“Have you considered,” Maggie said gently, “that he might be proud? That Brooklyn might be proud? That the people who love you might actually be happy to discover this part of you?”
“Or they might feel lied to,” Finn countered. “I’ve been Rhett Wilder for years, Mom. That’s a long time to keep a secret.”
Maggie was quiet for a moment, breaking a cookie in half and studying it thoughtfully. “You know, when your father died, I was terrified of being seen. Really seen, with all my mess and grief and anger. I thought if people knew how broken I felt, they’d run for the hills.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “But the opposite happened. The more I let people see me, the more love came my way.”
“This is different,” Finn protested weakly.
“Is it? Or is this about you still thinking your success is a fluke?” She reached across the table, covering his hand with her own. “You need to trust in yourself the way we do.”
The simple truth of it hit him like a physical blow. He’d been hiding for so long—not just his writing, but parts of himself. His bisexuality, tucked away as a theoretical thing rather than a lived reality. His loneliness, masked by competence and routine. His desire for connection, buried beneath layers of responsibility and caution.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I’ve been keeping my writing in the dark for so long. I’m not sure how to bring it into the light.”
“You start small,” Maggie said. “You pick someone you trust, and you show them one piece at a time. You don’t have to throw open all the doors at once.”
Finn nodded, turning her words over in his mind. “I should tell Ollie. Before anyone else.”
“If that feels right, then yes.” She squeezed his hand. “But, Finn? You might want to talk to Brooklyn first. She deserves to hear it from you, not at some ceremony or through town gossip.”
The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him. “What if she hates it? What if she’s embarrassed by me?”
Maggie’s laugh was gentle but firm. “That girl adores you. Might she be awkward about it? Sure. Teenagers are awkward about everything. But hate it? Be embarrassed by you? Not a chance.”
Finn wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that his carefully constructed walls weren’t the only thing keeping his world from collapsing.
“Take another cookie,” Maggie said, pushing the plate toward him. “And remember that you’re allowed to be happy, Finn. Not just surviving, but actually happy.”
The permission, simple as it was, loosened something in his chest. He took the offered cookie, the familiar taste of his childhood a comfort against the uncertainty ahead.
Brendan’s backyardwas a work in progress, much like the man himself. Half-finished landscaping projects dotted the space—a stone path that ended abruptly in the middle of thelawn, a pergola with only two posts erected, and flower beds in various states of completion. But the patio was finished, and that’s where Finn found his brother, bundled in a flannel jacket and sprawled in an Adirondack chair with a beer in hand.
“If you’re hiding from your own life, at least do it with a beer in your hand,” Brendan called, gesturing to the cooler beside him. “Or two. You look like you need it.”
Finn grabbed a bottle and dropped into the adjacent chair, grateful for Keaton’s decision to give everyone the day off before they started a big renovation project next week. “That obvious?”
“You have that constipated look you get when you’re overthinking something.” Brendan took a swig of his beer, his breath visible in the crisp fall air. “Plus, Mom called.”
“Of course she did,” Finn muttered, though there was no real annoyance in it. “What did she tell you?”
“Just that you’re having some kind of existential crisis and might need brotherly wisdom.” Brendan grinned, pulling his jacket tighter against the November chill. “So here I am, wise as fuck and ready to solve all your problems.”
Despite everything, Finn laughed. This was why he’d ended up at Brendan’s—not for advice, exactly, but for his brother’s uncanny ability to cut through the tension, to make light of heavy things without dismissing them entirely.
“It’s not an existential crisis,” Finn said, taking a long pull of his beer. “It’s more of a…practical dilemma.”
“Ah, those are my specialty,” Brendan said with a grin that suggested the opposite was true. “Lay it on me. Just don’t expectactual useful advice. We both know that’s not why you came to the family screw-up.”
Finn hesitated. He hadn’t planned to tell Brendan about Rhett Wilder today—that felt like too much, too soon. But maybe he could start smaller, with one piece of the truth.
“It’s about Ollie,” he said finally. “And…me. Us.”
Brendan’s eyebrows shot up. “Trouble in paradise already? You’ve only been dating, what, a few weeks?”
“It’s not trouble, exactly. It’s…” Finn took another drink, liquid courage. “I’m not being completely honest with him. About something pretty big.”
“Like what? You’re not secretly still married, are you? Because that would be a problem. Not for you and Ollie, but because I’ll kick your ass if you’re still chained to that vile, vapid…”
“No, nothing like that.” Finn cut him off. He stared at the label on his beer bottle, picking at the corner with his thumbnail. “It’s more about who I am. Parts of myself I’ve kept private.”
