“How did hearing that make you feel?” he asked eventually, not meeting my eyes.
“Terrified.” I let my head fall back against the cushion. “And somewhat relieved, if I’m being honest. Which terrifies me even more.”
“Did you confirm his suspicions?”
“Yeah,” I breathed out. “I mean, not exactly. But Ididtell him I’m gay.” I rolled my head to look at him. “He said he’d pretty much already figured that out, given this morning.” The corner of my mouth lifted despite the nerves rocking through me.
Taylor unfolded himself from his end of the couch and settled beside me. “How did it feel, saying it out loud?”
My free hand went to my chest, pressing against my sternum where, during that conversation, my heart had felt like it was going to explode in my chest. I’d been convinced that I was going to die before I could finish the sentence.
“Good and bad in equal measure. Good because the second I said it, I realized how badly I’vewantedto say it.” My throat closed around the next words, and I had to wait until I trusted myself to keep going. “For so damn long, Tay.”
Taylor pulled back, his brow creased. “Seb. Every conversation we’ve had since Vegas has been about how no one can ever find out. How your career wouldn’t survive it. How we have to be so fucking careful.” His voice wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t gentle either. “And now you’re sitting here telling me you’ve wanted to come out this whole time?” He shook his head. “Make it make sense. Please.”
The accusation landed hard. Not because he was being cruel—because, sadly, he was right.
“I don’t know how to make it make sense other than to say I’m still trying to get a handle on it myself.”
We fell quiet, and I pressed my fingers into the base of my skull, where a knot had been forming ever since this morning.
Taylor didn’t fill the silence with questions or reassurances. He just sat there, steady and patient, giving me the space I needed to find my way to whatever I was trying to say.
I appreciated it more than I could convey because I knew it must be killing him.
“After David left my office, I sat there asking myselfwhyI’ve been holding on so tight. And the answers I kept coming up with—my family, my career, my clients—they’re real. My family would likely disown me. Some of my clients would wonder what else I might have lied about. But when I actually forced myself to sit with it, to be honest with myself, I realized they weren’t the main thing keeping me in the closet.” I dropped my hand and made myself look at him. “Wyatt is.”
Taylor’s grip on his knee tightened, his knuckles whitening against his sweatpants.
“Everything I’ve built for myself is tangled up in him. His success is my success. His reputation is my reputation. If I come out, people don’t just reassess me—they reassess every campaign I’ve ever run for him, every time they’ve seen ustogether. And then they start asking questions we can’t afford to answer. Not when the end goal is the White House.”
Taylor pushed to his feet and crossed the room, stopping at the window with his back to me. “The White House,” he repeated, his voice flat. “You’re telling me you’ve given up everything to see Wyatt Fucking Hastings elected president?” He spun to face me.
“It’s not that simple, Taylor.”
“It sounds pretty fucking simple from where I’m standing, Sebastian.”
I flinched at the anger in his voice.
This conversation wasn't going how I'd envisioned. I could feel Taylor building a case against me with every word I said.
If I couldn’t make him understand why I’d sacrificed what I had, then every choice I’d ever made collapsed into nothing more than a closeted man too weak to walk away from a toxic relationship.
And I couldn’t live with that being my story.
“Wyatt is a lot of things,” I said carefully. “Some of which you’d be justified in hating him for. But he would be a good president. His policy instincts are sharp, he’s respected by his colleagues, and most importantly, he’s electable in ways that matter—except for the fact that he’s bi.”
Taylor stared at me for a long moment, his expression cycling through disbelief, hurt, and something that looked dangerously close to disgust.
“So you’ve been willing to toss away everything that we could have had to see your boyfriend in the White House? Do I understand that right?”
I exhaled through my nose, the action slow and controlled, the way I did when I was trying to keep from unraveling.
It didn’t work.
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I shot back, a blaze of anger cutting through my guilt. “I ended things with him so I could be with you.You’remy boyfriend.”
Taylor laughed, a short, sharp sound that had nothing to do with humor. “Am I? Truly? Because it doesn’t feel like you ever actually left him. You broke up, sure, or whatever you want to call it when you tell your engaged fuck buddy that you can’t be with him anymore. But you’re still going to protect his secrets. Don’t you see it, Seb? You’re making decisions aboutourlife based onhisneeds.”
