Unlawfully Wed

After the accident, nearly a month and a half went by before Alex could focus on anything outside of his family. Eliza had a broken collar bone and a broken wrist, Phillip and Angelica were both bruised and sore, and Maria, most definitely the worst of the accidents, had only gotten out of the hospital a few days earlier. She had lost one of the twins (a little boy, as it turned out, whom they named Oliver Michael Reynolds-Schuler), and had delivered a beautiful, one–pound-two-ounce baby girl at a little over twenty-two-and-a-half weeks, named Suzette Amelia Reynolds-Schuler. Maria had broken two of her ribs and had punctured her left lung, her right leg had been broken, and she had a concussion from where she had slammed her forehead into the steering wheel.

Phillip and Angelica were staying with Alex while Eliza and Maria healed. They had always had bedrooms there, but Maria and Eliza’s house was closer to school, so they stayed with their mothers more often than not. Regardless, their beds were ready, and their rooms had been recently redecorated to better accommodate for their ages.

It was a Tuesday morning when Alex, who was in his bedroom reading up on some cold case files to pass the time, heard a strange noise coming from the direction of Phillip’s bedroom (the children were off school for a professional-development day). He paused his reading, holding the file out in front of him for a moment before putting it down, looking towards the door. He waited for a moment, trying to gauge what was wrong, but he couldn’t hear anything. He shrugged and resumed his reading. He was probably just imaging things. It had been too long since his children had lived with him.

A few minutes later, Alex heard the noise again. This time, he put the file all the way down on the bed and stood up, leaving his bedroom and walking down the hallway to stop next to Phillip’s closed door, leaning his ear against the wood to see what was wrong. It sounded like Phillip was crying, but he couldn’t be sure.

Alex swallowed before turning away from the door and going down to the kitchen. He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and put it on the counter next to the stove, going back over to the cabinet to grab a pot and a solid block of dark chocolate. He went back over by the milk and put the pot down, grabbing one of his larger knife and shaving off hefty chunks of the bittersweet treat. He dropped the chocolate shards into the pot before going back over to the fridge to grab the cream and the sugar (which he kept in a porcelain bowl in the fruit drawer, just like his mother used to do). He brought the ingredients back over and combined them in the pot, slowly adding the milk once the chocolate, sugar, and cream had all melted together in a thick, creamy mixture.

Once the chocolate was at the right consistency, Alex pulled the pot off the stove and grabbed a ladle and two of his largest mugs. Had Angelica been home, he would have grabbed three, but she was out with a few of her friends at the movies, seeing whatever the newest hit had caught their fancy. As she was not, however, Alex didn’t feel any shame in filling the mugs to the top before grabbing the vanilla ice cream from the freezer and adding a dollop on top of each beverage.

Alex topped the hot chocolate off with some cinnamon before taking the mugs upstairs to Phillip’s room. He leaned back on his right foot and used the toes of his left to “knock” on the bottom of the door, waiting patiently for Phillip to come and let him in.

Sure enough, only a few seconds went by before Phillip opened the door, and, unsurprisingly, his eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were tearstained. He stared at his father for a moment before taking a step back and holding the door wide open. Alex smiled at him before stepping in and making his way over to the bed. He knelt down on his right leg before sitting down on it, balancing his weight on his shin as he nodded towards the head of the bed for Phillip to sit down. He did, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve and pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged before taking one of the mugs and sipping slowly at it before lowering it down to his lap.

Alex took a sip as well, letting the creamy dark chocolate coat his taste buds before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Phillip shrugged, staring down at the bed. He took another sip before putting the mug on the night table, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "I'm worried about Zettie," he said after a few minutes of silence, sighing and letting his shoulders droop in defeat, "and I'm worried about Mom and Mama, and I don't understand my geometry class, and there's this boy at school I asked out and he laughed at me--" Phillip cut himself off. He took another sip of his hot chocolate. "I just want to go to bed and wake up when it's summer break, is that too much too ask?"

Alex looked at his son partially in sadness and partially in amusement. On the one hand, he hated to see his son so stressed about so many things in his life. On the other hand, it was almost laughable how much Phillip was like Alex at that age. He worried about /everything/, from the way he looked to the way he dotted his "I"s and crossed his "t"s.

Alex couldn't help himself from chuckling, which earned him a glare from Phillip. "I know things seem tough right now, buddy, but everything really will get better. Your moms . . . they're grieving, but physically they are both doing fine. Zettie is, too, all things considered."

Phillip scoffed. "Yeah, and that's why we lost Oliver. Mama was doing /great/." He turned his face to the side so that he was looking at the empty doorway instead of at Alex. He let out a loud, dramatic sigh, his shoulders rising and falling from the effort. "I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind."

"Okay, buddy." Alex stood up and put his mug on the nightstand before leaning down and kissing his son on the top of the head. "I'll be in my room if you want to talk about anything."

Phillip didn't respond. Alex straightened back up and picked up his mug, turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Before he could get all the way out of the room, however, Phillip called out to him. "Hey, Dad?"

Alex turned around. "Yeah?"

"There--there is one other thing that is bothering me." His cheeks darkened and he looked nervous.

Alex's brows furrowed as he went to sit back down next to his son. "Yeah?"

Just like before, Phillip wouldn't meet Alex's eyes, but this time, whatever was worrying him, began to worry Alex. Phillip was twisting his fingers together and rocking back and forth slightly, his breathing quickening and developing a raspy quality. Alex reached out and grabbed Phillip's wrist, steadying it. "Phillip, what's wrong?"

"I don't want you to be mad at me."

Alex moved so that he was sitting next to Phillip rather than across from him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Buddy, whatever it is, I promise I won't be mad."

Phillip nodded, but he was obviously still too nervous to say anything. He twiddled his fingers faster and faster until Alex took his hands in his. "Phillip, just tell me. Everything's okay."

"I-I went through your mail," Phillip finally whispered, trying to unsuccessfully to untangle his fingers from his father's. "I didn't mean to, but I saw some envelopes in the trash that had G-George's name on them, and I was just curious--I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean to read them, honest."

Alex stiffened, and Phillip let out a shaky breath before trying to pull away. Alex held on tighter, his mind whirring as he tried to remember if there were any other letters that he had received from George, other than the first one. He couldn't recall any, nor did he recall John bringing any back after the still-weekly sessions with George he was having while Alex stayed in town.

Alex tried to relax, but it was difficult in his confusion. He didn't want to appear angry, however, so he took a deep breath before speaking. "Phillip, I'm not sure what letters you're talking about."

"You know, the ones he's written since the accident."

Now Alex was even more confused. George /hadn't/ written any letters since the accident. Hell, Alex had tried really hard not to even think about him, other than the few discussions Angelica and Phillip had wanted to have about him when they found out he was back in Alex's life. "Phillip, I'm sorry, but I really don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Now Phillip looked confused. "But I saw them in the kitchen trash. They were open. Didn't you open them?"

Alex shook his head slowly before something clicked in his mind. He hadn't opened any letters, but if Phillip had found them open, there was only one possibility for who it had to be. "Buddy, has Angie said anything about George being one of my clients to you?"

Phillip seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Alex did, his eyes wide as he shook his head. Alex gave him a tight smile and stood up, kissing his head again. "Thank you for letting me know, Phillip, and I'm not mad at you for reading them." He grabbed his hot chocolate and left the room before Phillip had the chance to say anything else.

Alex ran downstairs and put his mug on the counter before diving towards the trash can. He picked it up and looked inside, his stomach rolling as he dug through the half-rotted apple peels and coffee grinds. He could feel the decaying mush coating his fingers, the gritty grinds getting stuck under his fingernails and the sharp end of a toothpick stabbing into the pad of his thumb. He grit his teeth and held his breath against the smell as he dug down to the bottom, his heart sinking into the acid pool in his stomach as he realized that while the bin was full of garbage, it lacked anything made of paper.

Alex straightened his back and stared forward, his nose wrinkling and his jaw going stiff as he let himself feel the disappointment that was weighing down on him so heavily. He began to clench his fists, but the slime from the fruit began to solidify into a gummy paste, so he stopped. He made his way over to the sink and turned the water on, waiting for it to get warm before shoving his hands under the stream.

While Alex washed the gunk and goo away, his gaze drifted around the kitchen, trying to find any other spot where the letters could possibly gotten to. He wasn’t finding anywhere that really stuck out to him, unless . . .

Alex yanked his hands away from the water and rushed to the front closet, not bothering to turn the sink off in his rush to get to his daughter’s jackets. He remembered Eliza having this annoying habit, when they were married, of stuffing the things that she meant to get rid of in her pockets, letting them fester for days until Alex finally caught on to the smell and got rid of everything. A letter wouldn’t have a distinctive smell, but if Angelica had learned anything from her mother being a pack rat over the years, it had been this. She had done it with report cards, with notes she and her friends had passed, with money . . . maybe Alex would be lucky, and she had tried to hide the letters in one of the jackets she hadn’t worn to the movies.

He threw the closet door open and looked inside, his heart racing when his eyes locked almost immediately onto the corner of a folded piece of paper sticking out of one of the pockets of her faux letterman jacket. He reached in and plucked at the edge, his eyes growing wide when he found an envelope that was nearly bursting from the amount of papers that had been shoved inside. There had to be more than just a few weeks of letters in there, unless George had suddenly taken on the penchant for excessive writing, something that had always been more Alex’s area of expertise than George’s. (It wasn’t likely.)

Alex took the envelope and cradled it in his hand, the adrenaline running through his veins at the thought of finding the letters turning to nerves as he thought about all the things the letters could potentially say. There were so many possibilities. George could be thrilled that John was the main lawyer focusing on the case, at least for while. He could be pissed off at Alex for taking some time to focus on himself and his family, when George was operating on a very limited time frame. Hell, maybe seeing Alex again reminded him just how wrong they were for one another, and he was thrilled not to have to deal with Alex’s obvious mooning over him every time they were together.

Alex walked slowly back over to the table and sat down, closing his eyes and pulling out the stack of letters. He unfolded them and put them on the wood, counting to ten before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.

As Alex read through the letter, the unease in his heart began to fade, and he started to feel better about everything that was going on between them.

Hey, Alexander, the letter read, I know that I probably shouldn’t be writing to your house, seeing as I’m your client and all, but I just wanted to let you know that I am praying for Eliza, Maria, and dear little Suzette. I must say that I was quite puzzled when John arrived this morning without you by his side, but once he explained everything that had happened, I completely understood why you didn’t come see me.

However, that doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss you. I know it’s not fair for me to tell you this, Alexander, but seeing you these last few Saturdays have made me happier than I have been in a long, long time, and I hope that after this case is over, you will continue to grace me with your presence.

When I walked into that client room three weeks ago, I honestly thought that you had ignored my request and had gotten someone else to help me, or that the court had decided to appoint someone to defend me without my consent, but when I saw it was you . . . I could have sworn my heart had stopped.

The years have done you good, Alex. You look stronger than you did back then; healthier. I forgot how beautiful you look in green.

Yours,

George

Alex put the first letter down, his hands now shaking slightly. Just like when he opened the first letter, he couldn’t help but feel struck by the unfairness of the whole situation. George was the one who left him, not the other way around.

Regardless, he put the letter down and started on to the second letter, which was dated later that same week.

Alexander,

I hope this letter finds you and your children in good health. Ryker told me this morning, when he was guarding the breakfast corridor, that Phillip and Angelica are staying with you until further notice. I hope you don’t mind, but I managed to convince him to get a picture of the children from John. I can scarcely believe how much they’ve grown. They were only children when I saw them last; it’s strange to see them as young adults.

Ryker also told me that John and he went on their first date after my last meeting with John. I don’t know Ryker, much, and I don’t know John at all anymore, either, but I think they will be good together, will balance each other out. They both will talk my ear off if they get the chance. Perhaps they will do the same thing to one another and then they’ll both be quiet for a while.

Have a good week. Write back when you have time. Ryker has assured me that he will deliver anything you write to me.

I hope to hear from you soon, Alexander.

Yours,

George.

Alex put the letter back down, biting down on his lip and slouching down into the back of the chair. He knew that John was still George regularly, but how must the older man be feeling without a single response from Alex? He would be too proud to ask John why Alex hadn’t responded, but Alex was sure that it was bothering him, at least a little.

Alex read through a few more letters without finding any signs of George’s anxiety, but sure enough, when he got near the bottom of the stack, he found a letter that was dated less than two weeks previously. It was short, but it conveyed a lot of what George was feeling. Rather than on notebook paper like the rest of the letters, this one was written on what looked like the back of a self-help brochure, if the “Depression and You: Using Meditation to Find Your Inner Peace” printed at the top of the page was anything to go by. It seemed ironic, almost, that George was writing this letter below such “inspiring” wording. His handwriting, too, was different—instead of his normal tiny, concise cursive, this note was almost impossible to read with how badly the letters merged together. There were very few spaces, and Alex could make out a few spots that looked as though the page had gotten wet.

Alexander—

I don’t know if I can do this much longer. I miss you so much, and every Saturday that you’re not here just makes me feel like my case is more and more hopeless. I understand that your family has to come first, I really do, but I can’t help but feel like you’ve abandoned me. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, Alex. Everything I did, I did because I thought it was the right thing to do. I married Martha because we were both miserably in love with other people, and we thought we were good enough friends to make it work.. I left you because I was afraid that you couldn’t love me after I broke your heart. I refused your marriage proposal because I didn’t think that you would be proud to be with a man who was afraid to be public about his sexuality. I didn’t want to be public because I was afraid of being rejected by my family and friends, and by the people who had respected me as an army general for so many years.

I’m so sorry for everything, Alexander. John told me that you found out about Michael and me. You’re not stupid; I know you figured out why it was him that I slept with and not any other guy around town. I still love you, and I know that I always will, whether you come back and help John win this trial or not. If you can’t, and you have to devote all your time and energy to your family, I’ll understand. If you pass me on completely to John, I’ll understand. If you never want anything to do with me, I’ll understand, but Alexander, I have to ask that you’ll come see me again.

Please, Alex. Please. I need(it was underlined four times) to see you again.

I love you.

George.

Alex swallowed against the lump in his throat as he dropped the letter down to the table. He leaned forward and cupped his head in his hands as the full weight of everything that George had admitted hit him full-force.

George still loved him. Alex had begun to suspect as much, what with all the information he was uncovering, but having the man actually confirm what was in his heart was a completely different set of cards.

There was no way around it, now. Alex had been so good over the last several years at picking up the pieces and trying to glue everything back together to make a happy, pretty picture, but there were still so many spaces left empty. He had thought that the pieces were lost forever, but now he saw the truth: the pieces weren’t gone, George was just holding on to them for safekeeping.

Alex couldn’t help himself, and he could feel himself beginning to hope for a new future with George after the trial.

Before Alex could get too deep into his wistfulness, however, he heard his phone ringing from its place up in the bedroom. He let out a heavy sigh and stood up, going over the stairs and skipping every other step as he hurried to get his phone before it went to voicemail. John and the new intern that they had hired were both at the firm, and, while Alex was taking some personal time, it was still partially his responsibility to shoulder some the caseload. He had told John time and time again to let him know if he was getting overwhelmed, so anytime his phone rang, he did his best to make sure that he could get to it so he could help in some way, shape, or form.

Fortunately, Alex managed to pick up the phone in time, although he was still having trouble turning his thoughts to anything other than George’s confession. “What’s up?” he asked, forgoing greetings as he noticed John’s caller image pop up on his screen.

“Hey, Alex. You need to come into the office, now.”

Maybe going in to work would clear his head, and he could start to think about this whole situation rationally again. “Yeah, sure. What’s up? Did Mark make some sort of headway on the Lukerson case?” He went over to his closet and grabbed his shoes before going back downstairs to get his coat, forcing himself to keep his eyes averted from the letters on the table.

“Uhm, not exactly.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

John’s answer nearly made Alex drop his phone. “Martha Washington’s son is here to see you.”