13
Ryder
My spontaneous visit to San Francisco seemed to ignite something in Hal. Over the next three weeks, he threw himself into his nature-themed collection. I liked to think I’d helped him get there, but all I’d done was give him a chance to relax and take a breath. As soon as he did that, the ideas started flowing.
The outfits were intricate and a huge amount of work, but he seemed happy and inspired. By the beginning of June, he’d finished the new collection. Each piece was an ethereal, dreamy work of art. The colors were mostly soft greens and delicate pinks, very much the woodland fantasy he’d described.
He really went for it with the piece that would close his part of the show, a hand-dyed and painted sage green wedding gown with pale pink accents. It was sleeveless with a layered, wrap-around collar, and short in the front with a long, full skirt and train in back.
Most of the outfits included small headpieces, but to go with that one he’d made an elaborate crown out of handmade silk flowers, bits of grapevine, and iridescent baubles. It completed the look beautifully and helped make it an absolute showstopper.
The year-end fashion show was set to be held on a Monday. Hal video called me the Saturday before the show, so I could see how it all had turned out. The collection was both earthy and regal, rough and refined. I had no idea how he’d pulled that off.
He and Kit had gathered their models to finalize their hair and makeup and do a final fitting. They were also doing a photo shoot in a local park. They’d brought in a photography student to help them, so she and both designers would end up with pictures for their portfolios.
Hal panned the phone so I could see what was happening. His models were volunteers from the LGBTQ community center where he donated the prom dresses every year. It happened to work out that two of his models were nonbinary, two were gay men, and the last two were a pair of adorable nineteen-year-old trans girls who were also a couple.
All of them looked amazing. When the photographer gathered them for a group shot, I told Hal, “Look at that. You did that, baby. It’s so stunningly beautiful that it takes my breath away.” They were gathered in front of a grove of trees, and it looked like a painting come to life.
He sounded wistful when he said, “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“No question. I’m so proud of you, Hal. I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”
“You know what? I really am. No matter what happens on Monday, whether people love it or hate it or think it’s too costumey, this is the best work I’ve ever done. It makes me happy, and it’s reminded me why I love to do this. I mean, just look at my models.”
He gestured at the group of six who were a few yards away, confidently posing for the photographer. “One of my nineteen-year-olds told me she’s never felt more beautiful. And her girlfriend, who’s normally very shy, is holding her head high andwalking with more confidence than I’ve ever seen from her. I can’t even tell you how much that means to me.”
“I totally get it.”
Hal smiled at me. “I know you do. I’m dedicating this collection to you, by the way.”
“Oh wow, I’m flattered. Why are you doing that?”
“Because you opened up my world and let me see things from a fresh perspective. You also came here and helped me and offered me moral support when I needed it most. If I hadn’t been able to take a breath and get out from under all that stress, this collection never would have happened.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit, but thank you.” The photographer called Hal over, so I said, “I know you need to go, but I’ll talk to you this afternoon.”
“For sure. Kit and I are going to work on cleaning out our studio after this, but I should be home by six. Good luck with your rugby match!”
After we ended the call, I grinned at the picture on my home screen. It was a selfie of the two of us, taken when I’d visited him in San Francisco. Then I picked up my gym bag, tucked the phone inside it, and climbed out of my truck.
The summer rugby league was starting up, and we were about to play the first game of the season. I’d been driving into town one night a week for practice. Even without Tank, who was still in the UK, I felt like we were ready for this. My team had been playing together for a long time, and by now, we knew what we were doing.
As I stepped onto the curb, a white BMW pulled up. I stuck a smile on my face and waited for Greg and Craig to get out of the car. This would probably always be a bit awkward, but seeing my ex and my former best friend together didn’t sting anymore.
“Hey, Rock,” Greg called. “You ready for this?”
We were in teammate mode now, which made this even easier. “Hell yeah,” I said. “Let’s do this thing.”
Within the hour, my team was on the field, working up a sweat. It felt great to be out here, surrounded by my friends, working toward a common goal. I’d missed this in the off-season.
We were playing a newly formed, aggressive, and pretty intense team. While their players were younger overall and full of energy, we had a lot more experience. They were fouling a lot, but we just kept running our plays and ended up scoring early on.
Everything was great, until it wasn’t.
At the top of the second half, we started to run a play we used so often it was nicknamed Old Faithful. But about five seconds into it, I took an incredibly hard hit and ended up twisting my body as I went down.
I rolled onto my back and was overcome by a massive jolt of pain. It was so intense that a yell tore from me.
