“Yes,” I replied without another moment’s thought. “I don’t think I realized it until now, but I’ve always wanted someone to choose me, cherish me, see me. I’ve been doing so much for everyone else my whole life; I just wanted someone to acknowledge that and be there for me the same way.”
My breath caught at the words I’d never expected to utter, never even knew I thought.
Holy.
Shit.
I’d barely been here fifteen minutes, and I was already having a revelation.
I’d never considered myself a person who wanted to be in a relationship. But when Lars had spoken the question aloud, hiswords had resonated deep in my soul, and I knew I’d had that desire all along.
Lars just sat there, a knowing yet kind smile on his face, as my brain worked it out. And the words came tumbling out.
Forty minutes later, my eyes were swollen from crying and my throat hurt from talking for so long without a break, but my heart was lighter. Atlas wanted me, was willing to be there for me, to be the Daddy I’d wanted, needed, craved, and, yes,longed forsince I knew Daddy/boy relationships were a thing. I needed to accept the care and attention he was offering by claiming him openly, publicly, without fear.
It was time to finally be brave, to come out after nearly three decades in the closet. Atlas was worth it.Iwas worth it.
***
That night, after scheduling another appointment with Lars for next week, I made my way to Timbers & Tallboys, a local bar near the high school that had changed owners more times than I could count. Atlas was out tonight with coworkers for a birthday or something, so it gave me time to take in the local scene I’d largely ignored for decades. Cloudy would be proud.
As I walked through the door, my gut clenched at how busy it was. I’d noticed reunion attendees were starting to trickle into town over the past few days, so seeing an old friend wasn’t entirely out of the question. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
Guess it depended on the friend.
Swallowing my nerves, I sauntered up to the counter and climbed onto a stool at the far end of the bar. I nodded at the bartender, who introduced himself with “Mose” and an up-nod, and ordered an amber ale they had on tap. Mose mumbled out a “got it” and set to pouring my drink—expertly, by the way—and I decided I liked the guy. Grump recognized grump.
I’d seen him around town, which I only realized once he’d set my drink down on a coaster with a cordial grunt, if such a thing existed. Vanessa had mentioned in passing that he was sort of the town pariah—I thought she said a statue was somehow involved, one he’d destroyed or torn down or something. While I supposed I could see it from an outsider’s perspective, I could tell there was more to the story. I’d bet he had a lot more going on under the surface than people realized.
I sipped my beer as I watched the other bartender—a blonde, objectively attractive woman who looked to have about a decade on me—serve a customer a few seats down. I had to look twice when I saw who it was.
The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. “Brad Willson?”
The man I’d known in high school—one of the closest friends I’d had back then, actually—turned my direction, and a wide smile stretched across his face when his eyes landed on me. “Miles Johnson?”
I nodded, a smile that I couldn’t quite help spreading on my own face as Brad moved a few stools down to sit next to me.
“Miles, buddy, how’ve you been?” he asked once he was seated, drink back in his hand. A whiskey, from the look and smell of it.
“I’ve been good. How about you?” I tipped my head at his drink. “Celebrating being back in town for the reunion?”
He took another sip then smiled. “Nah, but I actually am celebrating. I just got a promotion back in Chicago.”
I raised my glass to clink against his. “Congratulations! At least, I assume that’s a good thing?”
Brad nodded, setting his glass down on a napkin then playing with one corner. “It’s good. To be honest, I’ve been running myself a bit ragged the past decade or so, trying to earn my keep and get some credit with the rest of the coaching staff. It seemsthey’re finally willing to give me a shot—and I’m excited for the opportunity but also sort of ready to settle down.”
I raised an eyebrow. “With anyone in particular?”
Though I hadn’t seen my friend for twenty years, I could tell his chuckle was nervous. “Not at the moment.”
I frowned, studying him. He was hiding something below the surface, but it wasn’t my place to pry. “Well, you seem good, anyway.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
I sniffed, the thought somehow hilarious.
“Or . . . not?” he asked.
