Brighton is special too, and he’s had a good life. He hasn’t faced the adversities that you faced last night. Compared to the barriers you had to jump over in order to claim your life as your own, Brighton’s life has been easy. But the one thing he’s never had is a companion. A partner. Someone who loved him the way he is able to love. He would kill me if he knew I was writing this, and I’m a full-on romantic so I’m probably making too much out of this, but I saw the way he looked at you last night, and I saw the way you looked back at him. I watched him comfort you, and I watched you be vulnerable with him. And it gave me hope that he will one day have the love he deserves. The love that seems to surround him but always eludes him.
I don’t want to pressure either of you, but I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I feel like the two of you, together, have something really special. And you have no idea how happy the possibility of that makes me. You have no idea how happy I am that he found you. And that you found yourself.
You are such a strong, amazing man.
Whatever you face today, I’m sure it will be hard. All I can do is hope that you manage to hold tight to the things you told Brighton and me last night. All I can do is hope that all that “bad shit” is really gone.
So, I just wanted to say thank you. And even if it turns out I’m wrong about the two of you and you go your separate ways or you decide to just be friends, I’m glad that you came into our lives.
-Mickey
Tears well in my eyes. I swear to God, I’m not usually such a damn baby. I’m not lying when I say I’ve cried more in the past three days than I have in the past three years. But these tears are happy. I think they’re happy.
I set the paper down, then run my hands over my face—trying to wipe away my emotions. When I look up again, it’s my mom I’m staring at. And her eyes are full of tears too.
She drops her head and then shakes it. “His mom seems amazing,” she says quietly.
“Yeah. I guess she is.”
“I wish I could be like that.”
I take a chance and reach out my hand, laying it on hers. “You are amazing, Mom. And I understand why you’re not as accepting as she is. You can’t compare yourself to her. She didn’t go through what you went through.”
She nods but doesn’t look at me. “What did she mean… when she said she hoped that all the bad stuff is really gone?”
“Nothing, Mom. It’s not a big deal.”
She raises her head; her red eyes look directly into mine. “I want to know, Jay.”
I take my hand from hers and lean back in my chair. “I don’t know. Just the pretending, I guess. I never liked lying to myself or to my family. I didn’t really like myself. I never even really knew myself… until I accepted all of me. Which I wasn’t really able to do until I admitted it to someone else. Until I admitted it to Brighton and Sadie and my friends…. And mostly to you guys—my family. I was never really happy until I was able to be myself.
“I know this hurts you, Mom, but this is who I am. I’m gay. I can’t help it. It’s just who I am. It’s who I’ve always been.”
A tear falls from her eye, and she promptly wipes it away and nods at me. “Okay,” she whispers.
It’s one word. One quiet word. But the significance isn’t lost on me. The meaning isn’t lost on me. “Okay,” I agree.
“You should go,” she says through a smile that’s still tight but sincerer than the ones she’s been giving me. “You’re going to be late for school.”
I nod at her. And then I reach out and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She holds me tightly for a second, and that’s all I need. Participation. Willingness to try.
I stand and look at them for a moment. My parents. Who are willing, or at least trying, to accept me. God, life is crazy. “I’ll see you tonight,” I tell them before turning and heading out the door.
I’m smiling the entire way to my truck. And when I see Brighton’s Bronco parked across the street, I smile even bigger. I try not to sprint as I head down the driveway.
By the time I get to him, he’s out of the truck, leaning against his door with his arms crossed over his chest, a huge smile on his face.
Goddammit, I totally feel like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles. Except Brighton is way hotter than Jake Ryan. And I hope to God I’m more handsome than Samantha Baker. And yes, not only am I terrified of terrifying movies, but I have a thing for John Hughes. Which I’m not telling Brighton. Or anyone else. Ever.
“You’re stalking me,” I tell him, stopping short of him.
“Totally.” He laughs. “You look… happy?”
I shrug. “It’s totally possible. Are you giving me a ride to school?”
“I suppose I can, since I’m already here stalking you.”
I reach a hand around his neck and pull his mouth to mine, giving him a quick kiss before heading around to the passenger side and climbing in.
“God, I missed this thing,” I tell him about the Bronco.
“It’s no longer the same without you in it,” he says, starting it up and pulling down the road. Every few seconds he looks at me with some mischievous, seductive smile on his face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His smile just grows sexier. Or maybe it’s his eyes—they’re all heavy and shiny. “I had an epiphany, starring you.”
“Really? Please tell me the oracles whispered that we were naked.”
He grunts. “Hell yeah. We were so naked.” He reaches over and rubs my thigh, and I’m instantly semihard.
“That’s not an epiphany. That’s a wet dream. Oh my God, I’m your wet dream. You should let Maggie… and Samuel… know.”
“He texted me,” he says with a laugh that I don’t really appreciate because that’s not funny.
“That kid can fuck off.”
“Whoa, relax. I’m sure he’s a totally nice guy that doesn’t deserve that.”
“Really?” I ask, pulling my leg out of his grasp, unable to keep the tantrum on the down low.
Brighton reclaims my leg, his hold significantly tighter this time. “I told him I have a boyfriend.”
My reaction to his words is visceral, and it shows: my eyes are wide, and my smile is huge. “You better be talking about me.”
“Well, I mean, I said it because it was easier than texting, I have all these deep, crazy feelings for this kid I’ve been hanging out with for two days and I don’t know how he feels or where it’s gonna go, but I know he’s the only one I’m interested in so please fuck off.”
That run-on sentence makes me damn happy, but there’s something wrong with it. “You don’t know how I feel about you?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I should have said, I don’t know how he feels about commitment.”
“He loves commitment. He’s totally committed to commitment. Commitment is his middle name.”
He laughs. “Yeah?”
“I mean, if the right person comes along… yeah.” My attempt at hard to get is lost on him. He just smirks at me.
“Jayden Thomas Hall… do you want to be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah, Brighton…?”
“Maxwell.”
I smile at that. I like his dad. I like that we have that in common—our middle name being our dads. “Brighton Maxwell Bello-Adler, I do. You want to be mine?”
“Hell yes.”
I run my fingers over his, then grasp them. I’m smiling as I look out the window. “I got myself a boyfriend.”
He laughs. It’s a happy, excited laugh. “Those things you said about watching kids kiss and hold hands….”
“Yeah?”
“That always made me jealous too. I always wanted to walk down the halls of that school holding someone’s hand.”
I continue looking out the window, suddenly excited about going to school for the first time as an openly gay man. “Dying for class to get over so that you can see them again for a couple of minutes,” I add.
>
“Talking to your friends about how damn sexy they look today… in your clothes.”
“Having something exciting to think about while Mr. Barns explains kinetic energy.”
“God, I can just look at you and talk to you and touch you any way I want to in history.”
I look at him and smirk. “Jesus, I can totally drag you into the bathroom and cop a feel before English.”
He laughs again. I love the sound of his deep, throaty laugh. He pulls into the parking lot and surprisingly, I don’t feel nervous. Probably because I’m thinking about what, exactly, I’m going to do to him in all the dark corners, closets, and bathroom stalls between classes. He parks the truck and pulls the keys out, then looks at me. I grab ahold of his neck and drag his mouth to mine because I can’t help it. I kiss him long and hard, loving how strong his hands feel as they grasp on to the back of my head and how good his tongue tastes as it pushes against mine and totally living for the deep quiet sounds of pleasure coming out of his mouth.
He pulls away, rubs his sleeve over his mouth, and smiles at me.
“It’s really fucking hot when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Wipe my spit off your mouth after we kiss.”
He smiles at me. “You’re a sloppy kisser, Jay.”
“Shut the hell up. You already gave me the best communication award.”
“Fine. You’re not a sloppy kisser. And I didn’t realize I was doing that. I don’t think I do that with anyone but you, and the only reason I did it just now is because kissing you turns me on so hard and I feel like I need to suppress it… with my sleeve, apparently.”
“Maybe we should skip today… go back to your place.”
He shakes his head. “You’re distracting, you know that? You want to hear about my idea… the part after we made out… the epiphany?”
“I’m guessing it doesn’t involve skipping school.”
“No. The opposite, actually.”
“Fine. Tell me about it.”
“I think I’d rather just show you,” he says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss before opening his door and stepping out.
Okay.
I step out too and meet him at the front of the Bronco. “How the hell are you planning on showing me your epiphany?” I ask, holding tight to the straps of my backpack as we cross the lot.
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says with a mischievous smile.
“You love that, don’t you—keeping me guessing.”
“You’re cute when you fidget.”
“I have secrets too, you know.”
“Really?” he asks with a doubtful eyebrow raised.
“Yeah… really. My mom’s back. And she talked to me this morning. And she did that because of the little present your mom gave me before I left your house.”
Brighton stops in his tracks and turns to me, his head cocked. “I forgot about that. What was it?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
He pouts at me. It’s so damn cute.
“Fine. It was the letter you wrote her… the one where you told her we were gonna sleep in your bed.”
He looks surprised. “She gave that to you? Why? And how the hell could that make your mom want to talk to you? I told my mom we made out.”
“She added her own little note on the back, telling me how much she loves me and how much you love me and how we are going to make each other really happy,” I tell him with a smile.
“Shut up. She did not.”
I shrug. “It was something like that. Anyway, my mom was inspired. Told me she wished she could be that accepting. I think she’s gonna try and accept this.”
Brighton’s smile turns huge. “God, I love my mom.”
“Yeah… I kind of love her too. And seriously, she definitely loves me.”
Brighton laughs as he turns back toward school, throwing his arm over my shoulder as we begin to walk again. “You’re definitely loveable.”
“We’ll see,” I mutter as I notice the kids outside staring at me. They don’t look so loving.
I take a deep breath as we walk through the doors.
Just inside the entrance, Molly, Shaw, and Nico are standing in front of a table filled with piles of white T-shirts. I watch as Molly yells at kids passing by, attempting to shove shirts and fat markers at them. I’m confused until my eyes travel up to their chests; each of them is wearing one of the shirts, with big words written across it. Shaw’s says Too Feminine. Nico’s says Too Yellow, and Molly’s says Too Weird.
“What the hell is this?” I ask Brighton.
“The idea I had… the epiphany.”
“You did this?”
“Yeah, but I had some help. Molly had a giant box of tees left over from her shirt designing phase, and we got some awesome friends who were willing to make all my dreams come true.”
“Hey, man.” Jones is by my side, slapping me on the shoulder. I look at his chest. Too White Trash.
Brighton pulls me forward to the table. Grabbing a shirt and a red marker, he scratches out the words Too Starved for ATTENTION!!!
“That’s what you’re going with? That’s the stereotype that defines you?”
“I don’t want to steal any of your thunder. Not that I’m pressuring you to write anything….”
“You were thinking about taking my jockhole status away from me?”
He raises his eyebrows in disappointment, and I laugh before writing, as big as I can, Too Gay. “There,” I tell him, pulling off his hoodie and replacing it with my new shirt. “Are you happy? Have all your dreams come true?”
“I don’t know. I mean if we’re being completely accurate….” He grabs a marker and in the small space left at the bottom of my shirt, he writes (for Brighton).
“It’s always gotta be about you, doesn’t it, you attention hoarder.” I laugh.
“Maybe… for today at least, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t all about you.”
I look around and see that everyone—well, everyone except for some of the group I formerly considered my friends—has declared themselves too something.
It takes a minute for me to realize how unreal this is. It’s completely unreal. And somewhere in the back of my head, I manage to comprehend that Brighton did this… for me. To make this easier on me. To make sure today wasn’t all about me.
As I continue to focus loosely on the bodies around me, I’m having trouble accepting that this is happening here… in my high school… in this small, seemingly insignificant town, in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota. Either I haven’t given my fellow residents enough credit or something significant is happening right here, right now. I mean, this is high school. The jungle where being able to camouflage yourself is a necessary survival skill.
Suddenly the camo is being shed. Not only that, but people are painting targets on their chests. Damn.
As I look around, I swear I can see it… the realization, the relief, the fear, but the happiness too. The freedom.
The freedom of owning the words that people are calling you behind your back. Words that suddenly don’t seem as shameful or defining. Words that have lost the power to hurt you and are now empowering you. Because, what the hell can you say to someone when the words you use against them are proudly labeled on their chest? I laugh. Nothing. There’s nothing else to be said.
I’m not the only one outing myself today. Everyone is. Thanks to Brighton.
Goddamn, that kid is too much.
As I finally turn back to him, I’m completely overwhelmed with love. I can’t help it; I grab on tight to his waist and pin him against the locker we’re standing next to. “You are so fucking amazing,” I growl before my lips crash down on his.
And here, lost in Brighton, I forget where I am. I forget who I was. Nothing matters except for this moment.
But then a sound starts to infiltrate my head. A whistle… a clap… a whoop. And now, I, Jay Hall, am not only making out with the man of my
dreams, but I’m doing it in the middle of my high school.
And everyone’s watching.
And not only are they accepting who I really am, but they’re fucking cheering me on.
And yeah, this is totally a happy ending.
An escapist filled with wanderlust, writing is HAVEN FRANCIS’s responsible adult version of getting in the car and driving without aim. Reading and music are close seconds. She and her husband can often be found checking out their favorite bands locally or hundreds of miles away via road trips. Reading is something they don’t have in common, but he tolerates her dimly lit late-night habit.
Haven graduated with a BA, double majoring in English literature and fine arts. She made a living writing about trends in interior design but thoroughly enjoys that fact that people, unlike furniture, can fall in love. She especially loves when they fall desperately and into a forbidden kind of love. She has a slightly embarrassing fascination with the period of life that sits awkwardly between childhood and adulthood; the years when nothing is certain, lots of mistakes are made, falling in love is inevitable, and finding yourself is a struggle. For her it’s a fun place to escape to and she hopes her readers agree.
To date, Haven has published five New Adult romance novels, two of which have been Amazon best sellers. She also works as a graphic designer but considers Mom her most important title.
Website: www.havenfrancis.com
Twitter: @haven_francis
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/7339229.Haven_Francis
Facebook: www.facebook.com/Haven-Francis-719172584804408/?fref=ts
By Haven Francis
Riding with Brighton
Published by HARMONY INK PRESS
www.harmonyinkpress.com
Published by
HARMONY INK PRESS
Riding with Brighton Page 23