Page 114 of The Revenge Game
What’s holding him back?
Is it the fact I’m not out yet? Is he cautious about being in a relationship with someone in the closet?
Sometimes, I catch him staring at me with an impossible-to-read expression. Longing? Guilt? Fear? I can’t put my finger on it.
Right now, I hate that he’s walking away from me.
But instead of going after him, I follow Dave to where Pete’s standing by the buffet table, gesturing with a mince pie for emphasis. “It’s set during Christmas! There’s a Christmas party! Santa hats are worn!”
“By that logic,Jurassic Parkis a summer vacation movie,” Dave replies.
While Dave and Pete continue to argue, my attention drifts to where Drew’s speaking with Adam.
What would it be like to spend the whole Christmas party by Drew’s side without worrying about what anyone thought?
“Earth to Justin.” Pete waves a hand in front of my face. “You need to back me up.Die Hard—Christmas movie or not?”
“What? Oh yeah. Definitely Christmas. Nothing says holiday spirit like crawling through ventilation shafts.”
Pete makes a triumphant gesture while Dave scowls at me.
But I’m not worried aboutDie Hardpolitics.
My eyes are already seeking Drew again. He’s pulled his phone out to show Adam something. It’s probably about server configurations, database optimization, or whatever brilliant thing he’s working on now.
Because Drew is brilliant—not just with computers, but with people. The way he explains technical stuff without making anyone feel stupid, how he helps people in that quiet way, thegentle patience he shows my cats when they decide his laptop keyboard is their new bed.
“You okay, mate?” Dave asks. “You seem a bit distracted.”
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, like Bobby Ray’s cheap bourbon.
Because I’m not fine. I’m at the point where the lie about who I actually am is threatening to smother me.
Pete launches into a dramatic retelling ofDie Hardquotes, complete with a terrible Bruce Willis impression. I laugh in the right places and join in the debate about whether “Yippee-ki-yay” counts as a Christmas greeting, but my awareness of Drew never fades. Like he’s become my true north, my internal compass constantly reorienting to his presence.
When the marketing department challenges the sales department to a carol-singing competition, I search for Drew’s reaction. He’s moved to perch on the edge of a table, talking with Sarah from Accounting.
“Your turn, golden boy,” Dave announces, shoving the microphone at me. “Show these marketing amateurs how it’s done.”
I belt out “All I Want for Christmas” with more enthusiasm than skill. The sales department might be losing this sing-off based on pitch, but we’re definitely winning on volume.
Despite my singing skills being somewhere between a tone-deaf rooster and an enthusiastic car alarm, I can’t help directing my words at Drew. It might not be the most romantic gesture ever made, but the lyrics make so much sense to me right now.
Because it’s so true. He’s all I want for Christmas.
He watches me as I sing, that half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
And suddenly, I can’t stand it anymore. Can’t stand pretending Drew’s just the helpful IT guy who fixes mycomputer. Can’t stand watching him from across the room when every cell in my body wants to be next to him.
Bobby Ray’s voice tries to surface again—“What kind of man lets everyone know he’s?—”
But for the first time, another voice drowns it out. My voice. The real one, not the one I practiced in front of mirrors, trying to sound “normal enough.”
The kind of man who’s done hiding. The kind of man Drew deserves.
Because Drew definitely deserves someone who’s proud to be with him. Who doesn’t treat him like a secret. Who’s brave enough to choose him over other people’s expectations.
I deserve that too.
