Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I-N-T-E-R-N-A-L-I-Z-E-DH-O-M-O-P-H-O-B-I-A
It took two days, but Tate finally worked up the courage to type into a computer at his office the twenty-two characters Liam had shouted at him. That was, of course, after ensuring he could erase the search history and checking that no one else was in the building.
Now, he just had to press enter and see what the internet gods had to teach him.
Instead of depressing that one little key, he sat there paralyzed, replaying the pitying expression on Liam’s face as he’d hurled his anger Tate’s way. His very justified anger.
He missed Liam. He’d never missed anyone before, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. A heaviness had moved, making everything he’d done over the past few days take a monumental amount of effort. He felt weighted down from the inside out, and nothing provided relief. Not cigarettes, booze, or working out at the makeshift gym a few guys set up at the trailer park.
Nothing.
The number of times he’d thought of Liam, started to text him, and nearly driven to his place in the past forty-eight hours bordered on pathetic. He didn’t deserve to be around Liam until he figured out some of his shit. Disgust with himself kept him from following through on his attempts to contact Liam.
That, and the fact that he now knew Liam was the kid he’d seen attacked at the fair all those years ago. The kid he’d tried to save.
The gorgeous dancer who’d mesmerized him.
The first guy he’d been attracted to. The one who started it all. Learning that had been too much information at once. Too overwhelming. Which was why he’d run like a little coward instead of telling Liam who he was. That he’d been there. That he’d seen it all and walked away with a few bruises of his own.
After all Liam had suffered that horrible day, he’d come back to live in Swan.
It was either the bravest or stupidest move Tate had ever heard.
One thing was for sure, he’d never be worthy of breathing the same air as Liam until he pulled his head out of his ass. And he wanted nothing more than to be worthy of Liam’s attention, so he’d better stop lying to himself and make some changes.
He jammed the enter key down before he could talk himself out of it yet again. Two seconds later, he had a host of search results to choose from. He clicked the top one and leaned closer to read. After a few minutes, he sagged back in the chair, shaken to his core.
Liam hit the nail on the head.
Why did that fill him with so much shame?
He was guilty of exactly what the website described. He’d taken the homophobic bullshit he’d heard his entire life and turned it on himself. There he was, thinking himself so much more enlightened than Randy, Daryl, or the rest of the town because he didn’t give a shit who someone wanted to fuck. But when it came to himself? He’d made his sexuality a shameful secret that festered for years until he couldn’t even say “I’m gay” to the man he was fucking.
Why?
Did he believe, like Randy and Daryl, that something was wrong with him?
Maybe he had on some level, and he’d forever be ashamed of that. But meeting Liam, spending time with Liam, and being with Liam opened his eyes to who he was and how he wanted to live. He wanted to be comfortable in his own skin, to live as his authentic self, to be happy and free just like Liam. And the only way he could get there was to start with himself.
A sense of urgency stole over him. He gathered his stuff and shut down the computer—without deleting the search history, baby steps—then ran out to his car. Once behind the wheel, he pulled down the visor and stared into the old, distorted mirror.
“I’m gay,” he whispered to the man staring back at him.
He held his breath as seconds ticked by.
The world didn’t end.
Despite recognizing his attraction to men for the past ten years, despite fucking them in dark corners of the club, he had never dared to utter those words aloud.
“I’m gay,” he said again, louder this time. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, making a crazed laugh bubble out. “I’m gay!” he shouted at the top of his lungs and then slumped forward. Tears clogged his throat, and a few escaped his eyes.
If Randy or Daryl walked by, they’d call him a pussy for crying and laugh their asses off, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t fucking care. He felt so damn good.
“I have to tell Liam,” he whispered, then straightened. After starting the car, he glanced at the clock. Five in the evening. Today was Liam’s grand opening from three to six. He’d decided to run it like an open house without any formal class times. There’d be food and beverages as well as demos if—when—he had enough interested people checking out the studio.
Tate could stop by. He should stop by. Today had been a great first step, and while he wasn’t ready to scream his sexuality from the rooftop of Swan’s town hall building, he could, at the very least, show the town he and Liam were friends.
Baby steps.
When he arrived at the dance studio, a giant grin broke out across his face. The place was packed. Cars filled the lot and lined the shoulder up and down the street.
“Fuck yeah,” he muttered, pulling around the back of the building. This time, it wasn’t to hide his car but because he had no other options. Party music and children’s laughter greeted him as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle. He hadn’t even taken a step toward the studio and could already tell the event was a huge success.
Someone had propped the back door open, probably to let some air in the crowded building, so Tate headed inside. As he reached the door, memories of days before came rushing back. He’d fucked Liam right there in broad daylight, and it had been like nothing else. Hotter than the fucking sun, but also intimate. He’d never wanted it to end.
And then he’d fucked it all up.
Today, he hoped he could fix it.
He would fix it.
Sighing, he slipped through the open door and strolled down the hallway toward the noise. Liam had three practice rooms in total, but the party was in the main studio, the one visible from the parking lot. Mostly women, but a few men mingled, chatting as they snacked from a large, decorated table full of everything from one of those charcuterie things Whitney was always talking about to a fancy cupcake tower.
The place was packed and hot as hell. Tate leaned against the wall in the mouth of the hallway. Kids danced around in pink, frilly ballet outfits and some in street clothes, giggling and having a blast.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Liam.
Tate’s breath caught in his lungs. How had he managed forty-eight whole hours without seeing the beautiful man?
Liam looked radiant in a black, sleeveless, fitted top and navy dance tights. He was completely in his element, beaming as he demonstrated some choreography. He executed a dance move—Tate had no idea what the hell it was called—and all the children tried to copy him. Some were perfect and others were a hot mess. Smiling the entire time, Liam went around to each child, heaping praise and correcting form in a way that built the kids’ confidence, even the ones who sucked. Not only was he a natural on the dance floor, but he also had a gift when it came to teaching. The children hung on his every word, practically floating off the floor when he complimented them.
A lump lodged in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it held firm. He did not deserve a man half as good as Liam in his life, but he was too damn selfish to walk away now. Liam would be his, and today started the journey to making that happen.
Who knew how long he stood there, propped against the wall with his arms folded, staring at Liam in his element? Interested dancers came and went, registering for classes on the iPad Liam set up at the front desk. If this crowd was any indication of how business would go, Liam would need to hire additional teachers before long.
Pride filled Tate’s chest. Liam had come here with a lofty goal and made it happen. Now that he understood why Liam chose Swan, his admiration grew exponentially.
Liam approached a tiny little girl in a pink tutu who stood a bit away from the rest of the kids. She had a thumb in her mouth and watery eyes. “Hey,” he said as he crouched down. “I’m Liam. What’s your name?”
“Tammy,” she said, mouth full of thumb.
“Hi, Tammy. You look so pretty in your leotard. Do you know how to twirl?”
The little girl's eyes widened, and she nodded, making her riot of blonde curls bounce all around.
“Can you show me?”
She shook her head, which made Liam chuckle.
“What if we do it at the same time?”
She tilted her little head and stared at him for a moment before finally nodding.
“Yay!” Liam clapped his hands as he stood. “Ready?”
Out popped the thumb. The little girl spun and spun until she stumbled and nearly fell. Liam, who only twirled once, laughed and clapped for her. After steadying her, he crouched again to tell her how wonderful she’d done.
She beamed, and Tate rubbed at his chest.
As if he finally sensed hungry eyes on him, Liam lifted his gaze and met Tate’s stare. His eyes widened with surprise.
They stayed that way, focus locked on each other for long seconds until Liam finally smiled. He waved and pressed a hand to his heart. “Thank you for coming,” he mouthed.
Tate felt like a balloon someone had forgotten to tie off. Immense tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding rushed out of him with a nearly audible whoosh.
Liam didn’t hate him. There was still so much work to be done to repair their fragile connection, but it didn’t seem nearly as hopeless as it had earlier in the day.
“Wait upstairs?” Liam mouthed, pointing at the ceiling.
Tate nodded. No one paid him any mind, so he did something he never imagined himself doing in a million years. He kissed the tips of his fingers and inclined them subtly in Liam’s direction.
The dancer’s eyes nearly fell from his head. He blinked quickly as though fighting tears before nodding. The little twirling girl grabbed his hand and tugged, breaking the spell. When Liam turned to face her, Tate took the opportunity to head up the stairs and wait in Liam’s apartment for him to finish up the successful open house.
HE SHOWED UP. Tate showed up.
The open house had put Liam in the best mood he’d been in for days, but the second he spotted Tate, he nearly exploded with glee.
He came.
What did that mean?
Concentrating on the final half hour of his event became impossible. All he could think about was the man upstairs, waiting in his apartment. It spoke to how deeply entangled he was with Tate if the man took up more of his brain than this night he’d been planning for years.
“Thank you, Liam. This was just wonderful.” A woman who’d introduced herself as Cathy and showed up with three rowdy children in tow hugged him. “I have all three of them signed up.”
“Excellent. Classes will begin next week. And if you know anyone who is a dance teacher looking for work, please send them my way. It looks like I’ll need to hire another teacher right away.”
Not a bad problem to have. Every class advertised had filled, and he even had a waitlist forming for his nonexistent second teacher.
“Absolutely. I have someone in mind, so I’ll pass her your information.”
“Thank you so much. I look forward to teaching your little ones.”
He had similar conversations with many lingering customers, and within fifty minutes, everyone cleared out, and the studio fell blessedly silent. Liam killed the music and then fell into the front desk chair, completely exhausted. The night was a success beyond what he’d ever imagined, and he felt like he was floating on cloud nine.
The studio was a mess and would require a few hours of dedicated cleaning, but Liam had something much more pressing to attend to. He forced his tired body up, turned off the lights, locked the exterior doors, and practically flew up the stairs to his apartment.
When he walked in, he found Tate reclined on his couch, snoozing. Liam smiled. The man had shed his shoes and socks, leaving those large feet bare as they rested on the couch. As usual, Tate wore a T-shirt and jeans. His shaggy hair was mussed, giving off a sexy, disheveled vibe. Liam’s hands itched to mess him up even more.
He didn't bother to change out of his dance tights or fitted tee. Instead, he walked straight to the couch and climbed on the dozing man, straddling his lap.
“Luxe?” Tate asked in a sleepy voice before he opened his eyes. His hands were already full of Liam’s ass by the time he completely woke.
“It’s me.” Nothing had been settled between them, but he couldn’t resist reaching out and sifting his fingers through Tate’s hair.
“Mmm.” Tate leaned into his touch with a near purr. His eyes opened. Sorrow and pain reflected up at him from those deep blue orbs.
“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.
“What? No.” Tate shook his head. “What the hell do you have to be sorry for? Jesus, Luxe, I was an ass. You were so right. We just met. I don’t know your past or what you’ve gone through in your life. I never should have said that shit.”
“And I shouldn’t have tried to label you or force you to label yourself.” He ran his hands through Tate’s hair again to feel the softness on his fingers. “You never have to pick a label if you don’t want to. It was wrong of me to throw that in your face. I was upset about what happened earlier in the day and overreacted.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You didn’t. You were right to be upset and to call me out. I looked up that internalized homophobia stuff you mentioned.”
Liam winced. “I shouldn’t have thrown that at you.” He’d forever hate how he’d let anger control him that day.
Tate swallowed. “I’m-I’m gay.” He nodded once. “Gay. That’s how I identify.”
Liam felt the grin stretch his cheeks. “First time?”
“No,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I said it to my car mirror earlier today. I never even realized how I had taken the garbage I had been told my whole life and turned it on myself. I thought I was so open-minded, accepting others for who they were, but I couldn’t do it for myself.”
“I’m so proud of you.” He kept his hands in Tate’s hair, massaging while he enjoyed the cool strands against his skin.
He snorted. “I might fuck up sometimes, but it will never be like it was the other day. I’m so fucking sorry for how I reacted when Randy almost found us. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
“That’s in the past. And I’m fine. My hands are practically healed already, and my knees don’t hurt anymore. Promise me you won’t beat yourself up over that anymore.”
“I’m still a work in progress, Luxe.”
He wasn’t the only one. “I get that. And I understand years of learning, even if it’s wrong, doesn’t go away in one afternoon. But you’ve taken a huge, scary step. I’m allowed to be proud of you.”
Tate squeezed his ass. Liam rocked forward as he shivered in pleasure.
“Speaking of proud…” Tate said as he kneaded Liam’s cheeks over his tights. “Damn, you did good down there tonight, Luxe. You’re incredible with those kids. They worship you already.”
Throwing Tate a sassy grin, Liam said, “I did do good, didn’t I?”
Laughing, Tate nodded. “Hell, yeah, you did. And your modesty is admirable too.”
He’d be lying if he said the approval didn’t send him to the moon. “What can I say? I’m a performer. We all have a bit of a praise kink.”
“Is that so?” One of Tate’s eyebrows rose. “So, you’d like it if I told you how sexy you look when you’re dancing? How you command the room and captivate everyone in your presence. How you’re so beautiful, not a single person can look away.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.” He blew on his fingernails, then buffed them on his shoulder, making Tate laugh again. “I like it when you laugh.”
“You bring it out of me. We should celebrate your big night.”
“Oh yeah?” He ground his hips into Tate’s quickly growing erection. “What did you have in mind?”
“That, definitely that,” Tate said as he rocked up, meeting Liam’s thrust. His face went serious. “But there’s something I need to tell you first.”
Liam stopped moving. “Well, shit. Nothing good ever starts with that sentence.”