Page 29 of Awakening
Simply put, she was sexy as hell.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as my thumb hovered over the photo as if touching the screen might somehow give me more of her, more of whatever force she radiated.
So this is her.
No wonder Maverick sounded different when he spoke about her. There was a gravity to her even through a damn photo.
But it wasn’t just about her looks, no, it was something else, something intangible that hummed beneath the surface. I got the sense that she wasn’t afraid of complexity, of depth, of feeling. She didn’t strike me as someone easily intimidated or easily impressed. She looked like someone who’d lived, who’d fought her own battles, and who carried her victories and scars like art.
I sat down heavily on the couch, still staring, my thoughts spinning.
I was now certain it wasn’t jealousy; I wasn’t intimidated. What I felt was awe, arousal, and, if I was being honest, a new kind of curiosity was burning in my chest.
I wanted to know more about her, needed to even.
She had to be polyamorous if Maverick had been open with her about us, right?
She had to smell amazing and taste even better. A woman that fine had to smell like luxury, temptation, satiation.
And what kind of force would she bring into the careful, complicated little world we’d built?
My phone buzzed again.
Mav: Beautiful, right?
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Me: She’s gorgeous, fuck. Like…no disrespect, but mydick is hard, Mav… damn. And her energy? I get it now. I feel it through the photo.
I stared at the screen for another few seconds before adding:
Me: I’m happy for you, Mav. Can’t wait to meet her.
I meant it when I typed it, even if my chest still ached a little with nerves I couldn’t fully name. I wanted to meet the woman who made my man sound lighter than he’d sounded in years. I wanted to see what kind of magic lived behind those eyes.
Mav: I can’t wait for you both to meet each other. Knox, I have a good feeling about this woman and the awakening she’ll bring to our lives.
I prayed his gut feeling panned out to be fruitful, and some nights… when it’s just the three of us tangled and laughing and raw with satisfaction, desire, and emotions, we’ll realize—we’re not just lovers, we’re architects designing a love that refuses to be boxed in.
Atlanta raised me loud and proud. It gave me rhythm, soul, and a whole lot of love. Unlike a lot of places, my house was a safe space because my parents were some of the fiercest LGBTQIA allies I’ve ever known. My mom used to say, “Love is love, baby. Ain’t no shame in your story.” And my dad? He was the kind of man who’d fight the whole neighborhood just to protect his child. When I told them I was bisexual, it wasn’t a shock or a secret to hide; instead, it was treated like it was just another truth they celebrated.
Growing up with parents like that? It gave me courage I didn’t even know I had. They never let me feel less than whole. And trust me, in a city like Atlanta, that was a blessing.
I came out to myself in pieces, worked through the emotions that often followed queerness. Sometimes I was confused, sometimes sure, but the one thing I never doubted was that my family had my back. That foundation made it easier to find myself, even when the outside world wasn’t so kind. And because I had a safe space to find myself and be who I was without shame, I became a safe space for others to discover themselves with the same unconditional love and support.
Maverick came into my life our freshman year of college like a burst of sunlight that just needed the cloak removed. We were roommates, and when I first looked in his eyes, I could tell he was new and figuring life out. At the same time, I was always running my mouth, always moving fast. He was quieter, steady—a football player who wanted to pursue a nursing career. His unique nature was coupled with a gaze that could cut through steel. We hadn’t known each other for five whole minutes before he blurted out he was gay as if I would be disgusted. I simply smiled and looked at his emotional support plant, which I learned to know as Quincy.
I was the first everything. After years of hiding himself, he bloomed for me, and I never took his trust for granted. We kissed without feeling like I was breaking some invisible rule. I was the first person to tell him, “You don’t have to hide who you are with me.”
I still remember that rainy night in our dorm when we confessed our feelings for each other and made love. Wewere young and reckless, and maybe a little scared, but mostly we were in love.
Our families were from different worlds. Maverick was estranged from his family. But my parents? They welcomed him like their own. Mom cooked us dinner, and Dad gave us that “look” that said, “You better treat my boy right.” That kind of support held us steady through everything.
We stayed together through those years, through late-night debates, road trips with no maps, and dreams bigger than we ever thought possible until life pulled us in different directions.
I got a chance to apprentice with a world-renowned chef in Santorini, Greece, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t pass that up. Maverick was finding his footing as one of Winston Hills Memorial’s best nurses. The night before I left, we argued like the world depended on it. He said, “You’re running.” I told him, “You’re settling.” Maybe we were both just scared of what leaving each other meant.
We didn’t have a clean break, but it also wasn’t messy and bitter, more like a slow unraveling of two hearts stretched thin by distance.
