Eden Revisited: Adam's Story

A Killian Kendall Expanded Universe Short Story

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 2

In all the time Eve and I had dated, we'd never slept together. To Eve, the idea of saving yourself for your wedding night was just the expected thing to do. For me, it was simply a matter of lack of interest.

Our wedding night was...uneventful. I couldn't get an erection. Eve was not amused, but I passed it off as nerves. The next night I knew I had to perform, so I did the only thing I could think of, I closed my eyes and pretended I was with Eric. It worked, but later that night, after Eve fell asleep, I cried myself to sleep.

I went through the next couple years in a sort of fog. Sex continued to be a sticking point for us, but it wasn't the only issue by a long shot. Eve wanted children, while I insisted I wasn't ready.

Eve wanted to continue going to church, but I'd lost my taste for sitting on a pew listening to a pastor condemn anyone who wasn't exactly what they believed a Christian should be — especially gay people. We tried a few different congregations, even briefly attending a very modern, casual church with a full rock band, but none stuck for long and, eventually, the fights about going became more frequent than actual attendance and we just stopped going altogether.

Even with that small win, I was miserable, and Eve couldn't help but notice. Things became increasingly tense between us. She always had to initiate sex and, even then, more often than not, it was a repeat of our wedding night. At one point, she decided it had to be a medical issue, and I submitted to a battery of tests, all of which indicated I was perfectly healthy.

Our next fight arose when she suggested we see a sex therapist. I flatly refused, insisting I just had a low libido, but that wasn't an acceptable answer for her. Finally, just to appease her, I got a prescription for little blue pills, which at least took care of the erection issue, even if I still had little to no interest. I could at least stay hard long enough to perform my husbandly duties to her satisfaction.

I had just about decided to ask her for a separation when she shocked me with the news that she was pregnant. I was furious at first; I didn't understand how she could have gotten pregnant when she was supposed to be on the pill. She insisted that it wasn't always fully effective; that it sometimes failed.

Some quick research showed she was right, but secretly, I believed she got pregnant on purpose in an attempt to keep me from leaving.

If so, it worked. I stayed with her. I just couldn't leave the woman who was carrying my child. It wasn't how I was raised.

For a while, during the pregnancy and right after our son Seth was born, things got better between us. We didn't fight as much since Eve didn't expect sex while she was pregnant, and Eve was one of those lucky women whom pregnancy really agrees with.

Of course, after Seth was born, he was my entire world. He made everything else worthwhile. I couldn't believe we'd created this tiny, perfect being, that he was a part of me. I loved him in a way I'd never loved anyone else.

The brief moment of happiness was too good to last, though, and, by the time Seth was a year old, we were fighting even more than before. Eve was the first to suggest we have another child. She wanted a daughter. I figured it had worked the first time, so why not try it again. We were trying the second time, though, and predictably, we had a very hard time, which only caused more tension.

It took months, but finally she gleefully announced she was pregnant again. Just as before, things improved for a while, until she found out she was carrying another boy. That threw her for a loop at first, but she quickly bounced back. We'd just have to try for a third. I had my doubts about that as two seemed like plenty, but kept them to myself in the interest of maintaining our fragile peace.

When our second son, Kane, was born, we were doing better than ever. It didn't hurt that I got a great new job — complete with a much larger salary — with a big advertising firm in DC around that same time. More money meant Eve could quit her job and be a full-time, stay-at-home mom, which was her dream.

Soon, though, I started spending long hours at the office. By the time I got home at night, Eve was so tired after spending all day alone with two babies that she didn't have enough energy to initiate sex or start a fight, and I fell into a routine in which I found myself content, if not really happy.

Again, it couldn't last forever. As the boys got older, suddenly my salary just wasn't big enough. Eve found herself with more time on her hands, but she still refused to go back to work. Then, the old fights started up again.

I loved the boys with all my heart and couldn't imagine losing them. I knew a divorce would be messy — everything was messy with Eve — so I made an effort. I started a side business doing freelance graphic design work, but it was slow to take off.

We went to marriage counseling. I knew full well what the problem was, but it was a secret I couldn't tell. I tried as hard as I could to be a good husband and father, but I found myself sinking steadily into depression. I began to withdraw from Eve and the boys, spending more and more time at the office, even spending the night there at times.

We went on like that for years. My side business grew steadily, which I found gratifying, but, aside from the boys, the situation at home remained tense at best — and more often miserable. In the last year, Eve had finally started working again, part time, but somehow, that only seemed to make her more resentful.

I'd pretty much resigned myself to the idea that this was just my life. It probably would have continued indefinitely...if it weren't for Bryant.

Bryant was a consultant brought in to help my company streamline our systems. He was tall and movie-star handsome, with artfully tousled dark hair, warm brown eyes that twinkled mischievously when he talked to you, and a gym-fit body that he showed off with skin-tight button-ups that looked like they might explode at any moment, sending buttons flying like shrapnel.

Every woman in the office developed an immediate crush on him...and so did I. It didn't help that he seemed to show extra attention to me, going out of his way to stop by my desk to chat and even inviting me out for drinks after work.

I turned him down the first few times, making excuses about needing to get home to the kids. To be fair, I was trying to be better about getting home on time, a concession I'd made as part of our counseling. Not to mention, Bryant made me distinctly nervous. I hadn't acted on my same-sex attractions since college, and those days felt far behind me. While I had managed to justify going behind Eve's back when we were dating, betraying our wedding vows felt like a step too far.

Bryant was persistent, however, and he finally asked on a night that I knew Eve and the boys had plans. If I timed things right, she wouldn't even know I got home late. I gave in and agreed.

We went to a nearby bar popular with the after-work happy hour crowd and managed to score a booth in the corner after we got our beers.

"Glad it finally worked out," Bryant said with a grin as we slid into our respective sides of the table.

"Yeah, me too," I said, somewhat more reserved. "I wasn't trying to dodge you. It's just tough when you have two pre-teen boys at home. Do you have kids?"

He threw his head back and laughed as if I'd made a particularly hilarious joke. "No, no kids," he said finally, but didn't elaborate.

"Lucky you," I said with a grin of my own, then hastily added, "I'm kidding, of course. The boys are my entire world. The only good thing to come out of my marriage actually."

As soon as those last words left my mouth, I regretted them. Why would I say that to someone I hardly know?

He just chuckled knowingly, however, but thankfully changed the subject to safer topics. He was easy to talk to, and soon I'd relaxed. After the second beer, I realized I was actually enjoying myself. It was an unfamiliar feeling of late. I had fun playing with Seth and Kane, of course, but this was different. I was spending time with another adult, having a grown-up conversation while enjoying a couple of beers.

Eve and I didn't have any close couple friends. She had a few casual friends, moms of the boys' classmates, and we occasionally got together with them for cookouts or what have you, but I never clicked with their husbands, who, it seemed, could only converse about sports.

This was different. I liked Bryant. He was intelligent, witty, and it sure didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was time to head home. We agreed to grab drinks again some time. I made it home before Eve and the boys, so I even avoided an unnecessary argument. It was a win all around.

A couple of weeks later, Eve announced that she was taking the boys to visit their grandmother, her mother, since they had a long weekend due to some sort of teacher's in-service days. She presented it as a last-minute whim, which meant it was too late for me to take off work, but I suspected she'd had the trip planned for some time and just didn't want me to go. I was fine with that since her mother and I had never particularly liked each other.

It also gave me the opportunity to get drinks with Bryant again.

Luckily, when I casually suggested it at the office, he jumped on the invitation without hesitation.

"Perfect timing," he said with one of his megawatt grins. "I was just wondering what to do with myself after work. And I know just the place."

I'd assumed we'd head back to the same place as before, but he clearly had other plans. Not that it mattered to me one way or the other. I was just looking forward to more adult conversation.

After work, he suggested we drive to the bar he had in mind. After a brief negotiation, we agreed that he would drive and I'd leave my car in the parking garage at work. Before long, we were parked and walking up the block. He led me to a nondescript brick building with a plain black door flanked by a pair of brass gas-lit lanterns. A small brass plaque under one of the light fixtures identified our destination as The Veranda.

He pushed the door open confidently and strode into the dark interior. I followed him with a bit more hesitation.

Inside, we were greeted by a trim, middle-aged gentleman in a fitted dark suit who asked if we had a reservation. His bristly mustache bounced as he spoke, and I had trouble tearing my gaze away from his upper lip.

"I do," Bryant replied, and gave his name. "But we're just going to the bar for now."

The maître d or concierge or whatever he was gave us a little bow and gestured toward the hallway that lay behind him.

Bryant thanked him, and we plunged deeper into the dimly lit building. He led me to a wood-paneled bar that looked as if someone had picked up a venerable London pub and plopped it down in the middle of Washington, D.C.

"A reservation, huh? Fancy shmancy. How on earth did you ever find this place?" I asked, as we took our seats in a high-backed booth.

"A friend recommended it," he said simply. "I've been a few times while I've been in town. They make a mean Manhattan."

"I still have to drive home later," I said with a laugh. "I'd better stick to beer."

"Oh, come on. One cocktail won't kill you."

"You have no idea how much of a lightweight I am," I told him. "I don't drink much hard liquor."

"Beer it is, then," he agreed easily. "Beer isn't really their thing here so I doubt they'll have an extensive selection. Light or dark? First round's on me."

"Oh no! Let me get it."

"I insist," he said with another disarming smile. "Do you have any idea how much consultants get paid?"

I snorted. "Probably a whole lot more than me."

"Bingo. I'll get the first round. Light or dark?"

"I'll keep things light."

"That's what I like about you," he said as he slid out of his side and headed toward the bar.

I was glad he was gone because I felt my face heat up at his offhand comment.

A few minutes later, he returned carrying two pint glasses filled to the brim with frothy beer, one a pale golden yellow and the other a dark chestnut brown. He handed me the paler brew.

"Here you go. One light beer. After all, we don't want to make you late getting home to the wife and kids."

"Actually Eve and the boys are out of town for the weekend, visiting my wife's mother."

He raised an eyebrow. "That explains the invite then." Then his eyes widened. "Wait a minute. You guys are Adam and Eve?"

"Yes, and trust me, I've heard all the jokes."

He laughed. "I'm sure you have. So why didn't you go with them?"

"It was last minute," I explained. "Besides, I can't say I have the best relationship with my mother-in-law."

Bryant clucked his tongue. "Such a cliche."

I laughed. "I suppose so."

"What could she possibly have against you? You seem like such a nice guy."

I hoped the dim lighting would hide the blush I could feel creeping up my cheeks again.

I shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe anyone who dared take her precious daughter away would have faced the same amount of disdain. Or maybe she just really dislikes hillbillies."

"You? A hillbilly?"

"That was my nickname in college, actually. I'm from a really small, very poor town in Western Maryland."

"Oh, I get that. I grew up in Ohio in a town that barely rated a dot on the map. You don't strike me as the hillbilly type, though."

"Well, I guess there's a reason I never moved back after college."

"I get that too. So, how'd you meet your wife, anyway?"

"That was also in college. We dated through pretty much all four years and got married soon after graduation."

"Sounds romantic."

"It does, doesn't it." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Bryant was sharp, and picked up on it right away. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Is that an Eden joke?" I asked as he took a sip of his beer.

He looked confused for a split second, then almost spit his mouthful across the table. "No!" he said, when he'd gathered himself. "Just an honest question."

I took a deep gulp of beer. "In that case, I suppose you could say that. Not that it was ever paradise. Sometimes, I feel like we only got married because it was the expected thing. Date, get married, have kids...you know the drill."

He shrugged. "Nobody says you have to fall in line."

"It felt like it at the time. Or maybe it was just me. But what about you? Where do you live when you're not consulting for our illustrious little company?"

"I'm based in Delaware."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. I live in a great little community near the beach."

"Sounds pretty nice. Are you married?"

"I'm as single as they come."

"Have you ever been?"

"Nope."

"Really?" I was surprised.

"Guess I just haven't found the right one yet."

"I'm sure you've had no shortage of offers," I said with a laugh.

"You'd be surprised."

I shook my head. "A good looking guy like you?"

His face split into a grin. "Oh, so you think I'm good looking, huh?"

I sputtered while he laughed.

"I'm just saying, every woman in the office would love to be sitting where I'm sitting right now."

"Let's just say I'm more interested in the present company than any of them."

I froze, my beer halfway to my lips, my eyes locked on his.

"I'm not hitting on you!" he rushed on. "Just stating preferences."

I took a small sip of my beer but immediately choked on it, as if I'd forgotten how to swallow.

"You okay?" he asked, concern filling his voice.

I nodded and tried to pull myself back together.

"So you're...gay?" I finally managed to wheeze.

"Guilty as charged. That's not a problem is it?"

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, my roommate in college was gay."

He raised an eyebrow again, ever so slightly. "Oh really? I've read some hot stories like that online."

I started choking again while he laughed.

"I'm just teasing you. You're safe with me. I have a strict policy against chasing after married men."

"What if they chase after you?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Both eyebrows jumped up. "Are you?"

"No! Sorry. I just couldn't resist the joke."

He stared at me stone faced for a few weighted moments before breaking into a smile. "You know, I actually thought you might be gay or bi when I first met you."

"You did?" I asked as casually as I could manage while my stomach dropped to the floor. I tried to laugh but I sounded more like a strangled anteater. I cleared my throat. "What made you think that?"

"Something about the way you looked at me."

I could tell my face had to be beet red, and I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back as fear gripped me. I fought down the growing sense of panic, and tried to continue naturally. "And how did I look at you?"

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It's difficult to articulate. It's sort of just one of those things a queer person learns to recognize. That said, it's obviously not fool proof."

He laughed, but I didn't join him. I was lost in my thoughts.

What exactly was I so afraid of? Would it really be so bad if this man, who I barely knew, thought I was gay? Or bi? Or just not one-hundred percent heterosexual? It's not like he knew Eve and would run to tell her.

The truth was that my queerness was something I'd shoved so far down that I'd almost come to forget, or at least I'd refused to acknowledge it. Thinking about it now, brought back all those painful emotions and deep fear I'd felt with Eric. Even now, the mere thought of it sent ice through my veins. How would Eve react? She'd make sure I'd never see my sons again, I was as sure of that as I was of anything.

And yet...as I sat there across from Bryant, someone who had just come out to me as easily as if he was sharing what state he grew up in, I felt a strange longing to just...be myself — fully — in a way I hadn't been since those first few months with Eric. That seemed like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago.

"Earth to Adam..."

I suddenly tuned back in to find Bryant studying me carefully. How long had I been lost in my thoughts?

"Is everything okay?" he asked gently. "If I've made things too weird we can call it night and I'll pick up the tab."

"No, it's not that," I said. "Just...you're right."

"About what?"

"I am..." The word stuck in my throat. "I am gay."

To his credit, he didn't laugh in my face or make a snarky comment. He simply nodded.

"Gay, not bi?" he asked gently after a few silent moments passed.

"Gay, not bi," I confirmed.

"If I get too personal, feel free to hit the brakes, but have you been with a man?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation. It felt good to bare my soul after so many years of hiding. "My college roommate and I were lovers for a while."

His eyes grew wide. "So it really was like the stories!"

I shrugged and forced a chuckle. "I suppose so. Not that I've read them, so I can't really say for sure."

"Never mind all that. What about your wife?"

I grew more wary. "What about her?"

"How do you feel about her?"

"I care about her. Or I did. These days we coexist. We tolerate each other at best, but most of the time it feels like we loathe each other."

"So why did you get married?"

"Things weren't always this bad."

"I mean, sure, but why marry a woman at all when you were with a man and knew you were gay? That would have been what? Like a decade ago? That was like peak gay visibility."

"A little more than that, but I get your point. But the truth is, I didn't know. Or I couldn't admit it, even to myself. I guess you could say I was deep in denial even while my roommate was deep in me."

The words left my mouth before I could really process what I was saying, and I immediately felt my face blaze with embarrassment yet again.

Bryant threw his head back and laughed long and loud. When he finished laughing, he wiped his eyes and grinned at me. "Isn't it amazing what we can convince ourselves of?"

There was no judgement in his tone, and I felt myself relax a little more.

"I was raised in a very conservative, religious family," I explained. "I went to a tiny little Baptist college where the entire student body knew everyone's business. My roommate came out at the start of our junior year. Went off to New York for a summer internship, came back out and proud — new haircut, earring, tight clothes, the works."

"A fairy tale as old as time," Bryant said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, it felt more like a nightmare at the time," I said. "The entire school turned against him overnight. I was terrified the same thing would happen to me."

"So what did you do?"

I sighed. "Something I'm not proud of. I distanced myself. It had to be such a difficult time for him, and I abandoned him completely."

"You were a kid," he said. "Don't beat yourself up too much."

"I was old enough to know you shouldn't ditch your friends when they need you."

"You were scared. Give yourself some grace. What happened to the roommate?"

"He dropped out. Or got expelled. I'm not really sure."

He looked surprised. "You don't know?"

"I never asked. Just heard rumors. We weren't even speaking by the time he vanished."

"And you were never curious? You never looked him up or anything?"

"No, I just tried to forget that part of my life. But it's not that easy, of course."

"Hence the two of us sitting in a gay bar in Washington, D.C."

"This is a gay bar?" I asked, aghast, looking around for signs I must have missed.

He laughed again. "Yes, but a sort of private club. And relax, you can't catch it...especially if you already caught it."

I relaxed and laughed a little. "Sorry. Old habits and all that. I guess you're a member?"

"No, but a friend is. I'm just using his guest pass while I'm in town."

"That's nice of him."

"He's a nice guy. Besides, he doesn't get to D.C. much these days."

"Why not?"

"He's getting up there in years. He used to live here. I didn't know him back then, but I've heard he was quite the power broker in his time. He bought a little beach house when he retired, went back and forth for a while, but eventually sold his place here and lives exclusively in Ocean City now."

"How'd you meet him?"

"He struck up a conversation with me at a bar in Rehoboth Beach. We've been friends ever since. When he heard I was going to be in D.C. for work, he insisted I take his membership card."

"Sounds like a good friend," I said, thinking about how I had no friends at all, really. Unless Bryant turned into a friend. I smiled to myself, thinking how nice it would be to have a friend.

"The best. So what's got you smiling like that?"

"What? Oh, um, nothing. Just thinking about friendship."

Bryant shook his head with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You are an interesting guy, Adam."

I laughed. "I'm going to take that as a compliment since it's been a very long time since anyone besides my sons thought I was remotely interesting."

He laughed as well. "Tell me more about your sons."

So I did. And that led to another topic, which led to another, and before I knew it, I glanced at my watch to see we'd been chatting for hours. Our one beer had turned into several, and I was definitely feeling it.

"Oh man," I groaned. "It's getting late and I still have to drive back to Baltimore."

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I just assumed you lived here in D.C. I wouldn't have bought that last round if I'd realized. Or the one before that either. Are you okay to drive?"

"Not at this exact moment, but I'll have some water and I'll be fine."

"Why don't you crash at my hotel tonight?"

I tried his trick of raising a single eyebrow. I was drunk enough that I wasn't sure I pulled it off. "Are you trying to seduce me? I thought you didn't chase after married men."

"I don't. You'll be on the couch."

"Ouch."

"No, the couch."

We both laughed as if he'd just made the funniest joke ever.

It took a little more convincing, but I finally gave in, and we caught a cab to his hotel. His room was surprisingly nice, another reminder that he was probably being paid very well to consult for my company.

True to his word, there was a full-sized couch, and that's where I slept.

My passing thought about friendship turned out to be prescient, though, and that night was the start of a friendship. We grabbed drinks a few more times over the next couple of weeks whenever I could, but far too soon for my liking, his work wrapped up. We decided to grab drinks at The Veranda one last time before he left town.

We were a few drinks in when he slammed his hand on the table, making me jump. "You have to come down to the beach and visit me this summer," he declared dramatically.

I snorted. "I'm sure that would go over well with Eve. She threw enough of a fit when I told her I'd be home late tonight."

He frowned.

"What?" I asked.

"How long are you going to keep putting yourself through that?"

I shrugged and started down into my pint glass as if looking for an answer. "I guess until Seth and Kane are out of the house, at least."

His frown deepened. "Have you thought about leaving?"

"Of course I have. I just can't risk losing the boys."

"Even if Eve got full custody, you'd still have visitation rights."

"You don't know Eve. She's vindictive. She'd make my life more miserable than it already is and do everything in her power to keep me away from the kids."

"That's awful."

"That's Eve. But look, let's not spend your last night in D.C. talking about my witch of a wife. Meeting you has been one of the best things that's ever happened to me aside from my sons."

He blinked. "That's really sweet, Adam."

"I'm serious. I haven't had a friend since college, and I can't even begin to explain how good it feels to be out to someone."

"You don't have to explain. I get it."

"Do you? You're out and proud. I've been so deep in the closet for so long, I forgot there were other options."

"But what's the point if you don't get your perky ass out of the closet?"

"Hey! Are you hitting on me?"

"Don't get your hopes up. I just have eyes."

I laughed.

"I'm serious, though," he continued. "I know you don't want to lose your boys, but what lesson are you teaching them by hiding who you are and staying in an unhappy marriage?"

I was taken aback. I'd never thought of it like that. "I...I'm teaching them that they mean more to me than anything in the world."

"Including your own happiness?"

"Yes. Including my own happiness."

He nodded slowly. "I guess that's fair. I just think there's a flip side where you could be an example of what it means to live authentically. But hey, who am I to say? I don't even have kids, right?"

His words had gotten to me, though, and the mood had shifted. We finished up our drinks, settled the tab, and left not long after.

We walked down the street together for a while, side by side, not talking. I was lost in thought, and he respectfully left me to it.

When he stopped suddenly, I was surprised to see we were back at the office building.

"You okay to drive?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," I said quickly.

I wasn't really fine, but I wasn't drunk by any means. My mind was swirling. Was I setting a bad example for the boys? Was there a way out that wouldn't start World War III with Eve? Was I staying in the closet for fear of losing the boys or fear of getting hurt?

"Adam?" Bryant said, and I realized I'd zoned out while standing on the sidewalk.

I looked up at him and thought once again how much he'd changed my life in such a short time. Then, without thinking, I stepped forward and leaned in for a kiss.

He quickly dodged my clumsy attempt, deftly turning it into a hug instead.

"Adam," he whispered fiercely into my ear. "I understand where that came from, and I respect it, but I think that would be a big mistake right now."

I pulled away, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I do. And it's okay. Really. You're in a vulnerable place, still trying to figure out who you are and what you want. I'd like to be your friend through that process, and I think adding anything to that right now would just end up with both of us getting hurt."

"Admit it, I'm just not your type," I said, forcing a laugh as I tried to pass off the entire awkward encounter as a joke.

"Ha. Trust me, that's not the issue. I just..."

"Don't chase married men. I know."

"I was going to say that I value you more as a friend than a one-night stand."

And just like that, tears were streaming down my face.

"I value your friendship, too," I managed.

He pulled me in for another hug, and we said our goodnights.

I mulled over our conversation the entire drive home. The city blurred past my windows in streaks of light and color, but I hardly saw any of it. My hands were steady on the wheel, but inside, I was spinning.

Bryant’s off-hand comment kept echoing through my mind. "What lesson are you teaching them by hiding who you are and staying in an unhappy marriage?"

The words had landed like a pebble dropped into a deep well, sending ripples that were still reaching places I hadn't dared look at in years.

What was I teaching them?

That love meant self-denial? That being a good father meant disappearing into a shell of a man? That lying to yourself — and everyone around you — was noble if it was for the right reasons?

I told myself I stayed for them. That sacrificing my happiness was the cost of being a good parent. But was it really about them? Or was I hiding behind them to avoid the truth?

To avoid the fallout. The shame. The mess.

The truth was, it was easier to be miserable with Eve than to face the possibility of losing them. Easier to endure the icy silences, the accusations, the slow erosion of who I was, than to risk the custody battle that would surely come. The rumors. The judgment. The loneliness.

But Bryant had changed something. Or maybe he’d just held up a mirror, and for the first time in years, I looked.

In just a few weeks, he had reminded me what connection could feel like. What it meant to see someone — and be seen in return. And even when I’d overstepped, even when I’d made a fool of myself outside that office building, he didn’t turn away. He didn’t shame me. He held me. Told me the truth without cruelty. Gave me space and grace, even when I didn’t deserve it.

I wasn’t in love with him. I knew that. But I was starved for something — acceptance, yes, but also softness. Friendship. Safety. Desire. I hadn’t realized how hollow I’d become until he started filling in the edges.

But he was right.

Now wasn't the time. Not for that.

Still, his words circled me like a quiet challenge: Who are you when no one is looking? What kind of man do you want your sons to grow up to be? And will they ever become that if you’re too afraid to be one yourself?

I sighed and blinked hard against the sting in my eyes. The road narrowed into the familiar quiet of my neighborhood. The porch light was still on.

I slowed the car as I pulled into the driveway, heart heavier than when I left.

I wasn’t sure what came next.

But I knew I couldn’t keep doing this forever. Something had to change.

And soon.

Still lost in thought as I stepped inside, I barely noticed the quiet until I saw Eve sitting rigidly on the couch, still fully dressed, arms folded so tightly across her chest they might have been the only thing holding her together. Her back was ramrod straight, her expression carved from stone.

She never waited up for me. Not when I worked late. Not even during the good patches. Never.

My pulse quickened. A quiet alarm went off in my head. Something was very, very wrong.

She rose slowly as I entered, and I felt myself instinctively brace — jaw tightening, shoulders stiffening, heart thudding against my ribs.

"I told you I was staying late to say goodbye to a coworker," I offered, already on the defensive. "It was an office thing." The lie tasted like copper in my mouth.

"I know your little secret," she said through clenched teeth.

The words hit me like a body blow.

My mind instantly began racing. How? Had she found out about Bryant? The Veranda? The carefully constructed lies I’d wrapped around myself like armor? My gut twisted, but I forced my voice to remain calm.

"What secret?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb. I feel like such a fool. It’s all... It's all so obvious now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, even though I was already pretty sure I did.

She began to pace, tension rolling off her in waves. "I don’t know how I missed it all these years. Eric back in college. Your complete disinterest in sex. All the time you spend with the boys..."

That last one threw me. I'd been growing more certain she'd figured out I was gay, but what did the boys have to do with it?

"The...boys?" I echoed, confused.

She turned on me sharply, venom in her expression.

"Look, Eve," I said, carefully, cautiously, "I know I probably should have told you a long time ago. But it's something I’ve struggled with. For years. Most of my life, honestly."

For a moment, I thought she might cry.

But instead, her face twisted into something ugly. Revulsion. Contempt.

"Do you hear yourself?" she hissed. "Do you know how sick you sound right now? If I find out you've done anything inappropriate with the boys—"

My blood ran cold.

"Jesus, Eve. How can you even say that? They're my sons. They're kids."

She didn’t flinch. "Seems to me that you like little boys," she spat.

It felt like a slap. A cold, disorienting slap to the face.

"What?" I gasped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I found your hidden stash."

"My what?"

"The photos."

"What photos?"

"Don’t play dumb! On your thumb drive."

My head spun. "What thumb drive? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any photos."

"I found it plugged into your laptop. Tucked inside a folder labeled with your work files."

And then, a sickening thought hit me. Sudden. Sharp.

"You found them," I said slowly, "because you put them there. Didn’t you?"

Her eyes widened — but not in guilt. In outrage.

"You’re going to stand there and flip this around on me?"

"They’re not mine, Eve! So how else would they have magically appeared? You think I’m stupid enough to keep something like that plugged into a shared laptop?"

"Liar!" she screamed. "Of course you're lying! That's all you've ever done in this marriage. Lie after lie after lie."

That one hit deep.

"Damn it, Eve," I snapped, my voice breaking. "I might be gay, but I am not a pedophile."

She recoiled, then surged forward, her face darkening with fury.

"So you admit it? You’re gay?"

"Yes," I said, finally. Exhausted. Honest. "But that doesn't mean anything has to change. I haven’t acted on it. I never—"

"Doesn’t have to change?" she repeated, incredulous. "Doesn’t have to change?! You have a hidden file of photos — boys who barely look older than Seth! You’re a homosexual! And you think things can just stay the same?"

She was spiraling now.

"You were probably fucking Eric back in college too, weren’t you? How many others have there been? Huh? Tell me the truth!" Her voice cracked as her fury turned to fear. She blinked rapidly. "Do you have AIDS?" she whispered, as if the words themselves were contaminated.

"For God’s sake, no. I’ve never been with anyone — man or woman — since the day we got married."

"Why should I believe anything you say?"

"Because I stayed," I said, the words raw. "Despite everything, I stayed. I chose you. I chose our family over my own happiness."

The moment I said it, I wished I could take it back.

Her expression didn’t just harden, it collapsed inward, then rebuilt itself as something monstrous. Rage, yes — but also betrayal. As if I had confirmed everything she feared, and worse.

Her hands began to tremble. Her skin flushed a violent red. I honestly feared she might have a stroke right there in front of me.

I took a cautious step toward her.

Then she screamed.

It wasn’t a sound made for human ears. It tore through the air like a wildfire, and before I could react, she was moving.

She began grabbing everything she could reach — vases, picture frames, books — and hurling them at me with terrifying precision. One exploded against the wall beside my head. Another shattered at my feet.

"You disgust me!" she shrieked. "Get out! Get OUT!"

"Eve, please—"

A heavy brass figurine soared past my head, close enough that I felt the air move.

"GET OUT!"

Suddenly, all I could think about were the boys. Their faces. Their futures.

"Eve, we can work through this," I pleaded. "The boys—"

"I don’t want you anywhere near the boys!" she roared. "God, you make me sick! All these years I wondered why I wasn’t enough. And now I know. You’re a goddamned faggot. and I want you OUT. I never want to see you again."

"Mommy?"

We froze, then turned toward the hallway.

Kane stood there, small and barefoot, his stuffed bear hanging limp in one hand. His eyes were wide, brimming with tears. His lip trembled. Fear and confusion radiated off of him.

I caught a flash of movement behind him and I knew Seth was awake too.

How much had they heard?

The question hit me like a cold splash. Kane was only nine — still soft around the edges, still prone to nightmares after scary movies. Maybe he hadn’t fully understood what Eve had been screaming. Maybe the venom in her voice hadn’t translated into meaning.

But Seth...

Seth was twelve. Old enough to understand every word. Old enough to know exactly what a faggot was. Old enough to know it was meant to hurt.

"Go back to bed, sweetie," I said gently, forcing calm into my voice though my throat felt like sandpaper. "Mommy and I are just having a disagreement. It’s going to be okay."

Kane’s huge eyes swept the room, taking in the chaos. Shards of ceramic littered the floor. A photo of the four of us at the beach was face down and cracked in its frame. He looked to Eve for reassurance. She was still trembling, chest heaving, knuckles white at her sides. But to her credit, she gave a stiff, silent nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Kane. He turned and padded away, glancing back once as if to make sure I was still standing.

"You too, Seth," I called softly.

He didn't respond, but I heard his door click shut a few seconds later.

Only once I was sure they were in their rooms did I turn back to Eve. I took a slow, careful step toward her.

“Eve,” I said, low and deliberate. “They don’t need to be a part of this. They don’t need to hear—”

The crack of her hand against my face was so fast, I didn’t even see it coming.

My head snapped to the side, and for a moment, everything froze — the sting blooming across my cheek, the sharp tang of blood in my mouth where my teeth had caught my lip.

I’d never been hit before. Not by anyone.

"Don’t you dare tell me what our children do or don’t need," she hissed. Her voice trembled with fury and something deeper — betrayal, humiliation, grief. "You’ve lost that right. You don’t get to be the concerned parent now. I want you out of this house. Right now."

“Eve…” I tried again, still holding my voice steady.

“Now.”

“We need to talk about this. We need—”

She launched at me, a silent attack, fists flying. There was no grace to it, no technique — just blind, unfiltered rage. She struck wherever she could reach: my chest, my arms, my face. A solid punch landed against my mouth, splitting my lip. I tasted blood again.

I didn’t fight back.

Some part of me — shameful, twisted — believed I deserved it. That I had built this house of lies and now had no right to complain when the roof came crashing down.

The whole time she hit me, her words came in sobbing, breathless bursts, “Get out — get out — I hate you — get out!”

I finally caught her wrists, not to hurt her, just to still her. Gently, I pushed her back, holding her at arm’s length.

She crumpled then, almost instantly, her rage evaporating into something hollow and broken. She wrapped her arms around herself, her entire body shuddering like she was barely holding it together.

Tears streaked her cheeks, but she fought them like they were a weakness she couldn’t afford to show.

“Go…” she gasped, her voice ragged. “Just go.”

I hesitated for a heartbeat, but there was nothing left to say. Nothing she could hear, and nothing I could give that wouldn’t make things worse.

I turned and walked out.

Outside, the night air hit me like a slap of its own — cool and sharp, thick with the smell of cut grass and distant honeysuckle. I stood on the lawn for a moment, disoriented. The porch light cast a dim glow over the sidewalk, but the rest of the world felt shrouded in shadow.

I didn’t know where to go.

I thought of the office. It was quiet there, sterile. But the thought of being alone right now felt unbearable.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket with trembling fingers, staring at the dark screen. I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t know what I wanted.

All I knew was that I couldn’t go back inside. And I couldn’t go back to pretending.

Not anymore.

I got into the car, but that was as far as my mind could process. Where to go? What now? Who now?

One name rose through the fog of panic and humiliation, cutting through the noise in my head like a flare in the dark.

Bryant.

I didn’t know what I needed — comfort, direction, a place to land — but I knew I couldn’t do this alone. He was the only person I trusted to see me like this. The only person I could think to call.

My fingers trembled as I pulled up his contact. I hesitated for only a moment before hitting dial.

He answered after just two rings. "Hey, Adam," he said, his voice light, warm. "Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon."

That gentleness undid me.

"Yeah," I said, but the word caught, rough and cracked in my throat. "I guess you could say the shit has officially hit the fan."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted — soft, grounded, full of concern.

"Are you okay?"

"No," I said truthfully. My voice broke. "Eve kicked me out. I...I don’t know where to go—"

"Come back here," he said immediately, without hesitation. "Just come here. We’ll talk when you get here. Are you okay to drive?"

I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me. "Yeah. I think so."

"Okay. I’ll be waiting for you. Just get here safe, buddy."

Buddy.

The word landed like a lifeline. One person. One anchor. At least I had one friend in the world.

I ended the call, but the weight of everything crashed down the moment the line went dead. I sat behind the wheel, numb, staring blankly out the windshield before I forced myself to shift into gear.

The drive back to D.C. was brutal.

I made it less than halfway before the first wave hit — grief, shame, disbelief — swallowing me whole. I had to pull over on the shoulder, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached, as sobs racked my body. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just cried, hunched over in the dark, a grown man falling apart in the front seat of his car.

I managed to keep going, only to stop again a few miles later. The second wave came softer but deeper, like something shifting beneath the surface. I wasn’t just mourning the night. I was mourning years of pretending. The cost of holding it all in.

By the time I reached the hotel, it was the middle of the night. The streets were mostly empty, the lobby quiet except for the young desk clerk, who looked up as I entered and immediately paled. I must have looked like a walking horror story.

Bryant was already downstairs, waiting for me.

His face didn’t change when he saw me — no shock, no pity — but his eyes scanned me quickly, his body language alert. Without a word, he crossed the lobby and ushered me toward the elevators with a hand on the small of my back.

It wasn’t until the elevator doors slid shut that I saw my reflection in the mirrored back wall.

I barely recognized myself.

My lip was split wide, the skin around it already purpling. There were thin, angry scratches across my cheek and jaw, probably from Eve’s rings — or maybe from the shards of whatever she'd thrown. But it was the cut above my eye that was most alarming. Blood had matted in my eyebrow and streaked down the side of my face. No wonder the desk clerk had looked like he was about to call the cops.

I reached up instinctively, wincing as my fingers brushed the wound.

"Jesus," I muttered, almost to myself.

Bryant didn’t say anything. He just reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief — who even had those anymore? — and gently pressed it into my hand.

“Here,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you cleaned up first. Then you can tell me everything.”

His voice was steady, his presence calm. And in that moment, I felt the first sliver of safety I’d known all night.

I nodded, swallowing the sob that threatened to rise again.

And for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

When we got to his room, Bryant gently steered me toward the bed. The bedding was rumpled. He’d clearly been tucked in for the night when I called.

“I’m sorry,” I said, guilt rising up suddenly and catching in my throat. “I didn’t know who else to call—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said firmly, easing me down onto the edge of the mattress. “I’m glad you called. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

He disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water running, the soft clink of glass or porcelain, and then silence. I stared at the hotel carpet, numb, until he returned carrying a damp hand towel. Without asking, he began gently wiping the blood from my face.

“You’re going to stain the towel,” I mumbled, trying to push his hand away.

“It’s just a hotel towel,” he said with a soft smile. “Trust me, they’ve seen worse.”

I gave in and let him tend to me.

“Bryant, I can do this,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction. “I’ve interrupted your night enough...”

I trailed off when I saw the look he gave me — steady, kind, and utterly unbothered.

He went back to the bathroom to rinse the cloth, then returned and resumed with quiet precision, dabbing at my temple. The blood was mostly gone, but now his touch lingered, inspecting the cuts.

“They’re not as bad as they looked,” he murmured.

“I guess I’m just a wimp,” I said, trying for levity with a shaky smile that collapsed almost instantly. “And a liar.”

“Hey,” he said, sitting down beside me. “None of that. I take it you told her?”

“Not...intentionally,” I admitted. “I’d been thinking about what you said the whole drive home, but I wasn’t ready. She was waiting when I walked in, arms crossed, eyes like knives. She had her own accusations lined up.”

“What kind of accusations?”

“She started talking about secrets, like she’d figured something out. She brought up Eric, my roommate from college. I thought maybe she’d finally realized I was gay.” I paused. “But then she said she found photos. Claimed they were on my laptop. Said they were of young boys.”

Bryant’s face went still.

“She accused you of—?”

“Of being a pedophile, yeah.” I rushed on. “But I swear to God, I don’t know what she’s talking about. I have never had anything like that on my computer. I thought maybe she planted them.”

His expression darkened, all warmth gone from his eyes. “You really think she’d do that? That she’d go that far?”

“She’s vindictive. If she knew I was gay, maybe she wanted a way to keep everything in the divorce — the house, the kids. This gives her a way to destroy me. And it’s working.”

I swallowed hard as the thought hit me with full force. “I’ll never see the boys again.”

The sob burst out of me before I could stop it. My body folded in on itself as I wept. Bryant pulled me against him and held me tightly, grounding me, not flinching even when my tears soaked into his shirt.

“You don’t know that,” he said softly, once my breathing slowed. “Don’t go to the worst-case scenario right away. You can fight this.”

“I can’t,” I said, pulling away and wiping my face. “I know her. She’ll use this. She’ll go public if she has to. She’ll ruin me. Even if I clear my name, the accusation alone—”

“It leaves a stain,” Bryant finished quietly.

I nodded. “I’d lose my job. My reputation. And the boys— God, the boys. I don’t want them to grow up thinking their dad’s some kind of...monster.”

Bryant took a breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay. So what now? What do you do from here?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“What about your parents?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Not an option. We were never close, and they’re evangelical, far-right. Swallowed the red pill a long time ago. If Eve hasn’t already called them, she will soon. She’d love turning them against me.”

“Well, then,” he said gently, “you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. One step at a time. First, sleep. Then we’ll make a plan.”

“I’ve already intruded too much,” I said, glancing down at his shirt and winced. “Oh God. I got blood all over you.”

He chuckled. “This shirt’s been through worse. Don’t worry about it.”

I stood, a little unsteady. He rose with me, steadying me with one strong hand on my arm.

“I’m just...messing everything up,” I muttered.

“Hey,” he said, giving me a small shake. “Look at me. I know it all feels like it’s crashing down around you, but listen: you’re free. Whatever happens next, you’re out. You don’t have to lie anymore. You don’t have to shrink yourself to fit someone else’s version of who you should be. That’s a good thing, even if it feels like hell right now.”

“I can’t even think about that yet.”

“Then don’t,” he said, his voice gentle. “But don’t forget it, either. Now, get out of those clothes and get in bed."

He started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a chest I’d thought about more than I cared to admit. Broad, muscular, dusted with dark hair.

“I, uh...” I took a deep breath. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you. But I think I should probably take the couch again. I’m not in the best headspace...”

Bryant rolled his eyes and smirked. “We’re not fucking, you big galoot. Keep your drawers on. Literally. I just don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

I gave in and pulled my shirt over my head, emerging just in time to see Bryant stepping out of his pants. Even in the dim light, I couldn’t help noticing the way his body moved — strong, unselfconscious. And, of course, my own body responded in the worst possible way.

I tried to shut it down, picturing Eve naked and yelling, which did the trick.

Bryant seemed to sense my discomfort, and mercifully, he flipped off the bedside lamp.

I finished undressing in the dark, stripped down to my boxers, and cautiously climbed into bed beside him.

“I’m probably going to get blood on the sheets, too,” I murmured.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, half amused, half exasperated. “Will you shut up about the blood already? Worst case, they charge me for linens. Big deal.”

I stared at the ceiling for a while, my mind still spinning, heart pounding in the quiet.

Eventually, I managed to whisper, “Thank you, Bryant.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly. “That’s what friends are for.” He shifted beside me, settling in. “Now get some sleep,” he added. "Things will look brighter in the morning."

They didn’t, though.

I’d been sure I wouldn’t sleep at all, that my mind would spin through the night, replaying every awful second, every word, every blow. But Bryant’s steady, quiet presence beside me was enough to silence the chaos in my head, at least for a while. I passed out almost as soon as I closed my eyes.

The panic returned the moment they opened again.

I sucked in a sharp breath as the previous night hit me in a flood — Eve’s accusations, the boys’ wide-eyed fear, the blood on my face, and the weight of everything I’d lost.

Bryant was already up and, thank God, fully clothed. He stood near the little hotel coffee maker, squinting at it like it had personally offended him. When he noticed me stir, he looked over with a tired but genuine smile.

“Oh, hey. Good morning. I was gonna let you sleep. Sorry if I woke you.”

“You...didn’t,” I mumbled, rubbing at my face — then flinching when my fingers grazed the cut above my eye. “What time is it?”

“A little after six. I’m an early riser. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

I reached over the edge of the bed to grab my pants from the floor, slipping them on as I stood. My shirt followed, crumpled and still faintly stained. I muttered something unintelligible and headed into the bathroom to pee.

Under the harsh bathroom lighting, I got my first real look at myself. The gash above my eye had stopped bleeding but was swollen and raw. Bryant had cleaned me up pretty well, but some dried blood still clung stubbornly to my eyebrow. My lip was split, and my whole face looked...older. As if I’d aged five years overnight.

I stared at my reflection a moment longer than necessary, then splashed cold water on my face and used a clean towel to wipe away the rest of the dried blood. A shower would’ve felt good, but I didn’t want to keep Bryant waiting.

He was pouring two cups of coffee when I emerged. He held one out to me with an exaggerated bow, like it was an offering to the gods.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked after I'd taken a grateful swig.

“I wish I knew.”

“You work today, right?”

“Fuck.” The word came out sharper than intended. “Yes. I do.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until he said it.

Bryant raised his eyebrows. “Then unless you plan to call out, you’re gonna need clean clothes. You wore those yesterday.”

I let out a weary sigh.

“Will Eve be out of the house today?” he continued.

“She should go to work,” I said, thinking aloud. “But after last night...I don’t know.”

“She probably hasn’t had time to change the locks yet,” he said carefully. “If she’s gone, you could slip in and grab what you need.”

“That’s...smart.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m more than just a pretty face and a hot bod.”

That actually drew a quiet laugh from me — short-lived, but real.

“What about after work?”

I hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll extend my room for another night. You can crash here again.”

“Bryant, I can’t ask—”

“You didn’t. I offered.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but he cut me off with a look that said don’t.

“When would Eve usually leave the house?”

“After the boys catch the bus. Around seven.”

“And you need to be in the office by?”

“Eight-thirty.”

He nodded, calculating. “You’ll be cutting it close, but if she’s gone, you should have enough time to get in, grab clothes, maybe even shower.”

“Maybe I should just call out...”

“That’s up to you. But maintaining some normalcy might help. Even if it feels impossible.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “You’re right. At least pretending things are normal might help keep me sane.”

“And keep Eve from getting too much of a head start spinning her version of the story.”

I winced. “God, I didn’t even think of that.”

Bryant handed me my coffee, then pulled me into a tight hug.

“You’ve got this, Adam.”

I leaned into him for a moment longer than I meant to, then stepped back and managed a weak smile. “I sure hope so. Thank you. For everything.”

“Hey,” he said simply, “people were there for me when I needed them. I’m just paying it forward.”

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