Page 22 of His Christmas Love Song

Hank levels him with a look. “And you? Now that you’ve kissed him, do you want to do it again?”

“It was over so fast; I didn’t really have time to react. It wasn’t a real kiss,” Ryan says, his voice rising. “He can’t decide it’s not going to be good between us based on one mediocre kiss. I didn’t have time to prepare.”

Hank looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Ryan would protest but the man’s got a right.

“I’m just confused. Until last night, I thought my feelings were totally one-sided.” Ryan swallows, almost afraid to say the next bit. Hank patiently waits for him to finish, no judgement in his eyes. “But maybe—maybe Jesse has feelings for me, too?”

Hank doesn’t say anything and Ryan about jumps out of his skin waiting for the verdict.

“Well? Am I just seeing what I want to see?” he asks a bit desperately.

“I think if Jesse only saw you as a friend he wouldn’t have kissed you.” Hank shakes his head. “What you two need is to be locked in a room together until you work this out.”

“We only have a few days left before we’re supposed to fly home for Christmas.” Ryan stands up and starts pacing. “We have more work to do on the album, and I’m writing this song, but I have no idea how to tell him—I mean, it was one thing when I was just stupidly pining for my best friend, but what if he—what if he—” He rubs his chest, anxiety forming a tight ball under his sternum.

“What if he feels the same way?” Hank finishes for him, voice devastatingly gentle. He smiles, crow’s feet creasing the corners of his eyes. “Well, then, you’ll be one of those lucky people who fall in love with someone who loves them back.”

“Why is the idea of that so scary?” Ryan whispers.

“Why did you join the Peace Corps, Ryan?”

The change in subject stops Ryan’s agitation. “I—I wanted to give something back.” He’s answered this question five dozen times in interviews over the years. “My debut album did unexpectedly well, and I felt like I needed to contribute something to the world besides a few radio hits.”

“But why did you really join?” Hank asks, still smiling, but there’s a harder edge to his question now.

Ryan sighs. Damn the man for being so perceptive. “I wanted to get away. From myself. From the fame, the money, the stress of interacting with fans. I was an out, gay country star with a gold album. There was so much attention on me, and it had nothing to do with playing music. All I ever wanted to do was write songs. Sing ‘em. Maybe get paid to do it. I wasn’t running away from the music. I was running from everything else. Maybe from myself, too.”

Hank nods. He’s probably heard a variation on this story more than once, with all his years in the Corps. Ryan’s not unique. And running away hadn’t helped him make peace with the industry he’d found himself in. Only working with Jesse did that. Jesse, who made him rediscover his love for performing, who runs interference with the press, with the fans, with the record company. Jesse, who’s good at handling fame, and who still wants to make music with Ryan, even after finding out what a ball of neuroses he really is.

Jesse, who might want to be more than friends.

“I was trying to get away from something, and I ended up finding Jesse. And then together we faced a new adventure. I couldn’t have made it through the past six years without him.”

“Well, then, it makes sense you don’t want to risk your relationship,” Hank says reasonably. “Though I still think what the two of you have is strong enough to figure this out. Don’t be afraid to lose him. And don’t be afraid to win him, either. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Ryan’s eyes suddenly feel hot, and he swipes his thumb over them hastily. “You a part time therapist, too, Hank?”

The doctor shrugs. “I like to help my friends.”

“We’re practically strangers,” Ryan protests.

“No, you’re not.” Hank stands up, checks his watch. “I need to run some errands in town. I’d ask if you want to join me, but I don’t want you using me as an excuse to avoid Jesse.”

Ryan scrunches up his face. “I’m not making excuses—okay, well maybe a little. Do you have time to listen to the song before you go? I could run and grab my guitar.”

“Sure. Why don’t I drive you to your cabin—unless you want to find Jesse and clear the air.”

“It’ll keep a little longer.” Call him a coward, but he’s not in a rush to explode his life.

They clear up their brunch dishes, and Hank leads him out a back door to a little carport on the far end of the lodge building. Ryan climbs into Hank’s truck, a sturdy four-by-four with a covered bed.

In a minute, they’ve circled the lodge. Hank parks in front of cabin 14. Ryan opens up, half excited to see Jesse, half trepidatious. But the interior of the cabin is quiet and still.

“He’s not here, I guess,” Ryan says, partly relieved, partly disappointed.

“Come on, play for me,” Hank says, perching on the arm of the couch. “I want to hear a real old-fashioned love song.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad title.” Ryan grins and picks up his guitar, strumming it a little to warm up his fingers. He grabs his notebook and opens it, scribbles down a couple of new lines. He sits across from Hank in the armchair, his back to the door. “Let me know what you think.”