Page 162 of These Secret Years

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s not like we’re all over each other. We’re not even holding hands. I gesture at him. “This is Sullivan.”

Many, many looks are exchanged before my mom gets up and tipsily makes her way over. She throws her arms around my boyfriend and says, “I’m so happy to finally meet you officially.”

“Good to see you again,” he says. “And I’m so sorry for⁠—”

She shushes him before she has to listen to those words one more time, and honestly, I don’t want to hear them either. Her eyes shine. “We’re drinking tonight. And remembering.”

Yeah, no I’m gonna want to skip that. Remembering my dad—who he used to be to me—has been a pastime of mine since I left for college. It’s private, and it’s personal, and now it’s also fraught with wondering what he really thought about me.

“He’s had a long drive. We’re gonna go inside.” I give a wave to the gathered crowd of uncles and aunts, grandparents and longtime family friends. Also Deandre. It’s a funeral before the funeral.

D follows us to the door and welcomes Sullivan himself with a side hug. “How was the drive?”

“Longer than I think it’s ever been.”

“There’s food. You guys want anything?”

“Are you good?” I’m too close to running out of patience. Some of it was restored with Sullivan’s arrival, but it’s slipping again.

“Yeah. Just trading some war stories with your uncles. Are you good?”

That’s an insane question, then I realize I have my answer right beside me. I put my hand on Sullivan’s back, in that familiar notch where it fits between his shoulder blades. “Better now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He nods. “Good night.”

Sullivan gives D a pat on the shoulder as they separate before coming back into the house with me.

“I know they all play on offense, but I think of them as your D-line,” Sullivan says as we approach the stairs. “Get it?”

I do get it, and I snort a laugh. “Good one.”

He slides his hand into mine and squeezes it as we climb the steps. “You wanna tell me what I’m doing here?”

“My mom apparently knew I was gay from day one—so did my dad, incidentally—so I figured fuck it. Now you don’t need to wonder what you’re gonna do with yourself all week. You can just be with me.”

“We might need some time to unpack that.”

“Unpack it all you want.” I gesture at my open bedroom door and release his hand so he can go inside. I close and lock the door behind us, finally letting out the rest of my breath. I’m so fucking glad he’s here. So grateful to be alone with him. My sore eyes are soothed by the sight of him.

“You want to shower?” I ask.

“Yes, please.”

I nod and point him toward the bathroom. “I’ll go get your bag from the car.”

“Thank you.”

“If you want—” he starts then stops himself. “Never mind.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good. Can you get me some water, too?”

“Anything you need,” I tell him.

He gives me a smile that reads as a little sad, then he goes into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked.

No matter the circumstances, thinking about Sullivan in the shower is one of those things that usually gives me a boner in no time flat, so it’s better if I’m out of the room for this part anyway.