Winston's true love.
Chris
It was the scorching end of August in Indiana in the mid-80s when a young Winston Clarke walked across campus over dry, crispy brown grass crackling beneath his feet from a long summer drought. The university was buzzing with students heading in all directions as he entered the air-conditioned Communications Building for his 9 a.m. course.
Arriving early, he had his pick of seats and chose one in the center, two rows from the front. As he settled in, unpacking his syllabus, book, and pen, something strange happened: for just a moment, he could have sworn the actor Christopher Atkins—famous for The Blue Lagoon and Dallas—had stepped into the doorway.
With his chiseled jawline, sun-kissed tan, and scruffy hair, the man paused confidently, seemingly deciding where to sit. Beyond the striking resemblance to Atkins, Win couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew him—like they’d met before. Then, their eyes met in an almost surreal moment, and an undeniable spark of recognition passed between them.
Win smiled with a sudden urge to wave him over as he would to a good friend, but he sat still, watching as the man returned a friendly smile. The stranger’s gaze then quickly dropped to the floor, almost instinctively. He quickly looked back at Win, dropped his backpack from his shoulder, walked over to the desk beside him, and asked with intrigue, “Haven’t we met?”
A shiver ran up Win’s spine as he responded, “You look familiar.”
“I’m Chris Copens,” he said with a grin, extending his hand to shake.
When their hands met, a slight static shock surged through them, and Win couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m Winston. Call me Win.”
“I’ve never met a Winston. But I know we’ve met before.”
“Huh,” Win said softly, agreeing more with the feeling than the words.
Chris smiled, puzzled, and echoed just as softly, “Huh.”
As the room filled with students, Chris unpacked his materials for class, setting his backpack under his chair. Win pretended to read the syllabus, but a strange energy hung in the air between them, one that he couldn’t quite understand or control.
Over the next hour, Win could feel Chris watching him, and every time their eyes met, Chris would wink and smile in acknowledgment. Every now and then, Win would glance at Chris, who seemed to be listening intently to the professor, yet Win heard nothing of the lecture himself.
When class ended, Chris packed up his notes and, with a smile that made Win’s heart race, said, “I know I know you from somewhere. We should grab a beer sometime.”
“Sounds good,” was all Win could manage as he stuffed his things into his backpack.
* * *
Win’s next class that day was Television Editing, held an hour later in the same building on the third floor. The lab spanned the width of the building, with a smaller teaching area to the left, containing a dozen student desks, a blackboard, and two large TV monitors. At the center of the room was a specialized studio featuring a green screen behind a mock stage, complete with a news desk and a seating area for discussions. Three light-tan modern chairs created a relaxed, inviting atmosphere for conversation. State-of-the-art equipment included three professional television cameras aimed at the stage, production lights, and microphones suspended from the ceiling, and two AV carts with monitors flanking the stage. To the right, glassed-in control room, housing the technical equipment necessary to produce a show, including monitors, video switchers, audio mixers, and other hardware for capturing and editing a television program.
Win arrived early, eager to claim his usual seat in the center, second row from the front. But as he entered, he noticed someone sitting in that spot, reading a book. A few steps closer, his stomach fluttered, and a smile crept onto his face.
“We meet again,” Win said softly, leaning in to not startle the reader.
Chris looked up with a surprised smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Win replied, sitting down.
Tucking his backpack under the seat, Win heard Chris ask, “You’re a Comm major?”
“I am. You?”
“Journalism and Communications.”
“Ambitious,” Win said with a grin. “A double major.”
Chris smiled proudly, his lips slightly pursed, making them look more kissable.
“First year here?” Win asked, already knowing the answer.
Chris nodded and licked his lips. “I wanted a diploma from the main campus, so I transferred here for my senior year from the Fort Wayne extension. You?”
“I’ve been here since day one,” Win replied, leaning back into his chair.
Chris bounced his eyebrows with that smile.
“You’re from Fort Wayne?” Win asked.
“Born and raised.”
“Hmm,” Win hummed again, thoughtfully this time, wondering if they’d crossed paths as kids. “I’m from Hicksville—Indiana, not Ohio.”
“Really?” Chris replied, sounding as though he was having the same curiosity.
Before they could dwell on it, another familiar, warm stare passed between them, and five other students entered and began claiming their seats. Win glanced at the mock news desk, pointed at it, and returned his gaze to Chris. “Are you the next Tom Brokaw?”
A handsome smirk spread across Chris’s face.
“Possibly.”
“Quite,” Win confirmed.
Chris continued, “My goal is to get into war correspondence and report on what’s happening. I’d like to interview the people who live there and discover how they feel about being in the middle of a war and all the bloodshed.”
Taken aback by the boldness of Chris’s statement, all Win could say was, “Wow. That’s gutsy.”
Chris shrugged humbly. “Until then, I’m here,” he grinned as their professor entered the lab.
“Welcome to Television Editing, ladies and gentlemen. Who among you plans to be in front of the cameras, and who will run the show behind the curtain?”
Looking at each other, Chris and Win simultaneously exchanged grinning winks.
The stove in Win’s off-campus apartment had died the previous week. The earliest delivery date for a replacement was 2 p.m., which was perfect between his classes, with the next one scheduled for 4. He quickly booked the appointment.
Had the delivery not been scheduled, Win’s first instinct would have been to ask Chris to lunch. But he decided to ask him about it during their next class on Wednesday.
After TV Edits wrapped up, Chris turned to Win and asked, “Hey, do you want to grab a bite to eat?”
This tickled Win. His attraction to Chris had been growing all morning, and there was so much more he wanted to know about him and grab, bite, and eat … than lunch.
“I have a thing I need to do,” Win said, not wanting to explain further but adding, “How about Wednesday?”
“You have a thing?” Chris teased, flashing a dazzling smile.
“I have a thing.”
“Really?” Chris retorted, laughing as they walked out of the lab together. “Winston has a thing.”
A nervous energy buzzed around Win, and without thinking, he blurted out, “Yep, I have a big thing.”
“So, your thing is big?” Chris joked, then added, “Wednesday’s good.”
Walking side-by-side down the stairwell of the Com Building, Win couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the exchange before they parted ways.
* * *
When Win registered for his sophomore-year classes, he quickly discovered that enrolling in an athletic course each semester was the easiest way to rack up college credits. With aerobics, tennis, and golf already under his belt, this term’s schedule included Weightlifting at the Fitness Center, his final period of the day. Having changed into his workout gear while the stove was being swapped, he was ready to lift weights by 3:30 p.m. for a leisurely jog across campus.
The afternoon heat was still extreme, and when he arrived at the gym, Win was drenched in sweat from the slow mile run. Wiping perspiration dripping into his eyes with the back of his sweaty hands proved futile, only making the salt sting more, so he ducked into the locker room. There, he soaked his head with cold water, grabbed a couple of fresh gym towels, and went to the weight room.
His vision blurred from the salty sweat still dripping into his eyes, so he focused only on finding a place to sit. He spotted a long wooden bench with a wide-open place to park and claimed it. As Win wiped his face with the second towel, he felt a nudge as someone sat beside him, their forearm brushing his.
Pushing his wet hair back and wiping his eyes, Win turned to see who had bumped him.
“How was your big thing?” Chris leaned in and whispered.
“No way!” Win exclaimed, stunned by the uncanny coincidence of running into this guy again.
“That’s what I thought when I saw you walk in,” Chris said, gently bumping his forearm again.
“Alright, gentlemen,” their instructor called out, his voice carrying across the room as he passed out the exercise plans for the class. “I’m Henry Haines, and I’ll be your trainer for this course.”
Mr. Haines approached Win and asked for his name. After hearing Win’s response, he said, “Did you just do some cardio, Winston?”
Win nodded and told him he had jogged over. Henry turned to the class and said, “If you’re following this man’s plan, your primary goal is building endurance. If you want to build muscle and strength, you should get your cardio after lifting weights.
“Now, as I hand these out and check you all in, look at the six stations you’ll be working on this term. Pair up with a workout buddy who’ll be your spotter and swolemate for the semester.
“Any questions? Feel free to ask.”
Win waited for the instructor to approach the two guys, who had their hands up, before turning to Chris. “Are you my swolemate?”
Chris’s eyes never left Win. “I’ll be your swolemate.” Then he asked, “Are you my swolemate?”
Win’s heart raced faster than it had during his jog over. “Yes.”
The next hour was even hotter than the oppressive triple-digit temperature outside. Chris and Win’s competitive drive to outperform each other was intensified by a surge of testosterone enveloping them. Every sense was heightened as they visually scoured each other’s muscular physiques, noticing every bulge.
In spotting one of Chris’s barbell bench presses, Win watched his eyes shift into his shorts and slowly move back to meet his gaze—purposefully revealing his actions. When it was Win’s turn on the bench, he returned the visual, wanting to do more with Chris’s jockstrap than a passing glimpse. Their final set, barbell squats, became increasingly charged with every repetition, from front to back, close.
Before they knew it, the class was over. The hour had passed so quickly that neither Chris nor Win realized it was time to call it a day.
They paused at the water fountain near the entrance, awkwardly avoiding a proper goodbye.
“I know we both have a ton of chapters to read,” Win said with a tentative smile, “but if you’re interested, we could go to my place for a couple of beers, and I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I would like that,” Chris replied, licking his lips as he opened the door for them to leave.
They walked and shared bits of their lives. Chris came from a nuclear family with one sister. His parents divorced after he graduated from high school, and, like Win, his ultimate goal was to leave Indiana.
Their conversation revealed more shared interests: they were social chameleons in high school, able to hang out with all the cliques; they both adored TV shows like The Benny Hill Show, Knots Landing, and Murder She Wrote; musicals were a mutual passion, whether live on stage or in the movies; they loved roller coasters and volunteered for the Special Olympics. Both enjoyed cigarettes but weren’t fond of the effects of marijuana; they respected all races, creeds, and religions and savored all types of food—except for okra. Neither wore watches, and their favorite comic strip was The Far Side. They both loved the color blue and had recently tested negative for HIV, as one of the first tests to come on the market.
Chris had been more focused on extracurricular activities in high school, such as the school newspaper, yearbook, and drama class. At the same time, Win had focused on socializing, part-time work, and partying. Both had strong work ethics, though they expressed them in different ways.
“I’ve partied on the sandbar at Lake James and skied on Lake Wawasee,” Chris said. “But I’ve never been to Hicksville Lake.” Since Win had no intention of returning home anytime soon, he declined a weekend invitation.
When they walked into the Canyon Shores Condos parking lot, Chris remarked, “This place is nice.” Win smiled politely, careful not to mention that his father had purchased the condo as an investment to rent out to future students after graduation.
The scorching late afternoon sun intensified the day’s heat, so stepping into the cooled townhouse and removing their shoes at the door was a welcome relief. Win gave Chris a brief tour of the living room before heading to the kitchen to grab two beer options.
“Heineken or Miller Lite?” Win asked.
Chris stepped in close, reaching for the Heineken with a quiet gesture. Win swapped his Miller Lite for the same and pulled a bottle opener magnet off the freezer door. After popping open both bottles, they clinked them together, and as Win guzzled half from thirst, he noticed Chris take a quick glance at the living room before doing the same.
We even drink alike! Win thought with a slight smile.
Chris turned to face Win with a delectable grin, and their eyes locked together again. Their breathing picked up in that stare, and Chris licked his lips. That’s all it took.
Win leaned in to kiss his mouth, and Chris immediately wrapped his powerful arm around Win’s waist to pull his body into him hard. Chris tasted sweet and salty from the beads of sweat that covered his face from the walk. He lightly moaned as their tongues thrashed with brute determination. Win’s free hand raked Chris’s hair against his head. Chris’s free hand slid down Win’s back and then pulled his upper buttock in tight to his frame with a forceful squeeze. They kissed and kissed and kissed … until Chris abruptly pulled back. With beer still in hand, he removed his tight, sweat-soaked tank top to fully expose his ripped torso.
Panting, Win looked him up and down, chugged the rest of his beer, and tossed the empty bottle into a wastebasket before he stripped quickly. Chris’s stare was entranced as he pounded down his beer, tossed his empty away, and came in for Win with a rod in his shorts. His hands grabbed Win’s ass firmly to pull them together tight, then tighter. He gently began to slide his stiff package slowly left, then right, then up, then down across Win’s hardness.
Literally an inch apart, their eyes stared intensely into one another’s souls for a consecrated moment. Chris breathed lustfully, “God, you are such a beautiful man,” before their mouths locked into more heavy exchanges of tongue and lip sucking.
Win’s hands slid into Chris’s athletic shorts down each hip, then inside the strap of his jock, to slowly pull both down until they fell onto the tiled floor. As they kissed and rubbed their bodies together, Win began to lead their aggressive sexual dance out of the kitchen until they bumped into a wall, which briefly knocked them apart and into a blissful chuckle.
Win took his hand and led him over to the staircase for the bedroom. Halfway up, he felt Chris’s finger run down his sweaty, naked lower back into the crack between his ass cheeks. It tickled and felt oh-so-good.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Win slowed his pace to a halt, turned around to sit on the top step, and grabbed each of Chris’s hips tightly with his hands. His face was at the exact level of Chris’s manhood, and Win began with a few teasing licks before he fully immersed him inside for a long, succulent taste.
* * *
After five hours of unrestrained passion, they somehow stripped the entire bedding from the queen mattress. The two lain across the bare Sealy at an angle, catching their breaths, wholly drenched and utterly parched, having experienced several intense, magical moments together.
Something made Chris giggle, and he said, looking at the ceiling, “I don’t even know your last name.”
Win laughed, realizing at that very moment that he was already in love with this man. Nestling his face into Chris’s shoulder, Win gazed into his beautiful eyes and sighed, “I want to marry you.”
“From our first date?” Chris teased.
“From this very cool, hot day. The second I saw you step into class this morning, I was on fire,” Win beamed. “Something has happened.”
Chris exhaled and, staring intensely into Win’s baby-blue eyes, said with a profound look, “I know you … but how do I know you? I’ve been searching for you … and finally found you.”
They bathed in this moment of blissful delight with one long, heartfelt stare.
Chris softly kissed Win’s nose and said, “If I marry you, will you tell me your last name?”
Win laughed again, then sat up. “Maybe … on the honeymoon.”
“We’re already planning our honeymoon?” Chris asked affectionately.
Win leaned in to kiss his forehead, then jumped out of bed and headed downstairs. “I’ll get us some water.”
The microwave clock read 11:32 p.m., and Win’s body was starving. He grabbed two iced tea glasses and filled them with chilled water from the refrigerator door when he heard Chris coming down the stairs. Before he could suggest an idea for a late supper or hand him a glass, he felt Chris’s arms slowly wrap around his waist from behind, and his lips softly kissed the back of his neck.
“Mmmm,” Win hummed. “That’s nice.”
Chris cooed between kisses, “I will … do this … and this … and this … forever … if you like.”
“I like.”
Win felt another tender kiss as Chris moved to kiss the back of his earlobe and whispered, “Then I will do this forever.”
* * *
A day after graduation, Chris immediately secured a position as a newsroom assistant at a Cincinnati television affiliate. They packed up a U-Haul and moved to Ohio, settling into a two-bedroom apartment downtown along the Ohio River near the Taft Museum of Art.
A natural in broadcast journalism, Chris was offered an on-air reporter position covering local events within six months. His charisma and strikingly good looks quickly captured viewers’ attention, and soon thousands called or wrote to the station, asking him to cover more than just ribbon cuttings, art festivals, charity fundraisers, marathons, and music events. As the station’s research department confirmed rising ratings due to his likability, management gave him a shot at daily news assignments, first with the noon news and then with the six o’clock evening broadcast. The program’s ratings surged, and within a year, Chris was promoted to senior reporter, covering major stories across the city, helping the affiliate climb to the top of the market ratings, which caught the attention of the network news division president in New York.
Nothing was more gratifying for Win than helping shape and elevate Chris’s career. He would record Chris’s segments daily on the VCR, and together, they’d study and critique his posture, camera presence, head tilts, and the right words to emphasize. As an events reporter, the two worked to cultivate his likable, fun-guy persona, which viewers saw as someone they’d want to have a beer with. But as Chris shifted to essential news coverage, they refined his image into one of professionalism: I’m goddamned serious about what’s happening here, and I’ll report the facts like no one else—just for you!
They thrived in their roles—Chris as the star in front of the camera and Win as the behind-the-scenes producer making sure his star shone brightest. Both type-A personalities maintained a balance by respecting their roles and boundaries, allowing their relationship to grow deeper and healthier.
Ironically, both had learned Spanish and French in high school and college, though neither had kept up with practicing. Their first significant disagreement occurred over where to place new furniture in their living room. Midway through the squabble, Chris switched to French, throwing a fit in perfectly enunciated French. Not to be outdone, Win joined him in French, and they soon found themselves battling with words, trying to recall the best one-liners in the language—until they both started laughing over their silliness. That quarrel sparked a decision to learn more languages—so if they ever argued again, they could debate in other tongues should the disagreement escalate. And Rosetta Stone became their “educational gaming” of choice.
As Chris became a local celebrity, they quickly realized that wherever they went together, they were being watched—whether at the grocery store, a restaurant, the theater, or an art gallery. Living in Ohio, they decided to be cautious with public displays of affection, not wanting to give off a “couple” vibe. While they weren’t exactly in the closet, they weren’t entirely out either.
Meanwhile, Winston entered the marketing world, thriving in the diverse aspects of the business at a prominent ad agency in Cincinnati. The firm’s automotive, grocery, healthcare, and hospitality clients gave him a rich learning experience. He absorbed everything he could about the business’s sales, creative, design, and production sides. His enthusiasm and adaptability were evident as he sponged it in, thinking this was something he might like to do one day: have his own agency.
Five years later, the network’s Chicago affiliate had slipped into last place in the ratings and desperately needed new management and fresh talent. The general manager hired for the task immediately sought to bring Chris Copens on board, but he alone simply couldn’t poach talent from a sister station. A call was made, and Chris was flown to New York for a meeting with the new GM and the network’s news division president. He returned home with a juicy contract as senior reporter for the Chicago affiliate.
Chris and Win spent eight years in Chicago, with the affiliate rebounding to first in the ratings during Copens’ first year. When his contract was nearing its end, a media recruiter contacted Chris about a political correspondent position at United News Network in Washington, D.C. With Chris now fluent in six languages—and Win as well—it was an excellent opportunity for Chris to interview dignitaries from around the globe. The move was also a step closer to becoming a news anchor.
At the same time, Win’s career in advertising was taking off. His boss at the Cincinnati agency had a friend who owned CASQS Ad Group in Chicago. When Win mentioned he and Chris were moving, he made one phone call to secure a position. When the time came for another move to D.C., a similar call landed him a job at another top advertising firm.
A year to the day at the D.C. agency, Winston was presented with a hotel account on Fort Lauderdale Beach and was directed to fly to Florida for some client handholding. It was mid-February 2004, the perfect time for Chris to take a week off and join him for a working vacation.
They landed and immediately began soaking up the sun while drinking heavily at The Breeze Hotel’s rooftop pool bar, with views of the Atlantic Ocean. The business side of things was smooth, especially since the hotelier, Richard Odessa, was impressed that Win had brought a celebrity to stay at his property.
Mr. Odessa, a jovial, short, portly gay man from Egypt with jet-black hair, was charmed by the in-love charisma that Chris and Win projected—now that they were free from the public limelight of Washington and could openly express their affection. Richard, a generous man with a sharp wit, took them under his wing. He shared adventurous stories of his life, showing them the city’s best restaurants and introducing them to trendy gay bars in the up-and-coming gay neighborhood of Wilton Manors.
Richard owned three hotels: the one in Fort Lauderdale, his first in Cairo, and a Palm Springs resort he had opened a year earlier. He liked the ad campaign the agency had developed for each of his properties, but was particularly excited by several new ideas Win had casually suggested after a few glasses of Bordeaux.
“You should move down here and open your own ad agency, Mr. Clarke,” Richard said over drinks at an upscale steakhouse on Las Olas Boulevard in downtown Fort Lauderdale. “I know many business owners here, gay and straight, who could use your talents. I would direct them your way.” He paused, then added, “I will be your first client and move my account over to you this very minute if you say yes.”
Win appreciated Richard’s gracious offer and the opportunities it presented. Still, he explained that if he were to branch out on his own, it would have to be six months after leaving his current employer. “I have a non-compete agreement to honor.”
Richard smiled. “As an honorable man, you would,” he said. “But my offer stands. If you decide to move to this beautiful sunny part of the world, it would be my honor to be your first client.”
On the afternoon of their fourth vacation day, after hours of lovemaking, Chris and Win lay sprawled across the bed beneath a ceiling fan spinning at full speed, trying to cool their heated bodies. Chris rolled over with a mischievous grin and asked, “Who was your first love?”
“What?” Win responded coyly, intrigued by the question after all these years together.
He reached down to pick up a pillow that had fallen to the floor during their heated passion and tucked it beneath his head. Staring at the spinning blades above, thinking, he turned to Chris and answered, “Mitch McKay.”
Chris grinned. “How old were you?”
“Oh, our love affair started in high school and ended when I left for college,” Win replied with a nostalgic smile.
Chris, still smiling, lovingly wiped the sweat from Win’s forehead.
“And you?” Win asked in return.
“I had the biggest crush on my art teacher, Mr. Bowser, all through high school. He was married with kids, but I think he was my first love—at least, my first crush.”
“Did anything ever happen?” Win asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh no, no, no,” Chris replied, laughing. “But I spent many nights beating the bishop, fantasizing about him.”
Win chuckled. “Aww…”
Chris took Win’s hand, kissed its palm, and asked, “How did you and Mitch fall in love?”
Win leaned back and stared at the ceiling fan again. “His family moved into our neighborhood when we were fourteen. There was this instant, intense sexual chemistry between us. Things just happened, and … it was the best sex ever.”
“Do you know where his life took him?”
Win looked back at Chris and said, “He joined the Navy after graduation. I heard he got married and had kids. We haven’t kept in touch. I have no idea where he is now. Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious,” Chris replied softly.
Smiling at one another in contented love, Chris then asked Win to roll onto his side with his back to him. He slid closer, snuggling tight, and kissed the back of Win’s neck like he had on the first day they met.
“You like?” Chris whispered between kisses.
“I like,” Win replied, his voice full of warmth.
* * *
Upon their arrival, Mr. Odessa recommended Sebastian Street Beach, a gay beach known for its inclusive vibe, just a few blocks from the hotel. Their last day in Fort Lauderdale was a flawless seventy-five degrees, inviting them to lie in the sand by the sea for hours of sunbathing. A light breeze kept their freshly tanned bodies from overheating. As the vacation was almost over, Win tried not to think about leaving this paradise.
There was something incredibly captivating about Chris that day, and Win couldn’t keep his eyes off him. This working vacation was exactly what they both needed, and everything was perfect—until, out of the blue, Chris revealed he was bored.
“What do you mean?” Win asked in a tone of confusion and curiosity. “It can’t get any better than this.”
Chris sat up on his beach towel, crossing his legs, accidentally kicking a light spray of sand Win’s way. “I’m bored with this juncture of my career.”
Win shifted onto his side to focus on him, intent on listening.
“I’ve been offered a foreign correspondent’s assignment.”
“Is that what you want? I thought you were working your way up to news anchor,” Win asked.
“I’ve always wanted to travel the world and report on hard news. You know that.”
Win adjusted his sunglasses and studied Chris. “If it’s what you want, then you should do it. I’d love to travel the world with you.”
Chris hesitated, continuing, “It’s a foreign war correspondent position …”
The word “war” triggered Win, and he immediately interrupted to ask, “Where?” He quickly sat up, pulling a cigarette from the side pocket of their beach bag.
“Republic of Congo—covering the civil war.”
Win lit up. “How long?”
“A month or two.”
“Solo?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?” Win pressed.
Chris pursed his lips, reaching for the pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.
Win could tell he didn’t want to answer, but he pressed further. “And then what?”
“It’s just an idea,” Chris said, blowing smoke, sounding as though he were dialing it back a bit. “I haven’t committed to anything.”
“Why this?” Win asked. “What’s the interest for you?”
“I want to report real news, not political bullshit.”
“Political bullshit is real news,” Win shot back.
“No, it isn’t. It’s safe news.”
“What’s wrong with safe?”
“It’s boring.”
Win didn’t want to understand, but he did. By now, Chris had clearly earned his stripes in broadcast journalism. He had always dreamed of traveling the world and diving into the trenches to cover the news of war.
Taking another long drag from his cigarette, Win exhaled and looked at the vast Atlantic Ocean. “Are you bored with our relationship?”
“No,” Chris said earnestly. “This isn’t about us,” he added.
Win looked at him, clearly troubled. “But it is about us. You want to leave us to go work on the other side of the planet—without me.”
“I would never take you into a war zone where you’d be in danger.”
“And I’m supposed to be okay with you going into a dangerous war?” Win raked his hand through his hair, looking down at the sand. “I see you’ve waited until our last day of vacation to talk about this.”
Chris, sensing Win’s upset, backpedaled. “It’s just an idea.”
But Win knew it wasn’t just an idea. Chris had wanted this for years, and he didn’t know how to tell Win how much he longed for the opportunity. Win suddenly realized it wasn’t about them at all.
“How much do you want this?”
Chris gulped. “I want this.”
“Okay,” Win sighed.
Stunned by the quick concession, Chris asked, “Okay?”
Win nodded with a touch of resignation in his voice. “Okay.”
Looking out to the blue expanse of the ocean, Win added, “But I’m not staying in D.C. alone while you’re away. I like this place, so I’ll move us here. I’ll open my ad agency and accept Mr. Odessa’s offer.”
Chris scooted across the sand, kneeling between their towels. He pushed Win gently onto his back, straddling him and pressing against his tanned six-pack abs. Chris gave him a long kiss, then pulled back an inch to ask, “Do you know how much I love you?”
“More than your art teacher?” Win teased.
Chris looked up at the sky, pretending to contemplate the question. He thoughtfully hummed, finally saying, “That’s the toughest question you’ve asked all day ... Mr. Bowser was pretty hot.”
Win smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. “Well, I think his student is pretty hot, too.”
* * *
Chris Copens’ professional journey over the next five years fulfilled his deep cravings for the dangerous, exhilarating news he sought—whether on the battlefields with allies or amid leveled towns filled with combatants and survivors. Becoming Union News Network’s highest-rated war correspondent was a significant accolade, but as his overseas assignments expanded, so did his time away from home. What started as weeks away stretched into months, and with each return to American soil, the reunions with Win grew more cherished and meaningful.
On November 5, 2008, Win had just returned home after another fourteen-hour day at the office when he saw Chris’s name appear on his new iPhone 1.
“I have a surprise for you,” Chris lovingly greeted.
Win stopped in the kitchen, a larger-than-life smile spreading across his face. “You do?” he asked, already suspecting Chris was coming home.
“I’m flying out tomorrow at Sunup and will be there in time to tuck you into bed,” Chris whispered sweetly.
Win exhaled with the relief he always felt when his love was coming home. “I’m so happy to hear that.”
“I’m sorry I missed Gregg’s funeral.”
Win’s smile faded, his emotions shifting. “It was nice and proper, but Steph isn’t handling it well. None of us is.”
Chris’s voice softened. “Gregg’s death grounded me. I think I’ve done what I needed to do here, and ... I’m ready to come home. And stay.”
Win’s breath froze as tears of joy began welling up in his eyes. “Really?!”
“Yeah.”
“Really?!”
“I didn’t renew my contract.”
Win let out a relieved, joyful sigh. “Are you sure you want to return to boring?”
“Yeah. I miss boring.”
“Chris, this makes me so happy. I love you!”
“I love you,” Chris replied softly.
“And you’re sure you want this?” Win pressed.
Chris cooed, “I am. I want to have midnight swims in the pool with my husband. I want to wake up beside you every morning and scramble some of my world-famous eggs. I want to be with you all the time. I really miss you.”
“I miss you,” Win cooed back, a tear falling as the weight of his emotions released.
“Hold on,” Chris’s voice shifted into his newscaster tone. “I go live in ten seconds.”
Win stepped into the living room, sat on the sofa, and reached for the remote to turn on the TV, already set to the UNN 24/7 cable news channel. Anchor Andrea Smith announced that Taliban insurgents had launched a new wave of bombings in the region, then cut live to Chris Copens on the scene.
“Andrea, it’s been another deadly day here in …” were his only words before a bomb exploded behind him, sending a burst of bright orange light into the air. The explosion was broadcast live worldwide before the feed abruptly cut to black.
Back in New York, the shocked anchor quickly called for a break.
Horrified, Win frantically called out into the phone, his voice breaking with panic.
“Chris?“Chris?…“Chris?”
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