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Spot Conlon is a nervous wreck. He considers that maybe he shouldn’t be, especially with how fucking blissful and perfect the past week and a half have been, but a very familiar insecurity pangs through his body whenever reality sets in.
Picking things up where they left off with his first (and maybe his only) real love, a week before Christmas, was like something out of a Hallmark movie. The picturesque town, the Hollywood-famous old flame, Spot’s even a carpenter for god’s sake. It all played out like he was the main character in a romance movie; going to a bonfire at a high school friend’s friend’s house, slow dancing in his ex’s mother’s living room, kissing in his pickup truck in the same parking lot they broke things off almost seven years prior, rushing dramatically to his door before sunrise to stop him from getting on a flight that he already cancelled…truly, what the fuck is his life right now?
And now, the same ex-boyfriend that he’s never actually gotten over is living out of a suitcase in his house where they make out for hours when they wake up and dance barefoot in Spot’s remodeled kitchen and go for drives in his truck and stay up late catching up and talking about their feelings. It’s almost like no time has passed between them, the spark and passion that had always been there still was, they communicate flawlessly and effortlessly, and for the first time since Race left all those years ago, Spot feels complete again. Woodvale feels like home again.
But truthfully, Woodvale has always been home. That drive to leave and explore his options never really existed in Spot the way it did in Race. Technical school and sticking around for his grandma was enough. And then he met Finch, and it only cemented that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Finch Cortes stole Spot’s heart from the second he met him. Spot was no stranger to the way the foster care system worked, he knew enough from growing up with Race and seeing all the kids that have come and gone from Race’s mom’s house to know how rough the system was on kids who usually were dealt an impossible hand. Finch wasn’t one of Medda’s kids but Medda was the reason they met anyway. Race’s mom was full of mystery in the way she understood just what people needed and when. It was Medda who asked Spot to help her with an event to get new foster kids integrated at the high school. It was Medda who introduced him to Finch. It was Medda who put him in touch with Finch’s case worker. It was Medda who knew that Spot would see right through Finch’s defensive, angry exterior and help him be a kid again. It was Medda who helped him file for guardianship of Finch earlier this year.
Spot was pretty sure he knew what he wanted until Race came back to town. He was content with his job, his side business, his friends, his home. He was content as Finch’s mentor, helping with homework and getting him a job and teaching him to drive. He was even content with Grindr dates and hookups and occasional weekends in the city, never really forming any serious romantic relationships. He was fine with all of it until Race walked into his stupid coffee shop and turned his heart 18 years old again. Now, he needs to be honest, because the signed adoption papers for a sixteen year old boy who he refuses to let down are not going anywhere, but neither are his feelings for his high school sweetheart.
Which is why he found himself at Race’s mom’s house earlier that afternoon, head in his hands at her kitchen table as he spills his guts about how much he’s been burying for the last six years, how he’s never stopped loving Race (but tried his best to convince himself otherwise), how fucking right it all feels now, how he’s so afraid of letting this amazing man slip through his fingers again, and especially how he knows that adopting a teenager is something that would send any rational adult running. Medda, with her eternal patience, makes him lunch and lets him vent and listens and understands. Then she gives him a hug, puts a hand on his cheek, and simply says, “Talk to him.”
It takes him another four hours of working up the courage to mention to Race that he has some stuff he wants to talk about, and another hour for him to actually do it. But he can’t back down now, because the folder with the adoption papers is sitting on the counter and Race is on his way back home with takeout from the superior Chinese place two towns over. Race arrives with more takeout than they need, insisting that he couldn’t decide which dish he missed more and it’s fine because they’ll just have leftovers, and China Spring is better the next day anyway. He doesn’t seem to notice how on edge Spot is until he’s already sitting at the kitchen table, an egg roll in one hand and open container of lo-mein in the other.
“What’s up?” Race asks, mouth full. “You’re not hungry?”
“Uh,” Spot shakes his head, sitting next to Race at the table. “I’ll eat later.”
“You okay?” Race takes another bite of his takeout, looking Spot over. “What did you wanna talk about?
Spot meets Race’s eyes and almost loses his nerve, still taken by Race’s beauty and how fucking right it feels for him to be here, in his kitchen, in his bed, in his arms. He’s living the type of comfortable life he’d only let himself fantasize about at his lowest moments, at his most heartbroken, at the deepest pits of grief, at his most lonely. He’d think about Race’s hands in his hair and on his chest, palm warm over his steady heartbeat, breathing in unison as the rest of the world fades away from them. He’d remember what it felt like to hold Race’s hand tight in his while they drove all over, through hills and valleys and backgrounds and trees through all the seasons, watching the leaves change and fall and grow back again. And for a while, it makes him feel better. Fantasizing about some sort of life with Race makes him feel safe.
And here he is. Takeout in hand, incapable of sitting correctly in the kitchen chair, in one of Spot’s hoodies, those gorgeous blue eyes that have taken Hollywood by storm looking directly into his soul.
“I just-” Spot’s voice catches in his throat and sighs, pressing his hands to his face.
Get it together, Conlon. Just talk to him.
“I feel like there’s some stuff we should get on the same page about, you know?”
Race nods, straightening in the kitchen chair, kicking Spot with his foot gently.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“I…” Spot laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand nervously. “I don’t want to mess things up.”
“Baby, you won’t, just tell me what’s on your mind.”
Race sounds so genuine that Spot wants to spill everything, how much he wants exactly what he has right now, how he doesn’t want to ruin anything, how he doesn’t want to let anyone down. He wants to tell him exactly how protective he is of Finch and that no matter what his feelings are for him, Finch needs to come first.
“I’m really happy,” Spot says, but he knows the way he says it is the reason Race immediately narrows his eyes at him.
“You make me so happy,” Spot continues, forcing himself to meet Race’s eyes. “I…I’ve never stopped loving you, you know that, right?”
Race melts, nodding immediately.
“I do. And you know I feel the same, right?”
Spot nods too.
“So tell me what you really want to talk about,” Race reaches a hand across the table to Spot, who takes it cautiously.
“I guess…I don’t know. I’m thrilled you’re here, I’ve missed you so much and being with you makes me feel things I didn’t think I even could feel anymore, and I know what I said that morning at your mom’s house, but I don’t think I could leave here, not for real. I’ve built a life here. I have the house and my business and Grandma left me enough to be stable for a long while, and I can’t give that up. Especially…” Spot bites his lip and searches Race’s expression. He’s listening, Spot can tell, and absorbing all his words and everything he means by them. Whatever Spot thinks he’s going to see on Race’s face; disgust or disappointment, he’s not sure, is absent.
“Especially?” Race asks, voice gentle. He squeezes Spot’s hand and Spot squeezes back weakly.
“I’m adopting Finch,” Spot says it, finally, and he feels like he can breathe again. He pulls his hand back and stands from the chair, taking the folder of adoption papers off the counter and sliding it across the table. “In the new year. The paperwork is all signed, your mom helped me file it. He’s just…he’s only sixteen, and he’s been through so fucking much, just like you. And it’s so fucked up that he’s gotta do it all alone, you know? I have the chance to be a permanent part of his life, someone who can help him do all the life things that no kid should have to figure out all alone, and I have the money and time and ability to do it all with him, so how can I not? When he already trusts me this much and has opened up to me and is happy here, in Woodvale, with your brother and with…” Spot blinks in surprise when he looks up from his rambling to see Race’s eyes flooded with tears. “With…me.” Spot’s voice gets weak and he hesitates before he sits back down in the chair next to Race, suddenly feeling himself choke up too. What if this is it? What if he’s ruined everything? After all this time and the Hallmark Christmas movie style reunion?
“I’m sorry,” Spot’s voice wobbles as he speaks. “I know that’s…like, so much to throw at you during your quarter life crisis, but-”
Race lunges from the chair into Spot’s arms, hugging him so tight that Spot’s not sure what to think. When Race finally pulls back, there are tears running down his pink cheeks.
“You’re adopting him? Really?” Race asks, and Spot nods, confused by such an emotional reaction.
“Yes, I am.”
“Teenagers don’t get adopted,” Race whimpers, hands tight in Spot’s shirt. “This is…this is huge for him, you don’t even know.”
“I do,” Spot says firmly. “I know how important it is.”
“People don’t adopt teenagers,” Race sniffs, and Spot can’t help himself, hugging Race tight and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Your mom did,” Spot says simply, and Race chokes a sob against Spot’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Race nods, wiping at his eyes as he tries to get it together, but now Spot’s teary too and they’re both laughing and gripping each other tight as they slide down to the kitchen floor. “My ma saved my life,” Race tells him, and Spot nods because he knows. He remembers it all. He remembers the very first day he met Race in homeroom in freshman year of high school, and how fucking lost he looked. He also remembers how just a few weeks under Medda’s care transformed the thirteen year old boy going through hell into an almost normal thirteen year old boy. He remembers when Race was adopted by her, the day after his sixteenth birthday, and how Spot joined Race and Jack and Medda at the county courthouse to make it official. He’ll never forget the smile on Race’s face that day. He can only hope he makes Finch smile even half that big.
“I think you’ve already done that for Finch,” Race says, wiping at his eyes again. “He’s so lucky to have you.”
Spot sniffs back tears of his own, shaking his head.
“I’m the lucky one. He’s an awesome kid, even if he’s a little shit sometimes. I feel lucky that he’s trusted me so much, and that he can just be a kid around me. He doesn’t get to do that very often.”
“He deserves it,” Race nods. “I’m so happy for him that he has you.”
“So you’re not like…super turned off that I’m adopting a teenager in my 20s?” Spot asks, and Race laughs too, shaking his head.
“Of course not, shut up, oh my God,” Race tackles him in another hug that turns into several very passionate (if not teary) kisses. They both end up laughing again as they end up laying flat on the kitchen floor next to each other, Spot distantly thinking about how badly he should vacuum under the stove sometime. He looks over at Race, who has a lovesick smile on his face.
“I really love you,” Race sighs happily, squeezing Spot’s hand in his. “Like, so much.”
“I love you too,” Spot grins. “Thank you for understanding all of this.”
Race shakes his head. “Hollywood didn’t change me that much,” He teases, but Spot knows he means it. “I remember being Finch’s age, going through the things he is. And…I don’t know. I’ve never not been that kid, you know? Even when I was in LA, even when I was at red carpets and premiere parties. No one else gets that part of me. Not like you do.”
“I love that part of you,” Spot says, squeezing Race’s hand back. “I love all the parts of you.”
“Quarter life crisis aside,” Race giggles, and Spot rolls his eyes affectionately. “Home is where I’m meant to be right now. With you, with my mom, with my siblings. We’ll figure out what we want and what our future looks like, but if you want it to include Finch, it includes Finch. No hesitation.”
“Yeah?” Spot can’t help but smile.
“Absolutely.”
“I fuckin’ love you,” Spot laughs, and Race does the smile where he scrunches up his nose that makes Spot insane .
“I fuckin’ love you more.”
“The China Spring is getting cold,” Spot whispers, like it’s a secret, and Race gasps in horror.
“No!! My egg rolls!!!”
They both laugh as they scramble off the floor, finally digging into the Chinese food like they deserve. As they eat, laughing and talking about their days, Race begging for details about Spot’s plans to surprise Finch with adoption papers, Spot lets himself consider that maybe his wildest dreams of building a life with Race just might be reality after all.
*