Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Mason
Beau tasted like the coffee he’d had twenty minutes ago. I was still on my knees, lips swollen, and my heart hammering against my ribs as I got to my feet. Beau leaned against the shelving unit behind him, his chest heaving, with a goofy grin splitting his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, reaching for me. “You’re going to kill me.”
I stood up, grinned, and pulled him in for a kiss. “That’s the plan.”
“Best plan ever.” He kissed me again, slower this time, and I felt that warm, fuzzy, impossibly horny feeling spread through my chest. The one that made me want to drag him back to my place and spend the rest of the day in bed instead of giving him a quick blowjob in the supply closet.
Then footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
We both froze.
The footsteps grew closer, steady and unhurried, and my entire body went rigid. Beau’s hand tightened on my waist, his breathing shallow. We stood there, pressed against each other, waiting.
The footsteps paused right outside the door.
Fuck.
My mind raced through explanations—we were looking for files, we needed supplies. Oh, we were having a completely professional conversation in a completely professional closet—but none of them would explain why Beau’s cock was sticking out of his pants.
The footsteps moved on.
We waited another thirty seconds before either of us moved.
“That was close,” Beau muttered, exhaling hard. He reached down and stuffed his dick back in his pants. I frowned, stepping back to adjust my tie. That warm, fuzzy feeling evaporated, replaced by something cold and uncomfortable in my gut.
Too close.
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
Beau was re-buckling his belt, his movements quick and practiced—like this was routine now. As if sneaking around in supply closets was just part of what we did. And maybe it was. Maybe this was all we’d ever be: stolen moments in dark spaces, always one footstep away from being caught.
I hated it.
Not Beau. But the secrecy. The constant vigilance, and the way my shoulders tensed every time someone said our names in the same sentence. The way I had to watch myself, monitor every glance, every word, every accidental touch.
I was so tired of hiding.
But what choice did I have? Coming out at the firm would change everything. People would look at me differently, treat me differently. They’d wonder about Beau and me, speculate about our relationship, turn us into office gossip.
And my father—
No, I couldn’t think about that right now.
“What are you doing for lunch?” Beau asked, smoothing down his shirt.
“Meeting Caroline.”
“Your future stepmother Caroline?”
“The one and only.” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “She wants to get to know me better. Bond. Pick my brain about what to get my father for Christmas.”
Beau’s expression softened. “That’s... nice?”
“It’s performative.” I checked my reflection on my phone screen, making sure I looked presentable. “She’s trying to play the role of concerned stepmother, but we both know she’s just going through the motions.”
“Maybe she really does want to get to know you.”
“Maybe.” I doubted it. “We’re meeting at Happy Chen’s. That place in Shockoe Slip.”
“I love Chen’s. Their kung pao chicken is incredible.”
“I’ll let you know how it is.” I moved toward the door, then stopped. “You should go first.”
“Right.” Beau hesitated, like he wanted to say something, then just kissed me quickly. “See you later?”
“Yeah. My place tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
He slipped out of the closet, and I stood there in the dark, counting to sixty before I could follow.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.
I’m literally in a closet.
In the closet at work, and with my father. Hell, I’m in the closet about everything that actually mattered.
Ten Mississippi. Eleven Mississippi.
When had I become this person? The one who hid in supply closets, who lied by omission, who pretended the most important relationship in his life didn’t exist?
Twenty Mississippi. Twenty-one Mississippi.
I thought about Beau’s face when those footsteps had paused outside the door. Not scared exactly. Just... resigned. Like he’d accepted that this was how things would always be.
Thirty Mississippi. Thirty-one Mississippi.
What if I didn’t want this to be how things always were?
Forty Mississippi.
What if I was tired of hiding?
Fifty Mississippi.
What if—
Sixty.
I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, squinting against the fluorescent lights.
The office buzzed with its usual mid-morning energy—phones ringing, people talking, the hum of productivity.
Normal. Professional. Safe. I headed back to my office, nodding at colleagues as I passed, my mask firmly in place.
But the cold, uncomfortable feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away.
* * *
Happy Chen’s was tucked into a brick building on Cary Street, the type of place that had been there forever and looked it—red paper lanterns in the windows, a faded gold dragon painted on the door, and the smell of ginger and garlic that hit you the moment you walked in.
Caroline was already seated when I arrived, looking polished in a cream blouse and tailored pants, her blonde hair swept back in a way that probably took an hour but was meant to look effortless.
“Mason!” She stood to hug me, and I let her, even though it felt stiff and awkward. “Thank you so much for meeting me.”
“Of course.” I sat down across from her as a server appeared with a pot of green tea and two small cups.
“I know you’re busy,” Caroline said, pouring tea for both of us. “I really appreciate your taking the time.”
“It’s fine.” I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, watching steam curl up from the surface. “You said you wanted to talk about Christmas gifts?”
“Yes! Your father is impossible to shop for. He has everything, and whenever I ask him what he wants, he just says ‘nothing’ or ‘surprise me.’” She laughed, a tinkling sound that felt practiced. “I thought you might have some insight into what he’d actually like.”
I thought about my father. Frank Price, who wore the same cologne he’d worn for thirty years, who read the Wall Street Journal every morning with his coffee, and who’d worked seventy-hour weeks for as long as I could remember.
“A bottle of Macallan 18,” I said. “He drinks it on special occasions. Or a new set of golf clubs. He’s been complaining about his driver for months.”
“Perfect.” Caroline pulled out her phone and made a note. “See? I knew you’d have good ideas. You know him so well.”
Did I?
I knew his routines, his preferences, and the surface-level details. But did I actually know him? Know what he thought about, what he cared about beyond work, golf, and scotch?
“How are things with you and your father?” Caroline asked, like she’d read my mind. “I know he’s been busy with work, and I worry he’s not making enough time for family.”
“We’re fine.” The automatic response. “We talk.”
“Good. That’s good.” She sipped her tea. “He talks about you all the time, you know. How brilliant you are at the firm.”
“Does he?” The words came out more skeptical than I’d intended.
“Oh yes. Just the other day he was telling me about that medical thingy? He said you did something brilliant, like a merger.”
“MediCorp.” I’d texted Dad about it and all I got was “Good job.”
“He’s not always great at expressing it directly,” Caroline breathed. “But he really is proud of you, Mason.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to respond.
The server returned to take our orders. Caroline got the Szechuan shrimp, I ordered the General Tso’s chicken, and we made small talk about the weather, the holidays, and her plans for Christmas dinner. It was all very pleasant and superficial and exactly what I’d expected.
Then Caroline’s face lit up, and she waved toward the entrance. “Oh! Scott!”
I turned to see a man in his mid-fifties walking toward us, dressed in a gray sweater and jeans, his salt-and-pepper hair styled in a way that said he cared about his appearance without trying too hard.
“Caroline!” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I thought that was you.”
“Scott, this is Mason. Frank’s son. Mason, this is my best friend, Scott.”
“Nice to meet you.” I stood to shake his hand.
“You too.” Scott glanced at Caroline. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all. Actually—” Caroline looked at me hopefully. “Would you mind if Scott joined us? Unless this is a private conversation—”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, even though I’d been looking forward to getting this lunch over with.
Scott pulled up a chair, and the server appeared again to take his order. More small talk followed—Scott worked in marketing. He and Caroline had been friends since college, and he lived in Fulton Hill with his husband.
I was only half-listening until that word registered.
“Husband?” I said before I could stop myself.
“Keith.” Scott’s face softened, then he smiled. “We’ve been married for six years. Together for ten.”
“Oh.” I picked up my teacup, trying to process this. “That’s... great. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Scott smiled. “Do you have anyone special in your life?”
Yes, his name is Beau, and I’m in love with him. But I can’t tell anyone, and it’s killing me.
“No,” I said. “Too busy with work.”
“I remember those days.” Scott laughed. “Keith had to practically drag me away from my laptop for our first date.”
The food arrived, and we ate while Scott and Caroline chatted about holiday plans, a charity gala they were both attending.
A mutual friend’s upcoming birthday party.
It was all very normal, very comfortable, like Scott being gay and married was just..
. not a thing. Not something that needed to be commented on or made a big deal about.
“Has Dad met Scott and Keith?” I asked Caroline, trying to sound casual.
“Of course! We have dinner together all the time.” Caroline speared a shrimp. “Keith and your father bonded over football. They’re both huge Ravens fans.”
I nearly choked on my chicken.
“My father... and Keith... watch football together?”
“Oh yes. Keith came over for the game last Sunday. They were yelling at the TV for three hours straight.” Caroline laughed. “It was adorable.”
My father? The man who’d raised me with rigid expectations and unspoken rules about masculinity and success and what it meant to be a Price. The man I’d always assumed would be horrified if he found out his son was gay.
That man sat on a couch with Scott’s husband and yelled at football games?
“Mason? You okay?” Caroline was looking at me with concern.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just... surprised.”
“Well, you know Frank. He’s not great at mentioning personal stuff.” Caroline’s expression turned thoughtful. “But he and Keith really hit it off. It’s nice. Keith’s great—you’d like him.”
Would I? Would I like the man who got to be openly himself with my father while I was still hiding?
The rest of lunch passed in a blur. I contributed to the conversation when necessary, laughed at the right moments, playing the part of the dutiful future stepson. But my mind was spinning.
How did I know so little about my father’s life? When had we stopped talking about anything real? When had I decided it was easier to just... not tell him the truth about who I was?
And why had I assumed he’d react badly?
Scott and Caroline were laughing about something, and I watched them—the easy affection, the casual way Caroline touched Scott’s arm, the complete absence of judgment or discomfort. This was her best friend. Her gay best friend. And she was about to marry my father.
My father, who watched football with Scott’s husband.
What the hell am I doing?
“Mason?” Caroline was looking at me again. “You sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.”
“Just thinking about work.” The lie came easily. Too easily. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I know how demanding work can be.” She squeezed my hand across the table. “I’m really glad we did this. I know I’m not your mother, and I’m not trying to be, but... I’d like us to be close. If you’re open to that.”
Her eyes were sincere, almost pleading, and I realized that maybe she wasn’t just going through the motions. Maybe she actually did want to get to know me.
“I’d like that too,” I said, and meant it.
Scott excused himself to use the restroom, and Caroline leaned closer.
“Can I ask you something? And please feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”
“Okay...”
“Are you happy?” Her voice was soft. “You seem... I don’t know. Like you’re carrying something heavy.”
I opened my mouth to give her the standard response—I’m fine, just busy, nothing to worry about—but the words stuck in my throat.
Was I happy?
Yes, when I was with Beau. When I woke up with him in my arms, when he made me laugh, when he looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
But also no. Because I couldn’t tell anyone about him. Couldn’t hold his hand in public or introduce him as my boyfriend or even admit that the best thing in my life existed.
“I’m working on it,” I said finally.
Caroline nodded slowly. “That’s honest. I appreciate that.
” She hesitated. “You know, your father... he’s not perfect.
He’s terrible at expressing emotions, he works too much, and he’d probably rather die than talk about feelings.
But he loves you, Mason. So much. And I think—” She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“I think he’d surprise you. If you ever needed to tell him something important. ”
My throat tightened. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen how he talks about you. How proud he is. How much he wants you to be happy.” She smiled.
Scott returned before I could respond, but Caroline’s words echoed in my head for the rest of lunch.
* * *
I drove back to the office in a daze, my mind replaying the conversation over and over.
He’d surprise you.
Would he? Or was that just Caroline being optimistic, seeing what she wanted to see?
My father had never been outwardly homophobic. He’d never made comments about gay people or expressed disapproval. But he’d also never said anything supportive. Never mentioned acceptance or allyship or any of the things that might have made me feel safe enough to come out.
So, I’d stayed in the closet. Safe. Hidden. Alone.
Except I wasn’t alone anymore. I had Beau.
Beau, who deserved better than supply closets. Who deserved a boyfriend who wasn’t afraid to be seen with him.
Beau, who I was falling in love with.
Fuck.
I pulled into the parking garage and sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, my heart pounding.
What if Caroline was right? What if my father did surprise me?
And more importantly—what if it was time to find out?