Page 17 of From the Ashes (Redwood Bay Fire #2)

CHAPTER 17

Colt

I think Zahir thought I was joking when I suggested we go surfing together. It’s been over a week since our first date where we decided we were going to give this thing between us another try. He’s been very patient with me, always agreeing to meet at my place or his. But I meant what I said.

He doesn’t deserve to be anybody’s secret.

While going a restaurant might be a step too far right now as I navigate how much I want to tiptoe out of the closet, I genuinely don’t see any issue with two friends hitting the waves together. So long as I can control myself and not hump him on the damn sand, it should be fine.

Although with how much sex we’ve had in just under ten days, that might even be asking too much.

Having a date out in the open really isn’t, though. I don’t just want this to be about fucking and staying in our own private bubble like we did when we were at school. No, I don’t feel I can fly my Pride flag any time soon. That doesn’t mean we can’t go out. We just have to be a little mindful.

My main concern is that Zahir knows I’m not ashamed of him. The realization that he thought I’d dumped him without a second thought or that he’d just been some kind of experiment to me has kept me awake more than a couple of nights. The situation might be complicated, but my feelings for him aren’t.

I loved him then and I think I’m falling even more in love with him now.

I’m not sure if he feels the same, and since I’m the one causing the issue, I can’t expect him to or put any pressure on him for an answer.

But I can hope.

As it’s getting late into Sunday afternoon when we arrive, the beach isn’t as crazy as it sometimes gets. I prefer to get here at the crack of dawn and get some time in before work. However, someone has been keeping me up at night lately, so now is the best option for both our schedules over the next few days.

Besides, the whole point of this little excursion is for me to show him off a bit. There has to be a few people around for me to do that.

This time, I absolutely wore appropriate attire to get in the water. Having been naked many, many times now, getting changed in front of Zahir isn’t an issue anymore, funnily enough.

We don’t talk much as we head into the surf, falling into sync like we used to do back in the day when it felt like we lived on this stretch of beach. His presence is so strong and steady beside me, though. As if we’ve been tethered by that invisible sting all this time, but it’s getting brighter and more resilient now.

If one of us pulls away this time, will it break? Or will it snap us back together closer than ever before?

For a while, we ride the waves side by side, and I lose track of when and where we are. This could be today or fifteen years ago. Wanting to appreciate the moment for a minute, I signal to Zahir that I’m going to sit out the next few. He asks if I’m all right and I tell him truthfully that I’m fine.

I just need to watch him in his element right now.

It’s wild how he comes alive in different ways. Out on the water, when he’s painting, and now I’ve even seen him when he’s at work. He always brings such passion to everything he does, not to mention his compassion, skill, gravitas…

How could anyone not love him?

I’m fully aware he has plenty of people around him that know how special he is. And although it’s worked in my favor, I can’t believe he never had a serious boyfriend in all this time. But I suppose who I’m really thinking of is my parents.

How can they not see how incredible this man is?

They were always very unsubtle with their disdain for my choice in a best friend when we were at school. My mother used to ‘joke’ that of all the nice boys in my class, I had to pick Zahir. She didn’t like anything about him because all she saw was his skin color, his family’s average income, and their religion. But what her and my father hated the most was his softness, I know. They’ve always been so desperate for me to be what they see as the height of masculinity, an alpha male that other men would admire and follow.

It’s crazy to me how they can’t see those qualities in Zahir. I think it’s obvious that he’s far more of a leader than I could ever be. Sure, I put on a good show in the courtroom where I know my stuff. But that’s all it is. A show. Zahir is never fake. When he speaks, others listen, because it’s always from the heart.

Every now and again, my mother makes one of her other ‘jokes’ that someday I’m going to go into politics and that’s why she’s so obsessed with my image and me being this inspiring figure head. I’m pretty sure she’s manifesting me to become the district attorney by forty then use that as a natural segue into running for governor.

I can’t imagine anything worse, so I keep telling myself it’s just a joke. But my father’s insistence I take over as managing partner from him at the firm is absolutely not a joke, and despite his excellent recovery so far from his heart attack, that timeline seems to still be very much on the fast track.

The Colt that my parents envision isn’t the Colt that’s currently sitting on a surfboard watching his man masterfully thunder down the tunnel of water as it crashes onto the shore of Redwood Bay. It isn’t the Colt that makes chocolate chip pancakes in the morning for that same man, either. It’s certainly not the one that baulks at most of his shallow, petty clients these days and can’t think of anything more horrifying than being in the public eye.

I’m terrified they won’t love that Colt. That they can’t love him, because he’s a betrayal of the Colt they’ve carefully created. Do I have it in me to take the risk of disappointing them so much it might very well tear our family apart?

I think back to Mrs. Brown and her disinherited grandchildren. How crushed will my parents be if I don’t pop out half a dozen kids with a nice girl they’ve approved? Will they be content for my cousins to continue the Ross name? Not just the name, but the gene line. Somehow, I doubt it.

The thing is, that’s never going to happen. I’m never going to deceive some poor woman into marrying me, let alone have sex with her enough to produce even one baby. So what are my alternatives? Be lonely? Or be with someone like Zahir?

No, not someone like him. Just him.

I almost feel sorry for my father. He thought calling me back home would kickstart the next phase of my life earlier than expected. And I’m sure that my mom firmly believed that if I was close by, she could start meddling in my social life more effectively. But all it’s done is thrust me back into Zahir’s arms, someone they never have and I’m sure never will approve of, and made me question every single aspect of my life from my career right down to how the hell I am—or am not—decorating my apartment.

The truth is, I’m not sure what’s going on with anything or anyone other than Zahir. So long as we can keep seeing each other like we have been this week, I’ll be a happy man. Of course, there’s no guarantee about how long we can keep this up, either, but I’m choosing not to fret over that today.

Today, I’m going to paddle my board over to my lover and join him on a few more waves before the sun dips too low.

The way he beams when he realizes I’m back beside him makes my heart loop-de-loop like a coaster at the Critter Canyon amusement park they’re refurbishing after the incident last year. When it reopens, I want to take Zahir there and get on every single ride, but especially the tunnel of love. That’s why those things were created in the first place. So the kids could have a couple of minutes to canoodle without creating a damn scandal. Society is so much more evolved nowadays. Why is it just my parents who are stuck in the dark ages?

When we head back to the shore, I can practically feel Zahir’s contentment vibrating off him. There’s something so liberating about surfing. It’s just you and the water rushing around you. I wish everyone could find a way to feel like that. They’d probably be a lot less stressed.

Speaking of stress levels, mine spike when someone calls out my name just as we’re walking back onto land. I know the whole point of this was to not hide the fact that I’m spending time with Zahir. Yet at the same time I didn’t expect anyone to actually recognize me out here. What if they challenge me about the nature of our relationship?

Chill, Ross. This is the beach, not open court.

When I turn around, I feel foolish, as there was never anything to worry about. Of all the familiar faces I’d genuinely be pleased to see wandering along the shoreline, Preston Windward is near the top of the list. The only ones above him would probably be Elizabeth and her kids.

My colleague waves casually, coming across as effortlessly cool in that alpha male way my parents definitely want me to exude. Preston, however, is not a douchebag. I’m not sure how he manages it.

He’s not alone, I realize. In my defense, it was hard to spot the dog was with him initially due to the way they’re racing up and down, leaping as they dig holes in the sand and bite at the water rushing back and forth by their paws.

“Jack, come here,” Preston calls with a laugh. The brown and cream dog is medium sized with a solid build that makes me just a little nervous as I haven’t been around animals much in my life. But Jack lollops along with his tongue hanging out, and I soon realize that he’s just a big, dopy baby.

“Hey, man,” I say as Preston approaches with his dog, who has not only come when called, but now sits obediently by Preston’s feet, wagging his long tail. “How’s it going? Who’s this?”

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” my colleague says brightly, grinning down at the dog who looks adoringly back up at him. “This is Jack Sparrow. He’s a boxer, so he’s got a lot of energy that needs running off daily. I only adopted him a couple of months before you arrived, but he’s already come on so much.”

“He’s a rescue?” Zahir asks appreciatively.

Preston nods. “From right here in Redwood Bay. My mom always drilled into me ‘adopt, don’t shop.’ She’s got about a dozen fur babies back home on the farm at any given point in time.”

“I have some friends who would agree wholeheartedly with you,” Zahir says warmly.

Preston’s nodding, but then he looks between us, a smile creeping on his face. “Oh, this is your emergency, isn’t it, Ross?” His tone is conspiratorial rather than scandalized, however, which I’m relieved by.

I laugh and glance at Zahir. “Sorry, guys. Where are my manners? Zahir, this is one of the other senior partners at Ross & Associates, Preston Windward. Preston, this is my friend Zahir Delacroix. We went to school together. Preston was the one who helped me get out of a meeting to take your videocall when we, well, you know.”

Zahir looks at me warmly. “I do know.” Then he holds his hand out to Preston, and they shake firmly. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Preston says, sounding like he means it.

And just like that, someone I consider a friend more or less knows about me and Zahir. And the world hasn’t ended. My father hasn’t erupted from under the sand to scream about how I’m a ‘flaming faggot’ bringing disgrace on our name by flaunting my perversions out in the open.

It feels so damn good.

“Do you surf here much?” Preston asks, subtly changing the conversation.

I nod. “And run. If I can come here before I get into the office, I’m a much more pleasant human being.”

“I feel that,” Preston scoffs, both managing to agree with me and insult me at the same time. This is why I like him. “You ever fancy some company for a 5K, let me know. I suck at hauling my ass out of bed, so am always on the lookout for a good accountability buddy.” He winks at me then turns to Zahir. “If that’s cool with you? We could do it together if running’s your thing, too? Jack is a great motivator, I promise.”

My chest swells that Preston would not only want to include my friend who he only just met, but also be considerate in case he’d misread the vibe.

“That sounds fun,” Zahir replies sincerely. “I work shifts, but the pattern is regular, so I could probably tag along from time to time.”

“Zahir’s a paramedic,” I tell Preston, my heart bursting with pride.

Preston nods and claps Zahir on the shoulder. “Wow, that’s a real goddamned calling. How did someone who’s basically an angel end up with a devil like Colt here?”

“I’m so an angel,” I say with a pout.

“Oh, he’s a devil all right,” Zahir quips to Preston like they’re in cahoots. But then all color drains from his face. “On t-the waves, I mean. Uh?—”

I touch his elbow, feeling oddly calm. “It’s okay, baby,” I say, deliberately using the new nickname that I’m fully aware makes him melt into a puddle. I don’t want to hide in front of Preston, but I do glance at him to make sure that we’re still cool. If we’re not, we’re not. I’ll be sad, and he could make my life hell at the office if he felt like it. But I don’t want Zahir shrinking away like he did just now.

Preston snorts. “I have no doubt this asshole fucks like he fights in closing arguments. Fast and dirty. Good job you’re a trained medic, huh?” He adds a wink.

There’s a tense moment where I don’t think Zahir or I can believe this interaction just happened. Then I burst out laughing, decades of relief bubbling their way out all at once.

“Douchebag,” I snipe, taking back what I thought about him earlier, if only in jest. I whack his arm, which makes Jack bark and start dancing around us.

Finally, Zahir laughs as well, clearly relieved and probably a little shocked.

“Anyway, I better keep going with this monster,” Preston says fondly, giving some subtle signal to Jack, who instantly races off again, picking squabbles with the surf. “It was great to meet you, Zahir. I’m serious about that running thing, Ross. Let’s make it happen.”

“See you tomorrow, douchebag,” I tell him fondly and, without thinking on my part, we share half a hug with a backslap. That’s certainly never happened before, but it felt right in the moment. He goes along with it and doesn’t seem to think it was strange.

Perhaps we are genuinely friends now, not just work acquaintances?

Zahir and I watch him wander off as the sun slips a little farther behind the trees. Then I turn to face Zahir, and he raises his eyebrows at me.

“So…that happened,” he prompts. I nod and hum. “How do you feel about it?”

I take a deep breath and huff it out again before lifting my hand between us, wiggling my fingers in an invitation. “Really fucking good,” I inform him with a grin.

He looks from my face to my hand, then slowly reaches out to accept it.

There we go. We’re two men holding hands out in the open. It’s pretty clear to anyone who might see us what that probably means. But at least right now, I don’t care. I feel invincible.

“Was that the first time you came out to anyone?” Zahir asks, sounding a little awestruck.

I shrug. “Did I really come out?”

Zahir chuckles and squeezes my hand. “Maybe not technically with all the words. Maybe you’re still in the closet, but you just opened the door and waved your feather boa at him.”

That makes me properly laugh, and we separate so we can pick up our boards from the sand and start making our way back to his place. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be a feather boa gay, but I’ll defend anyone who is pro bono.”

“Oh, give it time,” he says. The light may be fading, but his smile is luminescent. “Wait until we go to your first Pride parade.”

For a split second, the idea feels me with fear, simply because that’s how I’ve felt my whole life. Being gay hasn’t been something I could celebrate. It was something I hid in shame.

But not anymore. At least, not all the time. Not most of the time, in fact.

That’s not even what dismisses the fear as soon as it’s surfaced, though. What scares it away is the fact that Zahir said ‘when’ not ‘if.’

When we go to my first Pride. Like it’s an inevitable thing.

Like he’s seeing a future for us the way I’m trying to.

The details are hazy, but the hope is strong. Perhaps that’s all we need?