Page 98 of Making It Burn

And just like that, the knife twisted again.

“There was,” I mumbled.“There is.”I cleared my throat.“Dad, I might have messed it up.”

Dad’s brow creased.“Tell me.”

So I did.Not everything—I didn’t mention names or details that would identify Beau—but I told him about falling for someone at work.About keeping it secret, and the hiding and fear and the constant anxiety.The look on Beau’s face when I’d panicked at the Christmas party.

About Beau saying he couldn’t keep loving someone who wouldn’t let him.

“And I just stood there,” I finished.“I couldn’t tell him I loved him too.Because I was too fucking scared of what it would mean.”

My father was quiet for a long moment.Then he said, “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I said.“I love him so much it terrifies me.”

“Then tell him that.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.”My father’s voice was firm.“Mason, I’ve spent my entire life prioritizing work over relationships.I’ve missed anniversaries and birthdays and important moments because I thought success was more important than connection.And you know what I learned?”

I shook my head.

“Success means nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with.”He set his glass down.“I loved your mother, but I wasn’t a good husband.I was too busy building my career to be present in my marriage.And when she got sick...”He trailed off, his expression pained.“I would give anything to go back and do it differently.To prioritize her over work, and to tell her I loved her more often.To just...be there.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t make my mistakes, Mason.Don’t let fear or pride or career anxiety cost you the person you love.If this man makes you happy, if he makes you want to be better, if he makes you feel like yourself—then fight for him.Be brave enough to fight for him.”

My vision blurred.“What if it’s too late?What if he’s done with me?”

“Then you’ll know you tried.But I don’t think it’s too late.”My father stood and pulled me up, then did something he hadn’t done since I was a child—he hugged me.“You’re my son, and you’re brilliant and brave and capable of anything.Including this.”

I hugged him back, feeling like I was fourteen again, like I was small enough to fit under his arm and believe that everything would be okay because my father said so.

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling tears sliding down my cheeks.

“No.Thank you.For trusting me with this.For giving me a chance to be better.”He pulled back, his hands on my shoulders.“Now go home.Figure out what you’re going to say to this man.And tomorrow, you tell him the truth.All of it.”

“And if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“He will.”My father smiled.“Trust me.If he loves you—and it sounds like he does—he’ll want to hear it.”

I nodded, not quite believing it but wanting to.

We finished our drinks, and my father walked me to the door.As I was leaving, he called after me.

“Mason?”

I turned.

“I’m proud of you.I’m proud of you for being honest, and for being brave enough to tell me the truth.”His voice was rough.“I love you, son.”

My throat closed.“I love you too, Dad.”

I drove home in a daze, replaying the conversation over and over.My father knew I was gay, and he was okay with it.More than okay.He was supportive.