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The silence stretches. I keep staring at the trees, waiting for anger, or at least disappointment.

“Okay,” Dad says. “You’re gay?”

I sniff. Nod. “Yeah.”

And then his arms are around me. I stumble a little, shocked by the sudden embrace and the emotion in it.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “I love you, son.”

Tears break free. I can’t stop them. Can’t hold them back anymore.

“I love you too, Dad,” I murmur.

He holds me for another moment, then lets go before calling the dogs back with a sharp whistle.

We walk back to the house together. The dogs bound ahead, and I try to process what just happened. Try to understand that my father, my distant, work-obsessed, emotionally unavailable father, just told me he loves me and accepts me.

And he didn’t flinch when I told him about Lucien.

This is the new shape of the universe that I have to learn.

When we get back to the house, I keep my coat on.

Lucien is in the kitchen, talking to my mother and eating cinnamon buns. He’s wearing a dark-green sweater that makes his gray eyes look silver.

“Get your coat,” I say, and it comes out urgent.

Lucien looks at me, and whatever he sees in my face makes him move immediately. He doesn’t ask questions. He grabs his coat from the hook by the door, pulls on his boots, and wraps his scarf around his neck.

“We’ll be back,” I tell my mother.

She just smiles. “Take your time, honey.”

I grab Lucien’s hand and pull him out the back door. We’re almost running across the lawn, past the dogs who try to follow us, toward the path at the edge of the property.

“Cameron—”

“Just—come on.”

Everything feels too big, too much, like my body can’t contain it all.

We reach the wooden stairs that lead down to the beach. They’re steep and weathered, wet with melting snow. I race down them, pulling Lucien with me.

“Dad knows I’m gay,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That you’re my boyfriend.”

Lucien’s hand grips tightly around mine.

“He said he’s proud of me.” My voice cracks. “He loves me. He’s sorry for St. Silas.”

The stairs are endless. The susurration of the ocean grows as we descend, waves breaking in steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

“He just— He told me. He asked who you were to me and I told him and he⁠—”

I can’t finish. Can’t get the words out past the lump in my throat.

We step off the bottom stair. Ahead, the beach opens up, gray sand, dark rocks, and a restless white surf churning against the coastline.

Lucien guides me backward, turning me until we’re eye-to-eye. His palms settle against my face, and I wrap my freezing fingers over his jaw, needing the contact. We hold on to each other against the wind, the heavy gusts whipping at our hair. His gaze is light and perfectly steady. When he leans down to kiss me, the cold completely fades. It’s replaced by his warmth and the taste of cinnamon buns.