“There,” he says. “It’s done. See?”
He hands me the phone, and I take it with a sweaty hand.
Beck
Let’s play Two Truths and a Lie. I’ll start:
1. I’m super gay
2. I’ve never even tasted ketchup
3. I once got a penalty for arguing with the Zamboni driver
I laugh immediately. “Oh my God. That’s the most Beck thing I’ve ever read.”
He sighs, then puts his phone face down on the bedside table. “I hate talking about myself. Distract me with your hot body.”
I put my hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze. “Not with your roommate on the other side of that door.”
He smirks. “Ah, well. Then tell me a story. Who did you have to come out to first?”
“Oh. Hell. You sure you want to hear this? It didn’t go all that well.”
Beck grabs my hand with his. “Yeah, I want to hear it. You don’t talk about yourself very much.”
He isn’t wrong. “Well, the first person I came out to was my wife. Charlie was about five years old at that point, and she freaked out.”
“Wait, what?” He sits up straighter. “She didn’t know you’re bi?”
I shake my head, because he doesn’t get it. “Beck, I didn’t know it myself. Or I guess it’s more accurate to say that I hadn’t acknowledged it. She and I started dating when I was only eighteen. We got pregnant when she was twenty, and I was twenty-one. Then we got married.”
“Oh,” he says heavily. “Wow.”
I shrug, because this is all water under the bridge. “Took me a while to figure myself out. I’d always suppressed my attraction to men. And after I got married, entertaining those thoughts felt dishonest.
“But then I met a guy at work who’s a bisexual married to a woman. He and I became friends. And one time when we were stuck at an airport for hours, he told me the story of his own realization, and it hit me like a slap. I spent the next few months processing it. Then I told my wife, because I didn’t want any secrets in my marriage.”
Beck reaches up to absently stroke my beard. It feels ridiculously good. “Is that why you got divorced?”
I lean into his touch without even meaning to. “Eh, yes, but also, no. Things got rough between us. She asked a lot of pointed questions about whether I felt like our marriage was a trap. I didn’t—not in the way that she meant. She kept asking me if I was tempted to cheat.”
Beck groans. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it wasn’t. But she wouldn’t let it go, and she ended up asking for a divorce. But wait for the punchline—a few years later, she went into therapy and ended up apologizing to me. Turns out she was the one who felt like getting married so young was a trap, and I just sort of opened the door on all her issues.”
He strokes my beard again. “And what about your parents?”
“Well, it’s complicated.” I let out a sigh. “They’re not homophobes, but they hate that my marriage blew up. They think it’s probably my fault somehow, and they think buying a queer bar is some kind of extended midlife crisis. They don’t say any of that out loud, but I hear it anyway.”
“Aw, Forest. How come you never told me any of that?”
I laugh. “Beck, believe it or not, I’m more like Rigsy than you know—still trying to make you think I’m cool.”
He smiles, and then I find myself getting hugged by six-foot-three inches of hockey goalie. It’s awesome, honestly. My arms wrap around him without my permission, and we just hold on. I take a deep, slow breath, memorizing the scent of his skin.
“Beck,” I whisper. “Were you out to anyone before today?”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “My mom and her new family. Also my high school coach. Just not anyone in Colorado.”
