Paddy was right. It wasn’t the best first impression, but if Prism House offered even half of the things on their website, I definitely saw the benefit. I opened another browser tab and searched for social media posts, reviews, and mentions about the center elsewhere online.
“Prism rocks. They really care about you there, you know?” I read a post from a young lady with short purple hair and a sweet smile. “Ms. Hill went and talked to my teacher about…” The boy went on to describe someone bullying him at school. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Prism. I had nowhere else to go.” That post had over two hundred likes and rainbow heart comments stretching down the page.
Pushing my laptop to the side, I leaned back on my pillows. Everyone had their own story. I’d never really been in the closet and was blessed with an accepting family and a relativelyunscathed youth. What was it like for Gil to realize he was bi? Was it only about those threesomes he mentioned, or were their other hints earlier on? Maybe he didn’t realize it sooner. Maybe he never really felt the need to come out in any big, public way.
I didn’t need to know any more than what he wanted to tell me. His bisexuality or past sex life didn’t bother me. When I looked into his warm amber eyes, I saw his feelings clearly enough. I trusted him.
Too many young people had no one they could trust. I heaved a deep breath and nodded. I wanted to be that person for any LGBTQ+ youth who needed it. Chaotic or not, I wanted to be a part of Prism House and what it stood for. I grabbed my phone and put the appointment date and time on my schedule. I’d make sure to arrive early, and if they greeted me at the door singing musical theater songs and covered with glitter, we’d find a way forward from there.
I tapped over to my message thread with Gil.
Sam:I have an appointment Thursday for the internship! The place seems a bit wild, but really great, too.
Gil:That’s wonderful. They’d be silly not to choose you.
The three dots bounced for a while before the next message came through.
Gil:I got the date for court. I’d really like you there.
He sent over the date and time, and I added it to my schedule immediately. I’d have to skip half of a class to go, but that didn’t matter. Not only did I have an A in it, but absolutely nothing would keep me away from Gil when he needed me most.
Sam:I’ll be there whenever and wherever you need me.
Gil:Florist just arrived. I’ll see you later. Love you, baby.
My breath caught in my throat, and I honestly thought I might pass out for a moment before I managed to type back. It was both the scariest and simplest text I’d ever sent.
Sam:Love you, too.
The phone went dark in my hand as I stared at the wall, blinking and smiling like an idiot. Did we really just say we loved each other for the first time over text? It wasn’t exactly a sweet, romantic moment, not the type of thing I always imagined would go along with those three little words, but it still filled my heart up to overflowing.
I wanted to text him back and ask, ‘Did you mean to send that?’ I wanted to call him and hear it in his own soft, warm voice. I wanted to drive to wherever the meeting with this florist was and kiss him until we both couldn’t breathe.
“He loves me,” I whispered, and then proceeded to giggle and wiggle around on my bed. I probably looked a lot like Eviedid whenever she got a cookie or spottedShaun the Sheepon the TV. I was surprised my socks didn’t fly off, to be honest.
Chapter 14
Gilbert
It wasn’t until I opened our text thread to send Sam a message about a last-minute client meeting that I realized what I’d texted him the day before. I fell over into my rented office chair, breath caught in my throat. “Love you, baby,” I read, and then “I love you, too” right after his name. I forgot how to breathe, but my heart pounded, so I probably wouldn’t die.
Did I really tell Sam I loved him for the first time over a text? The person who rented the office after me knocked on the door, so I pulled on my coat and grabbed my bag. “Sorry,” I muttered as I swept past her on the way out to my SUV.
The only thing I cared about was getting to Sam as quickly as possible so I could say those three magical, heartfelt wordsface to face. Unfortunately, he had classes, and I had a video chat with a calligrapher I might want to use for future clients with heftier budgets.
Later that evening, I met Sam at my apartment door, grabbed his arms, pulled him in for a scorching hot kiss, and met his eyes. “I love you, Sam.” I’d never get tired of seeing that bright light in his eyes or that pretty smile fill his face.
“I love you too, Gil.”
We said it again while bustling around the kitchen making dinner together, and I whispered it later after suckling on the leaking head of his cock encased in nearly transparent red briefs. He murmured it after a soul-deep kiss as he left to drive back to his place. He had an early class and needed stuff from home. He still hadn’t spent the night, but it would happen soon. I wanted to sleep with him and wake up again in each other’s arms.
Over the course of the next two weeks, we’d said it a hundred times, and it never got old. In those golden beginnings of what felt like a forever bond, love was the easiest thing to share. I thought my heart couldn’t get any fuller until he said “I love you, sweet pea” to Evie one evening as he changed her after an epic blowout. Apparently, Evie and avocados didn’t mix. That sentiment mixed with that task cemented ‘keeper’ status for Sam in a big way.
The day before the custody court date, I finished a quick call with Alex and Kelly to narrow down centerpiece designs before picking up my phone to go over the text thread with Giovanni. He’d sent me a checklist of preparations for our appearance before the judge, and I didn’t want to miss anything that would help us.
“Wear a suit or other professional clothing.” I glanced at my closet where my best charcoal gray suit hung next to an ironed white button down and a colorful tie. “Bring all the paperwork.” Giovanni had given me a list of everything from Evie’s birthcertificate and medical records to my tax returns for the past years. He had copies of everything too, of course. Demonstrating my thoroughness and careful planning would make a good impression.
“Try not to worry.” The last thing he’d texted presented the greatest challenge. There was no way to calm the roiling fear in my stomach or the stress-induced headache that didn’t respond to caffeine, deep breathing, or a dose of painkillers.
