The Venom’s Christmas break wasn’t long—only three days—so instead of driving, they flew to Wisconsin and rented a car at the airport. Tristan’s parents had offered to pick them up, of course, when he told them he was bringing “a friend” for the holidays. Tristan politely refused, claiming he didn’t want to put his parents through the trouble. Truthfully, he figured he could use the drive time between Madison and Columbus to gird his loins.
Tristan didn’t think he could cope with his parents’ curiosity about Sebastian immediately after disembarking. If it made him a coward to need that extra forty minutes, well, he was a coward. It wasn’t every day a guy came out to his family, which he constantly reminded himself whenever that little, insidious mental voice berated him for being anxious. And if things did go badly, at least they’d have a vehicle on hand so they could make a quick escape.
Coming out to his family couldn’t be put off any longer, though. His relationship with Sebastian had officially crossed into serious territory, and Tristan wanted to share the news with the closest people in his life. He could give this to Sebastian—even if he wasn’t ready to open up to his teammates yet.
Sebastian drove while Tristan jittered in the passenger seat. He bounced his leg and chafed his sweaty palms on the tops of his jean-clad thighs until Sebastian reached over to grip one of his knees and snapped, “Sit still!” in that stern professor tone he used in class.
Weirdly enough, that calmed Tristan down. He sucked in a shuddery breath and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
Sebastian squeezed his knee. “Don’t be. I know you’re nervous, and I understand, believe me, but you’re shaking the whole car, and I’m worried you’re going to hyperventilate.”
Tristan did feel kind of light-headed. Jesus. “Why am I so freaked? They’re my parents. They love me. I’ve never heard them say anything bad about gay people. Like, literally never.”
“Your feelings are valid, Tristan, whatever they may be. There are no rules for this.”
“I know. I just . . .” Tristan dragged in another deep breath. “Fuck. I’m scared.” The last word came out sounding small, vulnerable.
Sebastian grabbed one of his hands and laced their fingers together. He took his attention from the road long enough to shoot Tristan a quick, comforting glance. “You don’t have to do this, you know. If you’re not ready.”
“I want them to know about me. And you. I really do.” Tristan stared at the side of Sebastian’s face. He looked worried. “I am ready, Seb. But I’m . . . nervous too.”
“If you’re sure.” Sebastian held his hand a little tighter. “And it’s okay to be nervous. That’s completely understandable.”
They spent the next ten minutes in silence, until the GPS on Sebastian’s phone went wonky and Tristan jumped in to direct him the rest of the way. He pointed to the long, winding driveway that led to his family home, and felt his stomach muscles tense as Sebastian slotted their rented sedan next to the truck that belonged to Tristan’s father.
Sebastian cut the engine.
“We’re here,” Tristan announced shakily, but he made no move to get out of the car.
Sebastian only gripped his hand even tighter. Tristan returned the pressure somewhat desperately.
It wasn’t long before the front door flew open and Tristan’s sister raced down the front steps, her long blonde hair streaking behind her. Sebastian released his hand right before she reached the passenger side of the car. She was smiling hugely, her cheeks already flushed pink from the cold.
“Are you coming in or are you going to sit out here all day?” she asked, her voice muffled by the glass of the window. It was cold enough that puffs of condensation accompanied her words, a noticeable contrast to the weather they’d left behind in Atlanta.
Tristan laughed and pushed open his door.
Hannah launched herself into his arms, making him stagger. “I missed you!”
Tristan hugged her, some of his tension easing. “I missed you too, Han.” He heard the driver’s door close and turned to gesture at Sebastian. “This is Seb. Seb, Hannah.”
Hannah waved at Sebastian across the roof of the car. “Nice to meet you.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “Same here.” He went to the open trunk and started pulling out their luggage.
“Go on in, Han. You’re going to freeze out here. I’m going to help Seb bring the stuff in.”
Hannah nodded and crossed her sweater-covered arms over her chest, as if she hadn’t really felt the cold before he’d mentioned it. “You’re right,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll see you inside.” She took off again, leaving Sebastian and Tristan alone.
Sebastian had already set their bags on the ground and stood waiting for Tristan. “All good?”
Tristan sidled closer. For a second, he was tempted to kiss Sebastian right then and there. If someone was watching from the window, then they’d know. He wouldn’t have to broach the subject. Tristan resisted the temptation but leaned in to say, “Thanks for coming with me.”
Sebastian’s sable eyes warmed, and his mouth crooked into a small smile. “Of course. Thanks for inviting me.”
Tristan reached down to grab the handle of his suitcase. “Come on.”
The introductions went as Tristan had anticipated. His father and brother seemed slightly taken aback that Tristan’s “friend” was a guy and not the girl they’d probably expected, but they grinned gamely and shook hands with Sebastian. His mother pulled Sebastian into a boisterous hug, crushing him to her ample bosom. Sebastian endured the embrace with an awkward pat to her back, though his mildly alarmed expression nearly made Tristan laugh. He had to bite hard on his lower lip to stifle the urge.
When she released Sebastian, Tristan’s mom shot him a look that practically screamed her curiosity, but she didn’t barrage Sebastian with questions. Instead, she ushered them into the kitchen, sat them at the long farm table his father had custom-made for the space, and started plying them with the meal she’d prepared.
They made small talk over pot roast, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and apple pie à la mode. The atmosphere never quite grew comfortable. Tristan’s family was unfailingly polite and welcoming, as they’d always been with his friends, but he could tell they weren’t entirely sure what to make of Sebastian, who was clearly older than Tristan and holding himself stiffly as he sat there surrounded by strangers.
Afterward, Tristan’s mother led the way upstairs. She paused outside of Tristan’s childhood room. “You’ll be right next door,” she said to Sebastian. “I figured Tristan’s friend would want to be close in a strange house.” She smiled and gestured down the hall. “The bathroom’s there, and the linen closet is right next to it. Tristan can give you the grand tour tomorrow if you want to rest tonight. We’re going to watch our shows in the den. Feel free to join us.”
Sebastian’s responding smile was strained. “Thank you, Mrs. Holt.”
She fluttered her hands. “Oh, please, call me Priscilla. And my husband is Tom. Make yourself at home.” She gave Tristan a quick hug and a significant look that told him there’d be questions coming later. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She disappeared down the stairs, and Tristan turned to Sebastian. “That went . . . okay.”
Sebastian laughed dryly. “Yeah.” He sighed and moved toward the door Tristan’s mother had indicated. “I’m going to shower and change. I smell like airplane.”
Tristan caught his arm and waited for Sebastian to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to stay in there.”
Sebastian arched his brows. “I think I do. For tonight, at least.”
Tristan opened his mouth to protest.
“It’s okay,” Sebastian said. “I’m not upset. You tell them when you’re ready. Until then, I’m your friend. And I am, Tristan. I’m here in whatever capacity you need me to be, okay?”
Tristan leaned forward and rested their foreheads together. “In the morning. First thing.” He felt Sebastian’s answering nod, followed by a soft brush of lips to his temple. Then Sebastian pulled away and went into the room Tristan’s mom had prepared, the door shutting gently behind him.
In the morning, Tristan led Sebastian to the workout area in the basement—which was probably better outfitted than the average household, given Tristan spent his summers there and needed the equipment to train.
Sebastian surveyed the space and turned to give Tristan a searching look when Tristan lingered awkwardly in the doorway. He pulled Tristan into the room, backed him against the wall, and kissed him hard. “Good luck,” he said softly, his lips brushing Tristan’s mouth. Tristan appreciated that he didn’t offer any It’ll be okay platitudes. They both knew Sebastian couldn’t guarantee that.
Tristan kissed him again, rather helplessly. They’d hear anyone approaching before they were seen, and Tristan needed the contact. Fuck the whole situation. It made him feel like a child about to confess to some secret misdeed. Why did it even have to be a big deal?
Finally, Tristan drew away. “Okay. Enjoy your run. I’ll be back.”
Sebastian squeezed the nape of Tristan’s neck and nodded.
Tristan left the room to the whir of the treadmill belt and the pounding of footsteps. He made his way upstairs and found his mother in the kitchen, her usual haunt, where she’d already started making breakfast.
Tristan leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Morning, Mom.”
“Morning, sweetie.” She grinned up at him, her plump cheeks flushed from the heat of the stovetop. The scent of frying bacon was thick in the air. “Did you sleep well?”
“Fine,” Tristan lied. Because what he’d done was toss and turn and wish Sebastian was beside him instead of separated from him by a wall.
“How about Sebastian?” She turned to test the warmth of the griddle. “He seems nice.”
Tristan reined back a snort. Nice was not a word he’d apply to Sebastian. “He’s using the treadmill. He likes to run.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Good exercise.” His mother used a pair of tongs to flip a piece of bacon.
There was that word again. Tristan sighed. “Do you need any help?”
She looked around the kitchen. “Well, I already have the pancake batter ready. You can start beating those eggs, if you want. You know I always save them for last. I don’t like it when they get all cold and rubbery.”
Tristan picked up the bowl she’d pointed to. It was filled with what looked like a couple dozen eggs. He grabbed a fork and started whisking.
For a while, they worked in companionable silence. His mother poured a few circles of pancake batter onto the griddle and then peered over at him. “So, where did you meet Sebastian?”
Tristan kept his focus on the eggs. “At school.”
“Huh. He looks kind of old to be a student.”
Tristan didn’t know whether to laugh or to cringe. “Um. Well, he isn’t. He’s a professor, actually. Sociology. I met him when I took those courses over the summer.”
His mother’s silence made Tristan turn. She gaped at him in wide-eyed surprise. “Your professor?”
“Yes.”
“Huh,” she repeated. “I’ll be honest, when you said you were bringing someone home, we thought maybe it would be one of your teammates . . . or maybe a girl. Not that Sebastian isn’t welcome. Of course he is. It’s just . . . Well, you . . . You’ve never brought anyone home to meet us. A romantic someone, I mean. I know you’re still young, but we thought maybe you’d finally met someone and maybe it was something serious.”
Tristan stopped whisking before the eggs turned to froth. He set down the fork and straightened his shoulders. “I did, and it is.”
His mother stared up at him. “What?”
“I met someone, and it is serious. Sebastian . . . He’s my boyfriend.”
His mother blinked once, slowly. “Oh,” she said, and in the ensuing quiet, she returned to tending the pancakes and bacon.
Tristan didn’t know what to say or do next. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his armpits. He wanted to cry. He wanted to puke. All he could do was stand there, a knot of cold dread growing deep in the pit of his stomach.
“Mom?” he croaked after a couple of minutes. He sounded like someone had ripped out his vocal cords and kicked them around in a gravel pit. “Can you say something else?”
She glanced at him again, and whatever she saw on his face made her hastily shut off the burners and rush across the room. “Oh, God, sweetie, I’m sorry. Don’t look like that.” She’d pulled him into a crushing hug that had him bent over with his face buried against her lavender-scented neck.
“You didn’t say anything,” Tristan said, speaking into the material of her shirt. “You need to say something.”
“I’m sorry! I’m surprised and processing.” She stroked his back. “I . . . I didn’t think you were gay. I . . . Well, you never said. I had no idea.” She drew back to peer into his face. “That is, you are gay, right? Or are you, um . . .” She paused as if searching for the word. “Bisexual?”
Tristan gave a watery laugh. “Yeah, I’m gay. I, uh. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared.”
His mother made a distraught sound and tugged him close again. “No, no. Don’t be scared. We love you, baby. We love you. It’s only a bit of a shock, you know? You came here with Sebastian and then you say he’s your sociology professor, and then . . .” She petted his hair. “How long has this been going on? Since the class?”
Tristan straightened and rubbed at his damp cheeks. He shook his head. “No. After the class. I think I love him, Mom. And I think maybe he loves me too.”
His mother reached up to cup his face. She smiled, but her eyes were wet. “Oh, I’m glad, baby. This isn’t a problem, okay? I’m sorry if I reacted poorly. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never would. I hope you know that.”
Tristan nodded, unable to answer for the tightness in his throat. His father walked in as they were standing there holding each other, with half-cooked pancakes and bacon on the stove. His eyebrows shot up. “Is everything all right? What’s the matter?”
Tristan’s mom pulled out of his embrace and lifted her apron to dry her face. “Nothing at all. Tristan just told me Sebastian is his boyfriend, and I was telling him how happy I was to know he had someone special.” She stared hard at Tristan’s father as if daring him to contradict her.
His father appeared completely stunned. “Uh,” he said eventually. “Of course we’re, um, happy to hear that. That’s . . . Well, that’s great.”
Tristan swallowed and looked between them. “Are you disappointed?”
His father shook his head immediately. “No. No. Of course not. I can’t say I’m not surprised, but . . .” He moved forward and tugged Tristan into a rough hug. “You couldn’t disappoint me, son. Not about this. I’m glad you felt like you could tell us.”
Tristan bit his lip. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I don’t imagine it was,” his father said.
His mother joined their embrace. “We support you. I’ll tell Hannah and Brian, if you want me to.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’ll tell them myself, but thank you.” He inhaled shakily. “And now I’m going to talk to Seb ’cause I . . . I need a minute with him. Okay?”
His parents nodded. Then his mom smiled crookedly. “Take all the time you need. I’ll get back to cooking. Come eat when you’re ready.”
Tristan left the kitchen, his relief at their response making him feel buoyant. It hadn’t been without some awkwardness, sure, and there’d probably be more to come. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he could drop a bomb like this on his parents’ heads without there being an adjustment period. But it hadn’t gone anywhere near as badly as he’d feared, and now that he’d spoken to his parents, he wasn’t overly concerned about his siblings’ reactions. They were his family too, and he knew his sister at least had a few LGBT kids in her friend circle. They wouldn’t disappoint him. He had faith.
Tristan scrubbed the drying tears from his cheeks and went to find his boyfriend.