Breaking Through

The community center smelled like industrial cleaner and disappointment. Marcus Reid stood in the doorway of the rec room, briefcase in hand, wondering how the hell his life had come to this. Forty-two years old, senior partner at one of Seattle's most prestigious family law firms, and here he was about to spend the next sixty hours painting walls with juvenile delinquents and other court-ordered volunteers.

All because of one DUI.

One moment of weakness after the Henderson divorce settlement—the one that had finally broken something inside him, watching another family destroyed, another set of kids traumatized—and he'd made the catastrophically stupid decision to drive home instead of calling a car.

"You must be Marcus Reid." The voice came from his left, and Marcus turned to see a man in paint-splattered jeans and a faded Pride t-shirt that had seen better days. He was younger than Marcus by at least a decade, with dark curly hair that fell into his eyes and a smile that seemed genuinely amused rather than judgmental.

"That's me," Marcus said stiffly, setting down his briefcase. He was still wearing his work suit—charcoal gray, Tom Ford, probably worth more than this guy made in a month. The realization made him feel like an asshole.

"Jamie Sullivan. I'm coordinating the mural project." The man—Jamie—extended a hand covered in dried paint. "Don't worry, it's acrylic. Mostly dry."

Marcus shook his hand, surprised by the firm grip and the calluses. "I'm not much of an artist."

"That's okay. I'm not much of an attorney." Jamie's grin widened. "See? We're even. Come on, I'll show you what we're working on."

As Marcus followed Jamie deeper into the rec room, he found himself noticing things he shouldn't—the way Jamie's jeans hung low on his hips, the graceful movement of his hands as he gestured toward the blank wall, the small rainbow pin on his backpack.

Stop it, Marcus told himself firmly. You're here to fulfill your community service requirement and get back to your life. Not to notice anything about anyone, especially not men, especially not men who wear their queerness like a badge of honor while you've spent twenty years hiding yours behind a straight marriage and a corner office.

"So here's the concept," Jamie was saying, unrolling a sketch on one of the tables. "It's about breaking through barriers, finding your authentic self. The kids helped design it—well, the ones who aren't just here because a judge said so." He glanced up at Marcus with those impossibly green eyes. "No offense."

"None taken," Marcus said, moving closer to look at the design. It was actually beautiful—abstract figures emerging from darkness into color, reaching toward light and each other. Something abou...