Page 100 of Muscle Cub

“Yes. Absolutely.”

EPILOGUE

Two Months Later

The staff at Bear Mountain Lodge had cut it close, scheduling Austin’s going away party for the weekend before public school started.

I was standing in the trailer’s kitchen, contemplating whether I should start drinking now, when Austin emerged from the bathroom dressed in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves cut off, khaki shorts, red high-top sneakers, and a matching tie. “Ta-da!”

I smiled at the deconstructed version of the outfit he’d worn to his final interview. “Don’t you look fancy.”

“It’s my lucky tie now,” Austin said and kissed me on the cheek.

Austin had met with Honey a few days after the Bear Run. She’d shown him around the Youth Alliance facilities and shared their vision for the new after-school program for eight-to-twelve-year-olds. They wanted it to be fun and physical like a summer day camp that continued throughout the year, and they needed an activities director who could hit the ground running.

She’d invited him to come back and give a presentation to the board the following week.

The campground had been slow the weekend after the Run, so I’d rented a cabin and brought my laptop to update his résumé and make him a slide deck.

Austin had a ton of ideas for adapting adult training programs for young people. All the pieces of his purpose came together in the position—his education, his love of kids, his personal-training certifications. He was made for it. He admitted to being worried about references from his last teaching job, but I assured him no employer would be more understanding than Youth Alliance. I encouraged him to tell them his story, share what had happened to him in high school, and why he felt he had to leave North Crest Middle. It was important they knew where his passion originated.

Since his subletter was still living in his apartment, he’d grabbed some clothes and spent the night before the presentation at my house. I ironed his shirt and khakis for him and let him borrow a tie. He’d chosen a bright red one I rarely wore because it matched his new hi-tops. I’d gently questioned the choice, but he’d insisted red shoes were the only option for something this important. It was authentically Austin, and so far, his magic worked on everyone. The board at Youth Alliance had offered him the position a few days later.

When I’d wondered aloud if Honey had told my mom, Austin said, “She already messaged to congratulate me.”

“Messaged you how?”

“On Facebook.”

“You’re friends with my mom on Facebook?”

He’d shrugged. “I’m friends with Veronica, John, Robert…”

“My dad has a Facebook account?”

I’d still had a little over two months left to produce a first draft before my own classes started. I wanted to embrace a new phase of my career with the same kind of courage and hope Austin had. Once I’d acknowledged the story in front of me, the words flowed. I did have a book—all the content I’d written about him—and it was a love story.

And love stories had a form I could learn. I’d asked Veronica if I could borrow a few gay romance novels, and she’d sent me home with two boxes of paperbacks and started texting me recommendations and links faster than I could’ve ever hoped to consume them all.

So many of these authors were damned good writers. Their books opened a portal for me to a world of happy endings and an audience that would accept a book about Austin and me.

I’d pitched it to my agent along with several sample chapters. She’d said we couldn’t sell it as a Paul Carter novel, but she was excited about the potential for me to start a new brand under a pen name.

Austin had suggested I take his name and publish as Paul Fox. I’d pretended he was only joking, but after brainstorming dozens of possibilities, I kept coming back to it.

It was a leap of faith to tie my career to him, but the book had been his idea, and he was the inspiration.

We weren’t going anywhere.

We’d agreed we wouldn’t rush to move in together too soon. Austin would stay at his place on school nights—except for Wednesdays—weekends at my place, and special occasions at the campground.

I made some inquiries. I spoke with Jim, and Sawyer, and my mortgage broker. The monthly payment to purchase Jody’s trailer and lease the lot was the same cost as renting a cabin for one weekend. Plus, none of the cabins or rooms at the lodge had the square footage or amenities the trailer did.

I’d immediately called Ben to tell him our epic deck project was a go, and then I ordered another print of The Starry Night to hang above the mantel in our new happy place.

Telling my mother I’d purchased a trailer had been almost as much fun as telling Austin. She’d mistakenly thought—or had chosen to believe—that Trailer Park Avenue was a tiny-home community near my parents’ country club.

Having a permanent spot at the campground had softened the blow of Austin having to give his notice and inform the other guys he was leaving. He’d dragged his feet about it for almost a month. YA had offered him the position at the end of June, but he’d waited until after July Fourth to tell everyone.