Page 49 of The Christmas Accomplice

Chapter 12

“Itold you. Didn’t I tell you?”

Welton shivered as he glanced at Dean. “I already thanked you for badgering me—”

“Encouraging.”

“—into getting up there and singing. What more do you want?”

“Maybe a bit more oomph. I mean, I sat behind you and coached you for a long time before you finally got up there.”

Welton stopped and scowled. “I’m thanking you again, okay? End of story. You should be thinking of where you’re going to spend the night and not trying to get me to gush about what a remarkable job you did sitting behind me and mumbling down at your phone.”

Dean crossed his arms and shook his head. “Dude, I’m going on and on about this because you weren’t out in the audience watching the two of you practically eye fuck each other on stage. You are falling for this guy hard, like, avalanche hard, and all I can say is, it’s about time.”

“About time? What do you mean? We lived together for years.”

“You don’t have to try and placate me. I know you didn’t feel that strongly for me.” Dean’s expression softened and shifted into something Welton hadn’t seen before. There was a touch of sadness in it, but a maturity and awareness, too.

“I loved you,” Welton said, but even he could hear how quiet and hesitant his voice sounded.

“Not the way you love Reece.”

“Oh come on, I’ve only known him a few days. I can’t love him.”

Welton waved a hand as if trying to clear the very air of their conversation, and then he started walking again. His steps were fast, hands clenched inside his gloves, the biting cold freezing the tears to his lashes. Heart pounding, two words ran through his mind, timed with each hard foot fall on the asphalt path. Love Reece. Love Reece. Love Reece.

“Look, I said I wanted to help you get this guy, and I meant it,” Dean said, hurrying along to keep up. “Let me keep coaching you on this.”

They’d reached the cabin, and Welton let them inside. He kicked off his boots and peeled away his coat, scarf, gloves, and hat. “What do you mean when you say that? Are you going to give me some crazy make over like at the end of Grease? Are you going to have me squeeze into a pair of leather pants and act like some slutty barfly like the type you go for?”

He immediately wished he could take the words back. Dean stopped with his parka halfway off his arms and the look on his face showed just how much Welton’s words had hurt.

“I’m sorry. That was mean and shitty.”

“Yeah, it was.” Dean let his coat slide the rest of the way off onto the floor, kicking it aside. “I’m not trying to change you. All the time we were together, I never wanted to change who you were deep inside. All I ever wanted was for you to show the world how truly amazing you are.” He headed toward the kitchen, then stopped and turned back. “And, not to bring up a bad time in your life or anything, but I did ‘go for’ you, as you put it, and I did live with you and was faithful to you the entire time we were together. So, I’d like a little credit for that, if you could muster it.”

Dean walked into the kitchen out of sight. Regret sat like a cold ball in the center of Welton’s chest, something he couldn’t quite sick up. He wasn’t good at confrontations, he never had been. All his life he’d avoided conflict. The only conflict he enjoyed was that which could be solved by the role of a d20 during gameplay. That kind came with expected outcomes and was resolved easily; a player’s fate was decided by the roll. But conflict with another person didn’t come with clearly listed difficulty check. It was pretty much impossible to guess how another person might react or what could be said next because people weren’t predictable. Even the best DM’s challenges couldn’t compete with an argument between two people who knew each other well. So many vulnerable places that could be exploited in an argument. So many different ways to hurt someone.

He knew arguing was a way to clear the air. And he and Dean had argued during their time together, although they’d each handled it much differently. Now was the time for him to put aside his avoidance of difficult conversations. And not just in an attempt to save whatever kind of friendship might be salvageable between him and Dean—because, dammit, he did like Dean, he just didn’t love him—but to allow him to try and get off on a better track with Reece.

If any kind of relationship might be possible after you fly home in a few days.

Welton pushed aside thoughts about the future. He checked the time on his phone and was relieved to see it was only ten thirty; he still had time before Reece got off work. After a deep inhalation followed by a slow exhalation, he stepped into the kitchen.

Dean stood in the corner of the cabinets, his back against the edge of the countertop. He wore a hurt expression, and his arms were crossed tight over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Welton said.

“You said that already. I know you hate these kinds of talks, so you don’t have to do it.”

“I want to.” Welton pulled out a chair at the small table and sat down. “I’m not good at it, but I need to learn how to be more open and have these conversations.”

Dean blinked. “Oh?”

“Yes. I know it wasn’t always easy to be in a relationship with me.”

“Huh. Okay, I’m intrigued.” Dean sat at the chair across the table. “Please, continue.”