Chapter 38
Skyler
“So,” Benji said, leaning forward on his elbows with the kind of manic curiosity that meant he’d been waiting for this moment since we’d walked through the door, “how badly did you embarrass yourself?”
I looked around Barbacks on this particular Tuesday night.
There were maybe a dozen customers scattered throughout the room, making it quiet enough that we could claim the entire bar area for ourselves without feeling guilty.
Mark was behind the bar looking annoyed at the slow business, while Finn nursed a beer.
Jacks sat beside me, close enough that our knees touched.
“On a scale of one to ten?” I said, taking a sip of the beer Mark had grudgingly provided. “Solid fifteen.”
“I need details,” Benji demanded from across the bar. “Specifics. I need to live vicariously through your family-induced trauma.”
“Let the man breathe,” Mark grumbled, wiping down glasses with unnecessary force. “He just got back from Gainesville a few hours ago.”
“That’s why I need details now, while they’re fresh,” Benji protested. “Memory fades. Trauma gets repressed. If I don’t get the full story immediately, I’ll never get the unfiltered version.”
“The unfiltered version is that Dean Shaw is a fucking terror,” I said through a sizable grin. “My own brother turned meeting my boyfriend into a competitive sport.”
“How?” Finn asked.
“The first thing he did—before I could even introduce Jacks—was challenge him to ping-pong.” I shook my head, still amazed by Dean’s audacity.
“We were standing on the front porch with my parents waiting inside to meet him, and Dean appears with two paddles like he’d been planning the ambush for weeks. ”
“Table tennis?” Mark looked skeptical. “That was his big intimidation move?”
“You haven’t seen Dean play ping-pong,” Jacks grumbled. “The guy treats it like it’s an Olympic sport. It’s not meant to be fun. It’s very serious, very intense. Oh, and there’s lots of trash talk about paddle technique and spin control after pretty much every point.”
“Did Jacks win?” Benji asked, bouncing in his seat.
“Tell them what you told me afterward,” I said, nudging Jacks with my elbow.
Jacks looked mortified. “I thought there might be Olympic medals involved.”
The entire bar erupted in laughter.
“What?” Benji wheezed. “What does that even mean?”
“I mean,” Jacks said, clearly embarrassed but smiling despite himself, “Dean came out there with this whole setup—professional paddles with the squishy foam, an unopened carton of regulation balls, and a very official-looking net they keep in the garage for ping-pong challenges. While we were warming up, he gave me this speech about the Shaw family ping-pong tradition and how it’s a sacred rite of passage.
All I was thinking was, Ookay, this is a big deal. I need to bring my A-game.”
“So you took it seriously?” Finn asked.
“Like I was back in college on game day. I stretched, asked about the altitude adjustments for ball trajectory and even inquired whether we were playing by international or recreational rules.”
“Oh my God,” I said, still laughing at the memory. “You should have seen Dean’s face. He went from a cocky little brother to ‘what the holy fuck have I gotten myself into’ in about five seconds.”
“Did you crush him?” Mark asked.
“He didn’t just crush him. Jacks destroyed him,” I said proudly. “It was almost embarrassing. Dean managed to score maybe three points total across two games.”
“I may have gotten a little competitive,” Jacks admitted. “In my defense, he started it with the trash talk about my ‘obvious lack of paddle control’ during warmups.”
A customer at the far end of the bar raised his empty glass, and Mark moved down to help him. The interruption was brief, and he was back within a minute.
“What happened after the ping-pong massacre?” Benji asked the moment Mark returned.
“Dean tried to recover some of his lost dignity by challenging him to pool,” I continued. “With the same result. Then he declared himself the king of darts. By that point, my parents were applauding and cheering from the kitchen window like it was the world’s most entertaining sporting event.”
“Your brother sounds like a nightmare,” Finn observed.
“My brother is the best,” I corrected. “He’s also incredibly competitive and has zero chill when it comes to people I care about. He was testing Jacks.”
“Did he pass?” Finn asked.
I glanced at Jacks, who was trying very hard to look like he wasn’t embarrassed by the entire conversation.
“Dean pulled me aside while Jacks was helping my mom in the kitchen,” I said. “He told me, and I quote, ‘I like him. He’s good for you. Also, holy shit, where did you find someone who takes ping-pong that seriously? I’m scared of the guy. He could put an eye out with that forehand.’”
“He said that?” Jacks asked, eyes wide.
“Oh yeah. He also said that anyone who could trash-talk back at him while destroying him at every game imaginable was perfect for the Shaw family.”
“Wise words,” Benji said solemnly. “The Buddha has spoken.”
“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,” Jacks added. “I thought she was going to adopt me on the spot.”
“I think you missed the paperwork at the kitchen table. You’re so adopted.
” 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 the way 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 after practice. 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.
I laughed. Benji was worse than Dean—and much gayer—but we loved him.
“All that, Benj. Definitely all that.”
“This is going to be incredible,” Benji said, rocking on the balls of his feet behind the bar.
“Or a complete disaster,” I said.
“Or that,” Finn agreed. “But we’ll be here either way.”
I looked around at these three men who’d become such an important part of my life through loving Jacks. They’d accepted me into their weird little family without question and were now promising to stand by us through whatever came next. My heart was full to overflowing looking at each of them.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking. Jacks squeezed again, bolstering my strength in ways only he could ever do.
“Don’t thank us yet,” Mark said dryly. “Wait until you see how we handle the media circus that’s about to descend on this place.”
“This place? Barbacks?” Finn’s eyes widened. “You think they’ll come here?”
“Kid,” Mark said, shaking his head like Finn was being adorably naive, “after tomorrow night, this place is going to be the most famous bar in Tampa Bay, maybe in all of Florida. I hope you’re ready for that level of attention. Shit, I hope we all are.”
“My Insta is going to explode!” Benji hopped a few times, clapping his fingertips together and squealing with glee. “They’ll need a new word beyond ‘viral.’ Oh . . . my . . . gawd. This is going to be amazing!”
I squeezed Jacks’s hand tighter.
“We’re ready,” he leaned over and whispered.
And for the first time since we’d made the decision, I believed it.