Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Damian

I finally convinced my family to take a look at my plans—a small step, sure, but still a victory. If they approve, I’ll have everything set up by summer, ready to go by winter, just in time for the flood of tourists. It’s the beginning of something bigger, something lasting. At least, that’s the hope.

For months, I’ve poured myself into spreadsheets, mock-ups, proposals—anything to keep my mind occupied. Every detail of the resort expansion has been my salvation, a lifeline that pulls me away from the thoughts I can’t afford to dwell on. Thoughts of Paul. His mouth, his hands, the way he made me feel alive and untethered.

It’s working, mostly. The relentless pace keeps me moving, and I need that. But when mid-May hits, when the resort slows and the distractions fade, what then?

What if my family shuts it down? Dismisses the work I’ve poured myself into? If that happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. Sell my share and leave Kentbury? Start fresh in a city where no one knows me? It’s tempting. God, it’s tempting. But the idea isn’t mine to entertain. Damian Harris doesn’t get to run. He has to stay here, in this suffocating bubble of expectations, holding everything together.

The sharp creak of my office door swinging open jolts me from my thoughts. My teeth grind instinctively. Only one person barges in without knocking.

Fucking Bishop.

“Did you hear?” he asks, striding halfway into the room with the kind of ease that sets my nerves on edge.

I glance up from my desk, forcing myself to keep calm. “I don’t have time for gossip,” I say, my voice tighter than intended. “If you’re here to waste my time, turn around and leave.”

“It’s not gossip,” Bishop replies, leaning against the doorway with an infuriating smirk. “It’s news. My brother-in-law, Paul, told his family he’s gay.”

The way he says it—Paul’s name drawn out, deliberate—sends a shiver down my spine. My body freezes, panic clawing at my composure, but I keep my expression neutral. My face feels like a mask, brittle and fragile, as I try to process his words without giving anything away.

“Good for him,” I say, my voice strained but even enough to pass. “Why are you telling me this?”

Bishop studies me too closely, his gaze cutting through the facade I’ve spent years perfecting. The silence stretches, and I can feel him dissecting every detail of my reaction. My hand tightens around the edge of the desk, a grounding force against the storm inside me.

One night. One mistake. I told him. I let it slip in the haze of drunken recklessness—about kissing a guy, about how it felt like something I’d been searching for without realizing it. The next day, hungover and terrified, I brushed it off as curiosity, a phase, a stupid experiment. Bishop never pressed, and I convinced myself he’d forgotten.

But now, while he stands here with that knowing look in his eyes, it’s clear he hasn’t.

“Just thought you’d find it interesting,” he says finally, his voice too casual. “You two are friends, after all. Business partners.” He shrugs, turning to leave. “Guess not, have a good fucking day, Damian.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but the tension in my chest only tightens. My pulse roars in my ears, and I grip the desk harder to stop my hands from shaking.

Paul is out.

Paul is out.

Paul.

Is.

Out.

The words slam into me, each one a hammer blow. While I’ve been burying myself in work, drowning in the fear of what people might say, Paul has stepped into the light.

Why now? Did something change? Is he seeing someone? The thought punches through me, a mix of jealousy and despair I can’t suppress. Of course, he is. Paul doesn’t do things halfway. He’s probably in love. With someone else.

The realization burns, a searing ache I can’t outrun. And yet, beneath the pain, there’s a flicker of something else. Bitterness. Resentment. Not at Paul—but at myself.

If Paul can be that brave, then why can’t I?

But I already know the answer. Because this town, this family, this life I’ve built—it would all unravel. My father would disown me. The resort would never recover from the whispers, the judgments. I’d lose everything.

Wouldn’t that be easier, though? To let it all burn?

My hand loosens from the desk, my fingers numb as I stare at the empty doorway. Bishop might be gone, but his words linger, curling around me, suffocating. Paul told his family he is gay. And I’m still here, trapped by the walls I’ve built, terrified of what it would mean to tear them down.

What if I showed them all how I truly failed—not by losing the businesses, but by falling short of the version of me they’ve come to expect? The perfect son. The one who holds it all together, who carries their struggles without complaint, who never falters.

Maybe I could just walk away. Leave it all behind. Finally taste freedom.

Finally figure out who I am.

But that’s not how my story plays out, is it? I don’t even know what comes next, how to navigate this newfound clarity that feels more like a storm than a revelation.

Good for Paul, though. He’s out there, living his truth, owning it.

And me? I’m still trapped in a life I don’t know how to break free from, in a version of myself I can’t seem to let go of.