Page 3

CHAPTER 2

I WISH IT WASN’T A THING

CHUCK

It was a real fucking tragedy that humans couldn’t breathe underwater.

Chuck pushed off the wall, his body long and taut as he flutter kicked once, twice, three times before breaking the surface. Tiny bubbles tickled as they trailed over the surface of his skin. Even then he waited until his lungs burned before tilting his head to breathe as his body rocked in an easy freestyle across the 25 meter pool.

Because the swim season was over, Chuck had replaced early morning practices with his own workout, preferring the campus outdoor pool to the indoor natatorium that smelled of concentrated chlorine and echoed even the quietest sounds. As the head coach of Southeastern University’s swim team, Chuck was responsible for training a roster of forty-eight college athletes, each of whom competed in a different set of events. It was a huge amount of planning and evaluating, and it took all of his focus and attention to make sure that each athlete was progressing while also keeping in mind the team as a whole.

The team had finished the season strong, with ten of their swimmers medaling at Nationals. He’d gotten exuberant praise from Connie, their athletic director, and all indicators were that he was doing good work and his job was secure.

But now it was the off-season, and there was suddenly time and space in his life for all of the other things he put on hold during the season.

Without the demand of morning practices and weekend meets and travel, the days and nights had a tendency to stretch out, leaving too much room for getting lost in his head.

He finished his lap, pausing with his hands tightly gripping the cool cement wall. He tilted his head up, goggles still on, and felt the first rays of morning sun warm his face. That combined with the water that held his body like a slippery, smooth embrace was almost enough to shake the feeling that something was off.

Almost enough, but not quite.

* * *

Loud knuckles rapped on the corner of Chuck’s office door.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up from his laptop screen.

“I come with coffee and unsolicited company.”

Chuck looked up to see his best friend and old college roommate, David Hughes, pushing into the room with two steaming mugs in his hands. David had moved back to Charleston over a year ago and was in his second season as the head men’s basketball coach at Southeastern University.

David was a big man, taller than Chuck’s 6’ 2” with almost double his body mass. His brown hair was always a little bit wild, but he mostly covered it with a baseball cap.

“How are things?” David sprawled out in one of the chairs in front of Chuck’s desk and slid one of the coffees towards him.

“Nationals went well,” Chuck said, closing his laptop and taking the mug in hand. He preferred a latte, but more than that he appreciated the company. “Now it’s just the typical end of season stuff: getting our recruiting list locked in, scheduling travel for myself and the assistants to some spring meets to scope out recruits, and setting up off-season training.”

David hummed as he sipped his coffee. “Nice, man. That’s good. You signed your contract for next year?”

“Signed it this morning.” Chuck slapped David’s offered palm. “Connie even told me that I have continued to impress her every year.”

“Damn. Getting compliments from Connie? You’re crushing it.” David’s expression softened, and he leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “How are you doing otherwise?”

Chuck shrugged noncommittally. David was the only one who knew about his struggles with mental health over the years—an ongoing battle with depression that had been mostly stabilized with consistent therapy and medication. “Things are good right now,” he answered honestly. “The off-season can be tough, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you still swimming in the mornings?”

Chuck nodded. He’d always found comfort in swimming, the exercise clearing his head and the echoing silence under the surface settling him in a way little else could.

“Still seeing your therapist?”

“David, I promise I’m doing well.” Chuck loved his friend, but he had a tendency to be overbearing when it came to the people he cared about.

David frowned at him, his thick brown brows knitting together. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

Chuck nodded. “I know, dude. I know.” He shifted in his chair, needing to steer the conversation in a different direction. “How’s Sage doing?”

As David launched into an enthusiastic retelling of his girlfriend’s latest accomplishment as a high school boy’s basketball coach, Chuck felt himself relax.

* * *

Chuck slid into an open spot at the crowded picnic table at The Grove next to Rebecca, Darius’s wife. Their group of friends tended to gather there after work, enjoying the shade of the wide-reaching oak trees and catching up with each others’ lives.

Rebecca flicked her long braids back over her shoulder, turning to him with a bright smile. “Hey you,” she said, and Chuck admired the pop of her golden-yellow eyeshadow against her glowing brown skin.

He leaned in and gave her a hug. “Hi,” he said. “How have you been?”

“The salon is busy,” she said, pulling back. Rebecca owned her own beauty salon in the trendy, downtown neighborhood of Cannonborough. “Maggie’s working with us on her off days.” Rebecca nodded behind the bar, where Maggie wiped glasses while talking animatedly with Sage, David’s girlfriend. Sage was also working at the bar while getting her teaching certificate and coaching a high school boys basketball team. “Maggie’s really good,” Rebecca went on. “She’s going to be a great addition to the team if I can convince her to stick around.”

“Saw the Nationals results,” Keaton called out from across the table, reaching out a closed fist for Chuck to bump. “Nice work on the relay.”

“Thanks, Keats. They were unreal,” Chuck agreed, returning the fist bump. “Took three seconds off their PR.”

Keaton whistled. “Impressive. Nicely done, coach.”

“Sage’s garden has tomatoes,” David said proudly, adjusting his baseball cap. “She actually grew them from seeds. Had them on the windowsill and everything, like a goddamn plant whisperer.”

Darius snorted from where he sat on the other side of Rebecca, one of his long arms wrapped around her back. “You do know that’s how plants grow, right?”

David reached over and shoved Darius’ shoulder, causing the other man to shake with his wheezing laugh. Darius had a wide, white, gap-toothed smile that contrasted his dark brown skin.

“Chuck has a raccoon under his house.” Tommy had his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, like he’d come straight from the office. Chuck knew he kept a hanger in the back seat of his car so he wouldn’t wrinkle the nice suit jackets he wore for work.

“A raccoon?” Darius looked horrified.

“I think it’s a raccoon,” Chuck added, chuckling at the expression on Darius’ face. “All I know is that it’s alive and loud and has glowing yellow eyes.”

“Sounds terrifying,” David said, his big shoulders quaking as a shudder went through him. “At least it’s not grackles.”

“In what world are birds living in a crawl space, Hughes?” Keaton shook his head. He turned back to Chuck. “Have you called an exterminator?”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be out tomorrow morning.”

“If it doesn’t work let me know,” Rebecca said, sipping from her water glass. “I had to get a wild animal or two out of the house when I was growing up.”

Chuck’s brows shot up his forehead.

Rebecca just rolled her eyes. “Back in boricua we’d get armadillos in the house all the time.”

Rebecca had grown up in Puerto Rico before moving to Florida with her mom for high school. Darius had met her back when they were in school and she was working as a waitress at one of the local diners near the Southeastern University campus. Now they were happily married.

“Becs, do you have anyone who does men’s hair?” Tommy absently flipped his cell phone in one of his hands while the other ran over his chestnut brown hair, which had reached the point where the longer strands on top flopped down into his eyes.

Chuck would never say anything, but he’d always liked it like that.

“My graduate assistant Jordan can do it,” David chimed in. “He’s been cutting my hair for the past year.”

Rebecca shot him a glare. “Don’t go trying to steal my business, Hughes.” Turning back to Tommy, she pointed at him. “I can do a men’s cut. Text me and I’ll get you on the schedule.”

“Any news on the dating front, Chuck?”

He glared at Keaton, who’d asked the question. Asshole . “Still dating Jessica?” he countered.

Keaton shrugged, an indifferent look on his face. “It’s Cassidy,” he corrected. “And yes. She’s still around.” He took a sip of his beer. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Chuck huffed out a breath. Everyone was looking at him, obviously waiting for an answer. And they weren’t the assholes. They were his loyal friends, the ones who had become his family, and they were looking at him like that because they cared about him. And now most of them were coupled off, they wanted that for him too.

Shit, he wanted that for himself.

“Nah,” he replied honestly. “Nothing new.”

He glanced down the length of the table to find Tommy watching him with a curious tilt to his head.

Tommy pursed his lips. “What’s your type? I’ll be your wingman.”

Chuck barely had time to think about what a fucking disaster that would be before David jumped in. “Chuck’s sneaky about dating. Always has been.” He turned, furrowing his dark brows as he looked Chuck right in the eye. “You never even brought girls back to the room when we were in school.”

There was nothing to say to that. Well, there was everything to say, but how the fuck was he supposed to begin?

He made sure to fix a smile to his face as his friends laughed off David’s comment, guessing that Chuck had been more discerning than to subject his girlfriends to the horror of a dorm room shared by two jocks.

But still, there was that tugging ache in his gut. The exhaustion of pretending.

Chuck had never lied to them. Omission wasn’t exactly a lie.

Holding back that part of himself had become second nature. He’d done it for so long, drawing a clear line through his life. On one side was Chuck the athlete, the coach, one of the bros. The one who was known to be easygoing and quick to laugh, who his friends came to for advice.

And on the other side was Chuck the gay man. A shy, sensitive guy who struggled to make the first move. Who wanted to be treasured and cared for. Who wanted to be loved so badly that sometimes it felt hard to breathe.

It wasn’t his fault none of them had ever asked why he never brought girls around in college. Or none of them had ever asked him, point blank, if he was even attracted to women.

What if I just told them? What if I came out right now?

He looked around the table, at the warmth and smiles and comfort these people shared with each other. He was a part of them. He thought about the loss the guys on the basketball team had faced back in college—losing their teammate Johnny in a drunk driving accident—and how, through that experience, they’d learned how to be open and emotional with each other.

He could tell them. They’d be safe, he reasoned. Either they’d be safe, or they wouldn’t .

And whatever came of it, he would have to carry the consequences.

* * *

Chuck walked through the door of Magnolia Roasters, a local coffee shop with bright tangerine walls and an assortment of cacti planted in colorful ceramic pots, and waved when he saw his two friends already tucked into a booth in the corner.

Miguel rose to meet him, their black ankle-length skirt swishing as they enveloped Chuck in a long hug. They always smelled like sandalwood incense, which Chuck knew they tried to sneakily burn in their cramped office. Miguel was a professor of Spanish and Latin American Literature at Southeastern. Chuck had met them years ago at one of the local gay bars, and while they hadn’t been compatible romantic partners, they quickly became friends. Now Miguel was married to a wonderful man named Richard, who was a local artist well known for his coastal landscapes.

Chuck pressed a quick kiss to Miguel’s soft brown skin, and walked around them to slide into the booth next to the beast of a man who clutched his whipped cream-topped caffeine monstrosity with both hands.

“What’s up,” Wade Johnson asked in his deep, rumbling voice. He was a bit older than Chuck and Miguel and his deeply lined eyes showed evidence of many years spent laughing. His crooked nose had to have been broken a few times, but that paired with his salt and pepper hair and his rough stubble made him undeniably attractive. He’d played professional hockey, something Chuck, who’d grown up in Central Texas, knew nothing about. Wade had come out as bisexual later in life, and, like Miguel, Chuck had met him through the local queer community.

Wade had gotten him a latte, and Chuck thanked him as he settled in. “I think I’m going to come out to my college friends.”

Wade’s brows shot up. “Damn, that’s big,” he said.

Chuck nodded. “For so long it’s been easier not to say anything, but I think it’s catching up with me. I’m just tired, you know?” Chuck tapped his thumb against the warm ceramic of the mug. “I want to date. I’m ready to have a partner, and if I bring someone into my life, I want them to be a part of all of it.”

Miguel reached across the table, grasping Chuck’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze. “Proud of you, amor ,” they said with a smile.

“I think I always assumed they’d figure it out,” Chuck admitted. “I’m not exactly hiding the fact that I’m gay.”

Wade and Miguel shared a look.

“What? I’m not.”

Wade turned back to Chuck, a kind, sympathetic smile on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

Chuck swallowed. “I mean?—”

“Hey,” Wade said, holding up a hand. “From what you’ve said about your college friends, I think they’re going to be really damn happy for you. More than anything, they’re going to be honored that you’re trusting them, and are going to love the chance to get to know all of you.” He leaned forward to brace his elbows on the table. “Ever since we met, you’ve painted your nails whenever we go out into queer spaces, and then remove the polish by the next morning. You’ve dated some, but you’ve kept them hidden away from the world. I’m just saying I think it’s going to feel pretty good to not hide anymore.”

Chuck took a long drink from his coffee, taking in Wade’s words. He glanced down at his fingers, his gaze narrowing on a thin sliver of sky blue polish that he’d missed along his pinky nail.

“We’re here for you, no matter what happens,” Miguel offered, “And I’m with Wade on this one—I think it’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so,” Chuck replied, picking at the fleck of blue polish.

The last time he’d tried to officially come out in any capacity had been excruciating. He’d thought his parents were accepting. For his whole life, they’d spoken in church about loving others who were different. They volunteered to make meals for the homeless. They were, objectively, good people.

But apparently, having a gay son was too much for their particular brand of goodness. He’d been eighteen and so optimistic, holding on to hope that they might actually be happy for him. That they might have celebrated his acceptance of himself and how he had decided to live in a truthful and authentic way.

They’d wept, like he’d told them he was dying. And in a way he had, at least in their eyes. He’d gone off to college in Charleston, leaving the Texas Hill Country behind, and there hadn’t been any phone calls. There hadn’t been any emails. And when he’d asked about coming home for Thanksgiving break, he’d been informed that they couldn’t afford the flight and he should make other arrangements.

Miguel’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Most of my old friends dropped me the first time I showed up in a skirt.” They delivered the line like it was supposed to be a joke, but it fell flat. All three of them had tasted the bitter turn when people were faced with the truth of who they were.

“Narrow-minded assholes,” Wade growled. “You’re better off without them.”

Miguel blinked long black lashes over at Wade. “Are you sure you’re not into me?”

Wade bit back a grin. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re too old for him,” Chuck chimed in, cocking a brow at Miguel.

“Fuck off,” Wade said, flicking Chuck in the back of the hand.

Chuck flipped him the bird as the three of them dissolved into laughter. It was so good to have them: two people with whom Chuck could simply be, without having his guard up.

He wanted this with the rest of his friends. He wanted it so badly his throat tightened with emotion.

“I wish it wasn’t a thing,” Chuck admitted, looking between the two of them. “Coming out,” he clarified.

Miguel nodded, their deep plum painted lips curving up into a sad smile. Chuck took them in: their shaved head, the eyeliner that darkened their upper lash line, the glitter of mischief in their eyes that never dimmed. Then he glanced over at Wade, with his black hoodie and dark scruff, the curling ends of black tattoos swirling through the smattering of dark hair on the backs of his hands.

“Someday, amor ,” Miguel said. “Someday.”

Wade nodded his head toward Miguel. “What they said,” he murmured, lifting his mug.

They all lifted their drinks in silent cheers.