Their publicity campaign was actually pretty impressive. Honestly, I didn’t see it coming. Didn’t think they had it in them. The way every single one of them stood by him through the shitstorm.
Thanks to the team, the hate storm had mostly died down by the first week of December. Though Moon was still in the headlines almost daily.
He gave four interviews, opening up about some surprisingly heavy stuff—his own internalized homophobia, how therapy helped him start accepting who he is. Of course, every interviewer asked about me. Whether we were more than just friends. How I saved him at the club. If we’ve talked since. If things between us have changed.
“He saved me,” Moon said simply, dodging the rest. “Twice now.”
I’ve got to admit, most of my team spent a solid week gloating about it—especially since they knew how awful Moon had been to me before. Even Eric, who was there that night, said it was karma. That Moon had it coming.
I still haven’t told anyone what Moon said that night, when I walked him to the taxi. Mostly because I still don’t know what to make of it myself.
I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit, and the only thing I’m sure of is this dumb, persistent need to see him again. Every interview, every article about him—aboutus—keeps making me wonder why he hasn’t reached out.
Because after everything, I really thought he might. Hoped, if I’m being honest. But I hear nothing. Not until the Christmas Eve party at my place.
***
It’s a quarter to ten, and everyone’s already here. Nick and Samia showed up early to help decorate and set out the food. Eric came after that, then Dylan, his wife Holly, and Rachel—my high school friends who live in Chicago. Some of my teammates who stayed in town for the holidays made it too: Joe and Andy came with their girlfriends—Maya and Tasha—just before seven. Ten minutes later, Derek and João arrived. Patrick, Charlie, and Louis showed up around half past, with Louis’s girlfriend, Nina.
Instead of a sit-down dinner, we’re doing a buffet. I’m not much of a cook, so I ordered everything from the Centaurs’ team chef, Jelena Jovanovic. She and her team put together a custom menu for the party—and it’s incredible: mini roast beef sliders with cranberry chutney, rosemary-Parmesan potato stacks, truffle mac and cheese bites, roasted Brussels sprouts with a pomegranate-balsamic glaze, ginger-and-honey glazed turkey skewers, and little puff pastry parcels filled with brie and fig jam. For dessert, there are mulled wine cupcakes, peppermint bark, cinnamon rolls, and some kind of spiced chocolate mousse that everyone’s obsessed with. And that’s just the stuff I tried.
We’ve got red wine and champagne flowing, and Eric and Nick are mixing up gin and tonics with rosemary, using their favorite Japanese gin—Roku.
I’m on my third glass of gin and tonic, watching João and Andy play wine pong in the living room. They used red wine to fill the plastic cups since we don’t have any beer—Ifigured it was better not to throw that into the mix, with wine, Champagne, and gin and tonics already going around.
It’s messy, though—every time someone fishes out the ball, it splashes and stains, but nobody seems to care. Half the Centaurs are already drunk as hell, taking turns trying to beat João—but the guy’s somehow a wine pong master, even though he swears this is his first time playing.
“Shit, how are you so good at this?” Andy groans when João’s ball lands cleanly in his last cup.
João just laughs and does a goofy little dance, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He’s still got four full cups left in front of him.
“Who’s up?” João calls, while Charlie and Derek start filling cups for the next round.
That’s when the doorbell rings.
“Who the hell is that?” Eric asks, throwing me a look.
I shrug and head to the hallway, trying to remember if we’re missing anyone.
“I’ll get it!” Nick shouts behind me—then rushes past before I even reach the door.
“Who is it?” I ask, but he just opens it.
And there he is. Sawyer Moon, standing on my porch.
My heart stops. Then starts again—loud in my ears. He’s in a navy parka, dusted with snow. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair and lashes frosted over.
“You came!” Nick says, hugging him over the threshold like he’s been expecting him this whole time.
“Hi,” Moon says, a little startled, but then smiles and hugs him back. His eyes meet mine over Nick’s shoulder. “Hi,” he says again, this time to me.
“Hi,” I say back, barely getting it out. My pulse is hammering. I feel it in my throat, my temples, everywhere.
Nick steps back and turns to me. “I invited Sawyer to the party,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
Moon’s eyes flick to him, a flash of panic there. “He didn’t know?”
“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Nick whispers, clapping him on the shoulder.
