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Chapter forty-four

Mike

The second we walked into the house, Homer lost his damn mind.

He bolted through the living room at full speed, paws sliding on the hardwood, skidding dangerously close to the coffee table before circling back around and launching himself at Elliot’s leg like a missile.

And then.

Then he latched on.

Elliot grunted as Homer wrapped his front paws around his calf, standing up on his hind legs and going to town.

“Jesus Christ,” Elliot grumbled, trying to shake him off, but Homer just tightened his grip, whining with deep, heartfelt devotion.

Mateo, who arrived just as we pulled into the driveway, had barely made it through the door. He saw Elliot’s face, then looked down at Homer and doubled over laughing.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “So, uh . . . which man of this house are you dating?”

Elliot shot him a murderous look while trying to peel Homer off. “I swear to God, if this dog humps me one more time—”

Mateo fell onto the couch. “I had no idea you were into fur. Is that your thing now? Like those guys who dress up as animals and shit?”

Mateo’s Italian accent somehow made the question even funnier than it already was. I could barely breathe.

Elliot remained as stone faced as ever.

Homer barked, apparently taking that as a challenge, and renewed his efforts with even more enthusiasm.

“He just really loves you, babe.”

Elliot glared at me. “Your dog is almost as much of a menace as you are.”

“Bet you cuddle after he’s done,” I teased.

Mateo wiped at his eyes. “I think it’s kinda romantic.”

“Homer!” Elliot barked, trying one last time to shake him off. “Get the fuck off!”

Homer let go with an exaggerated huff before trotting away, completely unbothered, his tail wagging like nothing had happened.

Elliot straightened his shirt, scowling, while Mateo just kept laughing.

I clapped Elliot on the back. “You’re irresistible, what can I say?”

Elliot muttered something under his breath about exorcising the demon out of my dog before stomping toward the kitchen.

As soon as Elliot disappeared, Mateo turned to me, grinning. “Okay, now that we’re alone . . . tell me everything.”

I blinked. “About what?”

Mateo scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, Mike. You just spent three days in a secluded cabin with your hot lineman boyfriend. Something happened.”

I bit my lip, trying—and failing—not to grin. Then fell onto the couch beside him, pulled my legs up to my chest, and giggled like a preteen who just got her first kiss.

“Oh shit.” Mateo gasped, pointing at me. “You did it. You said it, didn’t you?”

I nodded slowly, my chest tight with how much that meant. “Yeah.”

Mateo clutched his chest like I had just delivered the most romantic news in the world. “And?”

I exhaled. “He said it back.”

Mateo smacked my arm. “ Puttana! ”

“I know.” I laughed. “I so am!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did he mean it?”

I nodded, my heart doing that stupid flip in my chest. “Of course, he did, you caveman. Do you say things like that and not mean it?”

“If it gets me laid . . .”

Now I slapped his arm. “Idiot.”

Mateo grinned. “You look so disgustingly happy.”

“I am disgustingly happy.”

“So gross,” he muttered, then smirked. “So when’s the wedding?”

I snorted. “Relax. We just became boyfriends. Let’s not turn lesbionic just yet.”

Mateo’s brow furrowed, and he mouthed the word like a school kid sounding out an unfamiliar word. “Les . . . bi . . . onic? You want to bump pussies? I don’t get it.”

I rolled my eyes. “As in a getting a U-Haul after one date.”

His face remained blank.

“Like lesbians moving in too fast. You know, that’s a thing with them, right? Almost as common as their Home Depot Club memberships.”

“Home Depot has a club?”

I threw my head back. “God, you Italians are thick!”

Mateo waggled his brows, hesitated, then wagged a finger. “Yet.”

“Yet what?”

“You aren’t turning lesbionic . . . yet.”

“How do you say, ‘Fuck off,’ in Italian?” I rolled my eyes. “Come on. Let’s make dinner before Elliot dies of starvation and blames me.”

“Like a lesbian.”

“Shut it, Pasta Boy.”

Dinner was surprisingly calm after the Great Homer Incident, as Elliot came to call it. He took his usual place at the head of the table, while Mateo and I sat across from each other. The guys raised their beers, while I, the only civilized one among us, lifted a wine glass with a slender stem filled with ruby liquid.

Mateo took a bite of food before clearing his throat and casually tossing out, “So, our principal approved the group.”

“What?” I nearly choked on my bite of pasta. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Mateo nodded, grinning. “Green light. It’s happening.”

I set my fork down, my heart pounding. “Holy shit.”

Mateo leaned back in his chair, his beer bottle resting between his fingers, but his usual relaxed smirk was nowhere in sight. Instead, his expression was steady, serious, determined, like when he coached his team.

“This is really happening, Mike.”

I nodded, my stomach twisting with a mix of excitement and something heavier.

Because this wasn’t just a casual conversation.

This wasn’t just an idea anymore.

It was real.

We were going to have an official, school-sanctioned space for kids like Jamie—a space we hadn’t had when we were in high school, a space so many of us had needed.

I exhaled, my grip tightening around my fork. “Jamie’s going to freak out when he hears.”

Mateo grinned. “In a good way, though.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, heart squeezing. “In the best way ever.”

I could see his reaction already—the way his whole face would light up, the way his shoulders would relax just a little, like the weight he’d been carrying was suddenly a little less.

I wanted that for him.

Jamie had been the reason this all started.

Jamie, who had sat in my classroom with those tired eyes, with that fake, forced smile, trying so damn hard to hold himself together.

Jamie, who had come to me in quiet moments, lingering after class, pretending to need help on an assignment just so he could talk to someone—to anyone—who might understand him—and not judge.

He had been careful at first. Testing me. Feeling out whether I was safe.

I had seen the caution in his expression, the way his words were measured, the way he was so afraid to say too much.

But then, little by little, he let his guard down.

And I learned everything.

That his father wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t accept him, and didn’t even have the backbone to say that much to his face. He was just quiet, utterly silent, blocking out his son like clouds blocked the sun.

That his mom was supportive but would never stand up to his father.

That his sister—his best friend—had told him he should “just keep quiet about it” so he wouldn’t make his life harder.

I had seen the pain in his face when he told me that.

The way he tried to play it off, to shrug like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

It really did.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t alone.

There were so many kids like him—kids who felt like they had to be smaller, quieter, who had to hide important parts of themselves just to survive.

It wasn’t right.

It had never been right.

And now?

Now, we were going to change that. Well, change might be a strong word. We were going to help make things a little better.

I clenched my jaw, looking up at Mateo. “We have to get this right.”

“We will.” Mateo nodded, his eyes dark with understanding. Then he grinned and hefted his bottle. “When we’re not royally fucking it up.”

“To fucking it up,” I said, mirroring his smile.

“Royally,” he echoed.

Elliot, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke up from the head of the table. “So, you two are coming out to everyone, then.”

I swallowed and stared at my boyfriend. As usual, he’d cut through all the noise and landed on the heart of the matter. Well, the heart of one of the matters at hand.

“What do you mean?” Mateo asked.

“You’re the sponsors, right? The parents, other teachers, administrators, all the other kids—they’ll know. They’ll see you two either as gay or allies, but you know how people are. They’ll assume you’re sleeping together.”

“What?” I spat. It was ridiculous. Mateo was my best friend. He was dreamy and all, but still, I didn’t want his . . . his anything!

Mateo hesitated, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I’ve thought about all this. It’s the main reason you had to twist my arm at first. I was . . . how do you say . . . a coward.”

“Mateo!” I protested. “You’re less of a coward than anyone I know.”

Elliot cleared his throat.

“Except Elliot. Although, his is pretty cowardly around Homer.”

Mateo snickered.

Elliot flicked me a bird.

Neither Mateo nor I had been hiding at school, not exactly. We were out—not waving rainbow flags through the hallways, but not dodging the truth either.

But this?

This was different.

This was standing up, putting our names on something, making ourselves visible in a way we never had before.

Elliot was right. We were nailing our boards to the wall for everyone to see.

This was telling every kid, parent, administrator, church group, PTA board—every single person—that we were here. That we were unapologetically here.

And once we did that?

There was no taking it back.

I ran a hand through my hair. “You think the school board’s going to pull some shit? They’re more political than Congress.”

Mateo let out a low hum. “I don’t think so. We’re in a progressive enough district, but who knows about the parents?” He exhaled sharply. “That’s a whole different battle.”

I nodded, gripping the edge of the table. “What if they come after us? Personally?”

Mateo arched a brow. “You worried about getting called a groomer? Because, dude, we both know that’s coming.”

My stomach twisted.

It was coming.

The whispers, the assumptions, the bullshit accusations from people who would never understand, people who didn’t even know us, who would make up shit just to stir the pot.

People who would look at me, a teacher, and see something dirty just because I existed in this space.

Mateo must’ve seen something in my expression because he sighed, leaning back. “Look, I won’t lie. It’s going to be a thing, but you know what?” He shrugged. “It’s already a thing.”

I swallowed hard.

He wasn’t wrong.

I had already overheard the occasional comment from other teachers, the lingering looks from a couple of parents at open house nights, the way some people already saw me as some kind of risk just because I was a gay man working with kids.

Mateo set his beer down with a quiet thud. “We can’t control what they say about us, man, but we can control what we do for these kids.”

I exhaled through my nose, nodding.

Because that was the truth.

And that was what mattered.

I glanced at Mateo, my fingers tapping restlessly against the wood. “You scared?”

He smirked, but there was something thin about it. “A little.”

I snorted. “Me, too.”

Mateo nudged me with his elbow. “But we’re doing it anyway.”

I nodded.

We were.

Because Jamie needed this.

Because they all needed this.

Because we had needed this, too, once upon a time.

And if that meant stepping into the fire, then so be it.

I’d almost forgotten Elliot was sitting there when his hand found my forearm, and his voice cut through the silence. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

I swallowed down a lump, and a childlike voice croaked, “Thanks.”

“So.” Mateo leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Where do we start? Some sort of opening night meeting? Invite everyone? Parents, kids, teachers?”

I thought a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, we need to get them all on board from the start, as many as we can, at least.”

Elliot tilted his head. “You really think parents will show up?”

I hesitated. “I hope so.”

Mateo sighed. “We have to make them want to come. This can’t just be about the kids.”

“We should have resources for them,” I said quickly. “Pamphlets, books, support groups—things that help them understand why this is important.”

“Maybe even bring in a speaker?” Mateo suggested. “Someone who can talk about what it’s like to grow up without this kind of support.”

I tapped my fork against the table. “Jamie should be the first to know.”

Mateo smiled. “Duh.”

Elliot watched me with such warmth in his eyes.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

I felt my chest tighten, my throat closing up again.

Because I wanted to be good at this.

For Jamie.

For all of them.

For the kids who had never had a space to just be.

Maybe—just a little—for the younger me who never had a safety net.

I swallowed again, meeting Elliot’s gaze. “I just want to get it right.”

Elliot smiled, slow and sure. “You will.”

Mateo raised his beer. “To Jamie. And to making this count.”

I picked up my wine, clinking it against his bottle, my heart pounding.

This was happening.

And we were going to make it matter, damn it.