Page 45 of After the Rain

Absolutely. Cooper comes first. Always. Are you free for coffee this afternoon? Same place as before?

The speed of his reply, the immediate agreement about Cooper's priority, the suggestion to meet at Grounds for Thought where we'd had our first real conversation—all of it suggested a Wade who'd been thinking about this as much as I had.

I agreed to meet him, then spent the next six hours alternating between hope and terror.

Grounds for Thought was exactly as I remembered it—warm lighting, mismatched furniture, the kind of coffee shop that existed in the space between small towns and college campuses. Wade was already there when I arrived, sitting at the same table we'd shared weeks ago, but he looked different. Less frantic, more centered, like someone who'd been doing difficult work on himself.

"Hi," he said as I approached, and even that single word carried more weight than our entire stilted conversation at school drop-off had managed.

"Hi yourself."

I ordered my usual—large coffee, too much sugar—and settled across from him. Up close, I could see the signs of his struggle more clearly. Dark circles under his eyes, the slight hollow in his cheeks that suggested he'd been forgetting to eat, the way his hands trembled slightly around his coffee cup.

But there was something new too. A stillness that hadn't been there before, like he'd finally stopped running from himself long enough to catch his breath.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I almost didn't."

The honesty hung between us, uncomfortable but necessary. Wade nodded like he understood, like he'd expected as much.

"How's Cooper doing? Really?"

It was safe territory, the one thing we could discuss without navigating the minefield of our own feelings. I told him about Cooper's recent behavior in class—the way his writing had become more subdued, how he'd been asking careful questions about adult friendships, the obvious confusion about why the important people in his life seemed sad.

"He's resilient," I said. "But he notices more than we give him credit for. When you and I were... when things were easier between us, he was happier. More confident. The change in our dynamic affected him more than either of us intended."

Wade's jaw tightened, and I could see the guilt settling over him like a heavy coat. "I never wanted to hurt him. Any of this mess was supposed to be about me figuring out my own shit, not making Cooper's life more complicated."

"But that's not how it works, is it? Our choices affect the people who love us, whether we want them to or not."

"No. They don't." His voice cracked slightly. "I've been seeing a therapist. Dr. Marlow. She specializes in sexuality and identity issues."

The admission landed between us like a gift. Wade wasn't just struggling alone anymore—he was getting professional help, taking active steps toward understanding himself.

"How's that going?"

"Fucking terrifying," he said with a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "She's helping me understand that I've been living someone else's idea of what my life should look like instead of figuring out what I actually want. It's scary to realize how much of my adult life has been performance rather than authentic choice."

I wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, offer some physical comfort for the pain I could hear in his voice. But we weren't there yet. Maybe we never would be.

"That's brave work," I said instead. "Not everyone has the courage to examine their life that honestly."

"I'm not sure it's courage. Might just be desperation." Wade looked up at me then, his eyes raw with exhaustion and something that might have been hope. "Ezra, I need to apologize. For how I handled... after we kissed. I handled that terribly. You deserved better than me freaking out and then avoiding you."

The words I'd been waiting to hear for weeks, but they came with their own sting. Better late than never, but late nonetheless.

"It wasn't the confusion that hurt," I said carefully. "I understand questioning your identity. I understand needing time to process. What hurt was the way you just disappeared. One day we were... whatever we were becoming, and the next day I was a stranger again."

Wade winced like I'd slapped him. "I was scared. Kissing you felt more real than anything I'd experienced before, and I didn't know what to do with that information. I thought if I pulled back, if I pretended it hadn't happened, maybe I could go back to my life making sense."

"Did it work?"

"No. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt like a lie." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I kept thinking about you. About Cooper. About how happy we all seemed together that day by the river. It was the first time in years that I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be."

The confession hit me like a physical blow, right in the center of my chest where I'd been carrying all the hurt and hope and longing of the past few weeks.

"But you walked away anyway."

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