Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Beau
I was on my third day of wearing the same sweatpants when someone knocked on my door.
“Go away,” I called from the couch. A nest of blankets surrounded me, empty takeout containers cluttered the coffee table, and my phone sat face-down on the cushion beside me, ignored.
The knocking continued. Insistent. Rhythmic.
“Beau Thatcher, open this door right now or I’m calling your landlord!”
Lisa.
I groaned and dragged myself off the couch. When I opened the door, Lisa stood there with two cups of coffee and a bag from Proper Pie Co., her expression equal parts concerned and exasperated.
“You look like shit,” she said, pushing past me into the apartment.
“Thanks. Really feeling the love.”
“When was the last time you showered?”
“What day is it?”
“Wednesday.” She set the coffee and pastries on the counter, then turned to survey the damage. “Jesus, Beau. It looks like a depression cave in here.”
“I’m wallowing. It’s allowed.”
“For like, one day. Maybe two.” She opened the curtains, and I winced as sunlight flooded the apartment. “Three days is pathological.”
“I called in sick—”
“You’re not sick. You’re heartbroken.” Lisa handed me a coffee. “Which I get. I do. But honey, you can’t hide in here forever.”
I took the coffee and sank back onto the couch. “Watch me.”
Lisa sat beside me, her expression softening. “Have you talked to him?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to reach out?”
“I don’t know. My phone’s been off since Monday.”
“Beau—”
“Look, I know, okay? I’m being ridiculous.” I set the coffee down and dropped my head into my hands. “But I can’t... you know, hear him tell me it’s over. I can’t hear him say that this—us—is too hard or too complicated or too risky. I’d rather just... not know.”
“That’s not fair to him. Or to you.”
“Nothing about this is fair, Lisa.” My voice cracked. “I fell in love with someone who can’t love me back. At least not the way I need him to.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I told him I loved him, and he said nothing. He panicked at the party, looked like he was going to pass out at the thought of kissing me in front of people. The writing’s on the wall.”
Lisa was quiet for a moment, then reached over and turned on my phone. “You need to at least check your messages.”
“I don’t—”
“Beau. Check your messages.”
I picked up the phone reluctantly, watching as it powered on. Notifications flooded the screen—texts, missed calls, voicemails. Most from Lisa. A few from my mother, probably about Christmas plans. Several from Mason.
My heart stuttered.
“What do they say?” Lisa asked gently.
I opened the messages from Mason.
Sunday, 11:47 PM-
Can we talk? Please.
Monday, 8:23 AM-
I know you need space. I’m trying to respect that. But I miss you.
Monday, 9:15 PM-
I’m sorry. For everything. For the party, for being distant, for not being brave enough. You deserve better.
Tuesday, 6:45 AM-
Please don’t give up on us.
The most recent one was from this morning-
I need to see you. Please come to work today. Please.
I stared at the screen, my vision blurring.
“He’s trying,” Lisa breathed. “That has to count for something.”
“Trying to do what? Let me down easy?”
“Or trying to make things right.” She squeezed my hand. “You won’t know unless you talk to him.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. But Beau, answer me honestly—do you love him?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper. “So much it hurts.”
“Then you owe it to yourself—and to him—to at least hear what he has to say.” Lisa stood and pulled me up with her. “Now go shower. You smell like sadness and takeout Chinese food. Then you’re going to work.”
“Lisa—”
“No arguments. You can handle being in the same office with Mason for one day.” She pushed me toward the bathroom. “And Beau? Whatever happens with him, you’re going to be okay. I promise.”
I wanted to believe her.
* * *
The office team decorated the office for Christmas with that manic holiday energy that happens right before everyone leaves for break. Someone had brought in cookies shaped like reindeer, there was eggnog in the break room, and Christmas music played softly through the speakers.
Everyone seemed festive and relaxed.
Everyone except me.
I’d showered and put on actual clothes—a suit that felt too tight, too formal, too much like armor. My tie was the red and blue striped one Mason had complimented once, and I immediately regretted wearing it. I didn’t want to look like I was trying. Even though I absolutely was.
Lisa met me at the elevator. “You came.”
“You’re very persuasive.”
“It’s one of my many talents.” She linked her arm through mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m going to throw up.”
“That’s normal.” She guided me toward our offices. “Mason’s been asking about you all morning. He looks... rough.”
“Good.”
“Beau—”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.” I took a deep breath. “Is he in his office?”
“Last I saw, yeah.” Lisa stopped outside her door. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. I need to do this alone.” I squeezed her hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She kissed my cheek. “Now go. And Beau? Be honest. Tell him what you need. Don’t just accept whatever he’s willing to give.”
I nodded and headed down the hallway toward Mason’s office, my heart hammering against my ribs.
His door was open, and I was about to knock when he looked up and saw me.
The expression on his face—relief mixed with fear mixed with something that looked a lot like longing—made my chest ache.
He stood immediately. “Beau.”
“Hi.”
“You came back.”
“Lisa forced me.”
A small smile. “Remind me to thank her.” He glanced behind me at the hallway, where several people were walking past, laughing about something. “Can we talk? Please?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Not here. Somewhere...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Somewhere private. Or—not private exactly, but—”
“Somewhere away from work?” I suggested.
“Yes, exactly.” He grabbed his coat from the hook behind his door. “I’m meeting a client over at the Monroe Building in ten minutes, but I’ll be free in about an hour. Can you meet me on the Canal Walk over by 18th Street? Say, an hour?”
I hesitated. An hour gave me time to back out, to change my mind, to run.
But it also gave me time to prepare. To figure out what I wanted to say.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.” His voice was rough. “Beau, I—”
“An hour,” I said, cutting him off. “We’ll talk then.”
He nodded, and I walked away before I could do something stupid like kiss him or cry or both.
* * *
The Canal Walk was nearly empty. Most people were at work or doing last-minute holiday shopping, which left the riverside path quiet and peaceful.
The James River stretched out beside us, gray-green and slow-moving, and the late afternoon sun filtered through bare trees, casting long shadows across the pavement.
I found Mason standing near a bench, hands shoved in his coat pockets, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. When he saw me approaching, his whole body seemed to relax.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.” I stopped a few feet away, maintaining distance. “Why here?”
“You said you wanted to talk somewhere that wasn’t work.” Mason gestured at the path, the river, the empty benches. “This is public. But private. Quiet. Neutral ground.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve thought about nothing else for three days.”
We stood there for a moment, not quite looking at each other, the silence stretching between us.
“You wanted to talk,” I said finally. “So talk.”
Mason took a breath. “I came out to my father.”
Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”
“Monday night. I went to his house and told him I’m gay.” Mason’s hands were shaking. “I’d been thinking about how I’ve spent years being terrified of his reaction without ever actually asking him how he’d feel.”
“And?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“He was fine with it. Better than fine. He apologized for being emotionally distant. For making me feel like I couldn’t be honest with him.” Mason’s eyes were bright. “He said he was proud of me.”
“Mason—”
“I should have been brave enough to know that the people who matter would accept me. But it scared me. And I let that fear control everything.” He stepped closer. “Including us.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite my coat. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need you to know that I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending that the most important thing in my life doesn’t exist.” Mason’s gaze locked with mine, and my heart began to pound faster.
“And what’s the most important thing in your life?” I asked, even though I was terrified of the answer.
“You.” Mason’s voice cracked. “Beau, it’s you. You’re the most important thing. And I’ve been so busy trying to keep you safe—keep us safe—that I never stopped to realize I was the one hurting you.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “You really hurt me. At the party. On the terrace. All those weeks of sneaking around like I was something to be ashamed of.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry.” Mason moved closer, and I let him. “I wasn’t ashamed of you, Beau. I could never be ashamed of you, but I was ashamed of myself. Of my cowardice, and inability to be honest about who I am.”
“And now?”
“I’m being honest with you now.” His fingers were cold and shaking. “Beau, I am head over heels in love with you. I was scared when you first said it on Saturday night. But I should have said it a hundred times before that. I love you.”
The words hit me like a physical force. “Mason—”
“I’ve put you through hell these past few weeks, and don’t deserve another chance.
But I’m asking for one, anyway.” His grip tightened on my hand.
“I want to be with you. Really be with you. No more hiding. No more secrets. I want to hold your hand in public, and take you to dinner without worrying who sees us. I want everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours. ”
I pulled my hand away, and Mason’s face fell.