FOURTEEN
After as many years as they had spent being best friends, John should really be able to read Brett by now.
And he could. Sometimes. Maybe even most of the time. Just not when it came to the things that really mattered to John just at the moment.
Like the fact, for instance, that he was very quickly falling in love with his best friend. Only that didn’t feel entirely accurate. It was more like he was really letting himself know that he had been in love with him for years. And that was terrifying enough, without needing to worry about Brett’s reaction.
Sometimes, it seemed like Brett might share the feelings that John was having, even if it seemed weird to him. He was such a useless lump these days, chronically in pain, doing little else but taking care of the house and cooking. Why would anyone, much less someone as incredible and focused and compassionate as Brett was, someone as functional, want someone like John?
It honestly seemed strange to John that Brett wanted him as a friend, much less as a lover or maybe even something more. That was probably paralyzing him. It was Christmas in just two days, for instance, and John hadn’t even gotten Brett a present yet.
Part of him looked back at the conversation they had had at the Christmas fair and thought that the present that made the most sense was a ring. Of course, it was too soon for that, but was it really? He and Brett had known each other for years, even if the actual relationship was new. If it was a relationship.
And around and around and around his thoughts went. Of course, he was smart enough to know that this could all be settled if he just asked Brett what was going on with them, if they were going to give this a try or not. But he could lose what they already had, it could change things, make everything so awkward.
So he would buy a ring, and he would propose. But when he thought of doing it, the doubts all swirled back in, like sand dropped into clear water, clouding everything up and confusing it.
Yes.
That was all that Brett had said when John had asked him if he could see himself married with kids. Just that one word, said with a face that was completely blank. It was things like that which made Brett so hard to read. Yes, he could see himself doing that, but later? Yes, he wanted it right now?
Because, damn it, that was really the crux of the issue, John realized, as he was putting the final touches on a stew that he was going to leave for a few hours while he waited for Brett to come home from work. Something about Brett had broken through to something deep inside of John, something which had been just waiting for this chance.
He wanted it.
He wanted to be with Brett. He wanted to have something real, he wanted the marriage and the babies and everything. And not with a woman, either. With Brett. Only with Brett. And that made him vulnerable.
If there was anything that John hated being, it was vulnerable.
A knock came at the door suddenly, and John frowned a little bit as he wiped his hands on a towel. They didn’t have a lot of visitors, either of them. It was probably someone going door to door selling something, or collecting donations, or, a small part of himself hoped, a group of carolers. That had actually happened a few days before, and he and Brett had stood close together and smiled and cheered for them.
John wandered out of the kitchen, looking at the living room with satisfaction. It was all nicely decorated now, done just this afternoon as a surprise for Brett when he got home. And the really amazing thing was, it hadn’t hurt John at all, not even getting the six-and-a-half-foot tree set up. All of the work that Brett had done on his back, the daily backrubs, had relaxed him so much that the pain was now down to a dull roar and there were even times when he forgot about it.
In short, Brett was giving him back his life. His hope. His future. A future that, more and more, John wanted to spend with the one person that he had ever loved.
Which was his answer right there, he said to himself, and he was smiling as he opened the door, the cold night air wafting in, bringing the scent of winter with it. It would probably snow again tonight, he mused, and then he looked at the woman standing on the other side of the door.
She looked familiar. Vaguely. Pretty and small, dressed in expensive, oversized winter clothes, her long blonde waves spilling out from under her knit hat and over her shoulders. Her eyes were silver, as cold as the ice and snow piled all around, and at the moment, those eyes looked intensely worried.
“Can I help you?” John rumbled, and for some reason, that made a wry little smile touch her lips, drawing the corners up into an expression that was not really about amusement.
“You don’t even remember me, do you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in a movement that was sort of inherently flirtatious. John frowned and shook his head slowly, looking her over from head to toe. Someone that he had been stationed with? Only that, he would remember, especially someone as small as she was. Her head barely came up to his chest.
“No. I feel like I almost do, and like I should, but …” John gave a helpless little shrug, and she sighed and rolled her eyes, and that sense of familiarity stole over him again. A bar? Had he seen her in a bar, in considerably less clothing? If that was the case, why was she here?
“Look, I don’t remember what name I used when I met you, but I’m freezing out here. Could I come in? I promise I’m not a serial killer or a stalker, but I do need to talk to you, and I’ve spent a lot of money to make that happen.”
The whole thing was very intriguing, and not a little bit worrying. Still, even with John being as broken as he was, he was pretty sure he could defend himself against this short blonde woman. So he stepped back, wordlessly inviting her in. Yeah, he’d definitely seen her at some bar somewhere, he could see her face smiling and blurred with alcohol, instead of the worry that was there now.
“What’s going on?” he asked because as the weirdness of the situation, of having some random woman show up at his door, faded a little, he realized that there very definitely was something wrong. This clearly wasn’t a social call, at this point.
“It was April,” she informed him. “The middle of April. Beacon Hill pub.”
John sighed softly and shook his head helplessly. He almost thought that he knew what she was talking about, but not quite. But he had definitely been to that bar a few times.
“Oh, fuck it,” the girl said and then shrugged off her thick winter coat. Underneath, she was much smaller, much more slender, than John had thought she was. She had seemed sort of plump, but under that down jacket, she was short and slight, with one exception.
The swollen bump of her stomach, jutting out in front of her, an unmistakable sign of advanced pregnancy.
