More Than a Hotline Fling

-6-

Juneau's POV

"There." I withdrew my hands and, with a muffled clap, joined them at my chest. "I'm so glad they fit."

"Looks nice." The thin line Damian's mouth drew into suggested he wasn't as into these adornments.

"Wasn't sure when I bought it online." I sat back onto my heels and tugged an index finger on the hook. "Should work."

One way to find out.

Echoing my thoughts, Damian nodded. "Hang it."

Bristly branches poked into my gloved fingers as I hinged over. Extending my arms, I grunted and laid the wreath on the headstone hook. The blue-green spruce spires, topped with a red bow, blurred under my tears.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy."

With a shaky breath, I took the second wreath Damian extended to me. My tears dripped over my cheeks as I hung it over the second stone. "Merry Christmas, Mama."

As many times as Damian and I made this visit, every week with two exceptions, we had our routine down. Mumbling, he knelt next to me, paid his respects to my parents, then graced a kiss on my forehead.

Under the gray, evening backdrop sky, Damian's eyes softened at me. He bit one of his leather glove fingers, pulling it off with his teeth. The pads of his fingers wiped my damp cheeks, then he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Take all the time you need."

"I'll find you." Tipping my chin down, I pressed my cold lips into the pad of his thumb.

My palms pressed together and I squeezed them between my thighs. Dipping my chin down, I waited for shuffles of Damian's retreating steps to be washed out by the wind.

"I love him so much," my voice hushed, thick and strained, as my tears resurfaced. "I'm sorry you never had a chance to meet."

I knew for a fact both my parents would've loved Damian as much as I did.

And not in comparison to the string of... less than stellar guys before him.

Closing my eyes, Dad's jaw dropped at Damian's bike. His fingers, nails etched black leftover from his mechanic's job that never washed away, rubbing his bald head and marveling at the details. The two of them tinkering on each other's pride and joy.

Mama's cooking up a storm in the kitchen, shaking her head. She asks me how serious Damian and I were getting, her brown eyes sparkling at my answer, 'He's a keeper, Mama.' Hours, loud bangs, beers, and adjustments Mama and I will never notice later, the two grease monkeys come out of the garage, grimy and grinning.

The vision disappeared with the white puff I exhaled, leaving me with an empty ache in my chest. Heated swirls dissipated as they rose above my hair, revealing two rectangular headstones. The gray speckled granite had deep insets carved for my parents' names, birth and death dates, and 'Loving Mother/Father, taken together too soon but not forgotten' copied from their previous ground-level name plaques.

A huge relief lifted off my heavy heart when I bought the headstones. Damian arranged a small remembrance ceremony, with his mom and sister in attendance. We laid down flowers, said our prayers, and he embedded himself deeper into my heart with that gesture.

"He's a good guy," I whispered, closing my eyes.

A bitter wind numbed my cheeks. Cold from the frozen ground radiated through my jeans, numbing my shins. Taking a breath, I assured my parents, "Everything's great. Work's crazy, school's almost over, but I love it. I'm training a new guy because they're hiring me permanently."