He smiled weakly, but only for a second. “I really don’t want to lose my family, though.”

  “No one does. But if you do, it’s because they suck, and you deserve better.”

  Scott held my gaze for a moment, and then he laughed softly and reeled me in close. He kissed my temple, but neither of us spoke.

  Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around him and just held him.

  And I prayed like hell that his family didn’t break his heart.

  “Just need to make one stop before we check into the hotel.” Scott put on his signal and turned into the parking lot of an old but well-maintained gas station at the edge of Rexburg.

  “You’re low on gas already?” I craned my neck to look at the gauge, but we still had just under half a tank.

  “Nah. But I always stop in to say hi to the owner.” He swallowed as he eased to a stop beside one of the pumps. “And I think I need to say more than hi this time.”

  “You want me to come in with you?”

  Scott seemed to think about it, then turned to me and nodded. “Actually, yeah, I do. Just let me top off the tank, and then…” He gestured at the station.

  We both got out of the car. While he pumped gas, I rubbed my neck and twisted carefully to crack my back. The day was hot and the air was sour with distant smoke. I still didn’t know where the fires were right now, but they seemed to be everywhere these days. There’d been a few stretches of our drive where the visibility had been almost nil for miles on end as we’d passed through thick walls of opaque, brown-tinged gray. It wasn’t so bad now, fortunately. Hazy as hell, and the smell was impossible to miss, but it wasn’t as suffocating and otherworldly as it had been closer to the mountains.

  Scott finished pumping gas, and we headed inside. As soon as we stepped into the convenience store, a tall blond man with glasses broke into a huge smile behind the counter. “Scott! I didn’t know you were coming to town!”

  Scott smiled back, if halfheartedly. “Yeah, I’m just here for a quick visit. Hunter, this is Daryl. He was my neighbor when I was growing up. And, um…” He hesitated, and he glanced around the convenience store before facing Daryl again. Then he rested a hand on the small of my back as a nervous smile played at his lips. “This is Hunter. My boyfriend.”

  “Your—” Daryl blinked. “Really?”

  Chewing his lip, Scott nodded. It sounded kind of weird, him calling me that, even though we’d planned it that way. No one in Rexburg needed to know the truth.

  “Oh. Well.” Daryl turned to me, and he smiled as we shook hands, but when he faced Scott again, his expression was completely sober. “Does your family…?”

  “Not yet.” Scott swallowed. “That’s, um… That’s why we’re in town.”

  Daryl’s eyes widened, and under any other circumstances, it would have been almost comical thanks to the magnification of his thick lenses. But the worry—no, the straight up horror—on his face made my stomach turn. “You’re going to tell them.”

  “Yeah.” Scott took a deep breath. “I don’t expect it to be pretty, but I need to get it off my chest.”

  Expression unchanging, Daryl nodded. “I understand that. How do you think your dad’s going to take it? I mean, I know he’s had some opinions about Isaiah coming out, but it’s been a few years.” He glanced at me and added, “Isaiah is my son.”

  “Oh.” It kind of made sense why we were here, then—moral support.

  “He hasn’t changed,” Scott said. “He and my uncle have been losing their minds about all the coverage of the gay players on my team.”

  Daryl tutted and rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah.” Scott sighed. “So I guess I was just hoping for some advice before I—”

  The convenience store’s front door opened with a jingle of sleigh bells, and Scott’s hand vanished from my back so fast it was jarring. He glanced at the newcomer—a young woman with a toddler in tow—but he didn’t put his hand back. We stepped away from the counter and stayed out of the way until the woman and her son had bought some snacks and paid for gas.

  When the shop was again empty, Scott turned to Daryl, but Daryl spoke first.

  “I don’t think this is something you should do by yourself.” The man’s voice was gentle, but had a firm, fatherly edge to it. It reminded me of the tone I used when I was nudging Ginny toward the right decision but wanted her to actually make the choice. “I don’t think your father would hurt you physically, and I know you’ve got Hunter here as backup, but maybe he doesn’t need the home ice advantage, you know?”

  Scott pursed his lips. “What do you suggest?”

  “Come to our house. Cathy would love to see you anyway, and she’ll be tickled to meet your boyfriend. But then you’ll also have some people in your corner.”

  “You…” Scott stared at him. “You’d let us have it out at your place? It isn’t going to get violent, but I can’t promise it won’t get loud.”

  I barely suppressed a shudder. Whatever happened with Scott’s dad, it was not going to be pleasant.

  “I insist,” Daryl said. “I can have one of the boys run the station, and we’ll all sit down and let you and your parents talk this through.” He paused, and his tone softened even more. “Son, Isaiah struggled hard coming to Cathy and me because he knew we had reservations about it because of our faith. And I’m ashamed to say it didn’t go as well as he deserved because we failed him that way. But we weren’t half as volatile about LGBT people as your dad is on an average Tuesday.” He furrowed his brow. “Please. Let us support you and give you a safe place to do this.”

  Scott swallowed hard, like he had to struggle to do it, and he nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” He laughed quietly. “I honestly was just hoping for some advice, but this is…”

  Daryl scowled. “I wish all you needed was advice, but I know your parents.”

  “Yeah,” Scott whispered. “You do.”

  I glanced back and forth between them. God, I could feel Scott’s tiny glimmer of hope from last night fading away. He’d mostly accepted that this was going to be a disaster, but his neighbor’s confirmation pretty much dashed any hope that it might be as anticlimactic as coming out to his teammates had been.

  Scott and Daryl worked out some logistics, and then he paid for the gas and we headed back to the car.

  As Scott pulled away from the gas station, I said, “So he was your neighbor growing up, and he has a gay son?”

  Scott nodded, gaze fixed on the road. “Yep. And he’s not kidding that it was a little rough when Isaiah came out. I mean, it’s not like they booted him out or anything, but things were, uh… tense.”

  “Religion?”

  “Yeah. They’re Mormon.” He laughed softly. “This is Rexburg—a lot of people are Mormon. And I know it caused some friction with their church when Daryl and Cathy decided to support their son. I don’t know how that was resolved, but last I heard, they’re still active church members and so are Isaiah and his husband.”

  “Wow,” I whispered. “Lucky kid. I mean, even with the rocky start. I know a lot of people who had religious families who picked their churches over their kids.”

  “Me too. And I was relieved as hell when I found out they’d accepted him. But that caused some friction with my family too. They still live next door to each other, but they don’t talk much anymore.”

  “All because he and his wife accepted their gay son?”

  Scott glanced at me, expression completely serious. “That should give you some idea about how this is going to go.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  Yeah, this was going to suck.

  Chapter 25

  Scott

  Driving along that old familiar road the next afternoon was surreal. It was lined with pastures, though some of the old farms had been converted into fancy developments and—in one case—a strip mall with a dollar store. The farther it wound away from Rexburg proper, though, the more farms still stood, the houses and especially the barns and grains silos barely visible in the smoky haze that hung heavy in the air and gave everything an otherworldly feel.

  I’d been here just recently, but it felt like I’d been away for ages. As if the old oak on the corner had been standing last time I’d come through here. Like it hadn’t been cut down eight years back after a windstorm had left it precariously tilted over the house I swore Bobby Patterson’s family still lived in. It was jarring to realize the faded and hand-painted Valentine Family Dairy sign was gone, even though the place had been transformed into a dressage stable before I’d signed with the Breakers. And what about the frost heaves and tree roots that had acted as speed bumps for us kids when we all learned to drive? Had these painted lines and this sleek, smooth blacktop really been here for five years?

  “Scott?” Hunter’s voice startled me.

  I glanced at him in the passenger seat. “Huh? What?”

  He cocked his head. “You were slowing down.”

  The speedometer agreed. The speed limit was fifty. Why was I going thirty?

  Clearing my throat, I accelerated, white plastic fence posts whipping by where wonky-shaped and creosote-treated posts had held up barbed wire a lifetime ago.

  “You all right?”

  I nodded. “Nervous.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”

  I laughed dryly. Neither of us spoke.

  And up ahead, a faint and familiar silhouette on the right started to emerge from the haze like an apparition. Even before we were close enough to see the details, I could envision all of it: the bright, blooming flowers. The black mailbox on top of its post. The house numbers along the side. The sign below the box, with its crisp, hand-painted letters:

  Deacon.

  I swallowed the nausea rising in my throat, and though the habit was ingrained into me to slow down and turn up that long, gravel drive, I kept going. I followed the fence line farther up the road until another familiar mailbox came into view. There was no name on it. No cutesy sign. Just their address, and at the base of the post, some artfully-arranged rocks and an antique wagon wheel.

  I’d seen that setup hundreds of times, but a memory flashed into my head of Cathy explaining to my mom why she’d removed the flowers she’d had there for years and replaced them with rocks and the wheel.

  “They’re so pretty,” she’d said wistfully over tea in my mom’s kitchen, “but Larry is retiring from delivering the mail, and he said the gentleman replacing him is afraid of bees.”

  I’d been twelve or thirteen, and I vividly remembered being surprised that she’d rip out her flowers because the mailman was afraid of bees. I’d thought about that when I’d landscaped my yard. It was why there were no plants at all near my mailbox.

  With my heart in my throat, I slowed and took the turn onto their driveway. “Here we are.”

  In silence, we continued up the winding driveway to Daryl and Cathy’s house. It was a gray two-story with pristine paint and meticulously manicured landscaping. The place was surprisingly modest, considering they had twenty acres and eight kids. It wasn’t like they were lacking in space to expand if they’d needed more elbow room in the house. None of them ever seemed like they found it crowded, though. Even when the spouses and grandkids and friends were packed in and spilling out onto the deck, it had felt homey and nice, not claustrophobic or suffocating.

  Kind of like the barbecue I went to with Hunter.

  My God. My family really was the outlier.

  I parked in front of the garage and killed the engine. Then I took a deep breath.

  Hunter put his hand on my arm. “I’m not going to ask if you’re ready, because I have a feeling you’re not. But I’ll be there, if that helps.”

  I turned to him, meeting those earnest, dark eyes across the console, and my heart shifted to a more pleasant gallop. A little less “oh hell, this is gonna suck” and a whole lot more “do you have any idea how glad I am that you’re here?” I brought his hand up and kissed his palm. “Thank you. No, I’m not ready. But the support is…” I didn’t even know how to say it.

  Hunter leaned toward me, touched my face, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Whatever happens, you’ll get through it.”

  Why was that so hard to believe? Rationally, I knew the world wouldn’t split open and swallow me up no matter how much I begged it to, and that even if today went to absolute shit, I’d still go on with my life. I knew that. I understood it. I just had no idea how.

  Footsteps on wood turned both our heads, and we looked to see Daryl and Cathy coming down the front steps. That brought an actual smile to my lips. It was always good to see the Jensens.

  We got out of the car, and Cathy came up, arms out. “Scotty! My goodness, it’s been ages!” She hugged me tight and kissed my cheek.

  “It’s been a while,” I admitted. “And Cathy, this is—”

  “Ooh, are you the boyfriend?” Cathy dropped me like yesterday’s news and whirled around to look at Hunter. “My goodness, Scott.” She glanced back at me and winked. “He’s quite a looker!”

  Hunter blushed. I was pretty sure I did too.

  “Cath,” Daryl warned, but he was losing a fight against a smile.

  She just giggled, and when Hunter offered a hand, she went in for a hug instead. A gentle one, fortunately—she had no qualms about bowling me over, but she was careful with people she didn’t know. “It’s so nice to meet you.” Drawing back, she met his gaze. “Welcome to our home, honey. Your name is Hunter, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, you’ve met Daryl, and I’m Cathy.” She looped her arm in his. “Come on inside, you two. Can I get either of you something to drink? Some hot cocoa?”

  The offer of hot cocoa made my balance waver for a second before I followed them up the front porch steps. Cathy Jensen’s hot cocoa was amazing, and it had been comfort food for easily half the kids within a ten-mile radius. Didn’t matter if we’d scraped our knees falling off a bike, if a bully had said something mean, or we lost an important game. Nothing soothed the soul like steaming hot cocoa in a pastel-colored mug with cartoon cats on the sides.

  Why was I so weirdly nostalgic today? What was going on in my head?

  But that answer came, sobering me in an instant:

  Because there’s a whole lot of history that might be ending today.

  Not with the Jensens. Not with Rexburg or my familiar stomping grounds, really. But that was all inextricably tied to my childhood, and the way things went down in the next couple of hours could mean a lot of those things were gone. Like when one of the wildfires had taken out some trails where my friends and I used to hike. I still had the good memories, but there was always a tug of sadness at the realization that I’d never walk among those trees again.

  It's not too late.

  You don’t have to light the match.

  I rolled my shoulders, which were trying hard to tense up.

  Yes, I had to do this. I’d been avoiding it for too long, and if I didn’t face it down now, there was no telling how many years it would be before I found this courage—what little I’d found—again.

  Oblivious to my internal meltdown, Cathy led us inside. To the left was a family room, which led to the dining room and then the kitchen. To the right was the living room, which was where I’d sat—on the giant couch, on the floor, wherever there was room—to watch cartoons, movies, football games, and the Rose Parade. I wondered where I’d be facing off with my parents.

  For now, we went into the family room. “The grandbabies were over this morning.” Cathy gestured at the toys on the family room floor. “It’s a bit… messy.”

  Hunter laughed. “That’s okay. Whenever my daughter has a friend over, it’s like a tornado went through.”

  Cathy’s eyes lit up. “Your daughter? Ooh, do tell! How old?”

  His laughter turned to that proud, fatherly smile that was so adorable on him. “She’s six. Her name is Ginny.” He hesitated, then glanced down as if he hadn’t realized he’d been reaching for his phone. “I, um… I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to see pictures of—”

  “Yes, I do!” Cathy clasped her hands together. “Let me see!”

  Hunter shot me a sheepish smile, and I nodded. As if I was going to deny him an opportunity to let Cathy Jensen fawn all over his baby girl. She was every kid’s honorary mom, aunt, grandma, or whatever role fit best.

  While Cathy and Hunter looked at pictures of Ginny, Daryl gave my elbow a gentle tug and nodded toward the living room. I followed him.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  I laughed dryly, recalling what Hunter had said in the car. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.”

  “Probably not. But you’ve got support.”

  “I know. I…” I took a deep breath. “I really appreciate that. Before I decided to do this, I just, uh… I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed someone there with me. Not just Hunter, but…” With a self-conscious laugh, I rubbed my forehead. “I’m a grown adult, and I need someone to have my back while I talk to my parents. What the hell?”

  “There’s no shame in needing that support at any age,” Daryl said. “If anything, your parents should be ashamed for putting you in a position where you need it.”

  I looked up, startled by the bluntness.

  He shrugged. “I know your family, son. And I know they love you kids and have always tried to do right by you in the way they think is best, but I also know that being safe and supportive has never really been their thing.” His face fell a bit. “Especially when it comes to someone being gay. Just the way they cold-shouldered us after Isaiah came out—I always worried about what would happen if one of you kids did.”

  I swallowed hard. “Did you think one of us would?”

  “I didn’t know. And I know there are folks who think homophobic parents should be cursed with gay children, but I can’t think of a gay child who deserves to be cursed with homophobic parents.” He squeezed my arm. “I should’ve told you this years ago just in case, but if and when you come out to them, no matter what your mom and dad say to you, you’ve always got a seat at our supper table.”