“Very wise,” Mark agreed, cracking a smile. “Kid sounds like he has his priorities straight.”
“What about your parents?” Finn asked. “How did they take everything?”
“Mom cried the second she saw Jacks,” I said. “They were happy tears, but still . . . I warned him it was going to happen, but I don’t think he was prepared for the full Martha Shaw emotional experience.”
“She hugged me for like five minutes,” Jacksadded. “I thought she was going to adopt me on the spot.”
“I think you missed the paperwork at the kitchen table. You’resoadopted.” I looked back toward Finn, who was smiling wider than I thought possible for a sober Irishman. “She’s already texting him directly now, bypassing me entirely.” I shook my head in mock indignation. “After twenty-seven years of being her son, all it took was one charming barback with superior ping-pong skills to lose my position as favorite child.”
Another customer appeared with another empty glass. This time, Finn did his duty and topped Jacks and me off.
“It sounds like it went perfectly,” Finn said, his tone suggesting he was thinking about something deeper than surface details.
“It did,” I said. “They loved him.”
“Good,” Mark said. “Family approval matters. Makes everything else easier.”
The conversation continued for a while, with Benji extracting ridiculous details about Dean’s attempts to embarrass Jacks or me and my parents’ complete acceptance of our relationship. It felt good. No, it felt amazing. Still, I could feel the weight of what was coming creeping into our easy banter, the decision Jacks and I had made in the car on theway home.
“Speaking of everything else,” Finn said, his voice neutral, “what’s next? With the team and the media, all that stuff you were worried about.”
The bar went quiet except for the low murmur of conversation from the few remaining customers and the classic rock playing over the sound system. I exchanged a glance with Jacks, who had gone very still beside me.
Then I reached over and took his hand and held it atop the bar where everyone could see.
“Tomorrow night,” I said, taking a deep, steadying breath. “After the game, I’m doing a press conference. I’m going to tell them about us.”
Complete, absolute silence.
Benji’s mouth fell open.
Mark stopped mid-wipe on the glass he was holding.
Finn set down his beer and gaped at us both.
“Tomorrow night?” Benji managed.
I nodded, hoping the gesture conveyed certainty and confidence rather than the abject terror coursing through my veins. I knew this was what I wanted. My heart was even more certain. Still, putting Jacks—and me—through what was to come seemed more frightening than anything I’d ever done.
“I’m telling the team tomorrow morning afterpractice. Then tomorrow night, in my post-game presser, I’m making it public.”
“That’s . . .” Mark started, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
“Bloody huge,” Finn finished.
“Yeah,” I said, my thumb tracing Jacks’s knuckles. “It is.”
“Are you ready?” Benji asked, his voice unusually serious, his gaze shifting to Jacks.
Jacks squeezed my hand and nodded.
“We’re ready,” I said. “We’re done hiding.”
The silence stretched again, heavy with the weight of what tomorrow would bring.
“We’ll all be watching,” Benji added, his manic energy returning with a vengeance. “Front-row bar seats to history in the making. We should be packed, so you’ll have an entire community supporting you as you leap off that cliff . . . over an open chasm . . . with no net . . . and jagged, angry rocks down below . . . jutting above a frothing sea . . .”
“Benj!” Finn snapped.
