It wasn’t the unusual sound of the ringer in his quiet apartment, but the name that showed up on the screen. The mug wobbled in his hand, but he managed to set it down next to his laptop without disaster. He stared at his phone: MetroInternational Media, one of the biggest news conglomerates in the country.
For one shaky moment, he considered letting the call go to voicemail. It was probably some scammer spoofing the news agency’s name, anyway. Something in his gut that wasn’t sheer nerves convinced him to pick it up. “Hello?”
A smooth, professional voice greeted him. “Hello, is this Lucas Vaughn? I’m calling from Metro International Media.” When he identified himself, she went on. “We’re interested in speaking with you about the photo circulating online, the one from the Route 7 multi-vehicle accident. Are you the photographer?”
Lucas sat up straighter, excitement and nerves swirling through him. “Yes. I took it from an overpass near my home.”
“We’d like to ask about licensing rights. We know it’s already posted online and has gotten several thousand views. Besides asking permission to repost on our platforms and using it in post-storm reports, we want to know if you have similar unpublished photos. We’d very much like to talk about exclusive rights.”
Blinking hard, Lucas’s brand scrambled to catch up. With his free hand, he navigated to the folder of other images from that day that he hadn’t really gone through yet. Some showed the crash in total, others zoomed in on specific spots, and still more revealed the people – both regular folk caught up in the pileup and first responders – at the scene.
He clicked once more to the photo circulating on the web. It showed Ryder in quarter profile, hat frosted with snow, and with the tiny girl snuggled up against his chest, one chubby pink cheek lying on his beard. Chaos formed a backdrop, but Ryder’s expression was calm, resolute, and protective. It looked almost staged in its clarity, except it wasn’t. There was nothing make-believe about Ryder’s dedication.
Shaking his head to bring his mind back to the very important phone call, he said, “I have to ask my… the man in the photo if he’d be okay with that. I assume you’d blur the baby’s face or contact her mother about it, too. There are a few more photos I could send over for your consideration.”
“That would be great.” She rattled off an email address to send the other photos to and said she’d send a preliminary document about rights options and offers. “Get back to me as soon as you can, please. This offer won’t last long.”
As soon as the call ended, Lucas took a long, steadying sip of cocoa and tapped over the Ryder’s name in his contacts.
Lucas:A big-name media company contacted me about your photo. They want permission to use it and buy rights for more of my pics. Are you okay with sharing it?
The wait before the answer appeared stretched on. Lucas stood up and paced across the tiny apartment, looked out his window at the snowy street, and then back to the couch to plop down and scroll through the photos again. Which should he send? A soft chime broke into his thoughts.
Ryder:Yeah, of course. It’s your photo. If it helps your career, use it. Just next time, get my good side before making my face go viral.
Grinning at the winky emoji and the little red heart, Lucas tapped out a response. The easy support was so unlike anything he’d ever gotten from anyone before, his family or the casual friends he left behind when he moved.
Lucas:You don’t have a bad side.
He added a heart emoji of his own before turning back to the laptop. He copied the images he liked the best, wrote a short note confirming his interest and Ryder’s approval, and hit the Send button. His heart hammered, but the excitement overrode the fear.
This deserved a fresh cup of cocoa. His had gone cold, and while he usually didn’t care – creamy, semi-sweet chocolate was good no matter what – he felt like treating himself. He dumped the rest in the sink, washed his favorite mug, and started a fresh cup. The Belgian blend Ryder bought him as repayment for the wasted cup at the dog park when they met.
The sweet memory of that moment and all the ones they shared since then swirled through his mind like creamy at the top of his steamy mug. Settling on the loveseat, he closed his eyes. He had a hopeful sale to a big media company. He had the teaching job that almost paid all his bills. The shelter fundraiser was going so well. And he had Ryder, a warm spark in his life that he never expected and could no longer imagine living without.
Lucas let himself relax for once, but his reverie shattered with a loud ring from his phone. It wasn’t an unknown number this time, but an unwelcome one.
“Hi Paul,” he said, his shoulders tensing for another awkward conversation with his brother.
“Hello. Mom and Dad saw the blizzard out your way on the news and were worried.” No mention of his brother being worried, and no reason that their parents didn’t call themselves. Somehow, Paul had become the de facto point of contact between them since Lucas moved.
“I’m fine. Everything shut down for a couple of days, so I just stayed home and kept busy.” He wasn’t going to mention going out in the snowstorm or the good news about the photos he took. Paul didn’t want to hear about his silly little dream.
His brother continued in his usual tone laced with condescension. “Does that town even have snowplows? It doesn’t look that way considering that huge pileup on the highway. How will you get out if you need food?”
Lucas tried not to sigh too loudly into the phone. “They have plows. I have food. Everything’s under control, Paul.”
His brother didn’t bother to conceal his frustrated scoff. “Lucas, we really think it’s time for you to stop with all this foolishness. Mom was so worried about you out there in the snow.” He said it like Lucas was living in an igloo somewhere on the tundra. “If you don’t want to come back home, at least move to a bigger suburb with better opportunities. You’re not exactly thriving there, are you?”
In the wake of such an uplifting inquiry from the media company and Ryder’s amazing support, Lucas simply couldn’t deal with his family’s barrage of doubt. He straightened up and took a deep breath. “Yes, I am. My photography has attracted some really impressive attention. I’m helping the community raise funds for very important causes. I love teaching classes at the college, and I love this small town, piles of dirty snow and all. Best of all, I love who I get to be here instead of the one trying to force himself into a mold I never fit in.”
A long silence stretched out.
His brother tried again, but his voice lost some of the officious tone. “Look, I’m just saying you could do better. There are--”
“No,” Lucas interrupted. “I can’t. This is my version of the very best life I want to live. And if you or Mom and Dad can’t realize that, can’t support that, then I’ll just focus on the people here who can.”
“Is this about some guy?” Paul spit out the last two words like they offended him. He’d never been overtly homophobic in the past, but the tone skated the edge of warning.
