Luckiest Man

Chapter 2

Luckiest Man

By J.M. Snyder

Of all the problems Matt diLorenzo had anticipated might derail his wedding, a pandemic wasn’t one of them.

There was no talk of the coronavirus when Matt proposed to his long-time lover Vic Braunson—or when Vic proposed to him, he wasn’t sure exactly how it went. Had either of them even popped the question? Or was it just an unspoken truth between them, as obvious as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west? Matt grew up knowing he liked guys and not thinking he’d ever get to the altar—men didn’t marry each other when he was little. It wasn’t until he met Vic that he got a glimpse of what life could be like with someone by his side. Someone he loved, who loved him just as fiercely in return.

Vic was his person, the other half of his soul, and after several years, Matt wanted the rest of the world to know it. He wanted the perfect pair of rings to link them together, twin circles of gold an ever-present reminder of their love, the promise of forever bound around their fingers for all to see. It took some looking but he finally found it, a thick band of white gold with a triangle of diamonds, so simple, so elegant, so them.

Now, sitting at the dining room table with his laptop open in front of him, Matt looked down at his ring and pictured the same ring on Vic’s large finger. Love you, big guy, he thought, even though Vic was miles away at work and well out of telepathy range. Still, he imagined Vic glancing down at the same time, catching sight of his own ring, their hearts linked together, their minds seeking out each other despite the distance—

As if on cue, his cell phone beeped with an incoming text.

Vic, he thought with a slow grin. But when he glanced over at the phone and saw the name Roxie in his notifications, he groaned.

Pay attention, the text admonished.

He frowned at the laptop, where a Zoom meeting was open in a small window in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. Roxie was one of the small squares in the meeting, and the only one looking right at him.

They worked together—she was the receptionist at the gym downtown where Matt worked as a lifeguard, and most days she pestered him mercilessly. Since March 2020, though, COVID had shut down life as Matt knew it, and the gym was one of the first businesses to close its doors. Instead of days spent maintaining the Olympic-sized pool, keeping a watchful eye over water aerobics classes and children’s swim meets, and relaxing in the empty pool by himself after hours, he was stuck inside the apartment he shared with Vic, only able to take the dog for a quick walk around the block if no one else was in sight. And for some reason his boss thought it necessary to require them all to log into a daily Zoom call so they could talk about…what, exactly? How bad things were? How many people had died? How none of them were doing anything at all, just sitting around the house and baking sourdough and longing for some semblance of normal?

His phone buzzed again with another incoming text that read simply, wyd?

In a meeting, obvs, he shot back, then added, you?

Her reply came a second later. Same. This is boooooooring.

Because it was, Matt didn’t bother responding. Instead he clicked on the browser window open beside the Zoom call, where he’d pulled up the website for a local winery before the call began. The site was full of gorgeous photos—lush vineyards beneath a setting sun, rustic tables covered in elegant place settings, a loving bride and groom slow-dancing under a canopy filled with fairy lights. He first found the website while looking for a venue for their upcoming wedding. He contacted the owners to make sure they were open to gay nuptials—they were—and after talking it over with Vic, he’d sent in a check for five hundred dollars to save the date. Well, save a date, he wasn’t picky, but they’d penciled in June 2 because it was halfway between his birthday in March and Vic’s in August.

Then COVID hit, and the check came back uncashed, a handwritten note on a Post-It stuck to it that read, Sorry, we’re closed for the pandemic. A message at the top of their website said the same thing. No matter how many times Matt refreshed the page, or how often he visited it, the winery remained closed and, for all intents and purposes, their wedding remained off.

Another buzz from his phone. He glanced over to see the message, You looking at porn?

Rolling his eyes, he texted back. No, wedding venues.

Nothing’s open, Roxie reminded him. As if he didn’t know.

Doesn’t hurt to look, Matt replied.

On the laptop screen, Roxie looked down as she typed a response. Matt knew what she was going to say and hurriedly typed, For the thousandth time, you’re NOT my best man.

She glared up at him, scowling. A flurry of angry texts buzzed in. Why not? You don’t have any other friends. Who else would you ask?

IDK, Kyle? Matt wrote back, indicating the guy he dated briefly before meeting Vic. Roxie knew who Kyle was, the guy went to their gym. It was more a joke than anything else—he wasn’t inviting Kyle to his wedding, hell no. As it was, the jerk told anyone who would listen that he was the one who set up Vic and Matt, and nothing could be farther from the truth.

For once, Roxie agreed with him. You only invite your ex to your wedding when you want to show off. You sure as hell don’t include him in the wedding party!

I know.

Roxie fumed a moment longer, the weight of her gaze through the screen unnerving. Matt kept his attention on his phone to avoid looking at her. Finally Roxie replied, I’m your best man and that’s that.

Don’t I get to choose? Matt asked.

Her reply was quick and to the point. No.

He groaned. Maybe they could elope or something. Was the justice of the peace one of the government offices closed because of COVID?

Stop texting me, he finally replied. I’m in a meeting.

Onscreen, she stuck her tongue out at him so quickly, he wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. Until the gym’s owner stopped in mid-sentence to ask, “Roxie? You want to add something?”

Matt snickered into his hands as she glared at him. “No, sir,” she answered blithely. “I just thought my tongue piercing felt a little stuck. It’s fine now. Sorry to interrupt.”

As the owner resumed his proposed amendments to how the gym would operate once it reopened—if it reopened, who knew when that might be?—Matt texted Roxie, You don’t even need to be here, you know. You’re just the receptionist.

Office manager, thank you very much, came the terse response. Lest you forget, I also do payroll. So shut up if you want to keep getting paid.

Matt turned back to the winery website. If he didn’t have to sit in this stupid, droning daily meeting, he would log off so fast…

His phone buzzed with another text. Aloud, he muttered, “Damn it, Rox, stop pestering me.”

He glanced at the message. Besides, she wrote, I’m hoping one of these days to see your sexy boytoy walk behind you. I miss seeing him and his muscles every day.

Matt stifled a laugh. Joke’s on you, he shot back. Vic’s at work. The gym might be closed but the buses are still running. He’s practically essential personnel.

A long moment passed. Matt hoped that was the end of it, especially when it sounded like their boss was beginning to wrap things up. But one final text came in.

I’m sorry. I hope he stays safe.

Thanks, Matt replied. Me, too.

* * * *

In early 2020, a deadly infection that came to be known as COVID-19 began ravaging around the world. Every day, news stations were dominated by reports of the dead and dying. Across the United States, cities and towns couldn’t get ahead of the virus, couldn’t keep up—hospitals were overbooked and understaffed, funeral homes were inundated, life shut down as store shelves went bare and businesses closed. People stayed home and hoped that was enough to keep them safe from the disease that was killing so many.

Richmond was no different. They ran out of toilet paper like everywhere else, and dog food was scarce, and everyone wore masks—surgical, N95s, bandanas, balaclavas, gaiters, even the neckline of a T-shirt pulled up over the nose was safer than nothing at all. At first people thought it would only last a week or two, but March brought lockdown laws that kept everyone inside unless they absolutely had to go out. Even jogging and dog-walking was forbidden. Essential workers kept up regular schedules, nurses and first responders, funeral directors and last responders, but grocery stores had reduced hours and minimal staff. Bars and restaurants, stadiums and theaters, everything else shut down. If they could, they opened for curbside pickup or contactless delivery. Otherwise they sent their employees home to wait out the pandemic.

Prior to COVID, Vic Braunson never thought of himself as an essential worker. He drove a city bus, for God’s sake, not an ambulance or fire truck, or even a funeral transport van. But the GRTC didn’t shut down when the rest of the city did. They couldn’t—for some residents, the city bus was their only transportation, and without the service, they had no way of getting to the doctor’s, or the hospital. Overnight the city upgraded the buses to install plastic sheeting between the seats and the driver up front. They did away with fares altogether—no one had to pay to ride, but they could only enter and exit from the rear door. They had to sit one to a seat, and skip every other row. Vic had to pay more attention to each pickup, too. The moment he had nine passengers, he couldn’t stop for more until someone disembarked. With fewer people milling around bus stations, and fewer businesses open around town, it wasn’t too much of an issue. Some days he could drive for an hour or more with an empty bus, stopping when he saw someone waiting but otherwise just driving by, circling deserted city streets for eight hours before his shift was over and he could go home.

He couldn’t complain, though. At least he was getting out of the house, and still getting paid, which was more than a lot of people could say.

Like Matt.

For now his lover was still going into work, but Vic didn’t know how long that would go on. If the gym stayed shut all summer, eventually the owners would want to cut costs somehow. Suspending pay for anyone stuck at home seemed like the logical first step. At the moment, Matty’s main problem was the sheer boredom of being stuck inside morning, noon, and night.

“If only you could stay home, too,” he’d say with a pout, as if every ounce of Vic’s being didn’t want to do just that.

But he didn’t have that luxury. People needed transportation, and driving to and from the city’s Medical College of Virginia for treatment was the only real help he could provide. COVID made him feel helpless and weak, and for a man like Vic, that wasn’t an easy feeling.

Just shy of six feet, Vic was built like a brick outhouse—all muscle and brawn. With his shaved head, facial piercings, and multiple tattoos, including a thick, black tribal tat above his eye, he was, in a word, intimidating. They met at the gym where Matt worked and Vic worked out. Before they got together, his personal best on the bench press was two hundred twenty pounds, two ten deadlift.

Now, though…well, now he wasn’t sure how much he could lift because he hadn’t yet found the limit to his strength. He could lift a city bus with ease, and had when he needed to. There weren’t enough weights at the gym to test his abilities; the one time he tried, the bar snapped beneath the force, just broke in half in his hands. He’d always been a strong man, but Matty made him more than that.

Matty made him superhuman.

It sounded cliché, Vic knew. Everyone thought their lover made them a better or stronger person, or completed them. In Vic’s case, it was true. Every time they made love, something in Matty’s seed gave Vic superpowers.