leaning in, brushing his lips gently over Henry’s.

Henry grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together, and squeezed. He’d just done it. He was married.

He was mostly quiet on the drive back home, a heavy feeling settling in his chest as he watched the Somerset countryside whiz past them, the windscreen regularly wiped from falling rain. Whenever Ryan changed gears, he took hold of Henry’s hand again.

They took a detour through the village and headed up through the gorge, the natural valley with its spectacular caves that was such a big tourist attraction during the summer, and the site of the only big coffee shop in the area. The only place that served Henry’s favorite hazelnut latte.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked as they took two takeaway cups and two nice cakes back to the car. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I can’t believe I really just did that.”

“I’m sorry it was a bit anticlimactic,” Ryan said. He put the drinks on top of the car and pulled Henry close, his hands on Henry’s hips as Henry wound his arms around Ryan’s neck.

“It’s not that,” Henry said. “I’m just a bit… overwhelmed.”

Not caring that it was broad daylight and still raining lightly, Ryan pressed a kiss to Henry’s lips, a kiss that deepened quickly into something hot and messy and raw.

“God. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Come on. Let’s get home before the coffee gets cold.”

Twenty-Two

T
HERE
was an offer to go to the pub that night to celebrate. If Ryan wanted to go, Henry was ready to agree, although all he really wanted to do was close the house up to intruders and spend time with his husband…
fuck
. His husband.

He didn’t even want to see a delivery guy, so they made dinner from what they could find in the fridge—spaghetti and meatballs, the red sauce loaded with vegetables. Henry put the radio on and laughed again at Ryan’s terrible singing, told him off when he fed the dog a meatball right out of the pan, and threatened him with a spatula if he did it again.

Their hands barely left each other’s skin, this now being normal for them on most days and even more important on this day. He didn’t want to be out of contact with Ryan, not for one second, not one second when they’d come so close to losing each other.

“I have something for you,” Ryan said as the sauce simmered on the hob and they stood leaning against the counters, sipping at wine from the nicest bottle of red Ryan could find in his wine rack.

“Oh? Kitchen sex?”

“No, not kitchen sex,” Ryan said, throwing his head back to laugh. “Better than that.”

“Better than kitchen sex? Bloody hell.” Henry had no idea where this was going and was amused at his own unintentional use of the phrase “bloody hell.”

Ryan pulled something out of his pocket, extended his hand to Henry, and uncurled his fingers, revealing two shiny rings.

“What’s that?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” Ryan said softly. “If you want it.”

Henry’s heart slammed into his throat. “I thought you didn’t want to wear a wedding ring,” he said breathlessly.

Ryan smiled shyly. “I didn’t want to share this with anyone else,” he admitted. “I wanted this to be for us. Just for us. Go on. Have a look at them.”

Henry reached out for the rings. They were warm, probably from being in Ryan’s pocket for so long. He turned the rings toward the light so he could read the inscriptions inside. One read “For today” and the other one “For tomorrow.”