Chapter 30 #2
For a second, I couldn’t speak. Could barely think. My heart felt too big for my chest, like it was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.
“Sam…” My voice came out rough. “Are you sure?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’m sure,” he said. No qualifiers. No jokes. No softening. Just steady, certain truth. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”
My eyes burned.
He searched my face, open and unguarded. “You don’t have to say anything back. I’m not saying it to get it returned. I just… needed you to know.”
Something in me broke open.
“I love you too.”
It felt terrifying and inevitable and right.
Sam let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping gently against mine.
“I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” he murmured.
I squeezed his hand harder, like I was anchoring myself to the moment. “Same.”
We started walking again, slower this time, our shoulders brushing as the trail curved ahead of us.
“But I don’t ever want us to get to a place where we’re lying. Or hiding. Or pretending something’s fine when it’s not. I want us to be able to name things. Make them manageable by saying them out loud.”
“Sam…”
He stopped walking and turned to face me. The mountain framed him like a damn postcard.
“I keep thinking about Cedar Hollow,” he said quietly. “That first night, before we even left. When Harper asked Elliott if Jules was giving him a hall pass for the week.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
Sam nodded. “Elliott didn’t need one. Not because he didn’t want anyone else, but because that’s just… how they work. No pretending. No secrecy. It stuck with me.”
He met my eyes again.
“I’ve seen your Rogue notifications light up,” he said, not accusing, just observant. “Caught you checking out guys at the bar. Not in a way that made me jealous, but it did make me think. You’re not doing anything wrong, Liam. I know how you’re wired. And I don’t want to change that.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he lifted his hand to my chest, pressing it gently against my jacket.
“You don’t pull away because you don’t feel things, Liam,” he said quietly. “You pull away because you feel everything all at once, and you don’t know where to put it.”
The world went very still. Not in a scary way. In a ‘how did you just reach inside me and rearrange the furniture’ way.
I stared at him, my throat suddenly too tight to work.
Sam didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just stayed there, palm warm against my chest, eyes steady. Like he wasn’t diagnosing me. Like he wasn’t trying to fix me. Like he was just seeing me.
“I might’ve done a little light reading,” he added, softer, almost sheepish. “Not because I think anything’s wrong with you. Just because I wanted to understand you better. There’s… not a ton out there about how ADHD shows up in relationships. Or in queer men. Which feels… annoying, honestly.”
A corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.
“Of course you researched me.”
He shrugged. “I research my students. I research my boyfriend.”
That landed somewhere deep.
He went on, casual, but I could hear the care underneath it.
“You’ve always moved fast and felt big. That’s part of how you’re built. It’s not something to fix. You’re just carrying a lot of input all the time. And you learn coping strategies. Some good. Some… less good.”
I swallowed.
“Like control?” I asked quietly.
Sam nodded once. “Yeah. Or keeping things light. Or keeping escape hatches.”
I let out a slow breath.
He wasn’t wrong.
“And none of that makes you incapable of love,” he added. “It just means you’ve been managing it alone.”
My chest ached.
Sam’s thumb brushed a small, grounding circle against my jacket.
“Sex is sex,” he said. “What we have, this relationship, this love, this thing we’re building, is so much more than that.
You and me? We’ve got a lot that’s just ours.
And sex with you? It’s the hottest, most connected, most vulnerable I’ve ever felt.
But I also know… sometimes window shopping is enticing. Sometimes opportunities arise.”
I blinked at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe we should talk about being open. Not because I’m afraid you’ll cheat. But because I don’t want it to ever feel like that has to be an option for either of us. If we’re honest? If we trust each other? Then we can make this ours. Whatever it needs to be.”
A leaf floated down between us. Bright red, heart-shaped. Of course it fucking was.
I stepped closer. “I don’t want anyone else,” I said, voice low. “I don’t need anyone else.”
Sam smiled softly. “You don’t. And I don’t.
Right now. And that’s beautiful. I feel that.
But this isn’t about now. It’s about building something with the understanding that people evolve.
Needs shift. And if that ever happens… I want us to have already built the foundation for honesty. So we’re not reacting. We’re choosing.”
I stared at him. How did I get this lucky?
“I love monogamy,” he added, “but I love trust more. I love communication. And I love you.”
My chest ached with how much I wanted to deserve that.
“So,” I said slowly, “what would it look like? Us. Open.”
“We define it. Together. Clear ground rules. Full transparency. If we play with others, it’s with consent and context. If it’s separate, we talk before and after. Always use protection. No emotional entanglements without a check-in. No secrets, friends, or exes unless we both say yes.”
I nodded. “No surprises. Ever.”
“Exactly. And no matter what, we come home to each other.”
“I need that,” I said. “Coming home to you.”
He leaned in and kissed me, warm and sure. When he pulled back, his nose brushed mine.
“And if it’s never a thing we want to do? That’s okay too. But if it is… I want to already know I can talk to you about it.”
“You can,” I said. “Always.”
He smiled then, and something in me unclenched. Something old and scared and used to losing things. Sam wasn’t leaving. He was making space.
I let out a slow breath, studying it curl in the cold air before asking, “What about everyone else? What do we tell Callie or the crew?”
Sam didn’t hesitate. “We don’t. This isn’t theirs. They don’t need to be a part of us figuring out what works for us. It’s not theirs.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He went on, “I know our friends are sex-positive and probably wouldn’t give two shits about it, but the fewer voices there are, the less complicated things get in relationships.
I learned my lesson with Noah and Evan. I love them, but it wasn’t my place to meddle in their relationship.
And this?” He nudged his shoulder into mine.
“This isn’t anyone else’s place to meddle in either. It’s us. You and me.”
I nodded, the truth of it settling in me like warmth.
We walked again, side by side, sipping coffee as the trail wound through a tunnel of amber and gold. And I realized then that this kind of honesty, this kind of trust, was hotter than anything I’d ever known.
Sam
It was a week later, and the Stag & Lantern had closed after a busy early-evening rush.
Most folks were already out with family or leaning into the early stirrings of the holiday party season, which left the bar quiet again, just the two of us inside.
It looked like a box of Christmas had exploded with twinkle lights tangled with garlands, a half-decorated tree in the corner, and a stack of unopened ornament boxes on a barstool.
Music played low on the speakers, some jazz-tinged version of a holiday classic that made the space feel almost cinematic.
Tinsel draped across the booths. A stack of unopened garlands leaned against the jukebox. The tree, half-fluffed and still lopsided, stood in the corner near the fireplace, waiting for its moment to shine.
Liam stood on a barstool, hanging snowflakes from the overhead beams like he was orchestrating snowfall. His red flannel looked dangerously good on him. Festive and sexy. His jeans hugged his legs in a way that was becoming increasingly distracting.
“You know you’re gonna fall and break your neck,” I said, setting down a tray of LED candles I’d just tested for flicker quality.
He glanced down at me, grinning. “That’s why I have you. To catch me in your big, burly arms.”
I snorted. “My big, burly arms are busy making sure Brenda doesn’t topple over and impale herself.”
Brenda the Reindeer, our six-foot-tall animatronic holiday mascot that had been a gag gift from last year’s White Elephant party, was currently standing in the corner wearing a feather boa and one of Maxie Glam’s spare wigs.
Liam had insisted she needed “feminine flair.” I didn’t argue. I never won those fights.
“You gotta admit,” Liam said, stepping down from the stool and brushing glitter from his hands, “she’s giving Ru-deer Paul’s Drag Race and I’m obsessed.”
I crossed to him, brushing a piece of tinsel out of his hair. “You’re obsessed with chaos.”
“Which makes sense,” he said, “because I’m dating a walking disaster.”
“Hot disaster,” I corrected.
I was at the bar, half inside a box of ornaments, trying to dig out the ridiculous hand-painted wooden squirrel Liam insisted was “good luck.” I wasn’t convinced. The tail looked like a sad bush.
“Find your boyfriend in there or what?” Liam called from across the room, untangling yet another string of garland.
“Only if my boyfriend is dusty, underwhelming, and vaguely shaped like roadkill,” I said, lifting the squirrel in triumph.
He snorted and went back to hanging garland around the post near the pool table. I watched him for a moment. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms flexing, flannel shirt tucked. It was like he had no idea how good he looked. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
“You know Brenda’s still missing an earring,” I called.
Liam walked up behind me now, slipping an arm around my waist. “You’re making her too glamorous. Customers will stop looking at me.”
“God forbid,” I murmured, leaning back against his chest.