14. Coming Out

CHAPTER 14

Coming Out

Zain

It was the first day I worked in the shop since the fateful day my impulsive curiosity had whisked me away into a life I couldn’t fully return from. The day had begun with the usual deliveries, bringing me to Neon Nights and a moment of soul-searching. The rest of it passed as usual, although my parents tiptoed around me as if I were made of glass and any sound would shatter me.

There was little to be done in the shop after the standard orders had been fulfilled, so I tried to read. After all, that was how I had always spent my days behind the cash register. Today, my gaze went over the lines, but words made no sense to me. The words bounced off my mind like water off a duck.

By the time I swept the floors, I felt like I was burning out. I wondered how much longer I could live like this.

Mama Viv’s words this morning had been short, but they had struck me to the core. I had told her that I was home again, but she gave me a quizzical look. “Are you, darling?”

“Of course I am,” I insisted.

Mama Viv replied with a slow, compassionate nod. “Home is something we make for ourselves. I’m happy for you if you are.”

Hearing this mattered more than I was aware. It was only when I reminded myself that Mama Viv was the person who had guided so many people like me to make their own homes that I understood the complete weight of her meaning.

My mother took Rami to soccer practice while Yara and Karim went out to play in the snow in the park. Yara often took the big sister role seriously around Karim, and I was thankful for that this evening. Only my father and I remained home, and when we locked up the store, we circled one another in the dining room upstairs in our apartment.

Tonight marked a week since my return. It was a week of bewildered gazes directed at me, hidden at the same instant I caught them. It was a week of pitiful silence. It was a week of awkwardness that knew no end.

Was I even home? These people knew nothing about me. They didn’t even know why I had returned, let alone why I had stayed away for so long. And it was entirely my fault that I was a stranger in their home.

I dipped a teabag in my mug a few times after it had steeped for five minutes. Father had brewed himself a strong coffee that was bound to keep him up long into the night if he meant to have it all this late.

“Father, can I talk to you?” I heard myself ask. I wished I could turn back time. Not hours or days or years, but only the last three seconds. My heart was a frightened rabbit in my chest.

“Of course, Zain,” Father replied, pouring himself the tiny cup of coffee with thick, light brown foam plopping into it first. The aroma rose deliciously and almost fooled me into giving it another taste. “You can always speak to me. You know that.”

There was only a hint of a question in his words. “It’s just…” And my words dried up.

My father sat to my immediate left, his hands resting on the table with artificial stillness while my fingers trembled around my mug. I forced them to calm down a bit, but it wasn’t much.

“Zain,” Father said quietly and urgently. My name always sounded different coming from his lips than anyone else’s. I was Zane to everyone else, but Father called me how I was meant to be called in Lebanon. Despite his clear accent in conversations, he never changed the way he called me.

As a boy, I had been infuriated by that. Could he not let me be an American boy like all the other boys? He would embarrass me in front of my classmates.

But as years went by, I learned that it was not his way of reminding me that I was different. It was an intimate bond between us. I was part of him, and he was part of me. His home, his ancestors, and their language were in me as much as my mother’s were. And as much as I was my own person in New York, in Hudson Burrow, I was also an accidental product of vastly different cultures that had overcome their oppositions and prejudices.

“Zain, what is the matter?” Father asked hurriedly.

I realized that tears brimmed in my eyes on the verge of spilling. I realized I had stopped breathing in a desperate attempt to stifle a sob. And when I inhaled, my lungs stung with gratitude. “Father,” I whispered over a thick knot in my throat. “I’m…I’m not who you think I am.”

“Come, now,” Father said helplessly. I could see him glancing at the door as if he hoped my mother would enter any moment and handle this surprising situation. “Come, now,” he repeated a little more softly.

“No, I lied,” I blurted before I could lose my voice again. “I’m sorry. I’ve been lying for so long.”

“Son, it can’t be all that bad,” Father said, firmness coming back to his tone. He was looking for some solid ground to stand on. “When have you ever lied to us?”

“All the time,” I breathed. “Since I was twelve. Since middle school. And I thought it would go away so I wouldn’t shame you. I thought if I just ignored it, it would pass. But it didn’t. So I decided I would just pretend, but I couldn’t. Dominic…he’s so…I just couldn’t pretend anymore, so I lied more and…and you’ll hate me if I tell you, but I’ll hate myself if I don’t.”

“Tell me what, Zain?” Father asked.

My heart sank to the deepest pit of my stomach. “Don’t you know?” I asked, realizing that I was begging him for that small mercy. Please, tell me you have known the truth all along, and tell it would all be fine , but Father only looked at me. “Do you really not know?” I whispered.

Father’s brow creased deeply as he lifted his eyebrows, his lower lip quivering before he forced it to be calm. “Why is it so hard for you to say it, Zain?”

I couldn’t read the emotion in his voice. “Because…”

“Because you’re ashamed?” Father demanded, losing some of the control over his tone. “Is that it?”

But I couldn’t reply. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I clamped my mouth shut.

“Is that how I raised you?” Father asked, putting a hand on his heart as his voice cracked with devastated sorrow.

“Please…” I heard myself say, although I wasn’t sure what I was begging him for. To stop? To renounce a lifetime of tradition for the sake of his son?

“To be ashamed?” Father insisted, leaning closer and with more urgency.

I jerked as if the words had struck me squarely in the head.

“Did I not raise you to be proud, Zain?” Father asked, his eyes glimmering with thick tears. “To stand up for yourself and be just and be honest?”

I nodded. It was a short, jerky gesture, and it was the most I could do.

Father’s hands reached over and grabbed mine as if he were losing me to a sweeping tide of the ocean. “Since you were a little boy, Zain, I taught you to wear your true colors with pride. You kids are different than all the others. You are, even if you don’t want to be. Your skin is darker, your name is more distant, and your holidays are different. But we raised you as best as we could never to be ashamed of it. And if I somehow taught you that owning your background meant you had to hide who you were, then I failed you.” His voice snapped in desperation.

My face was twisted with too many emotions to count. I could feel the dragging corners of my mouth and the frown that was giving me a pulse of headache. “Aren’t you…disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” Father asked in disbelief. “If I were, I should be disappointed with myself, Zain.” His hands moved away from mine and came to my shoulders. He descended to one knee by my chair and pulled me into a hug that severed the last threads of control I had over myself. My tears rolled freely, and I held on to my father as if I would fall down without him. “I’ve never been good with words, Zain, not like you or your mother. But you need to believe me when I say in the simple, honest words of a simple, honest man, I love you, son.”

A sob broke out of me in reply.

Father rubbed my back. “Hey. Easy, son. It’s not all so gloomy, is it?”

“I didn’t know…that you’d love me…”

“I’m sorry, Zain,” he said quietly, close to my ear. “I’m sorry for that.”

After we parted, Father sat back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee while I drank my chamomile tea to soothe me. There was a pit of longing that was open wide in me, but I didn’t dare face it yet. I didn’t dare admit to myself how badly I missed those sweet, warm moments of uncompromising desire and affection and how much sweeter they would be after tonight.

“I should have told you sooner,” I said, my voice under control again.

Father didn’t disagree, but he said, “All things have their time.”

“And Dominic,” I said softly. “He opened my eyes in a way, but that…it didn’t go well in the end.”

“You’re too young to speak of the way things ended,” Father said.

I was silent for a long while. “I knew you loved me before,” I said, speaking my mind freely, although the words were somehow hard to say. “But I thought it would change. You adapted here, but not…”

“Not entirely,” Father cut in. “Son, I came here as an adult. It was too late for me to learn everything from the beginning. There were others like me, so I joined them, and so I wouldn’t miss my home as much.” He shook his head slowly. “I know. There are as many human natures as there are human beings. Not all of us are the same. But you need to know where you come from. Beirut, what still stands of it, has been better to gay men than most places there. The laws against it aren’t enforced, Zain, even if they should never have been put in place. And places in the capital have bars like the one you stick around every morning.” There was a small, knowing smile on my father’s lips when he admitted that he knew where I lagged with my deliveries. “Mar Mikhael,” he continued softly, “is like the city herself—beautiful, broken, a little reckless. The alleyways there don’t just hold bars or cafés; they hold stories. People like you, people who don’t always fit. The walls are cracked, yes, but there’s laughter beneath the cracks, there’s life.” He paused, watching my face as if weighing the next words carefully. “It’s a place where boys like you can breathe. The ground is uneven, yes, and it won’t catch you if you fall, but we don’t come from a place of singular hatred. And we didn’t come to a place of singular love. Struggle, Zain, exists anywhere for somebody, but no place is wholly good or wholly bad.”

I hadn’t even known that. Part of me had been willfully ignorant because I’d assumed my true self would never be accepted in this way. But of course, wherever there were people, there were differences and shades of vibrant colors. Where there were people, there was love.

“Go to your friends, son,” Father said. “God knows they never leave that lady down the street. And I know you long to be there.”

Although he had scolded me for being ashamed, I couldn’t help but feel some guilt for underestimating my father. He knew much more than he let on.

Neon Nights was quiet tonight. Lights coming from the windows were subdued, and I couldn’t even hear the music as I walked down the street, snow crunching under my boots.

I neared the entrance and inhaled the cold December air deep into my lungs. It felt as though I could breathe more freely, although nothing at all had changed—nothing, except for everything.

Guilt of an uncanny and completely new kind tugged my heart down in my chest. It felt like I was turning a new leaf by coming here. It felt like I was pretending none of the last two months had happened.

It had. It very much had. Even grazing those memories consciously brought up a flood of clashing emotions to the forefront of my soul. Strangely enough, gratitude warmed up my body. Had I not met Dominic, I would have been living a completely different life now. But that thought was followed by hopelessness I couldn’t control. I couldn’t keep a check on the welling sense of loss.

We could have been something , I thought as I swallowed, my fists balled tightly, and my footsteps determined. I crossed the street and opened the door of Neon Nights. For once, I would walk in honestly and proudly. I was who I was; I was true to it at last.

Heads turned to the door as I entered, my footsteps nailed to the floor and eyes wide. Bradley was behind the bar, wiping a glass with a microfiber cloth. Roman and Everett sat at the bar with tall glasses of tap beer in front of them. Mama Viv stood stoically, intent on the words that were spoken to her. And between them all, sagging on the barstool, with a whiskey on ice before him, sat Dominic himself.

My heart leaped before I reminded myself that I didn’t know which Dominic this was. Are you the cruel one or the kind one? I wondered still as Dominic lifted his head from where it rested on his hands, turned it, and looked right into my eyes.

His lips parted, but I discovered that the dominant emotion ravaging me was fear. I was terrified of discovering that it was the wrong Dominic sitting there tonight. I was terrified of hearing something that would break my heart more than it already had.

Before I knew it, my back was turned to the bar, and I was standing in the snow and in a pool of orange light from the street lamp.

“Darling,” a soft, pained voice came.

I looked over my shoulders to see Mama Viv standing in her black dress, her arms bare and covered with prickles against the winter air.

“Darling, come inside,” she said, wringing her hands together.

I swallowed a tightening knot in my throat. “I don’t think I should.”

“It’s never a mistake to have a conversation in good faith,” Mama Viv said gently.

I winced. What if it wasn’t in good faith? What if he told me how it was over? What if he told me how he’d destroyed Julian Hale’s life in revenge and crossed the furthest line there was? In some misguided effort to promise that it was all behind us, he would shut the final door. To hear that would be like losing the last glimmer of hope. So long as I didn’t know the outcome, I could fool myself into thinking that things could get better.

“Just a conversation, Zain,” Mama Viv urged me.

“You warned me against him,” I pointed out, my voice quivering.

Mama Viv winced and wrung her hands harder, arms huddled close to her body. “We’re all guilty of some kind of prejudice, darling. I’m only human.”

“Don’t you know what he’s done?” I asked as Mama Viv stepped closer to me. I turned a little away from her, clenching my fists against shaking.

“This isn’t the conversation you should be having with me,” Mama Viv said softly. “He’s here, working up the courage to look for you.”

And to tell me how he won? My heart cracked like a sheet of ice. “It…hurts.”

“More the reason to speak to him,” Mama Viv said.

“Please?” The voice was deep and soft, coming from behind Mama Viv. Dominic stepped outside just as I turned to face Mama Viv again.

Tall, ruthlessly handsome, and with a face so dimmed with sadness that it broke me all over again. His hair stood in messy spikes from running his fingers through it. His beard was overgrown just enough to show he hadn’t taken care of it since that night. His eyes were red and tired.

Mama Viv nodded slightly as if asking me if I were ready to be left alone with Dominic. Oh, but I was. I didn’t fear him. I only feared losing the last thread that tied me to him if this conversation went badly. It was a bond that hadn’t gone away, not completely. It was a bond I didn’t want to lose too soon.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Mama Viv hesitated a moment longer, making sure it really was okay before she turned back to the bar. On her way in, she put a hand on Dominic’s forearm, lending him some courage. She had an infinite amount, we all knew.

As the door of the bar shut, Dominic stepped lightly toward me and straightened a little. “Zain,” he said in that warm voice of his. It made my knees weak.

“Did you do it?” I asked, my voice barely holding steady. Everything—everything—rested on his answer. The silence between us stretched, taut as a wire, and I could feel it cutting into me with every agonizing second.

Dominic’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He took a step forward, and I saw the hesitation in his eyes, the war raging inside him. His usually immaculate suit was rumpled, his tie hanging loose around his neck like a noose. He looked…wrecked.

“I missed you,” he said, voice raw. “I missed the man I could’ve been with you.”

I shook my head, blinking against the sting in my eyes. “Just answer me. Please.”

His gaze dropped, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Zain, I?—”

“No!” My voice cracked as I cut him off, the words tearing out of me. “Don’t dance around it. Don’t try to soften it. Did you out him? Did you destroy Julian’s life just to get back at him, just to prove to yourself that you could?”

The pain that flashed across Dominic’s face almost made me take a step back, but I held my ground. I had to. This was it. This was the line I’d drawn, the line that would either save us or damn us for good.

His lower lip trembled as he looked up at me, his voice barely above a whisper. “No,” he breathed. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

The relief that flooded me was so overwhelming it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs, but I didn’t let it show. Not yet. I wasn’t ready to give in to the part of me that wanted to collapse into his arms, to forgive him for everything.

“Why?” I asked, my heart still racing, every word like a challenge. “Why not? You wanted this. You wanted to see him burn.”

“I did,” Dominic admitted, his voice shaking. “I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to rip apart everything he cared about, to make him feel the way I felt when they bullied me. But…” His voice cracked. “But then I saw you standing there. I saw the man who refused to compromise himself, no matter how much it hurt. And I knew that if I did this—if I became that monster—I’d lose you forever.”

“And you think that changes anything?” I asked, the anger bubbling up again, refusing to be drowned by the wave of emotions crashing through me. “You still wanted to do it! You came this close to ruining someone’s life just to make yourself feel better! And you made me wonder who the real you was.”

Dominic’s face crumpled, the weight of my words hitting him like a blow. He took another step forward, his breath shallow, desperate. “I know. I know, Zain. And I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.” His voice cracked again, thick with emotion. “I didn’t understand what I was turning into. Not until I saw you walk away from me.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the walls I’d built around my heart begin to falter. “It’s not about me, Dominic. This isn’t about just losing me.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes wet. “It’s about me losing myself. And you were right. You’ve always been right. You’re the best part of me, Zain. And without you, I’m just… this.” He gestured to himself, broken and hollow.

Tears stung my eyes, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I whispered, the truth of it cutting deep.

Dominic’s hands trembled as he reached for me, stopping just short of touching my face like he didn’t trust himself to hold me. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice rough. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn it. Because letting you go—losing you—was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. And if I have to live the rest of my life knowing I’ll never get you back, then I’ll still be the luckiest man alive just to have known what it felt like to love you.”

I stared at him, my heart breaking for the man in front of me. The man who was finally laying himself bare after all this time, after all the hurt. His tears matched mine, and for the first time, I saw not the monster I’d feared but the man I had fallen in love with.

“Say it again,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I took a step toward him.

His breath hitched as he looked into my eyes, his voice barely audible but filled with everything. “I love you, Zain. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. And I will never stop.”

The dam broke inside me, and before I knew it, I was pulling him into my arms, our bodies crashing together in a frantic, desperate kiss. It was messy, it was raw, but it was real. And in that moment, all the anger, the pain, the fear—it all fell away.

When we finally broke apart, our foreheads resting together, I whispered back, “I love you too.”

Our lips met with a quiet, desperate softness, but the moment they touched, it was like everything else fell away. The world around us—our mistakes, the pain, the doubts—melted into nothing, and all that was left was the heat between us. His mouth on mine, warm and yielding, felt like the answer to a question I hadn’t even realized I’d been asking all along.

Dominic’s hands slid up to cup my face, trembling but steady as if I were something fragile—something precious. His fingers traced the edge of my jaw, almost reverent, and I shuddered under his touch. The kiss deepened, and with it came a flood of everything we had been holding back.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic this time; it was slow, purposeful. His lips moved against mine like he was memorizing the feel of me, savoring each second. Every brush of our mouths, every shift in the tilt of our heads felt like a promise—of redemption, of love, of everything we could be now that we had finally stopped running from it.

Dominic groaned softly into the kiss, and the sound sent a jolt through me, making me press closer. His hands slid down, wrapping around my waist, pulling me hard against him. I could feel his heart pounding, frantic and wild, against my chest, echoing my own. We fit together so perfectly that it almost hurt to think how close we’d come to losing it.

I ran my hands up his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips, his skin burning even through the fabric of his shirt. The kiss grew more heated, and I parted my lips, letting him in, letting him take me. His tongue brushed mine, slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world to explore me—and I wanted to give him forever.

The tension that had stretched between us for so long snapped, leaving only this raw, aching need. The kiss was everything—everything we hadn’t allowed ourselves to feel, everything we had yearned for. It was fulfillment, yes, but it was also hunger, a hunger that had built up for weeks between us—for years in my lonely life before him.

I tilted my head, pressing harder against him, and his grip on me tightened. His kiss became more demanding, rougher, his control slipping as he gave in to the fire between us. My heart raced faster, and I could taste the salt of our shared tears, could feel the way we trembled in each other’s arms.

I had him. The real him. And now that I had him, I never wanted to let go again.

When we finally broke apart, our breaths came fast, ragged, but our foreheads stayed pressed together, and his hands remained on me, anchoring me to him. His eyes opened slowly, still clouded with that same overwhelming intensity, and I saw it there—everything he couldn’t put into words.

We didn’t need to say it anymore. We’d found it. We’d found us again.