“Oh, gross!”
Maggie’s sharp voice cut through their lust, and Wade froze on top of him before rolling off. Beau sat up, mind whirring with explanations and threats to keep her quiet, but it was too late. She ducked out of the open door and into the hallway.
“Mom!” she called loudly. “Wade and Beau are making out in his room!”
“You didn’t lock the door?” Wade asked, incredulous.
Beau felt a wash of guilt. He always locked the door when they were together, but he’d been preoccupied by Wade’s music, and he hadn’t intended anything to happen. But he should have been more careful.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Maybe I can catch Maggie.”
“Not likely—”
Beau darted out of the room, running down the hallway. “Mags, wait!”
His sister was already halfway down the staircase. She paused to look up at him. “Wade’s a jerk. I’m doing you a favor.”
She continued down the stairs, while Beau called after her. “Maggie, don’t! It’s not …” He trailed off as she disappeared from view.
“Fuck!”
“Well, that’s that,” Wade said grimly.
Beau turned, swallowing hard as he saw the grim resignation on Wade’s face. He was pale, shaken. “We were playing with fire.”
“I’m so sorry,” Beau repeated. “It’s my fault.”
Wade shook his head. Swallowed hard. “It’s done. No point in blaming anyone.”
But despite what he said, he’d trusted Beau to take care with his secrets, and Beau had betrayed that trust. He was already out, but Wade was still coming to terms with his sexuality, and Beau really didn’t know what this would do to him.
He was scared to death Wade might push him away, try to retreat into denial again. And that would be heartbreaking for so many reasons, and not just because Beau was head over heels for him.
***
Getting outed seemed inevitable. In a way, Wade was relieved. He was terrified as he watched Beau’s mother storm toward the bottom of the stairs, but he was tired of hiding the truth. Whether today or a year from now or ten years from now, the truth would come out, and his family would either accept him or they wouldn’t.
Beau had told him they would. The evidence all pointed that way too. But he couldn’t entirely let go of his fear, not when he’d thought the same about his father and been so wrong.
“The hell is Maggie telling me?” Beau’s mother demanded from the bottom of the stairs.
“Mom, she’s crazy,” Beau said. “We were goofing around, wrestling and—”
She snorted. “Right. Do you think I was born yesterday?”
Beau always was a terrible liar. He was far too genuine to convince anyone he and Wade weren’t important to each other.
“Come on,” Beau said weakly, “you know Wade’s not gay.”
“I don’t know anything about Wade,” she said, crossing her arms, “but I know you better not be lying to me about what you’re getting up to under my roof.”
Beau went quiet, the same as confirming the lie. Before Twyla could tear into them any further, Trent drifted in, followed by Xavier and Wade’s mother.
“Wade?” his mom asked, sounding puzzled. “What’s going on?”
Wade couldn’t find his voice. He dropped his gaze to his shoes and shrugged.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Twyla began in strident tones.
“No!” Beau blurted. “It’s not for you to say.”
Wade was trying to get his heart under control. It had lodged in his throat, obstructing his words and turning him mute. He didn’t know why, but the moment his mother walked in, he broke out in a sweat. He’d thought he was prepared to face the truth, but now he felt like a scared little boy.
I can’t lose her too.
Beau turned to him. His hand rubbed Wade’s back. “Maybe you should talk to your mom alone.”
“No,” Wade croaked, reaching blindly for Beau’s hand. He grabbed hold and laced their fingers. He couldn’t imagine doing this without Beau beside him. He reminded himself that Beau came out and everyone accepted it.
“Beau and I … we, we’re ...”
“Friends,” Beau supplied, obviously unable to listen to Wade struggle for words. “We’ve gotten friendly.”
“Is that what they call it?” Twyla snarked.
“Mom, stop,” Beau said.
“Wade,” his mother said softly, “you can tell me anything. I love you, and that’s not going to change.”
Wade barked a bitter laugh. “I wish I believed that. I mean, I do, but it’s hard.”
Trent stepped up behind Helen, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. They would have made a good couple if Trent weren’t gay. If Trent weren’t the kind of guy Wade’s dad didn’t want him to be.
“Wade, we’re all listening, but only if you’re ready to tell us.”
“I thought I was,” Wade said. “I thought I was ready a long time ago. But Dad—”
He couldn’t do it. He broke off and shook his head.
“What about your dad?” his mom asked.
Dread opened in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful would happen if he said the words.
“Do you want me to tell them?” Beau asked. Wade started to say no but then nodded. He could feel himself trembling, and his legs gave out. He sank onto the fourth stair, where they’d stopped when Beau’s mother appeared to question them about Maggie’s claims.
Beau sat down beside him, still holding his hand.
“Wade told his dad he was gay,” Beau said. “He died soon after, but ... I don’t think what he said helped Wade feel accepted.”
Wade’s mother gasped. “No!”
Wade tensed. “It’s the truth,” he scraped out. “I told Dad I was … and he said he didn’t want me to end up like Trent.” Now that he had gotten the words out, minus the one word, the rest tumbled out in a rush. “He told me to think about it more, like I didn’t really know. I was too young to know. I think he wanted to believe I was just confused, but …”
“You weren’t,” his mother finished when he trailed off.
“No,” he whispered. He looked at his mother, taking in her shell-shocked expression. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey ...”
His mother jogged up two stairs and wrapped Wade in a hug. He sank against her, shaking.
“I love you,” she said. “I’ll always love you.”
“I tried,” Wade said into her shoulder. “I tried to be what he wanted.”
“Sweetie, no.” She pulled back to look into his face. “You have to be yourself. It’s our job to love you no matter what. Do you understand?”
He nodded, trying to believe her. After so many years of internalized self-loathing and shame, it was difficult to wrap his mind around his mother so easily accepting him. He didn’t even fully accept himself.
“Dad killed himself right after I told him, though. And I felt so wrong…”
“Jesus,” Xavier said from the doorway near the stairs where he watched.
Trent cleared his throat. “Byron spoke about me?”
Wade looked past his mother’s shoulder to see Trent’s grim expression. His eyes were dark, filled with hurt, and Wade realized he wasn’t alone in this. His father’s reaction hurt Trent too.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s okay. I’m just trying to understand,” Trent said. “What exactly did he say?”
Wade replayed the conversation from that day. It was four years ago, but he’d tortured himself with the memory often enough that it came back to him easily. “I told him I was gay, that I liked boys. He said I was young and maybe I was confused. He told me to think it over because even though you were his best friend, he didn’t want me to end up like you. He said nobody would want that.”
Trent placed a hand over his stomach, as if he felt sick. Xavier crossed the room and wrapped an arm aroun
d his shoulders, pulling him in.
“I don’t believe it,” his mother whispered.
Wade curled in on himself, only the tight grip of Beau’s hand keeping him from breaking down. Of course, his mother would rather believe he was lying than see her husband in a different light. Wade hadn’t done much to earn her trust or loyalty in the past four years.
“Look at how much this hurts him,” Beau said from his side. “He’s not lying.”
“I believe you, Wade,” Trent said, his voice rough. “It just doesn’t fit with the man I knew.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Wade’s mother added. “Of course, we believe you. We can see the pain it’s caused you.” She brushed a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
After an awkward moment of silence, Xavier suggested they all take a seat in the dining room and have some hot tea. One by one they murmured agreement and passed through the doorway into the next room.
Twyla stopped Wade and Beau before they joined the rest. “We’re not done talking about you two messing around in Beau’s bedroom.”
Beau’s face turned red, and he glared at his mom. “I’m eighteen, and you need to back off,” he said.
She placed her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Eighteen or not, this is my house—”
“Actually, it’s my house,” Gran cut in, her voice matter-of-fact. “We’ll all sit down at the table and talk like adults. Because that’s what we all are,” she added, nodding at Wade and Beau.
Wade knew he liked Gran for a reason.
“Well, go on then. Get in there,” she added, when they took too long to respond. She was not a woman to be disobeyed, so they scurried into the room and took two seats on one side of the table, while Twyla took her usual place across from Xavier and Gran sat down at the far end of the oblong table that could seat eight.
Maggie and Katy hovered in the kitchen doorway. “Can we come in?” Maggie asked.
Wade shot her a dirty look. She hadn’t even considered the consequences before outing him. She blanched at his look, shrinking back.
“This is a grown-up talk, girls,” Twyla said. “Go play.”
“I’m not a child,” Maggie argued. “Besides, I’m the one who saw them!”
Beau rolled his eyes. “And the one who went running to Mommy like a snitch—”
“Okay, that’s enough. You girls go up to Maggie’s room and give us a few minutes,” Gran said.
Still sulking, they left without a fight. Then everyone turned their attention to Wade and Beau. To say it was uncomfortable would be an understatement.
“Are you two boyfriends?” Helen asked.
It was a slightly more tactful way to address the issue, so Wade appreciated that much. He could sense Beau waiting for his lead.
“I guess we are,” Wade said, looking to Beau for confirmation.
Beau nodded, a shy smile on his face. “Yeah.”
“But Wade’s not out, so this is some kind of secret?” Twyla asked. “The kids at school don’t know, do they?”
“No.”
“So, you’re calling my son your boyfriend, you’re doing the nasty in his bedroom, but you don’t want anyone to know?” Twyla said. “Sounds like a good deal for you, but what about Beau’s feelings?”
“Jesus, Twyla,” Xavier muttered.
“What? I don’t believe in beating around the bush,” she said.
“It’s not like that,” Beau protested.
Her gaze turned to Beau. “So, explain it.”
He took a breath. “Wade is not ready to tell everyone. He’s struggling with all this. But we care about each other. And I’m willing to wait until he’s ready to let everyone know.”
“What if he’s never ready?” Twyla pushed.
Beau couldn’t hide the pain that question caused him. He drew in a breath, and Wade felt the need to reassure him. He placed a hand on Beau’s leg under the table, smoothing his palm over denim.
“You can’t force someone out of the closet,” Xavier told Twyla. Then he turned an apologetic look on Wade and Beau. “But you also can’t wait forever. It’s painful to keep hoping and waiting. I know. I’ve been there.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Wade said.
“But you might,” Twyla said bluntly. “Just like you probably hurt all those girlfriends of yours.”
Wade flinched, casting his eyes down. “I might.”
“We’re not breaking up,” Beau said so firmly Wade looked at him. Beau looked fierce, staring down his own mother. Then he turned that forceful expression on Wade. “I’m not giving up on you.”
“Beau, I’m not the best bet.”
“I’m not,” he repeated. He gripped Wade’s hand and squeezed hard. “And you’re not giving up either.”
***
Even after the discussion at the James’ house, Wade’s mom had a lot to process. She asked him questions. They came to her out of the blue. They would be watching television, or doing laundry, and she’d pause what she was doing and say, “When did you first know, Wade?”
He told her he realized he liked boys when he was twelve. He explained, in as much detail as he could remember, his coming-out speech. He told her how he and Beau came to spend time together, then became friends, then something more. He told her he’d let Beau down, and he was still confused and scared.
Eventually, they’d dug up all Wade’s secrets. They’d purged and reconnected, bonded even. That’s why, on the third day after he came out, when his mother suggested he go to counseling again, he didn’t lose his temper.
“Now that you’re dealing with your father’s words and facing your feelings, therapy might be more useful,” she said.
“I hated counseling,” he said as he set down his phone, where he’d been cruising Reddit in an attempt to distract himself. He and Beau hadn’t talked much since the big coming-out fiasco. It was easy to believe things would work out when Beau was fiercely defending their relationship, but as the days ticked by, Wade was less sure of himself.
He needed time. Time to find his footing in a reality where he wasn’t the secretive, angsty kid lashing out at everyone around him. A reality where his mother knew he was gay and accepted him anyway. A reality where his father would never do the same, would always be disappointed, frozen in Wade’s memory as a man who didn’t want him to be gay. Even now, he still felt torn about his sexuality.
So, he and Beau texted here and there, but Wade kept his distance, and Beau hadn’t pushed for more.
“You didn’t give counseling a chance,” his mom argued. “You wouldn’t tell your therapist what was wrong. You kept everything bottled up. Now it could be different.”
She had a point. He hadn’t been willing to share his father’s words to him, or the truth of his sexuality, with anyone back when he’d been sent to grief counseling. They’d mainly focused on the grieving process, assuming his anger and acting out stemmed from grief over his father’s death. It had, partly, but it had run deeper than that too.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m just not sure it’s for me.”
“You need to think about Beau,” she said, pulling out the big guns. “That boy adores you.”
“I adore him,” he said, still feeling strange voicing those kinds of thoughts to his mother.
She sat on the sofa next to him, leaning into his side and ruffling his hair. “You’re so cute when you talk about him,” she said in a tone that made him roll his eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this about anyone. Those girlfriends …”
He grimaced. “Let’s never talk about that again,” he pleaded.
He’d already answered her questions about the girls he dated. He felt shamed he’d used anyone to help keep his secret, and he probably always would. He was trying to work past it, just as he was trying to work past the lingering shame that he couldn’t be what his father had wanted for a son. As much as everyone told him that Byron was depressed and not himself in those final days, it was hard to let go of self-loa
thing that had set in years ago.
“Fair enough,” his mother said, patting his leg. “I’m just saying that you care about Beau. It’s obvious, and it’s sweet. But if you want to hold on to him and make that relationship work, you’re going to have to work on yourself.”
“I know.”’
She stood up. “Just think about going, Wade?” she asked. “But do it for you this time, not for me. It’ll only work if you want it to.”
***
The week after Christmas was hard for Beau. He knew that whatever he felt, Wade must be feeling ten times worse, so he tried not to push him for more contact than he wanted to give. Beau would love to see him again, kiss him, reassure himself that Wade wasn’t going anywhere, but he understood Wade needed some time to cope with years of pent-up repression, shame and secrets.
School was out of session, so Beau volunteered overtime at the hospital. Amos Jacobs’ death had shaken him, and he still wasn’t sure about his future, but it was the best use of his time. He made deliveries and greeted patients, but he hadn’t grown close to anyone else. He’d even seen Dr. Rollins one more time, and the doctor had seemed honestly sad to hear Amos hadn’t made it.
Hashing out things with Wade — and having their first real make-out session — had temporarily comforted Beau, but it couldn’t take away the grief and confusion. Only Gran’s words had given him some clarity. He’d moped around in the days after Amos’ death, back to thinking about the shocking news, the sadness that such a vibrant life was gone, and the realization that maybe he wasn’t cut out for health care.
Gran had joined him at the dining room table one afternoon, placing a steaming mug of tea before him.
“I was sorry to hear about Amos,” she’d said. She had never met him, but Beau had talked about him enough she knew the name. “It’s always hard to lose someone.”
“I didn’t know him well.”
“But you cared.”
“He was a nice guy, so lively,” Beau had said, sadness welling inside him. “I wished he had more family or friends at the end. It’s just so sad that he was alone.”
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