Page 21 of New Year in Kentbury
The word please shatters something inside me, a fissure deep in the core of my being, spilling forth a tumult of emotions I can’t quite name. It might be rage, it might be hope, or perhaps it’s sheer exhaustion that draws the words from me next.
“No,” I assert, my voice climbing, a stark contrast to the hush of my earlier tone. “I can’t do this, Damian. I can’t revert to what we once were.”
His face crumples, the pain in his eyes nearly swaying me. Nearly. But then he surprises me, stepping back, turning to face the crowd that has gathered in the square.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, a knot forming in my stomach.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he clears his throat, his voice carrying across the now silent onlookers. “Excuse me,” he calls out, his voice quivering with a vulnerability he does not often show. “Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment?”
As the buzz of conversation dies down, faces turning in curiosity, my heart thrums against my ribcage, a relentless drum of impending revelation.
“Damian, don’t,” I murmur, nearly inaudible.
“I need to say something,” he continues, his tone steadying as he gathers his resolve. “Something I should have said a long time ago.”
A hush blankets the crowd, the anticipation palpable.
“You all know me as Damian Harris. One of the last Kentbury kids, as you call us.” He pauses, taking a breath that seems to draw the evening air thin. “I want you all to know that I’m gay,” he declares, his voice slicing through the quiet, resolute, and clear. “I’ve spent most of my life hiding this, pretending to be someone I’m not. But I can’t do that anymore.”
He glances at me, and in that instant, the world narrows to just us, the clamor of the crowd fading into a distant hum.
“I’m in love with a man. I’m in love with Paul McFolley,” his voice cracks on my name, raw and honest. “I’ve loved him longer than I’ve had the courage to admit. And I know I’ve hurt him. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m standing here because I need him to know. I need all of you to know that I plan to live my truth, to be myself—for myself and for him.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, a blend of shock and whispers, but they’re nothing compared to the torrent of emotions that crash over me.
“Damian.”
He turns to me, his eyes wet with unshed tears, vulnerability etched into every line of his face. “I love you, Paul,” he says, the words a gentle caress against the tumult within me. “I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn it if you let me.”
The world is too intense, too filled with noise and light, yet he is the only thing I see clearly.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” my voice shakes as our eyes meet. “But I believe you. And maybe . . . maybe that’s a start.”
“I’ll prove it,” he promises, his resolve returning. “Every day. However long it takes. Even if it takes forever.”
“That’s a big promise,” I reply, a tentative hope flickering in the depths of my uncertainty.
“The biggest I’ve ever made, but you’re worth it,” he declares.
And maybe I should just tell him to fuck himself, but the fact that he just told the entire town that he’s gay and he loves me is good enough to give him a second chance.
Chapter Thirteen
Damian
Tonight,I reserved one of the resort's restaurants exclusively for us—not because I feared prying eyes, but because I craved a moment free from interruptions. Through the wide glass windows, passersby might catch fleeting glimpses of Pauland me, sitting together in the intimate glow of the room. It feels significant, monumental even, because this is the first time he has accepted one of my countless invitations.
After my admission in front of the town, I’ve been hoping to . . . well I’m not sure what I hoped to receive from him. Maybe just an opening. Honestly, while talking to my therapist I realized I didn’t think the whole thing through. I was just desperate and in need for a change. It seemed like not only coming out to the town, but declaring my love in front of them was a good gesture. It wouldn’t fix our relationship, but it would show him I’m here for the long run.
So yes, maybe I hoped he would be more open to giving me a chance. He hasn’t dismissed me entirely; when I stop by the bakery with lunch or swing by his office with a snack, he allows it, even if begrudgingly. But whenever I’ve tried to invite him out, he’s met my offers with polite excuses, doors quietly closing before they could fully open.
Until tonight.
The moment he said yes, I poured myself into making this evening perfect, unforgettable. The restaurant glows with warmth and sophistication—golden lights hang from the ceiling like suspended stars, their gentle illumination casting a dreamlike sheen over the dark wood tables and pristine white linens. Candles flicker within delicate glass holders, their flames a quiet dance of hope. Vases overflowing with flowers in deep, rich hues of autumn lend a vibrancy to the room, a bold yet elegant splash of color. It’s all for him.
For Paul.
And hopefully soon I’ll be able to say,for my Paul.
