HEART WORTH BREAKING

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EXCERPT:

             February in Chicago is no time to be standing around without a coat, but that’s exactly what he was doing. He was a youngish guy around my age, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, with neatly gelled dark hair and a designer suit, and he was staring up at the Bean in Millennium Park like a kidney bean-shaped art installation held all the answers to life’s big questions.
            No coat, no hat, no gloves, just a thousand-dollar suit and a haunted look on his face as he gazed at his reflection in the Bean’s mirrored surface. The hands at his sides were raw from the cold and visibly trembling.
            I crept closer, warm in my puffy coat and dragging my rolling suitcase after me. The wheels squeaked and wobbled, because the thing had been a hand-me-down from Ma and was older than I was, but it got the job done. That’s what we Finleys were good at—not doing things perfectly, but getting them done, dammit.
            The guy made a choked sound and squeezed his eyes shut just as I reached him, and that made up my mind for me. I rested a tentative hand on his arm.
            “Hey. You okay?”
            His eyes snapped open. They were dark and glistening with a sheen of unshed tears as they locked on my face.
            “What?” His voice was hoarse. Ragged. 
            “I asked if you were okay.”
            The guy swallowed and glanced down at my hand on his jacket arm. Then his gaze flitted over to my suitcase and found the little rainbow flag pin.
            The first words William Calloway spoke to me were not Hey, I’m fine, thanks for asking, or No, actually I’m having an absolute meltdown and could really use someone to talk to.
            The first words he said were, “Are you gay?”
            Now, I come from a small town. Sapphire Springs, Illinois is smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, and while there are a lot of outwardly nice people there, most of them are deeply conservative and aren’t exactly cool with queer people, let alone queer, trans folks like myself. I wasn’t so stupid as to think that just because Chicago was a more liberal place, it didn’t have its share of intolerance. But for all that I’d spent the last five years here, this was the first time I’d faced a potential homophobe head-on.
            Still, I decided to play it cool. Maybe he was curious. Maybe he was just crap at making conversation. Innocent until proven homophobic, right?
            “I’m pansexual,” I said, pulling my hand back from his arm and returning it to my coat pocket. “Look, I just wanted to make sure you were all right, but if you are, then—”
            “Are you in a relationship right now?”
            “What?”
            “Are you with someone, or are you single?”
            I frowned. “I’m single, but—”
            He gestured at my suitcase. “And you’re going somewhere?”
            “I— Yeah, to see my ma. She’s probably going to have to sell her house, so I’m heading out there to stay with her for a few months, get everything sorted out and get her settled into a new place.”
            “Don’t you have a job?”
            “I work from home, so I can pretty much do it anywhere. Look, I need to get going, but can I do something for you? Call someone? Get you a hot chocolate? You’ve gotta be freezing.”
            He studied me. There was a lot of thought going on behind those dark eyes, but I had no idea what might come out of his mouth next.
            Just when I was about to back away with my apologies, he nodded like he’d reached an important decision. “Yeah, there is something you can do for me, actually.”
            “Sure, what is it?”
            He met my eyes and took a deep breath. “You can marry me.”

* * *

            I wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Kind of short, yeah, but broad-shouldered and reasonably muscled for someone who got a late start on the testosterone train. I filled out my clothes pretty well, even better since my top surgery a few years back, and I’d definitely received some appreciation in the past for my messy, sand-colored curls (dyed, but who cared), warm brown eyes, and the square jaw that was one of the few positive things I’d received from my dad. I even had a patchy attempt at a goatee, which I was sure would look way better when it finally filled in.
            I’d had people approach me in a romantic capacity before. Guys had bought me drinks at bars, girls had messaged me on dating apps, and a very hot nonbinary barista had once given me a free hot chocolate with their number written on the side.           
            What I’d never had was a spontaneous marriage proposal in front of the damn Bean from a guy I’d just met.
            I blinked a few times and cocked my head, trying to decide if I should be looking for hidden cameras or an escape route. “Uh, sorry, did you just ask me to—”
            “Marry me? Yeah, I guess I did.”
            “Huh. Well. Okay then.” I took a step backward. “It sure has been nice meeting you, but—”
            His fingers closed over my arm, and a spike of fear shot through me. I’d endured a hell of a lot of weirdness since I’d moved to the city—most of it on the Red Line—but this was the first time someone had full-on grabbed me. And yeah, it was broad daylight in the middle of the park and there was a group of tourists happily snapping pictures a few feet away from us, but still.
            “You wanna let go of me?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it quavered a little.
            The guy backed off immediately, snatching his hand back and looking ashamed. “Sorry. I just— Look, I don’t do this every day, I swear. And I know it sounds insane, but if you give me a chance to explain, I promise it’ll sound less crazy. Maybe we could go somewhere and talk about it?”
            My eyes narrowed. “Like to your rich-guy murder basement?”
            “Like to a coffee shop or something. I’ll buy.”
            I was actually considering accepting the offer until I glanced at my watch. “Shit, sorry, my train’s leaving in fifteen minutes. Whatever’s going on, I hope you figure it out and, you know, find someone who wants to marry you or whatever—”
            “What if I came with you?”
            I blinked. “What?”
            “I’ll buy a ticket. Yours too, if you haven’t got one yet. We can talk about this on the train, and if you’re not convinced by the time we get to wherever you’re going, I’ll drop it and you’ll never see me again. I swear.”
            I stared at him. Before I’d moved here after college, Ma had given me a stern warning that pretty much amounted to “trust no one, talk to no one, and carry pepper spray everywhere you go.” The pepper spray was in my coat pocket, never having been used, and I’d been following her first two commandments on a case-by-case basis. I had a feeling Ma wouldn’t approve of me abandoning her directives to talk to some guy who’d proposed to me thirty seconds after meeting me, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?
            And the thing was, he looked so damn lost. He looked like he needed someone, and even if it wasn’t me specifically he needed, maybe I could at least be someone he could talk to while he figured things out.
            I sighed. “Okay, fine. But we’ve got to hustle. Those South Shore trains wait for no man, even one in a fancy designer suit.”
            A whisper of a smile touched his lips, and my would-be fiancé and I took off for Millennium Station at a brisk walk.

* * *
            We got on the train about a minute before it was due to leave, and by some miracle managed to snag a pair of seats about midway down the second train car. The guy had paid for my ticket as promised and had even kept a respectful distance from me as we walked, like he actually was just a normal, non-serial killer type person who had found himself in the weird position of needing to propose to a stranger.
            “All right.” I settled into my seat and folded my arms loosely over my chest. “You’ve got an hour and a half before I get off this train. Do you need to prepare a PowerPoint or something, or are you ready to go?”
            “Left my laptop at home, I’m afraid.”
            “Well, then, whenever you’re ready— Oh, though I guess before we get into this, we should probably introduce ourselves. I mean, we are talking about our potential nuptials, after all.” I held out my hand, and he hesitated before taking it. “I’m Cy Finley.”
            “William.” His fingers tightened over mine for an instant before pulling away. “Calloway.”
            My eyebrows shot up, because that was definitely a name I’d heard before. “As in Calloway Electronics? Harrison Calloway?”
            A wince spasmed across his face before he hid it with a wan smile. “He’s my dad.”
            “Ah. Well, nice to meet you, William, son of Harrison. So why is the heir to a rich and famous Chicago business magnate proposing marriage to me, lowly country boy you met randomly in the park?”
            William’s gaze drifted to the window, where the tunnel out of Millennium Station was just giving way to gray, wintry daylight.
            “I’m dying.”
            The world rocked to a halt. His words were barely audible, but they echoed in my ears like a shout.
            “What?”
            William swallowed, and his dark eyes darted to mine before taking refuge in the scenery again. “I just found out today. Brain tumor. Inoperable. Apparently I have six months, max.”
            My chest wrenched, and my hand lanced out of its own accord to grip his. His fingers were like ice. “I’m sorry. Seriously, that’s shit.”
            “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” His hand twitched in mine, but it didn’t pull away. “I always had this plan. I was going to work for my dad until I turned thirty, save up money, really make a name for myself, and then… Then I was going to come out. Tell him—tell everyone—that I’m gay. And if he disowned me, I’d be okay. I could finally find the right guy, get married, have a family, and even if I didn’t have my dad on my side, even if I had to take a job with one of his competitors, at least I’d be happy. That’s what’s kept me going all these years, focusing on that. On that life I could have someday. But now…” He shook his head and finally drew his hand back. “Now I only have six months. And that’s not enough time to build a family, but maybe it’s enough to at least have some of what I’ve always wanted.”
            His fingers trembled in his lap, and the undiluted anguish in his eyes brought a lump to my throat.
If he was lying, he was a damned good liar.  
            I tapped my fingers absently against my thigh as my leg bobbed up and down. Ma was always telling me off for getting antsy when I was nervous, but I couldn’t help it. Sitting still was hard in the best of times, let alone when some guy around my age had just dropped the bomb that he was freaking dying and wanted to spend his last months married to me.
            “So your dad has no idea you’re gay?” I asked.
            “No one does.”
            “No one? How old are you?”
            “Twenty-seven.”
            “And you’ve never told anybody?”
            “Is that so hard to believe?”
            “I mean, I guess not. Just sounds pretty lonely.”
            “It is.” The haunted look finally faded from his eyes, replaced with steely determination. “So yeah, I guess you could say I have a lot of time to make up for. And I’m not asking you to do this for nothing. If we got married, you’d inherit everything from me after I— You know. And while it’s nowhere near as much as I’d have after a lifetime of work, it’s still not bad. You’d probably be looking to inherit around two million dollars.”
            I choked. “Two million?”
            “And that’s only if my dad revokes my trust fund when he finds out. If he doesn’t, you’ll get all of that, too, when I turn— When I would’ve turned thirty. Or maybe right away. I’m not sure how it works if I die before I reach the payout age. If that’s an issue for you, though, I can contact my lawyers—”
            I gripped his sleeve and fought past my frozen vocal chords. “William, man, seriously. I don’t need your trust fund. Jesus, a fraction of two million would do so much for me, not to mention—”
            “Your mom?”
            “Yeah. She’s gonna lose her house if we can’t come up with the money in the next month or so. But maybe we could buy it back after or, I don’t know, find some other nice place for her to live. It wouldn’t be the same, but—”
            William leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “Cy, if you do this for me, I’ll help you save her house. If that’s what you want, and she wants, I’ll write a check to the bank tomorrow. That’s no problem.”
            My heart hammered an unsteady rhythm, caught between shock and hope. “You don’t even know how much she owes.”
            He shrugged, like it seriously didn’t matter to him if it was a thousand dollars or a million. “Shouldn’t be an issue. It’ll mean you inherit a little less in the end, but I’m guessing you’d rather save your mom’s house now than have to try to buy it back later.”
            “I mean, yeah, of course, but— Jesus, are you actually serious about all this?”
            His mouth bent into the ghost of a smile. “Dead serious. So what do you say?”
            I leaned back against the squeaky vinyl of the seat. Was I actually considering this?
            “Don’t you want to get to know me a little first?” A faint note of hysteria cracked in my voice. “Figure out if I’m a serial killer or something before we start picking out china patterns?”
            “I can’t exactly afford to be picky.”
            A surprised laugh burst from my throat. “Wow, way to make a guy feel special.”
            “That’s not what I—”
            “I know.” I folded my arms and studied him. “I’m not agreeing to anything right now, but I definitely can’t consider marrying someone without knowing a little about them. So let’s get to know each other.”
            He looked wary. “What do you want to know?”
            “I don’t know, at least the basics. Full name, where you’re from, favorite color? Stuff like that.”
            “William Harrison Calloway.” His voice was flat, like he was reading off a script. “Chicago, Illinois. Green.”
            I smirked and matched his tone. “Cypress James Finley. Sapphire Springs, Illinois. Blue.”
            He arched an eyebrow. “Cypress?”
            “You got a problem with my name, William Harrison?”
            “No, it’s great. Very masculine. Unique.”
            “Just like me. All right, tell me some more. Basic bio info.”
            He raked a hand through his dark hair, leaving the gelled locks slightly out of place. It was strangely endearing. “I’m twenty-seven, I’m a Taurus, I like…classic rock, I guess?”
            “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
            “Uh, the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Led Zeppelin. Queen.”
            “Okay, you have good taste, I’ll give you that. Is your room neat or messy?”
            He tilted his head.
            “Your bedroom. I’m guessing you have a maid to clean up after you in your rich-guy condo or McMansion or wherever you live, but what’s your bedroom look like?”
            He frowned a little but shrugged. “I keep it pretty tidy. I find mess distracting. Yours?”
            “An absolute disaster zone.” I grinned. “Socks, underwear, books, papers—you can’t even see the carpet. That a deal-breaker for you?”
            “I— Not necessarily.”
            “Are you a night person or a morning person?”
            “Morning person, probably. Though I’ll sometimes stay up late finishing work.”
            “I’m a night owl. I’d sleep ‘til noon every day if I could, and I’ve been known to stay up all night playing video games sometimes.”
            He shrugged. “I’m a deep sleeper.”
            “Lucky. I wake up if a pin drops three states over. Do you smoke?”
            His nose wrinkled. “No. You?”
            “Nah, can’t stand the smell. I had an ex-girlfriend who smoked like a freakin’ chimney, and I swear it took years to get the stink out of my nose after we broke up. Alcohol?”
            “White wine with dinner, sometimes. I never really got into drinking socially. I never really got into doing much of anything socially.”
            “Yeah, I’m not a big social person either. Or drinker. Okay, what’s one important thing someone marrying you should know?”
            His brow furrowed. “Um… I’ve been told I snore?”
            I snorted. “Good to know, but come on. You gotta give me more than that.”
            He looked down at his hands, and his voice grew quiet. “I’m, uh. I’m not sure I’m very good at being with people. I know how to talk about work, and how to be the son my dad expects, but when it’s just me and someone else in a social situation, I never really know what to say. How to act. It’s like I never figured out how to be me. I’m not sure I even know who that is. And when you don’t know who you are, even when you’re alone… It’s not a good feeling. It gets pretty lonely, actually.” He winced. “Too much?”
            My mouth was dry, because damn, that was some honesty right there. Not to mention, I related. I was getting better at being unapologetically myself, but I knew all too well what it was like to not be sure of who I was. Or to know who I was but be afraid to show him to the world.
            “No, not too much at all,” I said. “Thanks. For telling me that.”
            “How about you? What should I know about you before we hypothetically get married for the next six months?”           
            Every muscle in my body tensed, because this could be the real dealbreaker. Not that I was exactly trying to get him to like me, but getting rejected over something like this hurt no matter the circumstances. But better to rip the bandage off now than figure out a month down the line that the guy was a big ole transphobe.
            “Well, I’m trans. Transgender,” I clarified when he just blinked at me. “A lot of gay guys—and straight women, and some other trans folks, weirdly enough—aren’t really into dating trans guys. So that’s probably some pretty important info for you to have before you slip a ring on my finger.”
            I waited for him to say something ignorant or transphobic, but he just tilted his head and looked gratifyingly confused. “I don’t see how it’s a problem. You’re a guy, and I like guys, so it seems like you fit the criteria.”
            Huh.
            “Okay,” I said slowly. My pulse had picked up, and I struggled to ignore the warm burst of validation his words caused in my chest. “So, let’s say I decided to put aside my many, many concerns about this plan and actually consider marrying you. What exactly would that entail?”
            “Nothing you’re not comfortable with. I’ve never been in any kind of relationship before, let alone a domestic partnership, and I want to know what it’s like. I want to have that closeness with someone. So we’d be living together, but there’d be rules.”
            “Rules, huh? This better not be some Christian Grey shit.”
            His lips pursed. “I don’t know who that is.”
            “Probably for the best. Okay, what rules?”
            “First of all, I’d ask that you not tell anyone about our arrangement.”
            “You don’t want me to tell anyone if we get married?”
            “I don’t want you to tell anyone it’s not a real marriage. Of course, it will be real in the legal sense, but I’d rather if you didn’t tell anyone why we’re really doing it. I’d like it to feel as much like a true marriage as possible, for one thing. And for another… Well, that ties into rule number two.”
            “Which is?”
            His gaze locked onto mine. “No talking about me dying. Not to anyone else, but also not to each other.”
            “Oof. I’m no therapist, but that doesn’t sound super healthy.”
            “I don’t want to spend my last six months worrying about something I can’t change. I want to ignore it, forget about it, pretend it’s not even happening. I want to enjoy this time, as much as I can and for as long as I can.”
            I nodded slowly. “Okay. Sure. I can do that. What else? Any other rules?”
            “Just one. I want to be in a relationship, Cy. I want to have a husband, and be a husband, with all the intimacy and closeness that implies. But the final and most important rule is that we don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I won’t even ask you to hold my hand if you don’t want to. And if you don’t want to kiss me, we can remove that section of the wedding ceremony entirely. Nothing has to happen between us unless you want it to.”
            I frowned a little. “Is that what you want?”
            “It doesn’t matter what I want. In this case, you set the rules. Period.”
            We sat in silence for a few moments, the train rocking gently beneath us.
            “And that’s it, I suppose.” William released a shaky exhale. “Those are the terms. I wish I could give you a few days or weeks or months to decide, but time isn’t exactly on my side. If you’re not on board with this, that’s completely fine, but let me know so I can find someone—”
            “I’ll do it.”
            The words tumbled out of my mouth, and there was a stunned second when I wondered if I’d really said them.
            William blinked, and a small smile touched his lips. “Really?”
This is stupid. This is stupid and crazy and Ma is going to straight-up murder me when she finds out I did this to save her house.
            But the fact of the matter was, I could save her house, and make sure she’d never be in danger of losing it again. And even more than that, I could help someone who needed it. William wasn’t asking for the rest of my life. He wasn’t asking for much more than a roommate to make his last few months less lonely and miserable than they would be otherwise. And even if there hadn’t been a huge-ass inheritance along with it, I probably still would’ve agreed to it, because it was the right thing to do. This guy needed someone, and as luck would have it, I was someone. And maybe I needed somebody, too.
            I took a deep breath.
            “Yeah, let’s do it,” I said. “Let’s get married.”