He nodded, his head bobbing a few times slowly. “So like, mum’s the word then?”
Sebastian and I shared another look. “I was actually getting ready to tell everyone,” I admitted.
“Cool,” Will hummed, then turned to head back inside.
It wasn’t a decision I remembered making. One minute we were on the deck, and the next we were through the door and moving toward the kitchen, Sebastian’s hand in mine.
Ethan noticed us first, clearing his throat. “Bell.”
Bell, who was a few feet away, gesticulating wildly in what looked like a pantomime of Phoebe Buffay running, turned immediately at the sound of his husband’s voice. His eyes bounced to Sebastian’s fingers linked with mine, then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud enough to cut through every conversation in the room.
“Yo! T has something to say,” Bell announced.
Thirty faces turned toward us as Sebastian’s thumb swept across my knuckles.
“Uh,” I started, looking out at the crowd, some of whom I’d only met tonight, others I’d spent the majority of the past three years with. These were my people. This was a safe space. I knew that deep in my bones. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this for a while now, and I kept waiting for it to feel like the right time. Tonight I realized there isn’t one perfect moment.” I paused, then cleared my throat. “So … uh. I’m bi. And this is my boyfriend.” I glanced at Sebastian, who was watching me with an expression I was going to need about a week to fully process. “Most of you met him already, but if you haven't, this is Sebastian.”
“Wait!” A buzzed Cally called from the back of the room. “I thought you said he was your college roommate.”
“His best friend,"hisbest friend, Mikey "Ports" Porter corrected, shoving at Cally’s shoulder.
“Cool it, you two,” Lavoie chimed in with a broad smile. “It’s clear he’s all three.”
Laughter broke out, and just like that, I’d come out to my team.
CHAPTER 31
SEBSATIAN
The special electionwas just days away, and the team had finished our daily debrief thirty minutes ago. After darting across the street to my apartment and showering off the stress of the day, I’d settled on the sofa with a murder mystery book and a glass of wine when two sharp knocks on the door yanked me out of the story.
I checked my phone. Taylor wasn’t set to land for another hour, and I wasn’t expecting anyone else. I slid my bookmark between the pages, tossed it onto the coffee table, and strode to the door to find Wyatt’s glowering face visible through the peephole.
“What the hell?” I muttered, taking in his rumpled state.
His tie hung askew, and his usually perfect hair jutted out wildly as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.
I considered pretending I wasn’t here, but curiosity was stronger than annoyance.
I twisted the deadbolt and opened the door a crack. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded, eyeing the half-empty bottle of Scotch dangling from his fingers.
“You won’t return my calls,” he said, sounding like a sulking child as his glassy eyes wandered my face.
“You’re right. I won’t. For reasons I’ve already explained.”
He rocked back on his heels, his attention darting between my face and the living room visible behind me. His eyebrows lifted expectantly, clearly waiting for an invitation. When none came, he clenched his jaw and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his loosened tie. Then came the slow exhale, his features relaxing deliberately.
I knew that look; he was recalibrating.
“Sebastian,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvet tone he reserved for when he wanted something from me. “Please. I need to talk to you.”
“How did you get up here?”
His eyes bounced away. “A very nice neighbor let me in.”
Typical. Wyatt Hastings had never been denied entrance anywhere. Doors seemed to just magically open for him. It was what made him such an effective politician.
“Invite me in,” he said, attempting to lean against the doorframe. His hand slipped, nearly sending him sprawling instead.
