“I’d like to share somethin’ deeply private with you all,” he said, lips grazing the mic like a lover. Sharing intimacies. A few eyebrows quirked and heads tilted. “Show’a hands,” he said, gesturing with his glass. “How many people in this room know me person’ly?”
Confused murmurs answered him, but so did a large number of raised hands. Including Ian’s arm from where he stood at the back of the room.
He did show up.
Wish Dalton could see this. “I wan’ you all to know I’m the man I am today because of my grandfather. He knew something about me, a secret—th’one I’m about to tell—and he worked his whole life to squelch it. Keep. Me. Down.” His index finger stabbed the air in time with his words.
Shit, Chase and Father were heading toward his impromptu podium, and his mother had clasped her hand over her mouth in horror as the noise of the crowd began to swell. People talking about him. Tierney raised his voice. “Grandfather would’ve died to keep me from telling y’all this, but he’s dead already, so . . .” Almost there, spit it out. “I’m gay!”
Something burst in his chest, flooding him. Fear and nerves and joy, making his pulse boom. Not done yet. The toast. Mother wanted him to.
He lifted his glass high, as if that could make everyone hear him more clearly, and shouted, “Here’s to you, Grandfather. I hope you get the afterlife you deserve, you controlling, manipulative motherfucker!”
The boom the microphone made when he dropped it on the floor wasn’t even noticeable over the excited babble in the room. He tilted his head back, ready to pour the whole glass of bubbly down his throat—
And fell off the buffet table, champagne showering him. When he slammed into the floor, the wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping. As he flapped his lips, trying to get some air, a drop of the alcohol slithered down the corner of his mouth, the taste hitting his tongue and exploding into flavor, like a revelation of . . . something.
“Are you all right?” someone shouted into his face. Tierney closed one eye to focus on whoever it was. Gina. With Father and Chase standing behind her, expressions a mixture of shocked and glowering. He nodded, swallowing the essence of the champagne down. Savoring it as if it was the last he’d ever taste.
“Can you speak?”
He tried, coughing, then breath shuddered into his lungs. “Sorta,” he croaked.
“Tierney, are you okay?” a different voice asked. On the opposite side from Gina. He had to stretch his neck around to bring the person into view—Ian.
Tierney grabbed his arm, holding it tightly. “’M sorry. For everything.” More than he knew.
“It’s all right,” Ian said, gripping Tierney’s hand in something between a handshake and the precursor to a bro-hug.
“I dunno.” Tierney shook his head. “I don’t know if that was the right thing to do.”
“I think it’s for the best, man.” Ian’s eyes flickered up toward Gina, then back to Tierney. “Uh, in the long run.”
Tierney nodded at him, but he couldn’t really see him anymore. The dude’s face was a blur. The room seemed to be spinning. “Now seems like a good time to pass out,” he said.
“I agree,” Gina piped up.
“If you think so,” Ian concurred.
“Yeah, thin’ so.” At least, he thought he said it aloud.
Dalton kept expecting to hear from Tierney after that disastrous meeting, but didn’t in the week that followed. A few times he wondered if he should check on him, but he couldn’t decide. Tierney could be so touchy . . . but on the other hand, Dalton was fairly sure he was the man’s only friend.
Ian had been in a horrible mood since the meeting, and because that was due to Tierney, Dalton couldn’t ask him how Tierney was. Instead, he planned on pumping Sam for information on Sunday, when they met for lunch.
On Saturday, Sam called to confirm, but Dalton got the feeling he wanted to impart some other info. He was right.
“Ian has to go to Milton Terrebonne’s wake tonight,” Sam said sotto voce. “He’s in a really bad mood.”
Milton Terrebonne. The grandfather. “Um, has he said anything about Tierney?” For some reason, he kept his voice just as low as his friend’s.
“No. Shhhh,” Sam whispered. “I’ll tell you whatever I find out Sunday at lunch, okay? Same time, same place?”
In the end, Andrea beat Sam to the punch. Sunday morning, while Dalton was still in bed, Andy called to tell him about the wake. Not that she’d seen it—apparently, news of what happened had been making the rounds.
“Jerry Brown said Tierney stood up on the buffet table and announced he was gay to the whole room,” she said in a rush.
A high pressure system formed in Dalton’s head, sending wind whistling through his ears. “He outed himself,” he said, like maybe he needed to hear it in his own voice to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
“I know,” his sister crowed. “I can’t believe it either.”
Dalton sat up, shoving his covers off his legs and dislodging the cat. Blue yowled at him and leaped to the floor, tail switching as he walked away. “I don’t understand why he’d do it.”
“Be gay?” Andrea joked. She still thought this was juicy news.
“No, just tell everyone like that. And after the meeting last week . . .” He sat on the edge of the bed. “The man’s falling apart.” God, should he check on him? It might be worth Tierney’s caustic tongue just to make sure he was all right.
“You knew he was gay, didn’t you?” his sister asked in a suspicious drawl.
He snorted and chose to walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee pot instead of answering.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You knew I’d want to know that. Does Ian know?” Her voice peaked, reaching its fully annoyed wail. “Does everyone but me know?”
“And why would you need to know?” Dalton snapped.
“Because—” She sucked in a breath. “Because it’s great dirt to have on someone like him,” she finished after a second. “Okay, I can understand why you didn’t tell me, but seriously, little brother, where do your loyalties lie? I mean, I get that there’s some kind of code of honor that prevents you from outing someone in the closet, but every time Tierney’s name comes up you all but defend him, and whenever he’s around—”