A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,64

solution was to ask Dean how he felt, but there was a part of him that kept clamoring this was a need-to-know situation, and that right then, Robin did not need to know. That it was better to go with the flow, enjoy it while it was happening…

Asking Dean if he was falling for Robin would break the spell, and Robin wanted to hold onto this Christmas magic a while longer.

Then he realized the room had gone quiet.

Dad regarded him with twinkling eyes. “The rest of us are going to bed. I don’t know what you’re doing on Planet Robin.” Mom was folding up her crocheting. Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

Robin lurched to his feet. “I’ll take the mugs into the kitchen.” As he collected them, Mom laid a hand to his back and kissed his cheek.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.” Then she left the room.

Robin went into the kitchen, Dad following him. He added the mugs to the dishwasher’s load, and set it going, aware of his dad bustling behind him. When Robin turned, his chest tightened to see his dad’s watchful expression.

“Robin… are you okay?”

Robin forced a laugh. “You seem to be asking me that a lot lately.”

Dad nodded, not breaking eye contact. “That would be because you’re not doing a whole lot of talking lately.”

His heartbeat sped up. “Look, Dad, I—”

Dad held up his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to give you the third degree, all right?”

He’s not? Then why did Robin’s heart pound?

“The way I see it,” Dad continued, “if you were in college right now, you’d be living your own life. You wouldn’t have your parents watching your every move—not that we are, you understand.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe your mom is, a little. But I guess that’s how I need to view this present situation.”

It didn’t take a great amount of brain power to work out what that referred to. Robin’s ‘boyfriend’, Ben. The one his parents were studiously not questioning him about, but doing a huge amount of assuming.

And Robin let them assume, because… the alternative.

“You know, it occurs to me that I have no idea what your brother gets up to nowadays—and maybe that’s no bad thing—but he has something you don’t—his independence.” Dad cleared his throat. “Maybe you should have the same thing. So… as long as you’re not in any trouble, and no one is hurting you… I figure I should let you be.”

Aw fuck. Way to go to make me feel even more guilty than I already do, Dad.

Robin couldn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself.

Dad studied him in silence for a moment, and then it must have become obvious to him that Robin was going to let this be a one-sided conversation.

“So while we’re here, just us men…” There was that searching gaze again. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Robin finally found his voice. “No, Dad.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dad coughed. “Well, we’re here if you need us.” He gave a sad smile. “Christ, I thought parenting would get easier when you boys got older. I think I traded in one set of worries for an entirely different set.” He came over to Robin and patted his arm. “I was happier dealing with bumps and scrapes and getting you through your first days of school. At least then, all you could break were your limbs. Now I worry about you breaking your heart.”

On an impulse, Robin gave his dad a fierce hug. “I hear even that mends eventually,” he whispered.

“It does,” Dad confirmed, still holding onto him. “But the pain lasts a damn sight longer than a broken tooth or a cut knee.” When Robin gave him a startled glance, he shrugged. “Long time ago. And way before I met your mom, so that makes it ancient history. I hope to God it’s something you never get to experience.” He released Robin. “But I guess that’s part and parcel of being a parent. You want to protect your kids, but you can’t.”

“I think you’ve done a pretty good job so far.” Robin’s throat tightened. “Goodnight, Dad.” He had to get out of there. His emotions felt way too close to the surface.

“Goodnight, son.”

Robin fled to his room, closed the door, and leaned against it, his forehead touching the smooth painted wood.

I don’t want a broken heart either.

Chapter Eighteen

“You’ve done this before,” Dean said as Robin placed a bag of cookie cutters he’d brought from home onto the countertop.

Robin’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe? Anyhow, I’ve brought Santa, Mrs. Claus, Rudolph,