Page 4 of Brad & Finn
Wow. Double damn. “I have to say, I’m glad you told your therapist before me, but truly, thank you for trusting me with that.”
“You seemed trustworthy.”
Brad was touched, especially since Miles had no way of knowing Brad was also queer. He hadn’t given it much thought, but it was possible he would be doing a lot of coming out this weekend. It wasn’t a part of him he hid, but it also wasn’t how he usually led a conversation.
“I can’t believe you knew that early,” Brad mused, his voice coming out contemplative and a little low.
Miles leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
Brad cleared his throat and made sure his voice came out much clearer this time. “I didn’t come out as bi until college.”
Something changed in Miles’ posture or maybe his face. “How did it go?” he asked, his voice even lower than Brad’s had been.
Miles seemed to be, both literally and figuratively, on the edge of his seat, ready to run if Brad gave the wrong answer. He decided to leave some of the harsher details out, sensing that maybe this wasn’t the time or place to get into all that.
“There were a few bumps along the way, but most people were cool with it—or just indifferent.”
“And the people who weren’t?”
Brad hesitated for a beat. That… also probably wasn’t what Miles needed to hear about right now. “Can I give you some advice?” Brad asked, switching tactics.
“Please.”
“Some people suck,” he said, and Miles' grim lips turned up slightly. “Some people will react poorly. But that’s how you know who will stick around and who you can let go.”
Miles huffed. “That easy?”
“Not easy. Simple, but…not easy.” He thought back on some of his nastier college teammates and even some of his past girlfriends. No, it hadn’t been easy, but it was worth it. “It can be really freeing, though. Like us, just talking about it so casually at our local bar. I know we haven’t talked for twenty years, but I want that for you.”
“Thanks, man,” Miles said, his face relaxing into a soft expression. For the most part, the years had been kind to him. He had a few crow’s feet starting to form around his eyes, and there was a worn quality to his skin that spoke of days outside and long summers in the South Carolina sun.
“Let’s not go another twenty years before we talk again, okay?” Miles added.
Brad grinned and pulled out his phone. “I’d like that.”
They exchanged numbers, and Brad had the bright idea to ask him about the railing at his mom’s house. He’d heard through the grapevine that Miles did contracting work around town. Sadly, there were a lot more steps than he’d thought, and Miles promised to text him the details. They chatted for a little longer, and Brad got another whiskey before Miles closed out his tab and they wished each other good night.
Brad checked the time on his phone, and his stomach sank. He’d forgotten to text his mom. Surprisingly, there were no frantic texts or voice messages. He opened their text thread and told her he’d parked at the hotel and walked to the bar, and his mom responded with “LOL.” No matter how many times he tried to tell her that meant she was laughing, she insisted it meant “lots of love,” and Brad had come to accept that.
As he went to put his phone away, he noticed a pair of legs in familiar-looking chinos on the barstool to his left.
He slowly dragged his eyes up—he blamed the whiskey for the sluggish speed—taking in the way the man’s thick belt only somewhat camouflaged his thin hips. A slim-fitting polo furtheraccentuated his slight build. Brad was used to being around football players and burly coaches. The man’s biceps were easily half the size of Brad’s.
Brad tilted slightly in his seat, trying to get a full view of the man without being too obvious. He’d only been able to catch the general shape of him from across the street. From this close up, Brad was able to appreciate the man’s sharp jawline and the hint of five o’clock shadow growing along it. His upper lip also had stubble, hinting at possibly a reddish-brown beard if he were to let it grow out. His brunette fringe of hair obscured one eye, but the other was a dark greyish green color.
Someone had told Brad once that green was the rarest eye color, with only 2% of the world having green eyes. The person who’d told him that had similar gray-green eyes, ones that would watch him as he fumbled balls in practice and crinkled around the edges when he made a bad joke in the cafeteria.
Brad blinked and realized the owner of this particular pair of green eyes was staring at him. The man’s lips, which were dusty pink and slightly slick from whatever he was drinking, were curved into a small smile. His lips parted and?—
“I’ve seen you before!” Brad blurted out.
His eyes widened at his stupidity, and the man’s smile fell, his visible eye narrowing.
Brad fumbled to explain. “Before, like, across the street? Earlier? You were wearing the same pants?”
Brad winced, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bronwyn cringe. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the burly bartender’s back also stiffened in sympathy.
The man slowly tipped his head to the side, and his hair fell off his forehead, so now Brad was being scrutinized by two penetrating green eyes. “Uhm, what?” the man said, in a soft voice that pitched up at the end.
