I huffed a laugh. “That easy?”
He smirked. “Not easy. Simple, but . . . not easy.”
I nodded, my head swirling. Could coming out really be that simple? Could I just date Atlas freely, out in the open like he deserved, and say “fuck off” to everyone who wasn’t cool with it?
“It can be really freeing, though. Like us, just talking about it so casually at our local bar? I know we haven’t talked for twenty years, but I want that for you.”
I smiled. “Thanks, man. And also, let’s not go another twenty years before we talk again, okay?”
He grinned. “I’d like that.”
We exchanged phone numbers but chatted for a bit longer. I gave him some advice on helping his mom fix a railing at her house, he filled me in on what he’d been doing for the past twenty years, and I told him where to get the good coffee whilehe was in town. I finished my beer, paid my tab, then headed outside to my truck while I contemplated everything he’d said.
Maybe seeing Brad here tonight and the conversation we had was the Universe’s way of telling me I was ready to come out. What was I waiting for? I’d never had a good reason to tell the world I was gay—or, maybe more accurately, androsexual, a term I’d come across after talking with Lars earlier today that meant I was attracted to masculinity regardless of gender identity—but now I had thebestone: Atlas. I was still terrified of coming out, of course, but if I didn’t, I risked losing him.
Losing him would be much, much worse.
I would come out—but not just for him. He might be the impetus, but I needed to do this forme.At the reunion . . . the prom, most likely. We’d both RSVPed to all the reunion events, but we’d be so busy, I doubted we’d have time to address my sexuality in any meaningful way. I could just show up with him on my arm, but didn’t he deserve spectacle and fanfare? Maybe I could do it properly on Saturday, hopefully in the most romantic way possible.
With the reunion starting tomorrow, our weekend would be full of events, nostalgia, and reconnections with old friends.
And, I hoped, claiming the person I loved in front of the whole world.
I just hoped I wouldn’t be too late.
Chapter thirteen
Atlas
Friday, First Day of the Reunion
“Atlas, can we chat for a minute?”
My stomach tumbled at Jeb’s words an hour before we were set to close up for the weekend. It had been a busy week, and I’d just gotten off the phone, trying to make a dinner reservation for next week. I was planning to ask Miles to move in with me, and I wanted it to be special, so I’d called the Italian place we often ordered takeout from in Walhalla to see if they could accommodate us. Of course, they didn’t take reservations, but they said they were happy to fit us in whenever we got there. The arrangements were almost complete.
But the sinking in my gut told me the next few minutes might change everything.
I straightened my simple emerald-green wrap dress with a tiny floral print as I stood from behind my computer and followed Jeb out of my office and down the hall into his.
When he shut the door after motioning for me to sit in one of the chairs behind his desk, my nerves ramped up further. This wasn’t good.
Jeb circled his desk in the smallish office and sunk into his faux leather chair that had seen better days. Though he had the largest office in the place, it was still smaller than my living room—and that was saying something.
I stared at his folded hands for a minute before I let my eyes trail up to meet his. My reluctance was warranted, it seemed, as I saw the sadness and regret in his gaze. Instantly, I knew why I was here.
“I’m not going to mince words.” He heaved a sad sigh. Shit. “I’m really sorry about this, Atlas, but we have to let you go.”
I froze, ice in my veins. I’d heard the words, but they weren’t registering. What did he say? Let me go? What . . . I . . . no . . . but . . .
My mouth wouldn’t work to reply despite my best efforts—which wasn’t a lot right now, to be honest—so he kept going.
“We love having you here, and you’ve done some really great work. This isn’t a reflection on you whatsoever. If it were up to me, I’d absolutely not be doing this. But . . . despite your best efforts over the past five months, we just can’t afford to keep you on the payroll.”
My eyes started burning, but I wouldn’t cry. “Wh-what?” I croaked.
The compassionate regret in his eyes wasn’t pity, but it felt like it, and I hated how it made my skin crawl. “I’m so sorry, Atlas. You’ve been a bright spot here, and you have brought so much more value to this company than what your salary called for. Your work has been exemplary—I will give you a glowing recommendation wherever you decide to go, whenever you need it.” He sighed again, his countenance downcast. “I’ve been tryingto find a way to keep you, Atlas, but the money just isn’t there. I’m really sorry.”
I swallowed hard, willing the tears to stay in my eyes before finally finding my voice. “Okay.”
