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Chapter Forty-One

Justin

I never thought I’d find my happy ever after in Coyote High School, the place where I spent four years hiding who I really am. But then again, I never thought I’d fall in love with Andrew Yates, who turned out to be the most amazing man on the planet.

Maddie finally regains everyone’s attention by tapping the microphone, the feedback cutting through the excited chatter like a car alarm trying to harmonize with an ice cream truck.

“Let’s all settle down,” she says, tapping her watch. “We’re already running behind on our schedule, and the catering staff are giving me that look.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” I murmur in Andrew’s ear as Maddie starts to talk through the reunion itinerary.

“I think I’ve definitely had my quota of old classmates,” he says quietly.

I interlace our fingers. Of course our escape doesn’t go unnoticed, and we have to navigate through a maze of business cards and enthusiastic waves, like we’re diplomatic envoys trying to leave a peace summit.

The heavy gym doors swing shut behind us with a satisfying thunk, sealing away the noise and leaving us alone in the familiar hallway.

“I can’t believe you just outed yourself to the entire graduating class of 2015 via PowerPoint presentation,” Andrew says. His dark hair is ruffled from where my fingers carded through it during our kiss and his glasses are slightly wonky on his face.

“Hey, I’m a sales guy. PowerPoint is my love language.” I squeeze his hand. “Besides, it’s one way to guarantee I’m not asked to do a speech for the twentieth reunion, isn’t it?”

Andrew laughs, and the sound shoots a tidal wave of happiness through me. “I’m slightly worried this sets a dangerous precedent. Will we have to communicate all our major relationship milestones via presentation software?”

I raise my eyebrow. “It could work as long as the PowerPoint doesn’t corrupt unexpectedly.”

Andrew’s smile fades as he comes to a stop, his shoulders curling inwards. “I’m so sorry. For everything I did.”

I stop next to him.

“I’m sorry too,” I say quietly. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you in high school.”

Andrew just stares at me for a long moment. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if I hadn’t forgiven you,” he says finally.

I reach up to adjust his glasses, letting my hand linger on his cheek. His eyes close at my touch.

And I suddenly realize this is what forgiveness for us is going to look like going forward. It won’t be grand gestures or dramatic speeches, but these quiet moments where we choose each other despite everything.

When his eyes flutter open, I can’t help leaning forward to brush my lips over his.

“There is one silver lining about the whole thing,” I say as we start walking again.

His forehead furrows. “What’s that?”

“We get to spend forever making things up to each other.”

Andrew’s smile is back on his face.

Our footsteps echo against the linoleum as we walk and the dim light creates strange shadows that make everything feel slightly surreal. It’s like we’re walking through a memory edited in post-production.

Andrew suddenly stops, his hand tightening in mine.

“This was my locker,” he says quietly. “Number 2187.”

I look at the metal door. It looks identical to all the others lining the hallway, but judging by the way Andrew looks at it, I know it radiates a different energy for him.

“Connor used to wait here sometimes,” Andrew continues, his voice careful like he’s defusing a bomb. “He’d time it perfectly so he could slam the door on my fingers when I was getting my books.”

I remember. I watched it happen, pretending to be absorbed in conversation with Tad while Andrew nursed his bruised fingers, his face carefully blank.

But now? Now, I can do something different.

I move us slowly, deliberately, until Andrew’s back is pressed against his old locker. His eyes widen behind his glasses, dark and questioning.

“What are you doing?”

“Rewriting history,” I say and kiss him.

He makes a soft sound against my mouth, somewhere between surprise and surrender, his hands grabbing my sweater. I pour everything I feel for him into the kiss—every apology, every promise, every ounce of love. His mouth opens under mine, and suddenly, we’re making out against locker 2187 like we’re trying to retroactively scandalize the entire student body.

When we finally break apart, Andrew’s glasses are slightly fogged and his smile is brighter than the Friday night lights that used to define my world.

“So,” he says, slightly breathless, “does this mean I finally get to say I made out with the quarterback by my locker?”

“Technically, you’re making out with a sales executive now.”

“Even better. More commission.”

“I always knew you were just after me for my sales bonuses.”

Andrew pushes his glasses back up his nose and pins me with those big brown eyes.

“My parents are house-sitting for my sister this weekend,” he says quietly.

“Are you inviting me home so you can have your wicked way with me?”

He ducks his head, a blush creeping up his neck as his teeth catch his bottom lip. “I mean, I think we need to make up for all those missed high school opportunities.”

I take his hand again. “Lead the way, Techno-Genius.”

Andrew’s childhood home radiates that specific kind of suburban normalcy that looks like the opening scene in a documentary about serial killers or coding prodigies.

His room still retains traces of his teenage years, with academic medals hanging next to an Ender’s Game poster.

Andrew watches me as I study his room. His expression is soft and uncertain like he’s waiting for my verdict on his teenage self. But all I can think about is how much I wish I could go back and see him then. Really see him the way I do now.

But I can’t change the past.

There’s so much emotion swirling between us that I know the only way to express it is to kiss him until the ghosts of our teenage selves fade, replaced by who we are now.

Two people who found each other despite everything.

Or maybe because of it.

We fall back onto his bed, the mattress squeaking in protest beneath us, my body blanketing his as we continue to kiss. His mouth opens under mine, our tongues tangling as his hands slide up my back.

Teenage Andrew is banished to the past. Just as Teenage Justin is.

They are part of us in the way that our pasts always shape who we are, but they don’t define our future.

I trace my fingers along the collar of Andrew’s shirt, carefully undoing each button like I’m unwrapping something precious. His breath catches as my knuckles brush against his skin, and when I look up, his eyes hold such raw vulnerability that my heart clenches. His hands tremble as they find the hem of my sweater, and I lift my arms to help him.

“Hey,” I whisper against Andrew’s collarbone, my heart racing faster than it did during my speech a few hours ago. “I want… I want to try something different.”

Andrew’s fingers pause where they’ve been tracing patterns on my back. “Yeah?”

“I want you to…” The words catch in my throat. “I want to feel you. Inside me.”

Andrew pulls back slightly, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I say. “I trust you.”

His expression softens into something that makes my heart flip. “Even after everything?”

“Because of everything,” I answer honestly, reaching up to brush my thumb across his cheek. “You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’re still here.”

Andrew reaches for his overnight bag on the floor beside the bed, rummaging through it before producing a small bottle of lube and a condom. He catches my raised eyebrow and a blush creeps up his neck.

“Always be prepared?” I ask.

“Always have hope,” he replies as he takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table.

He settles back beside me, turning to face me, his dark lashes casting tiny shadows across his cheeks.

“I love you,” he says softly.

“Show me,” I whisper back.

And everything that comes after is all about Andrew showing me how much he loves me.

How carefully he touches me, his hands trembling in a way that makes my chest constrict with how much he cares about getting this right, about making this perfect for me.

The look in his eyes as he presses inside me holds such raw vulnerability and love that I have to close my eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity.

The feeling of him inside me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, both overwhelming and perfect, like finding a missing piece I never knew was gone.

His unsteady breaths match my racing heartbeat, creating a rhythm that feels like it belongs only to us.

It’s like we’re finally dancing to the same song after spending so long hearing different music.

Every nerve ending feels electrified, like my whole body is waking up to sensations I never knew were possible. The pleasure builds in waves that leave me gasping, my body arching instinctively to meet his careful movements.

Everything fades until there’s just us, just this, just the truth of what we are together.

The way he whispers my name against my neck, his lips grazing my pulse point in a way that makes me shiver.

My skin is hypersensitive to every touch, so when he finally gets a hand between our bodies to touch my cock, my whole body jerks like I’ve been shocked, a groan escaping me that sounds almost desperate even to my own ears.

Everything inside me turns molten, and my head falls back against the pillow.

And I realize that even though we’ve had great sex previously, Andrew’s always held back part of himself, trying to maintain some kind of control. But now he’s letting go completely, his careful reserve crumbling with every movement we make together.

I fall over the edge first, the pleasure radiating out in waves that leave me gasping and shaking, clinging to his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing in my world. Which in a way he is.

Afterward, he can’t stop touching me, pressing soft kisses to the slope of my shoulders, the curve of my neck, and the sensitive spot behind my ear.

“Make-up sex is incredible,” I say drowsily.

“What?”

“Well, we just had our first fight, didn’t it? So this was make-up sex.”

He props himself up on one elbow to consider me. “Our first fight was a bit of a doozy.”

“Yeah, let’s aim not to have another quite like this one.”

He shifts until we’re facing each other, our legs tangled. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I can’t miss the mixture of wonder and love in his eyes.

Maybe we both actually needed this journey to get us to this moment in his childhood bedroom, where we’re finally completely ourselves.