The Luckiest by Mila McWarren Page A

and even though sometimes you might fight and yell, and even though some­times it could be ugly. Love was a mixed blessing: Some­times he would watch movies with his mom on the sofa and she would be in her soft chenille robe, and love looked so beau­tiful, and sometimes there was singing, and always the focus and the kisses and the hands were soft. And then sometimes he could hear his parents fighting, usually late at night while he was supposed to be sleeping, and sometimes there was crashing or glass breaking or words he wasn’t supposed to say and nothing seemed soft except his pillow, so he tugged it over his head so he could sleep.
    And then, when he was seven, his dad was suddenly gone, and then when he was nine he was back, and there was this long period when he wasn’t sure how many parents he had, this long stretch of back and forth when most days it didn’t really matter but sometimes it really did. Until one day, Aaron’s dad said something smart and mean about how Aaron was maybe too much like his mother and his mother didn’t like that, at all . Her face went hard and terrifying and she told his dad to go, chased him out of the house without ever having to raise a hand. There was nothing soft about her then.
    It took a long time for Aaron to make sense of what had happened way back then, and it wasn’t until after he came out to his mother and she just smiled and ran her hand over his hair and said, “Of course you are, baby,” that he understood some of it. He mostly never thinks about any of that, and he certainly hadn’t connected it with what happened with Nik before, but maybe some of that is in there, somehow. They say that you learn how to love from watching your parents, and while his mom had a lot to teach him, his dad remains a mystery. Maybe he learned some things he wasn’t supposed to.
    Now Aaron tries to imagine what Nik might have been through, how it must have felt to have his own dreams shat­tered and torn away and then to have his boyfriend refuse to work through it with him, and he’s suddenly so, so ashamed. God, he’d been such a self-righteous dick at eighteen. He really hopes that’s been beaten out of him, because if he’s lucky enough to have people who still care about him after all of that, then they definitely deserve better.
    He lifts himself onto one elbow, and Nik’s hand tightens again but he keeps his gaze steady on the ceiling. Aaron cups Nik’s face in his hand and pulls his head around so their eyes can meet. Nik’s eyes are a little glassy with unshed tears—his face is so open, so pained.
    “Oh. Oh, Nik. I am so sorry,” Aaron says, and of all the heart­felt words they’ve ever exchanged, these might be the ones he means the most.
    Nik whispers, “Me too.” And who cares about morning mouth, really, because this kiss is sweet and tender, poignant and heal­ing and so honest. Nik’s other hand comes up to slide into Aaron’s hair and hold his head there. Aaron deepens the kiss and, just for a moment, imagines what it would be like to never let this man go.
    They kiss for long, sweaty minutes; the bedroom heats up as the sun rises and Aaron has to throw off the covers and then kick them down. The kisses are long, lush, exploratory, and Nik keeps breaking them to say Aaron’s name or to just look up at him. Nik’s eyes have gone golden-green in the light, and Aaron can’t get enough of the feeling of Nik’s hair between his fingers; it’s growing out into thick, wild waves, and he loves it. Aaron finally shifts so that he’s more on top of Nik than not; he can feel Nik hard in his underwear and God, that seems like such an amazing idea—he wants to kiss him and kiss him until they can’t take it anymore, until they’re desperate for it and they can break apart together.
    Nik suddenly rolls him, and Aaron is afraid it’s going to be a reenactment of last night. He doesn’t want to slow down to talk again, he’s through talking. But Nik