“I need to tell you something.”
Fallon squared his shoulders like he was bracing himself. “Okay.”
“I spoke to my therapist about you. I didn’t tell anyone we knew, but it was…it was weighing on me. Hard. I needed to talk to someone.”
“Oh God,” Fallon whispered. Gage felt a surge of panic, like maybe he’d really fucked up. Then Fallon looked at him. “I’m so sorry. I should have never asked you to do that.”
“No, sweetheart,” Gage said, the word tumbling from his lips. Fallon made a startled noise, but Gage couldn’t bring himself to apologize or take it back. “I just didn’t want you to be upset with me for telling someone.”
“It’s not your burden.”
“It is. I took it on willingly. But I have news. Something good, I think.” He dropped his hand to his side and pushed his feet into the floor so he could dig into his pocket for his phone. “My therapist has a brother who’s trans. He had a baby too.”
Fallon’s brows flew up. “Yeah?”
“Yep. He’s local. There’s a clinic not too far from here—like maybe an hour out? They’re queer focused and do trans pregnancies.”
Fallon sucked in a breath, but he said nothing.
“I can go with. Um. If you don’t want to go alone?—”
“I don’t want to go alone,” Fallon murmured very softly. “This isn’t your problem, but…that would be nice.”
Gage took a breath, then reached under the blankets and found Fallon’s hands. He squeezed them tight. “Nothing about you is a problem. My therapist reminded me today how important a support system is. And I don’t want you to be so caught up in worrying what will happen that you forget about yours.”
Fallon stared at him, wide-eyed, then bowed his head. “Thanks.”
Gage tugged him close until he was wrapped around him, and when he felt Fallon go boneless, a sense of relief rushed through him. He didn’t know what this was or what it could be. He was too afraid to hope or speculate.
But this?
He’d take it.
Anytime.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FALLON
“Turn slightly to the left.Just…yes. Perfect. Now, the moment you feel the wind pick up, grab the edges of your dress and throw them to the sides.” He held the camera up, his breath catching in his chest as he waited.
And waited.
Then the air shifted, and Elise grabbed the gauzy material and threw it outward.
His shutter clicked rapidly in succession as she turned, and he knew that one of those was the perfect shot. Letting his camera hang on his neck, he stared at the couple, then nodded. “I think we’ve got it.”
“Can I see them?” she asked.
Fallon smiled but shook his head. “I need to go through and delete all the ones that don’t work. Trust me, if you see them, you’ll start to think they’re all awful and panic. And you’re already stressed about the wedding.”
Elise looked like she was going to argue, and he was used to that. Brides tended to be demanding, but he understood why. He doubted he’d ever have to deal with wedding stress, but he saw it enough.
Luckily, she was one of his more reasonable clients, and after a breath, her shoulders relaxed. Mike walked up and slid his arm around her waist, giving Fallon an apologetic grin.
“She’s just anxious. The last shoot we did with that one company?—”
Fallon held up a hand. “Say no more. I get it. You’ll have some raw, unedited shots to check out on Friday, okay?”
