Page 41 of From the Ashes

I thinkZahir thought I was joking when I suggested we go surfing together. It’s been over a week since our first date where we decided we were going to give this thing between us another try. He’s been very patient with me, always agreeing to meet at my place or his. But I meant what I said.

He doesn’t deserve to be anybody’s secret.

While going a restaurant might be a step too far right now as I navigate how much I want to tiptoe out of the closet, I genuinely don’t see any issue with two friends hitting the waves together. So long as I can control myself and not hump him on the damn sand, it should be fine.

Although with how much sex we’ve had in just under ten days, that might even be asking too much.

Having a date out in the open really isn’t, though. I don’t just want this to be about fucking and staying in our own private bubble like we did when we were at school. No, I don’t feel I can fly my Pride flag any time soon. That doesn’t mean we can’t go out. We just have to be a little mindful.

My main concern is that Zahir knows I’m not ashamed of him. The realization that he thought I’d dumped him without a second thought or that he’d just been some kind of experimentto me has kept me awake more than a couple of nights. The situation might be complicated, but my feelings for him aren’t.

I loved him then and I think I’m falling even more in love with him now.

I’m not sure if he feels the same, and since I’m the one causing the issue, I can’t expect him to or put any pressure on him for an answer.

But I can hope.

As it’s getting late into Sunday afternoon when we arrive, the beach isn’t as crazy as it sometimes gets. I prefer to get here at the crack of dawn and get some time in before work. However,someonehas been keeping me up at night lately, so now is the best option for both our schedules over the next few days.

Besides, the whole point of this little excursion is for me to show him off a bit. There has to be a few people around for me to do that.

This time, I absolutely wore appropriate attire to get in the water. Having been naked many, many times now, getting changed in front of Zahir isn’t an issue anymore, funnily enough.

We don’t talk much as we head into the surf, falling into sync like we used to do back in the day when it felt like we lived on this stretch of beach. His presence is so strong and steady beside me, though. As if we’ve been tethered by that invisible sting all this time, but it’s getting brighter and more resilient now.

If one of us pulls away this time, will it break? Or will it snap us back together closer than ever before?

For a while, we ride the waves side by side, and I lose track of when and where we are. This could be today or fifteen years ago. Wanting to appreciate the moment for a minute, I signal to Zahir that I’m going to sit out the next few. He asks if I’m all right and I tell him truthfully that I’m fine.

I just need to watch him in his element right now.

It’s wild how he comes alive in different ways. Out on the water, when he’s painting, and now I’ve even seen him when he’s at work. He always brings such passion to everything he does, not to mention his compassion, skill, gravitas…

How could anyone not love him?

I’m fully aware he has plenty of people around him that know how special he is. And although it’s worked in my favor, I can’t believe he never had a serious boyfriend in all this time. But I suppose who I’m really thinking of is my parents.

How can they not see how incredible this man is?

They were always very unsubtle with their disdain for my choice in a best friend when we were at school. My mother used to ‘joke’ that of all the nice boys in my class, I had to pick Zahir. She didn’t like anything about him because all she saw was his skin color, his family’s average income, and their religion. But what her and my father hated the most was his softness, I know. They’ve always been so desperate for me to be what they see as the height of masculinity, an alpha male that other men would admire and follow.

It’s crazy to me how they can’t see those qualities in Zahir. I think it’s obvious that he’s far more of a leader than I could ever be. Sure, I put on a good show in the courtroom where I know my stuff. But that’s all it is. Ashow.Zahir is never fake. When he speaks, others listen, because it’s always from the heart.

Every now and again, my mother makes one of her other ‘jokes’ that someday I’m going to go into politics and that’s why she’s so obsessed with my image and me being this inspiring figure head. I’m pretty sure she’s manifesting me to become the district attorney by forty then use that as a natural segue into running for governor.

I can’t imagine anything worse, so I keep telling myself it’s just a joke. But my father’s insistence I take over as managing partner from him at the firm is absolutely not a joke, and despitehis excellent recovery so far from his heart attack, that timeline seems to still be very much on the fast track.

The Colt that my parents envision isn’t the Colt that’s currently sitting on a surfboard watching his man masterfully thunder down the tunnel of water as it crashes onto the shore of Redwood Bay. It isn’t the Colt that makes chocolate chip pancakes in the morning for that same man, either. It’s certainly not the one that baulks at most of his shallow, petty clients these days and can’t think of anything more horrifying than being in the public eye.

I’m terrified they won’t love that Colt. That theycan’tlove him, because he’s a betrayal of the Colt they’ve carefully created. Do I have it in me to take the risk of disappointing them so much it might very well tear our family apart?

I think back to Mrs. Brown and her disinherited grandchildren. How crushed will my parents be if I don’t pop out half a dozen kids with a nice girl they’ve approved? Will they be content for my cousins to continue the Ross name? Not just the name, but the gene line. Somehow, I doubt it.

The thing is, that’snevergoing to happen. I’m never going to deceive some poor woman into marrying me, let alone have sex with her enough to produce even one baby. So what are my alternatives? Be lonely? Or be with someone like Zahir?

No, not someonelikehim. Just him.

I almost feel sorry for my father. He thought calling me back home would kickstart the next phase of my life earlier than expected. And I’m sure that my mom firmly believed that if I was close by, she could start meddling in my social life more effectively. But all it’s done is thrust me back into Zahir’s arms, someone they never have and I’m sure never will approve of, and made me question every single aspect of my life from my career right down to how the hell I am—or am not—decorating my apartment.

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