Page 95 of The Puck Contract

"What was that for?" he asks, eyes soft.

I shrug, unable to articulate the warm tangle in my chest. "Just because."

He studies my face for a moment. Then he rises on his toes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

"Just because," he echoes, and somehow, in those two simple words, I hear everything neither of us is ready to say.

CHAPTER 27

MATEO

THERE'S SOMETHING UNIQUELY terrifying about your own reflection when you're about to come out to your family.

I've been staring at myself in the bathroom mirror for ten minutes now, rehearsing words that keep dissolving before they fully form. My hair's still damp from the shower, curling at the edges in a way that makes me look younger than I am.

Which is fitting, I guess, since I feel about twelve years old right now—scared and uncertain and desperately hoping for approval.

"You can do this," I tell my reflection. "You're a grown-ass man. You've had a man's tongue in your ass, for Christ's sake. This should be easy by comparison."

Okay, so maybe that's not the best pep talk to give yourself before a family video call.

I splash cold water on my face one more time and head back to my bedroom. My laptop sits open on the desk, Zoom already loaded, waiting for me to click the "join meeting" buttonthat will connect me to my family gathered around my parents' ancient desktop computer in Florida.

Carlos pokes his head in the door. "You good? Need moral support? Shot of tequila? Defibrillator?"

"I'm fine," I lie, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans.

"Uh-huh." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That's why you've been pacing for an hour and muttering to yourself."

"It's just... a lot." I drop into my desk chair, running a hand through my hair. "They've seen the news reports, the social media stuff. They know something's up. But we haven't actually talked about it."

Carlos nods. "Your dad?"

"He's old-school. Traditional." I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. "But not... not hateful, I don't think. I just don't know how he'll react to his only son suddenly announcing he's dating a man."

"Not suddenly," Carlos corrects. "You've been figuring this out for months."

"They don't know that."

"So tell them." He pushes off the doorframe. "I'll be in the living room if you need me. But you've got this."

After he leaves, I take a deep breath and click the button. The familiar connecting sound plays, my anxiety ratcheting up with each electronic chime. Then the screen fills with my family's faces, slightly pixelated but unmistakable.

My mother's warm smile, crow's feet deepening as she leans too close to the camera.

My father beside her, expression neutral but eyes alert behind reading glasses.

My sister Elena, home from college for the weekend, waving enthusiastically.

"Mateo!" Mom exclaims, voice tinny through my laptop speakers. "How are you, honey? Are you eating enough? You look thin."

"I'm eating fine, mom," I say, warmth spreading through my chest despite my nerves. Some things never change. "How's everyone?"

"Good, good," she says, while simultaneously adjusting the computer angle and fussing with her hair. "Your father's back is better, Elena got an A on her psychology paper, and I'm repainting the kitchen. That yellow was giving me migraines."

Dad grunts in agreement, a man of few words as always.

"And how's school?" Mom continues. "Are you getting enough sleep? You look tired."

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