Page 34 of His Christmas Love Song

“Hey.” Ryan’s voice is scratchy, and he has purple smudges under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept at all.

“Hi.” As ever, Jesse’s brain is full of questions, but he sticks to the most important ones. “How’s your arm? Time to ice it more?”

“It hurts a little,” Ryan admits. “Ice would be good.”

Jesse retrieves an extra cold pack from the freezer box and brings it to Ryan. “I’m going to get us some breakfast, then you can take something.”

Ryan lets out a loud yawn in response.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Jesse’s about to order him back to his bedroom, but he tells himself to wait for Ryan’s answer. As much as he wants to bully Ryan back to good health, he has to do better, has to really listen to his friend.

“I fell asleep okay, but then—” Ryan fiddles with the ice pack, holding it to his elbow gingerly.

Jesse waits. Is his bed uncomfortable? Do they need to get him more pillows?

“I had, um, a nightmare. I was in the car, but not the car last night. The one in—I was trapped inside, and there was fire all around, and I could see you through the window, but I couldn’t get out. Couldn’t get to you. And you couldn’t get to me. I woke up…and I came out here. Fell back asleep eventually.”

“Oh.” Ryan’s nightmare sounds eerily similar to the ones he has from time to time. He shivers. “You should have woken me up.”

“I thought about it, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Next time, wake me up. Okay?”

Ryan looks up, his eyes wide as if he wasn’t expecting that. He cocks his head to the side. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being weird.”

Jesse’s first instinct is to deflect, but he realizes the time for that is over. Before, he always had to obscure his care for and attention to Ryan with friendly bonhomie or ribbing, or melodramatically use his own injury from all those years ago to disguise how deep his regard for Ryan’s well-being runs. He’s never simply been able to be…soft with Ryan. To treat him like the precious person he is without a layer of artificial posturing in the way.

He smiles. “No, I’m good. Really good.” He gets to his feet. “But I’ll be even better after breakfast. Why don’t I get you set up in bed, and I’ll go to the lodge for provisions. Hey, I wonder how much snow we got?” He crosses to the big window and draws the blinds. The world outside has been completely transformed with a blanket—no, more like a big fluffy comforter—of snow. He turns to Ryan excitedly. “Hey, looks like maybe a foot. And it’s still coming down.”

Ryan doesn’t seem appropriately excited. He looks out the window, then away.

“What’s wrong? You were the one who wanted snow.”

“It’s not that. Um. Let me put on my clothes and I’ll come with you.” Ryan stands up and walks stiffly toward his room.

“Ryan, no, seriously. Stay here and I’ll be right back—”

“I want to come with you,” Ryan says stubbornly.

“We don’t know what the path is like. It could be slippery. You don’t want to fall again.”

“I only fell yesterday because—” Ryan bites his lip.

Jesse tells himself sternly not to be distracted by incidentally sexy lip biting. “Because why?”

“I told you I had a nightmare. But last night, when the SUV hit the bridge guard rail. I kind of—had a flashback—I guess?”

Jesse sucks in a breath at the image of Ryan’s car banging against a bridge guard rail. What if the rail had broken? What if he’d gone over the side?

“All of a sudden, I was in the other SUV, just like in my dream. I wasn’t hurt—the car wasn’t moving very quickly; it didn’t even hit my side. But suddenly I felt trapped, and I felt like the car was on fire. I panicked a little. I got my belt off and I got out, and I just felt like I had to get far away. But I didn’t make it six steps before I hit the ground. Luckily, I had my phone and I called—” Ryan stops, does the lip biting thing again.

“You called me,” Jesse finishes. And he hadn’t picked up.

“Yeah. I didn’t have any right to, but all I could think in that moment was I wanted you to—well, save me, I guess.” Ryan’s cheeks take on a pink glow that Jesse will consider adorable later. Now, he’s too angry at himself to appreciate Ryan’s flush. “But you didn’t answer, and I got my shit together and called 911. When the cops arrived, I was more embarrassed than hurt. The car still drove—one of them got it off the bridge and onto the side of the road. And well, you know the rest.”