by K. C. Wells
“Okay, okay.” Robin made one last attempt. “I don’t know how,” he said at last.
“Then let me show you.” Dean held on tight to his hand. “Keep your legs close. Now walk. That’s all, walk.”
Robin took a step, and to his relief he stayed upright.
“Yay.” Dean squeezed his hand. “Now… move your right leg, then your left. Repeat. Keep repeating. And don’t stop! If you stop, you’ll fall. The key to this is skating with one leg, while the other pushes you forward. That’s called gliding.”
“No. Really?” Robin rolled his eyes. He did as instructed, however, and when he remained upright, he felt invincible. Together, they made their way around the rink, Robin taking it easy, holding Dean’s hand in a tight grip. Once they’d done a complete circuit, Robin grew bolder.
“Gonna try it without using you as stabilizers,” he announced.
Dean nodded and let go. Robin gave a little wobble, but he didn’t fall over. He set off, his arms out to his sides for balance, and amazingly, he kept upright. Dean was beside him every inch of the way, giving encouragement and praise, and by the time they’d been out on the ice for an hour, Robin was ready to take on anything. Okay, so he was never gonna be Nathan Chen, but he could go ice skating with Dean, and that was what mattered.
They got to the side, and Robin stood there for a moment, drinking it all in: the music; the silver flags all around the rink, fluttering in the breeze; the trees with their tiny white lights; the gold statue at the foot of the tower, gleaming in the spotlights; and the tree, so huge, its surface covered in thousands of lights, a white star shining at its summit.
It was a magical moment.
It was also getting dark.
“Do we have to go?” he asked.
Dean nodded. “Time to head back to the hotel and change for the performance.”
Robin took one last look around. “This was great.” And way too short.
Dean leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Then we’ll come back next year and do it again.”
Robin smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”
It wasn’t until they were walking away from the Rockefeller Center in search of a taxi that Dean’s words sank in.
Next year? Robin really liked the implication.
“Well, what did you think?” Dean asked as they strolled along Eight Avenue, heading for the restaurant where the after-production party was taking place. The street was full of traffic, horns honking and lights flashing.
It was Saturday night in NYC for sure, and what felt like a million miles away from Lake Placid. It also served as a reminder of why he’d swapped Chicago for Lake Placid.
Give me peace and quiet any day.
“It was louder than I thought it would be.”
“The music?” Dean hadn’t found it that obtrusive.
“No—the sound of their feet landing on the stage. Do you think they edit that out when they show dance on TV?”
Dean laughed. “I suppose. But did you enjoy it?”
Robin coughed. “You didn’t tell me it was gonna be like that.”
“Like what?” Dean knew what was coming.
“So freaking hot. I mean, tights don’t hide a lot anyway, but whoa… That was one helluva sexy number near the end. They did everything but fuck on stage.”
Dean laughed. “Adrian did check to make sure you were eighteen or older.”
“And that explains why the guy checking our tickets gave me a funny look.” Robin sighed. “Why do I have to look so young?”
“Give it a couple of decades and you’ll be complaining about lines and wrinkles.”
“I don’t see why,” Robin remarked. “Look at you, for instance.”
“What about me?”
“Well, you’re in your thirties, and you’re still smoking hot.” When Dean came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, Robin gave him a quizzical glance. “What?”
Dean smiled. “You are very good for my ego, do you know that?” He pointed down the street. “That’s it.”
“Do I look okay?” Robin asked.
Dean thought he looked downright edible. Under his coat, Robin wore his usual tight black jeans, with a button-down black shirt and black tie. “If I told you what I want to do to you because of the way you look, I might get arrested,” Dean whispered.
Robin grinned. “That good, huh?”
Dean kissed his cheek. “You look great.” He peered at the paper Adrian had thrust into his hands backstage. “The party’s in a room on the second floor. It’s going to be packed. And probably very loud.” He squeezed Robin’s hand. “When you’ve had enough, tell me, and we’ll leave, okay?”
Robin gave him a grateful glance. “Is it okay to admit I’m a bit nervous?”
Dean stilled. “Why?” Robin seemed so far from the confident, demanding young man of the previous night. And now that Dean thought about it, the change had occurred soon after they’d left the theater.
“It was the way Adrian looked at me backstage. As if he couldn’t understand what you were doing with someone like me.”
Aw fuck.
Dean put his arms around Robin. “Do you want to know what he said to me?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Dean kissed him, taking his time, loving how Robin melted a little the longer the kiss progressed. When they parted, Dean lifted Robin’s chin with his fingertips. “You’ve got this all wrong. Adrian couldn’t believe we’ve only known each other such a relatively short time. He said he was amazed we were such a good fit.” He chuckled. “He said something else too. He recommended I get a lot of sleep, vitamins, and energy drinks, because I was going to need them.”
Robin preened, and the sight made Dean’s heart sing. “Well, if you’re gonna keep up…”
Dean tugged Robin into his arms in the middle of the sidewalk. “I think we’re pretty well-matched in that department, don’t you?” He kissed Robin on the lips, fervently wishing they didn’t have a party to attend, because Dean knew where he’d rather have been right that second.
They resumed their stroll, only this time he took Robin’s hand in his. Damn, that felt good.
“Do you think that? We’re a good fit, I mean.”
Dean cursed himself for not seizing the opportunity the previous night. “When we get back to the hotel, you and I are going to have a talk. And before you start worrying, it’s going to be a very good talk, I promise.”
Robin’s eyes gleamed. “How long do we have to stay at the party?”
Dean chuckled. He loved it when they were on the same page. “Don’t you want to dance with me? We haven’t done that yet, and by the sound of it, there’s music.” He could hear it from across the street.
Robin pressed up against him. “I prefer dancing between the sheets,” he said in a low voice.
“In case I haven’t mentioned this yet?” Dean kissed him, moving his hands slowly beneath Robin’s open coat. “You saying what you want is a real turn-on.”
“In that case…” Robin glanced up toward the source of the music. “Would Adrian be upset if we didn’t show? I mean, there’s gonna be a whole lotta people up there. Do you think he’d miss us?”
One look at Robin’s earnest expression decided him.
Dean peered into the street and yelled, “Taxi!”
By the time Dean was opening the door to their hotel room, Robin’s heart was pounding, and there was a fluttery feeling in his belly that wouldn’t quit. On the ride back to the hotel, his mind was focused on the conversation to come.
There were things Robin wanted to know too.
Dean closed the door behind them. “Are you hungry? I can order us something.”
“Yes, but I can wait.” Robin sat on the sofa, his gaze locked on Dean. “You said we were going to talk.”
Dean removed his jacket, and laid it over the arm of the sofa. He sat beside Robin, then patted his lap. “Come sit here.”
Robin shifted across to straddle him. “This doe
sn’t feel like talking,” he said with a chuckle.
Dean cupped Robin’s nape. “I wanted to talk last night, but we got a little… distracted.”
Robin’s face and ears felt hot. “My bad.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Dean assured him. “I enjoyed every second of it. But… I need to ask you something important.”
He stilled instantly. “Then ask.” He swallowed.
“I guess I need to know how you feel… about me.”
Robin caught his breath. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.” His heart went into overdrive.
Dean’s breathing synchronized with his. “I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but—”
Robin stopped his words with a fervent kiss, his hands cupping the back of Dean’s head. He poured every ounce of love he possessed into it, his heart beating like a drum, his pulse rapid. When he broke the kiss, Robin looked Dean in the eye. “I love you.”
Fuck. He’d gotten the words out at last.
Dean sagged against the seat cushion with a sigh, and fear trickled through him. Please, tell me you feel the same. Robin had trusted his instincts and laid his heart bare. Please, don’t break it.
Dean took Robin’s hands in his. “I love you too.” He brought them to his lips and kissed Robin’s fingers. “So much.”
Robin’s heartbeat hadn’t climbed down yet. “Is there a but on its way?” Because it sure felt like it.
Dean gazed at their joined hands. “I didn’t see this coming. But now that we’re here, I have to say I’ve never been happier.” Then he raised his chin. “But—”
Robin silenced him with a finger. “It’s my parents, isn’t?”
Dean nodded. “I think we both know they won’t like this, no matter how open-minded they seem.”
“Then we don’t tell them yet,” Robin said, his heart hammering. “We keep going as before.” Except he knew the subterfuge would have to end someday. They would only be prolonging the inevitable fallout.
Right then, he didn’t want to spoil the weekend with such thoughts.
“Tell me again,” he demanded.
Dean smiled and tugged Robin into his arms. “What—that I love you?” Robin nodded, his heart aching to hear the words once more, to assure himself this was no dream. Then Dean’s gentle hand was on his neck as Dean kissed him, slow and sweet. “I love you,” he said when he broke the kiss. “And I will tell you that as many times as you like.”
“Tell me in bed, when you’re inside me,” Robin whispered.
Dean’s eyes sparkled, and he held onto Robin as he got to his feet and made his way to the bed. “As you wish.”
Chapter Twenty
“Why have we stopped here?” Robin peered through the windshield at the boatyard, all in darkness.
“Because I’m not letting you get out of this car without kissing you, and I can’t very well do that in front of your house, can I?”
Robin didn’t need to hear another word. He unfastened his seat belt, leaned over, and Dean enfolded him in his arms. Their lips met, and Robin poured his heart and soul into that kiss, breathing Dean in, taking his scent deep, desperate to hold onto it for as long as he could.
“I had a wonderful weekend,” Dean murmured between kisses. “Waking up with you these last two mornings has been heaven.”
“But now we have to come back to reality.” And what would that be? Moments snatched here and there? Meeting up after work to steal a precious hour or two? No chance of falling asleep in Dean’s arms, of making love in the middle of the night when neither of them wanted it to end…
Dean’s forehead touched his, and his sigh warmed Robin’s face. “Right now reality sucks, I know. But when it’s the middle of the week and you can’t wait for Saturday to get here… when we talk on the phone and all you want is the real thing… Hold onto one truth, okay?”
“And what truth is that?”
Dean’s eyes locked on his, Dean’s hand so gentle as he cupped Robin’s cheek. “That I love you. When you’re nineteen, I’ll still love you. But I’ll abide by your wishes. So when you reach twenty, and we’re still stupid in love, maybe then we come clean and tell your family.”
Robin swallowed. “Can you wait that long?” He wasn’t sure he could, if he were honest. Okay, so he was the one saying they should keep quiet, but the thought of stealing moments with Dean for a couple of years?
Dean chuckled. “I know you want everything now, but real life is sometimes about delayed gratification. And this, what we have here?” He leaned in and kissed Robin, taking his time. When they parted, Dean murmured against his cheek, “This is worth waiting for.”
Robin buried his face in Dean’s neck, loving the soft scrape of Dean’s beard, the musky scent that reminded him of the past two days. “I love you too,” he whispered. He didn’t care that they’d only met in late November. It didn’t matter how long it had taken them to reach this moment—what mattered was that they were here now.
Dean stroked his hair. “I’d better get you home. They’ll be expecting you.”
“Are you going to come inside?”
Dean shook his head. “Better not. The way I’m feeling, your parents will take one look at me and that will be it, game over.”
“How will they know?”
Dean kissed him lightly on the lips. “Because I don’t think I could hide how I feel about you.” He sighed. “I’m not going to see you over Christmas, am I? They’ll want you to stay home.”
Okay, that hurt. The thought of Dean so close, and yet so far away… His gift for Dean would have to wait until after the festivities. “There’s still time for you to change your mind, you know. Your parents would love to see you.”
“No.” Dean’s fingers wound through Robin’s hair. “That would only mean I was over eight hundred miles too far from you. I’ll stay home with Lady and Loki. That way, if you do get a moment to visit, I’ll be there.” He switched on the engine, and pulled out of the boatyard.
Robin fought the urge to cry. He didn’t want to face his parents with red eyes, but the thought of being parted from Dean made his heart ache. When Dean stopped the car outside his house, Robin grabbed the bag that lay at his feet, then laced his fingers through Dean’s.
“Love you.”
“I love you too. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
That almost broke him. “Merry Christmas.” Robin released Dean’s hand, opened the car door, and got out of there. He didn’t look back as he walked up the path to the front door. He waited until the sound of the car’s engine had faded into the distance before letting himself into the house.
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he was struck by how quiet it was. “I’m back,” he called out. He couldn’t even hear the TV.
“In here,” his dad said from the living room. “Can you come in here please?”
Robin walked into the warm room, the fire burning brightly, the tree lights casting colors around the room. Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch. There was no sign of Ryan.
Then he saw their faces, and Robin’s heart sank. Oh fuck.
“Has something happened?” Ryan’s absence took on a whole new meaning. “Is Ryan okay? Has he—?”
“Ryan is fine. He’s in his room. And we’d like to talk to you about Ben Taylor.”
For a second there, Robin was stumped. “Ben? Why do you—” Cold washed over him, and ice trickled down his spine. Oh fuck. Game over.
“I ran into his mother in the village on Saturday,” Mom said, her voice tight. “I knew her from the PTA, only I didn’t connect her with Ben. We got talking. And when I thanked her for putting up with your frequent visits to her home, she was puzzled.”
“I can explain.” Robin’s heart rate climbed and his palms were clammy.
“Good, because we’d like to know where you were all those times.” Dad’s eyes were like flint. “More importantly, we’d like to know why you lied to us.”
Robin took a deep breath. “I
couldn’t tell you because… you wouldn’t understand.”
Dad arched his eyebrows at that. “Try me.”
Robin’s legs were like jelly. “Can I sit down?” He felt as though he was in the dock, facing a jury. Which was what his parents were in that moment.
Dad gestured to the armchair, and Robin almost fell into it. Mom had her handkerchief in her hands, twisting it.
“The thing is… I’ve met someone.” And wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Dean was so much more than someone.
Mom’s eyes widened. “Then why didn’t you tell us? Why lie about it?”
Dad laid his hand on her arm, and she fell silent. Dad stared at him. “I take it you felt we wouldn’t approve. Why would we mind if you’ve gotten yourself a boyfriend? Your mom would be over the moon. She already thought you and this Ben were dating.” He narrowed his gaze. “So what’s so bad about this boyfriend that you can’t tell us? Why can’t we meet him?”
“You’ve already met him,” Robin blurted out. “Mom hasn’t… well, not since… not since he taught Ryan in high school.”
There. It was out.
Dad’s breathing caught. “Mr. Quentin?”
“Dean,” Robin corrected. “His name’s Dean.”
“I don’t give a damn what his first name is. What concerns me is why he thinks it’s okay to carry on a relationship with my son.” Dad’s eyes went wide. “You spent the weekend with him. You’re not going to lie to me and tell me you were in separate rooms, are you?”
“We stayed in one room.” There seemed little point in hiding it now.
Dad’s face darkened. “How old is he? Thirty-five? Older?”
“He’s thirty-two. And we haven’t done anything wrong,” Robin protested.
“He’s a grown man. He should know better.”
Robin was on his feet in a heartbeat. “And I’m a man too. At least, that’s what you keep telling me. But I guess you think I’m not old enough to know my own mind.”
“How long has this been going on for?”
Robin forced himself to breathe. “I met him when he came to the boatyard to order his canoe. And I’m the one who did all the running. I wore him down.”
