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CHRIS

W e all tell ourselves hopeful lies to survive.

We claim it doesn’t hurt when someone insults us, that we don’t need our family if they don’t treat us the way they should, or that we’re fine when we really, really aren’t. Over time, some of these lies can become true. We can rise above insults from petty people. We can find connections as deep as family among our friends. We can even figure out how to be fine after hitting rock bottom if we’re given enough time to heal.

I told myself a hopeful lie twenty-five years ago. I said my lost pebbles didn’t matter. At the time, it was easier to claim I didn’t care about them because I couldn’t get them back. I had to believe it was possible to live and love without them. So I did.

And then I met Gray and realized my pebbles did matter. They mattered a lot.

When Revv and I got together, he told a hopeful lie too: that he didn’t mind if my pebbles were lost. I was so in love with him, I didn’t realize he wasn’t telling the truth. I just wanted to be with him.

And now here we are. Instead of collecting something sexual or motorcycle oriented the way I thought he would, he’s collecting rocks because when all the hopeful lies are stripped away, what he wants more than anything is a pebble.

Revv—my sweet, kinky, brave Revv—is building a nest based on grief instead of joy.

Gray and I can’t get on a flight to New Zealand for almost eight hours, and even then, we have several layovers. Getting from Anchorage to New Zealand is no easy task. Gray sleeps on most of the flights, but I can’t sleep at all.

In between each flight, I try calling Revv. He doesn’t answer, which must mean he doesn’t want to, or he’s too far gone in his nesting fog to care. But when we land in LA, I get a voicemail from my aunt Lillian.

“Hello, Chris. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Revv is on my doorstep, and he is clearly nesting. I’m going to take him to the beach for now. Please call me when you get this.”

I sigh in relief. At least he’s with Lillian.

“He went to my aunt’s house,” I tell Gray.

“Thank Ice. Is he okay?”

“I think so. Let me try to call her back.”

She doesn’t answer my call. She’s probably still at the beach, and she doesn’t have a cell phone. Our layover is tight in LA, so even though I try two more times while we rush to the terminal for our flight to Auckland, I don’t reach her.

It’s thirteen hours until we’ll touch down in New Zealand. Revv could get up to a lot of trouble in thirteen hours. I hope everything will be okay. I leave a message telling her our flight information and when we’ll be landing. That’s all I can do.

As the plane takes off, Gray grabs my hand and squeezes. “At least we know where Revv is. And if he’s nesting, that means he’ll be laying the egg soon. We’re going to be dads, Chris. Don’t forget this is supposed to be a happy time.”

What would I do without him?

“I just wish we could be dads in a less dramatic fashion,” I say.

Gray laughs. “It’s Revv. What were you expecting? My guess is when we get to New Zealand, we are going to see a nest that will make your omega father’s pirate treehouse seem boring by comparison.”

Or a sad nest with a crying man who needs something I can never give him.

“It will be okay,” Gray promises.

I wish I could believe him, but that’s the thing about hopeful lies. It’s hard to differentiate them from hopeful truths.

“I hope so.”

I really, really hope so.