Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Paul

Kentbury is a town built on traditions. The Love Festival, the Spring Festival, there’s Summer . . . you get the idea. Normally, I’d be part of them all, working behind the scenes, pitching in wherever I’m needed. But this year, I’ve avoided two already.

When the Love Festival rolled around, I made an excuse about nonprofit obligations and fled to Boston. Could I have managed everything with a few conference calls? Probably. But I needed to get the fuck out of this town.

Because who wants to stick around during the Love Festival when you can’t love? And since it worked for that one, I used it again for the Spring Festival. I’m not expecting anyone to doubt the reason I left. Maybe by the time summer rolls in I can find another trip. Maybe this time further away—longer. One day I’ll come back and my heart won’t ache.

I spent two weeks in Boston, drowning in noise and distractions, trying to outrun the thoughts that chase me. It didn’t work. Damian Harris followed me there, not in person but in every aching thought, every restless night, every goddamn moment I tried to forget him.

Grief has stages, they say. Anger seems to be my favorite. I’m furious at him for being so impossibly stubborn, for shutting us down before we even had a chance. But mostly, I’m furious at myself. Because he warned me. Damian fucking Harris warned me that we couldn’t be anything, and I ignored him. I thought I could change his mind. I thought I could change him.

And yet, every night, I’m alone, my body betraying me as I think of him. I close my eyes, and it’s Damian’s hands I feel, Damian’s voice I hear, Damian’s name that falls from my lips like a prayer. Some nights, I’m on my knees, riding a dildo like it’s him, whispering please love me into the empty space around me, knowing no one is listening.

He broke me. Completely.

And I fucking let him.

Boston was supposed to be the fix, a way to forget him, even if just for a little while. I tried Grindr—big fucking mistake. Even when the profiles seemed perfect, I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even imagine touching anyone else. In desperation, I reached out to women I’d hooked up with before. I thought maybe I could go back to pretending. Thought maybe I could fuck my way out of this feeling. But I couldn’t even get hard.

And so, here I am. Back in Kentbury, back to pretending everything is fine when it’s anything but. Because the truth I’ve been running from for years is staring me in the face: I’m gay. Not curious. Not experimenting. Gay.

And worse than that, I’m in love with one man who will never love me back. How pathetic is that?

The town feels quieter than ever, the kind of quiet that creeps in and forces you to confront the things you’d rather bury. It presses into me, relentless and unyielding, as if it knows every lie I’ve told myself.

I know what I need to do. I need to stop running and face the truth—not just with myself but with my family. Damian may have shattered me, but he also forced me to see myself clearly for the first time. It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t infatuation. It was real. Every look, every touch, every moment between us was real. And I loved him. God, I still love him.

It wasn’t just infatuation with him. It was real. The attraction, the connection, the love.

I’m in the barn, the one I’ve been meaning to fill with animals for years but never have. My hands are busy, twisting a wrench against a bolt that doesn’t need fixing, but my mind is circling the same thoughts. How do I tell them? Will they understand? Will they still see me as the same person, or will this change everything?

I want to believe they’ll support me. That they’ll see me for who I’ve always been, not who I pretended to be. But the fear is paralyzing.

As if summoned by my thoughts, McKay steps into the barn, her presence as easy and unrelenting as always. “Finally found you,” she says, her tone light but curious. She leans against the workbench, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and assessing. “You’ve been hiding, Paul.”

I keep my focus on the wrench, twisting it needlessly. “Just been busy,” I say, my voice even, practiced.

She drags out the word, skeptical. “Busy, huh? Festival’s over, and you were gone for two weeks. Twice. And now you’re back, but you’re still… somewhere else. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine,” I lie, shrugging as I set the wrench down like I’ve suddenly lost interest.

McKay scoffs, tilting her head as she studies me. “Biggest lie I’ve heard all week. Try again.”

I glance at her, trying to deflect, but she’s relentless. She always has been. “I’m just tired,” I sigh, the words a shield I know won’t hold.

Her gaze softens, but it doesn’t waver. “Paul, you’re not tired. You’re carrying something, and it’s dragging you down. You’ve been off since January. What’s really going on?”

January. The knot in my stomach tightens, but I force myself to stay neutral. “People grieve,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “It takes time. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t buy it. She never does. But she doesn’t push, and for that, I’m grateful. Because the truth? I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I’ll be fine.

“It is a big deal,” McKay presses, stepping closer, her voice unwavering in a way that feels like she’s trying to shake the truth out of me. “You’ve always been the one who holds it all together. You’re the first to show up, the last to leave. You’re there for everyone, no matter what. But you haven’t been yourself for months, Paul. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. I’ve noticed. Lou’s noticed. Even Bishop’s been asking about you. So stop pretending and tell me—what’s going on?”

My fingers grip the wrench so tightly that the strain shoots up my arm. Her words land like blows, one after the other, until the air around me feels suffocating. The truth is right there, clawing at my throat, begging to be let out. But how can I? How do I take years of hiding and distill it into a single moment?

“McKay,” I say finally, my voice low and tight, “it’s not something you can fix.”

Her expression softens, but she doesn’t retreat. She’s never been the type to back down. “Maybe not,” she says, her tone quieter now, carrying a warmth that digs past my defenses. “But you don’t have to carry it alone. Paul, you’ve always been there for us. For everyone. And we love you. No matter what. We want to be here for you, too.”

The words hit me right in the chest, stealing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My jaw clenches as I try to force the emotions down, but her gaze is unwavering, pulling me closer to the edge of honesty. “You love me,” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper, “no matter what?”

“No matter what,” she says, firm and certain.

I risk a small, shaky smile. “Even if I push an old lady instead of helping her cross the street?”

She snorts, a laugh breaking through the tension. “Even then. I loved you when you were an asshole, remember?”

“I wasn’t exactly an asshole,” I reply, a faint chuckle escaping me. “Just . . . oblivious. Out of touch with life and myself.”

“Maybe,” she says, her smile softening. “But even then, I loved you. Because you’re my big brother.”

My throat tightens. “Even if I were gay? Would you still love me?”

Her eyes search mine, something tender and knowing settling in her expression. “Are you finally coming out to us? Or are you still figuring it out?”

The question startles me. “What do you mean?” My voice wavers, my heart pounding in my chest.

“We love you. All of us—the McFolley siblings,” she says. “We’ve been waiting for you to feel ready. To be open about yourself.”

“How do you know?” The words feel raw, scraping against my throat as I push them out.

She shrugs one shoulder, her smile turning wry. “Someone might’ve seen you kissing someone.”

My stomach plummets. “The entire town knows?”

“No,” she says quickly. “Just Lavender. She saw you and Damian a couple of summers ago.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh, the sound hollow and thin. Damian and I had been careful. So damn careful. Then panic blooms, sharp and insistent. “Did you tell Bishop?”

“Bishop confirmed it,” she admits. “But he said his brother is so deep in the closet, he probably wouldn’t ever come out. He told me he hoped Damian wouldn’t break your heart.”

She pauses, her gaze softening further, her next words cutting deeper than I expect. “But I think he did, didn’t he? He broke you.”

I swallow hard, the ache rising too fast to contain. “Yeah,” I whisper, the word trembling with everything I’ve tried to bury. “He’ll never come out.”

McKay steps closer, wrapping her arms around me in a hug that feels like a lifeline, her warmth sinking past every layer of pain. “I’m so sorry, Paul,” she murmurs, her voice steady, grounding. “But no matter what, we’ve got you. Always. We love you for who you are. The best brother. And we support whoever you decide to love.”

The knot in my chest loosens, just a little, as her words settle. “Thank you,” I say, my voice barely audible but filled with more gratitude than I can express. Because maybe this—her acceptance, her love—is what I’ve been needing all along. Not just from someone. From my family.