Chapter 20 Wesley #2
I shut him up with a kiss. I pressed my mouth to his, desperate and certain all at once. When we parted, I whispered, “Not dramatic. Perfect.”
“Ready?” he asked, and he held out his hand.
Then we followed carved arrows to yet another stunning building.
The front doors opened into a world that didn’t feel real, and my nerves screamed louder than my common sense.
I felt small, out of place, as though I’d wandered into the wrong story.
Hunter, by contrast, carried himself with ease, and when I hesitated, he leaned close.
“What’s wrong?”
“I never went to college,” I said.
“So?”
“Well, these people will wonder why you’re with someone like me who—”
“Who got cut off from their family when they were a senior in school, and made their way in the world with nothing to their name, as impressively as you?”
I stopped him then. I didn’t want him to think I was some penniless kid on the streets. I’d had advantages that other people cut out of family didn’t have.
“I had money, Hunter. I sold my car, I got a mortgage, I have a trust fund that is kinda big and comes to me on my thirtieth.”
He stared at me, puzzled. “Okay…”
“Shit. My last name is Fairfax-Fitzalan.”
He blinked at me. “Fairfax-Fitzalan? As in asshole Senator Fairfax-Fitzalan? That anti-queer, anti-women, anti-anything asshole?” I nodded miserably and waited for him to shove me away. “That explains a lot,” he said.
I waited for more, but he stared at me, and I thought I’d blown it. “I should have told you, but that isn’t me and—”
“It’s old money bullshit,” he said with a smile.
“Hunter—”
“And it’s a good thing that family cut you, and now Ru, off. You’re both best off out of there.”
What? For real? He didn’t care. “I’m not keeping the money in my trust,” I said, urgently. “I’m not going to be some rich guy who—"
“I don’t care how much money you have, Wes—”
“No, listen.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in the grand hall of some old college.
“There’s this charity in Hill Valley upstate, and this man Zach and his husband Ben, they set up a charity for queer homeless kids, and I’ve been researching them, and I’m only taking enough to keep The Story Lantern afloat, and then the rest is going into a charity for people who lose family like I did.
” Everything spilled out in an instant and probably made no sense.
“Correction, Wes. They didn’t lose you, sweetheart, they threw you away.”
“I know… but I had advantages, not much, but I had a fancy car to sell and… shit Hunter… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Meh, it’s okay.”
“‘Okay’?” I murmured, “Is that all you’re going to say?”
He shrugged. “I love you; their loss, my gain, and the rest will work itself out.”
“I talked to Callum, he’s a lawyer, and he says all this stuff about trusts and charities, and it’s a lot.”
“Maybe I can help?” he asked but sounded doubtful I’d want him involved.
“God yes,” I said, kind of pathetic in my thanks. “And I’ll help you with building permits.” I huffed a laugh. “I’ll order some books in.”
“A team,” he murmured.
“The best kind of team,” I added, then gripped his hand. “Let’s do this.”
High ceilings stretched overhead, wooden beams dark with age, chandeliers spilling golden light over polished floors. An open fire crackled at the far end of the hall, the scent of woodsmoke curling through the air.
I stuck close to Hunter, my arm still looped through his, trying not to stare at everything like a tourist, still in shock at his casual acceptance of what I hadn’t told him until tonight.
He didn’t care. I shouldn’t care. We would talk though…
tomorrow. People in suits or dresses moved gracefully around us, voices warm and cultured, laughter ringing out in little groups.
I wanted to disappear into the wallpaper.
I never quite fit into my parents’ world; I was always poised to run, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I tugged him to a stop.
“What if they—”
“Wes,” Hunter squeezed my hand. “You’re fine. They’re going to love you.”
I wasn’t so sure. My throat tightened, but then a tall, slim man with an impressive silver-fox look appeared, smiling broadly, and Hunter’s shoulders eased.
“Dr. McCoy, you made it.”
“Dean Halvorsen,” Hunter said, voice strong, “I’m happy to be here.” He nudged me forward. “And, this is my boyfriend, Wesley.”
The word hit me like a drum. Boyfriend. He’d said it again, without hesitation, here in front of his new colleagues. My pulse pounded in my ears. I braced for the polite flicker of judgment, the too-cool smile.
But none of that came. The dean shook my hand warmly, another professor complimented my tie, someone else asked what I did, and she was super emotional about me owning a bookstore and whether it had a café because she’d always wanted to own a bookstore with a café.
Everyone spoke happily about Hunter joining the faculty and welcomed me along with him.
And best of all, he introduced me as his boyfriend to everyone.