The Endgame (Atlanta Lightning 1)

This time, it was Anson whose hand held the back of my head and tangled in my hair. He tugged me closer until our foreheads met. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared. I know you think I’ll resent you, but I won’t. Not you. I’m a better man because of you. I’m stronger and love who I am because of you. I’ve spent my whole damn life in the closet, hiding who I was, hating who I was. I lived a lie because of how other people might take it. That’s why I needed to do this in my own way and in my own time. I had to make this decision for myself, and I made it. I really fucking need you to support me on it.”

And that was what I had to do. If Anson had made his decision, I had to trust him. And I did, more than anything. Maybe it was time I dealt with some skeletons too. “I support you. Always. Jesus, Anson. Do you know how incredible you are? How brave? You said I give you all this strength, but I don’t think you know how much you give me.” Damned if my eyes weren’t suddenly leaking. Emotions were so frustrating. “I…need you. Fuck, I need you. Help me.”

“With what? Anything, baby. Anything you need.”

What I needed was him. If Anson could be so brave, maybe it was time I did the same.

I could tell Anson was nervous on the flight to North Carolina. We hadn’t acted like a couple or anything. We’d been in first class, and he’d had his trusty hat and sunglasses, but old habits died hard, and it would have been a mess if he’d somehow been outed before he had a chance to come out on his own terms.

We’d booked a flight right after we’d spoken, and had gotten into Raleigh late. I’d gotten us a hotel room, and he’d stayed back, not approaching the counter, then sneaking up after to join me. I’d slept like shit, but Anson had been there, trying to make me laugh and supporting me in whatever way I needed.

It was a tight schedule. He had to get back to Atlanta, and I felt guilty about needing him, wanting him to be with me when he didn’t have much free time.

We had a quick breakfast, and then Anson drove the car we’d rented to the white Colonial with thick pillars out front; the house where I grew up. It stood on a few acres, lonely but proud. Memories of things that happened to me there raced through my head, some good, some bad.

“You ready to do this?” Anson asked, turning off the car.

I looked at him and smiled. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

We got out together and went to the door. I knocked, knew my mom would answer. I’d called her and told her I was coming this morning and asked her not to tell Dad. If she did, he would have left. I knew him well enough to know that.

“Weston…I can’t believe you’re here.” She pulled me into a hug. Mom was difficult to understand sometimes. I knew she had her beliefs about being gay, and those didn’t line up with mine, but if it weren’t for my father, I thought she’d have an easier time accepting me. “Oh…you brought a friend.” She pulled away.

“I brought my partner,” I confirmed. “Mom, this is Anson Hawkins.” I looked at him. “This is my mother, Suzanna.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Anson said.

“You, um…you too.” She shook his hand, then looked at me. “Weston, your father’s not going to be happy.”

“I don’t care. I have things I need to say, and then I’ll be on my way.”

She nodded, stepped aside, and let us in, just as my father walked around the corner. “Suz, who’s—” He stilled when he saw me. His eyes flickered to Anson, a burst of recognition there. My father loved sports, loved football, and I wasn’t surprised he knew who Anson was.

“Dad—”

“I have a busy day ahead of me. Say what you need to say so I can get on with it.” He was wearing a crisp suit like always. He turned and walked into his office. I laced my fingers with Anson’s and followed him, Mom right behind us.

Dad was looking out his office window when we stepped inside. “You can’t even look at me, can you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can look at you.” He turned, his gaze snagging on our hands. “You know how I feel. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do…that in my home.”

“Hold hands with the man I love?” I asked, my chest heavy and aching.

“Weston…”

“No, don’t, Mom. Don’t try to keep the peace. I came here for a reason, and I need to get it done.” I gave my father my attention again. “What is so wrong with this? What’s so wrong with loving him?”