Gabi barely made it back to the small campsite Alonzo’s crew had constructed before she emptied her stomach behind a bush.

“I’m not well,” she stated the obvious to Alonzo as she dragged her way back to his side.

“Maybe we should get you back on board—”

“No. Please. One night.” Just the thought of being on board the ship made her green.

“OK, darling. One night. Maybe Captain Alba can help. He has medic training.”

The sun was setting, but her body heat was topping the charts. “Maybe.”

Alonzo helped her lie back. “We shouldn’t have taken our walk.”

“I thought I was better. It’s not your fault.”

He kissed her forehead before walking away.

When Gabi opened her eyes again, the captain sat over her, his hand rubbing on her arm. “Just a small injection, Mrs. Picano.”

She felt the pinprick on her arm and a sudden rush of warmth. The instant nausea brought on by whatever he injected into her quickly faded and much of the pain drifted away.

Then she was floating.

Such a peaceful place, where waves on the side didn’t induce a headache, and sun wasn’t intense. On some level, Gabi knew medicine to heal her didn’t work like what she’d been given. But she didn’t care. She felt so much better. Her pulse slowed to a steady pace and her head was dancing in a never-ending yoga class.

Namaste.

Captain Alba watched her closely, then his eyes drifted to Alonzo. “She’ll feel better for a few hours.”

A harsh voice sounded behind her.

“That’s all I need.”

Hilton was a small town. It would be impossible for Michael to show up without notice, especially when he was the city’s claim to fame. They even had a freeway sign pointing out how proud the town was of his success.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the sign would be taken down when and if they all knew the truth about him.

After forcing himself to sleep on the plane, Michael woke with enough energy to rent a car and drive from the airport to his hometown. The streets rolled up before eight on most nights, six on Sunday if the shops opened at all.

It was all quaint now . . . smothering when he was a kid.

Ryder lived outside of town, but not far enough to escape notice if Michael visited him now that he was famous.

He timed his arrival close to dark. Most of the neighbors wouldn’t notice a car driving by, or think to walk outside to look unless noise accompanied a lone car.

Ryder’s single-story home sat on a few old farm acres that had gone to weeds since Ryder picked up the property. The TV flickered through the front window, the sound of a baseball game played on the speakers.

Michael hesitated, wasn’t exactly sure what, or how, he was going to tell Ryder that his life was about to be turned upside down because he picked the wrong lover.

He squared his shoulders and gave a firm knock.

The volume on the set lowered and Michael knocked again.

The moment Ryder opened the door there was an instant smile. A God I’m happy to see you smile. The kind a man could grow used to when coming home from work, from a hard day . . . then reality hit.

Ryder’s smile made a slow, painful descent. “Oh, no.”

“Can I come in?”

Ryder opened the door wide and Michael walked into what would have been his life had he stayed in Hilton.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryder clicked off his TV, moved to a minibar, and proceeded to pour liquor into a glass. He downed it, poured another, before adding a second glass for Michael.

“When will it go public?”

Michael took the glass, downed the liquid as quickly as Ryder. “I don’t know. But it’s safe to say it will . . . eventually. Jesus, Ryder . . . I didn’t want—”

“Stop. OK. I’m a big boy. I knew the risk.”

“But—”

“Mike. Enough!” Ryder slapped his glass on the bar top and walked away, pulling the blinds closed tight. A small laugh escaped his lips and started to build.

Michael started to worry if maybe Ryder was losing it. The it that kept you a step above sanity, and a step below sainthood.

“I’m relieved.” Ryder leveled his eyes with Michael. “I can’t live here . . . like this anymore.”

Not the reaction Michael expected. “Your job?”

“It’s almost summer. I’m out. I’ll find another job.”

The words were easy to digest, but he didn’t believe them. “You love Utah.”

“Love is a strong word. I’m used to Utah. I didn’t leave when I was eighteen. Most of you did, even if only for a little while.” Ryder refilled both their glasses and moved to the couch. Michael followed. “Do you know how many states gay marriage is legal?”

“Twenty.” The answer came easy. If there was one thing easy to support and follow, it was any topic related to homosexuals.

“Twenty. At least eleven more have appeals in the courts to add those states to the mix, Utah included.” Ryder set his glass aside and took Michael’s hand. “It’s going to take small towns like this forever to catch up even after it’s legalized. I don’t want to wait for them. I want to live, Mike.”

This was that moment Michael knew was coming.

Truth.

“I don’t know if I can come out completely.” As much as he wanted to say otherwise, Michael didn’t think a complete exit from the closet was going to work with him.

“Then don’t. I can step into your world. Get a job. What happens in our home is our business. No one else’s.”