Page 25 of Kellan & Emmett (Gomillion High Reunion #1)

Emmett

The afternoon settled over the inn like a heavy quilt. The Bobcombes came back first, shopping bags dangling from their wrists, sun hats tilted from the June heat. I met them in the foyer with a smile, relieved them of their packages, and steered them toward the nook where the light fell soft through the lace curtains.

“I put out lemonade and pound cake,”

I told them, already reaching for the pitcher.

“The perfect cure for antique hunting.”

Mrs. Bobcombe laughed, patting her husband’s arm. He was less convinced, muttering about the price of old clocks, but he accepted the glass I slid his way. Their conversation drifted easy—traffic on the bypass, how hot it was compared to Charleston, whether they’d stop at the farmer’s market tomorrow. I nodded, listened, let myself be the polite buffer they expected.

But under the smile, my mind ran a different track. Every minute I was standing here pouring lemonade, Kellan was upstairs, stretched out behind a closed door. I told him to rest. Promised I’d come by later. And now the promise sat in my chest, pressing, crowding out air.

The pitcher tipped too far, lemonade rushing quick. I caught it just shy of spilling over the rim, muttered a joke about needing steadier hands. Mr. Bobcombe chuckled politely, and that was that. But inside I was rattled.

By late afternoon the inn had quieted again. The Bobcombes retreated upstairs with a guidebook, the honeymooners were still shut away in their room. The house seemed to hold its breath.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel, hung it over the oven rail, and finally made myself climb the stairs. My palm slipped once on the banister, sweat slicking the wood.

Kellan’s door stood at the end of the hall, closed, no sound behind it. I stopped there, pressed my hand flat to the frame just long enough to steady myself. Then I knocked—once, twice—quiet, like if I startled him I’d lose whatever fragile thread we’d built.[7]

The latch clicked, and the door eased open.

Kellan stood there barefoot, hair still damp from a shower, curling slightly at his temples. He wore a faded T-shirt and gray sweats that hung loose on his hips, the picture of ease—except for the way his fingers flexed once at his side, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. A nervous smile tugged his mouth, small, unguarded, and it pulled something deep in me tight.

This was just Kellan, standing in a doorway, looking at me like he wanted me here and wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it.

He stepped back, giving me space to enter. [8]

The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the rest of the inn. Kellan hovered near the bed like he wasn’t sure whether to sit, so I sank down first, leaving space for him. After a beat, he lowered himself beside me. Not quite touching, but close enough that the mattress dipped toward the middle, tugging us together.

For a moment neither of us spoke. The quiet wasn’t empty—it thrummed, filled with everything still unsaid. My pulse tapped in my throat, too fast, too hopeful.

“You settle down okay?”

I asked, my voice low. A safe question, a soft start.

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his palms over his thighs, eyes fixed on the carpet.

“The shower helped.”

A pause, then softer.

“So did knowing you’d come.”

The admission hit me square in the chest. I angled toward him, searching his face. The nerves were there, but also something else—want, threaded with fear.

“Kelly,”

I said, careful.

“What happened? With your marriage. If I’m going to understand where you are now… I need to know.”

“She caught me. Watching porn. Gay porn.”

His throat worked, words jagged.

“It wasn’t just the porn. It was the look on her face. Like everything she thought she knew about me snapped in two. And I couldn’t lie fast enough, couldn’t explain it away. She knew. And once she knew, there was no coming back from it.”

Shame flickered over his face. He shook his head once, like he could shake it off, but it stayed.

“She’d asked me once, straight out: is there something you’re not telling me? I’d laughed it off, kissed her cheek, told her she was imagining things. And hated myself for the lie, for dragging her into a life that was never going to work.”

I didn’t let it sit heavy between us. Instead, I let a corner of my mouth tilt.

“You know, plenty of straight guys watch gay porn. They just won’t admit it.”

I leaned in a fraction, voice dipping.

“Because it’s hot. But it’s even hotter when you’re not just watching.”

His breath hitched, audible in the stillness. His gaze finally dragged up to mine, eyes dark, searching. For a second he looked like he might laugh, or argue, or run—but then the words slipped out, bare and quiet.

“I haven’t. Not really.”

His throat bobbed.

“But I want to. I want… you to show me.”

The air between us thickened. His words were still hanging there—I want you to show me—and I swear I felt them all the way to my bones.

I tried to swallow down the rush in my chest, but it came out anyway, rawer than I intended.

“Kelly… you don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, or to yourself, either.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile.

“You think this feels like proving?”

He shook his head, eyes darting away then back again.

“It feels like finally telling the truth. And I’m terrified of it.”

I shifted closer, until our knees brushed. The heat of him seeped into me.

“Being scared doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

My voice caught—softer now, confessional.

“I’m scared too.”

His brow furrowed, like the idea of me being scared didn’t compute. “Of what?”

“That you’ll regret this. That you’ll walk out like you did before.”

My throat tightened, but I forced it out anyway.

“And I won’t survive it twice.”

That made him freeze. His hands, fisted in his lap, opened slowly. He turned toward me, shoulders squared, and for the first time since I’d known him, he looked like he wasn’t carrying a helmet or armor—just himself.

“I’m not running this time,”

he said, voice hoarse.

“I can’t promise I’ll get everything right, but I’m not running.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was electric, waiting.

I searched his face, the flush on his cheeks, the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. My hand twitched on the bedspread between us, aching to close the distance.

“Then tell me again, Kelly. Tell me what you want.”

He inhaled sharp, like the words cost him.

“You. I want you.”

The words had barely left his mouth—I want you—when I leaned in, unable to hold back anymore. Our lips brushed first, tentative, a test. But the second I tasted him, all restraint broke.

He tasted faintly of mint. His breath shuddered against mine, and when his lips parted, I slid deeper, tongue stroking his in a rhythm I’d dreamed of too many nights to count. He met me with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, messy and unpracticed but real—so real it ached.

The mattress dipped under our shifting weight, shoulders knocking, knees pressing close. My hand cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the rough stubble at his cheek, grounding both of us. His fists curled tight in my shirt, dragging me nearer like there wasn’t enough space in the world to satisfy him.

A groan rumbled from his chest, low and wrecked, vibrating against my mouth. He broke just enough to whisper, hot and ragged.

“God, I want more—”

before crashing back in, teeth grazing my bottom lip.

I felt it then—his body straining, hard and urgent against me. My pulse hammered, heat spiking low in my gut. His hand slid, hesitant but determined, down my chest, over my stomach, to my belt.

I caught his wrist before he got there, my palm firm but not pushing him away. I pressed our foreheads together, breathing hard, my voice rough with need.

“Be sure, Kelly. Tell me.”

His eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the blue, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“I want to touch you,”

he said, voice breaking on the confession.

“Been wanting to touch you for years. Can I?”

My throat closed on a sound that was part relief, part ruin. I tightened my hold on him, not to restrain, but to steady the ground we were both standing on. “Yes,”

I whispered, every word scraped raw with truth.

“Yes, Kelly. I want this too.”[9]

Kellan surged into the kiss again, reckless this time, his mouth hot and searching, like years of restraint had burned away in a breath. His hand tugged at my belt, fumbling with the leather. I covered his fingers, not to stop him but to steady them, guiding the buckle loose. The sound of it snapping free sent heat flooding through me.

We half-laughed, half-gasped into each other’s mouths. His T-shirt bunched under my hands. I pushed it up, and he let me, arms clumsy as he peeled it over his head. His skin was warm, still flushed from the day.

I pressed my palm to his chest, felt his heart hammering against it. “Kelly,”

I murmured, searching his face.

“we can stop if you—”

He shook his head hard, cutting me off with another kiss.

“Don’t stop,”

he rasped against my lips.

“Please. Just—don’t stop.”

That plea shattered whatever restraint I had left. I tugged his sweats down, slow enough to give him the chance to balk. He didn’t. He shoved at my jeans in return, hands shaking, breath catching like every touch was a revelation.

Then it was skin on skin, heat to heat, both of us groaning at the shock of it. He gasped first, a sound so raw it nearly undid me. I wrapped my hand around him at the same time his fingers closed clumsy and desperate around me.

We moved together, finding a rhythm that wasn’t graceful but was ours. His strokes were too fast at first, frantic, and I covered his hand, slowed him down, coaxed him into something steady. “There,”

I breathed, hips stuttering.

“just like that.”

His answering groan vibrated against my throat. Every sound from him—every ragged breath, every whispere.

“Emmy”—seared into me, into the part of me that had waited twenty years to hear it.

The heat built sharp and fast. His grip tightened, movements jerky, until he was shuddering hard, muffling his groan against my shoulder as he came, spilling hot between us. The tremor of it dragged me right with him—I pressed closer, chest to chest, pumping into his fist until release tore through me, messy and overwhelming.

For a long moment, the only sound was our breathing—harsh, uneven, like the whole room had tilted with us.

He slumped against me, sweaty and spent, his hand still tangled in my shirt. Shame flickered in his eyes when he finally looked up, but before he could tuck it away, I cupped his face, brushing my thumb over his cheek.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,”

I whispered, voice rough.

“Not one damn thing.”

He sucked in a shaky breath, and I felt it—the moment raw relief cracked through his fear.[10]

We stayed pressed together, catching our breath, the mess between us already cooling tacky against our stomachs. His body was heavy like he wasn’t ready to move. Truth was, I wasn’t either.

But eventually, he let out a rough laugh—half a groan, really.

“Christ, Emmy… we’re a disaster.”

I chuckled, brushing damp hair off his temple.

“Messy, yeah. Disaster? No. I’ve had worse first times.”

He lifted his head at that, brow furrowing.

“This isn’t my first—”

“With a man,”

I cut in, smirking soft enough to take the sting.

“Trust me, Kelly. You did just fine.”

A flush crept up his throat, and he tried to scowl, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

I reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand—God bless the inn for always needing them—and dragged a handful across his stomach first, then mine. He muttered something under his breath about “romance,”

but the way his shoulders eased told me it mattered, the small, ordinary gesture of being cared for.

When I tossed the crumpled wad into the bin, he was still staring at me, quiet. Like he was trying to figure out if this was real.

I kissed his temple, light this time, just a brush.

“Guess we’ll need a load of laundry after this,”

I teased, nodding at the damp tangle of sheets.

“House rules.”

That finally earned me a grin—crooked, tired, but real.

And beneath it, the relief was still there. He wasn’t running. Neither of us was.[11]

Kellan flopped backward onto the mattress, one arm flung over his eyes. His chest still rose and fell hard, but the edge of panic I’d braced for never came. Only the ragged breathing of a man wrung out in more ways than one.

I stretched out beside him, propped on an elbow at first, just watching. Sweat shone at his temples now, dampening the edge of his hair. His mouth was red, lips swollen, and God help me, I wanted to kiss him again already.

Instead, I eased down onto my back, close enough that our arms brushed.

He shifted, dropping his arm away from his face, and turned his head. The look he gave me wasn’t polished or guarded—just wide-open, like he didn’t know how to hide anymore.

“Emmy,”

he said, voice rough, almost hoarse. Nothing more than my name, but it slid through me like a vow.

I reached over, fingers brushing his, testing. When he didn’t pull away, I laced them together. His grip tightened.

For a long stretch, we just breathed, his thumb stroking against mine.

Twenty years of silence, of pretending, and now we were lying here—messy, undone, but closer than we’d ever been.

“Not running this time,”

I murmured, almost to myself.

He gave the smallest shake of his head, eyes still on mine.

“Not this time.”

And that was enough. For now.

June 18

I’ve written Emmett’s name in hundreds of pages since I was a boy. Tonight, I don’t have to write it to make it real.

Tonight, I was with him. My first time with a man—and it wasn’t strange. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, like something I’d been waiting for all my life.

I told him I’d never done this before, and he didn’t flinch. He just held me steady, and in that steadiness, I finally let myself be honest.

I. Am. Gay.

There. I wrote it. The words look strange on the page, like they belong to someone braver than me. My hand’s still shaking, but I can’t take it back. And I don’t want to.

I’ve known it in pieces for years.

And now I want more—not only more of Emmett, but more of myself. More nights where I don’t pretend. More mornings where I don’t wake up choking on silence.

For the first time in decades, I can say it and not feel crushed under the weight of it. I am gay. And I want him.

—K