Every book I write starts with a question I’m too afraid to ask out loud.
For A Secret in the Air, the question was this:
What happens when silence becomes its own kind of survival?
And what happens when love—unexpected, inconvenient, terrifying love—cracks that silence open?
Set in a small Southern town obsessed with order, reputation, and the illusion of normalcy, this novel follows a high school English teacher named Beckett who’s mastered the art of vanishing in plain sight. He plays it safe. He blends in. He’s quietly gay in a community where even whispers can cost you everything. But when he’s paired with Mal—an openly queer, fiercely unapologetic new teacher with a haunted past and zero interest in staying quiet—Beckett’s world begins to unravel in the best and worst ways.
On the surface, it’s a slow-burn queer romance. But underneath, A Secret in the Air is a story about shame, about grief that clings like humidity, and about the dangerous myth that being invisible keeps us safe.
“I learned to take up as little space as possible—not because I was shy, but because it was safer to disappear than to be noticed and destroyed.”
That line gutted me as I wrote it. Because I’ve been Beckett. Many of us have. Whether we grew up queer, neurodivergent, deeply religious, or just “too much” for the space we were raised in, we learned to survive by shrinking.
This book is a love letter to those people—especially the quiet ones who feel everything but say nothing. It’s also a challenge to them. Because Mal doesn’t just fall for Beckett—he forces him to live louder. To risk being seen. To make choices that terrify him.
“He didn’t save me. He dared me to save myself. That’s worse, in a way. Because it worked.”
I wrote this book during a time when I was tired of hiding—not from the world, but from my own voice. I wanted to capture what it feels like to fall in love with someone who sees all your cracks and doesn’t try to fill them in. Someone who lets you be messy, scared, and still worthy.
There’s also a subplot of community reckoning, which I won’t spoil here—but just know: the ghosts of small towns don’t stay buried for long. And when secrets rise, they demand air. Justice. Truth. Sometimes, love.
“Some towns bury you twice—once when you die, and once when you tell the truth.”
If you’ve ever loved someone in a place that wasn’t safe to say so, this book is for you. If you’ve ever lost someone before you had the words to say why they mattered, this book is for you. If you’ve ever looked in the mirror and seen only what others trained you to see—this book is especially for you.
And if you’re just here for the slow-burn kisses, high-stakes hallway glances, and sarcastic queer teachers giving each other a hard time—you’re in luck. That’s all in there too.
“We talk like we’re fencing. Our words are blades, but every now and then, we let one land soft, like a question: Can I trust you?”
A Secret in the Air is one of the most vulnerable, romantic, and quietly defiant books I’ve ever written. I hope you’ll read it. I hope it makes you feel seen. And I hope it reminds you that some secrets deserve to breathe.
You can find it here:
📘 A Secret in the Air – on Amazon
Or browse more of my work on my Amazon author page.
With love—and just enough rebellion,
Brandon Cloud