“Well, whatever’s going on, you’re killing it in the race. You’re, like, the only older team that’s keeping up with the frontrunners.”
“Older team?” Ray’s eyebrow shot up.
Tyler winced. “He didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Ray said, his competitive edge suddenly visible. “We’ll take being the ‘older team’ that’s going to smoke you youngsters in the next leg.”
The two friends laughed, clearly thinking Ray was joking. But I knew that look. He was mentally calculating ways to outperform them at the next challenge.
“Well, we should get going,” Brandon said, standing up. “Need to stock up on snacks before the flight. But seriously, whatever’s going on with you guys... we hope it works out. You make a great team.”
I watched Tyler and Brandon laughing together, carefree and unburdened. There was something both painful and comforting in how naive they were. They had no idea what lay ahead—the compromises, the heartbreaks, the slow drift of two lives trying to remain in orbit around each other. But they also had no idea of the depth that comes with building a life together, the kind of bond that could be stretched thin but never quite broken.
Ray turned to me. “Can you believe that? ‘Older team.’ We’re not even fifty.”
But I was stuck on something else. “Do we really look like we have it all together? Even to other gay men?”
Ray’s irritation faded. “Maybe we’re better actors than we thought.”
“Or maybe there’s still something worth saving,” I said quietly.
Ray was silent for a moment, watching Tyler and Brandon at the convenience store, playfully arguing over which chips to buy. “You know what? I suddenly really want to beat those two.”
“Because they called us old?”
“Because they have no idea how hard it is,” Ray said, his voice low and intense. “To build something that lasts for decades. To keep choosing each other even when it’s difficult. They think relationships just happen, like in the movies.”
I reached for his hand, surprised by the emotion in his voice. “Then let’s show them how it’s done.”
“Deal,” Ray said, squeezing my hand. “Starting with the next challenge.”
We had to wait for our group to board, and Tyler and Brandon waved at us as they walked onto the plane, followed by Desiree and Cherisse.
As we got onto the plane, though, we realized they were boarding from rear to front, and we were closest to the door. I waved gaily to the teams behind us then settled into our seats. I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with being behind in the race. We weren't out yet, but the margin for error had just gotten significantly smaller.
As the plane flew, I oscillated between the warmth of our renewed intimacy and the familiar irritations that had always been part of living with Ray. His restlessness in the seat beside me, his long legs splayed out into my space—these things still grated on my nerves. But now I understood them as part of a larger picture: Ray taking up space was Ray being alive, being himself, being the man whose energy had attracted me from the beginning.
I elbowed him gently as he shifted again, disturbing my attempt to doze. “Even in sleep, you’re restless.”
He blinked at me in momentary confusion, then smiled sleepily. For just a second, I saw the Ray who’d been so excited about building a life with me all those years ago—the same Ray who’d made love to me with such tenderness the night before—and my heart ached for what we’d lost. But maybe we hadn’t lost it completely. Maybe it was still there, underneath the accumulated layers of routine and resentment.
Chapter 25
Sail Away
We raced through the Paris airport, nearly broadsiding a covey of Arab women in floor-length coverings. It was a lot like being on the race—you could only see what was right in front of you.
“Excusez-moi!” I called out, darting between travelers. “Pardon! S’il vous plaît!”
“What are you saying?” Ray demanded, struggling to keep up despite his longer legs. For once, my knowledge trumped his athleticism.
“Just follow me!”
I spotted a sign for Terminal 2F and grabbed Ray’s hand, pulling him toward the escalator. “Where are we going?” He was getting that edge in his voice, the one that usually preceded a fight.
“Nice. Gate F36.” I stopped at an information board, scanning quickly. “Merde. Twenty minutes until departure.”
A uniformed agent stood at her counter. “Parlez-vous anglais?” I asked.
