Page 31 of Rhett & Moses
Moses stepped back, rejoining me at the edge of the platform. Without hesitation, I took his hand in mine, a public declaration of support and so much more. A murmur went through the crowd, but it was almost entirely free of the judgment I might have expected twenty years ago. Progress, it seemed, had reached even Gomillion, South Carolina.
“That was brave,” I murmured to him as the mayor began a subdued speech about community healing and second chances.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, his fingers tightening around mine. “Any of it.”
As we stood there, hands joined, watching the ceremony continue with a new, more somber tone, I felt something settle within me, a sense of rightness, of completion that had been missing for twenty years. The circle that had begun with two scared teenagers falling in love against the backdrop of a small-town, had finally closed with two grown men standing proudly together, no longer afraid.
Whatever came next, the logistics of long-distance relationships, career adjustments, the inevitable challenges of building a life together after so long apart, we would face it together, stronger for the journey that had brought us to this point.
The statue stood gleaming in the morning sun, no longer a symbol of shame and secrets, but of truth finally spoken and healing finally begun.
CHAPTER 9
MOSES
The morningafter the statue unveiling, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. Rhett’s arm was draped across my chest, his breathing still deep and even in sleep. I carefully extracted myself from his embrace, grabbing the phone and slipping into the bathroom to avoid disturbing him.
Fifteen missed calls. Twenty-seven text messages. Dozens of social media notifications. Headlines from local news outlets.
HAYES SCANDAL ROCKS GOMILLION
REUNION REVELATION: STATUE VANDAL INNOCENT
MAYORAL SON ACCUSED OF BLACKMAIL
My stomach twisted itself into knots as I scrolled through the notifications. What had seemed like the right decision yesterday, a necessary unburdening after twenty years of silence, now felt overwhelming in its consequences. Not just for me, but for everyone involved.
A text from Bronwyn caught my eye:
Bar’s getting calls from reporters. Should I comment or state no comment?
I quickly typed back:No comment for now. I’ll be there in an hour.
Next was a voicemail from my father, the first communication we’d had in nearly a year. His voice was strained, formal, the Southern politeness he retreated to when uncomfortable.
“Moses, this is your father. I saw the news about what happened at the reunion. Your mother and I would appreciate a call when you have a moment. We... we have some things to discuss.”
The bathroom door opened, revealing a sleepy-eyed Rhett in boxers and nothing else, his hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay? You disappeared.”
I showed him my phone screen. “The story’s blown up. It’s all over the local news, social media. My father called.”
Rhett’s expression sharpened, sleep falling away as he processed the information. “What did he say?”
“Wants me to call. Says they have ‘things to discuss.’” I couldn’t keep the wariness from my voice. My relationship with my parents had been strained ever since I’d come out to them five years ago, a belated confession that had been met with uncomfortable silence followed by determined attempts to set me up with the daughters of their friends.
Rhett moved closer, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Do you want to call them now? I can give you privacy.”
I shook my head. “I need to get to the bar first, deal with the media situation. Bronwyn’s being bombarded with calls.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” he said, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re in this together, remember?”
The simple declaration warmed something inside me that had been cold for too long. I leaned into him, forehead restingagainst his chest, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability I rarely permitted. “Thank you.”
We showered and dressed quickly, opting to grab coffee on the way rather than risk the hotel restaurant where we’d likely be accosted by curious fellow guests. The moment we stepped outside, the difference in atmosphere was palpable, people on the street turning to look, conversations halting briefly as we passed. Not quite hostile, but definitely aware.
“Famous in all the wrong ways,” I muttered as we hurried toward Timbers & Tallboys.
“I don’t know about that,” Rhett replied, deliberately brushing his hand against mine as we walked. “Exposing corruption and standing up for victims seems like the right kind of famous to me.”
