Page 10 of New Year in Kentbury
His eyes snap open, and I search them for joy, for relief—anything that mirrors what I feel. But instead, I find fear. Stark, unrelenting fear. It clings to him like a shadow, weaving throughhesitation and the flicker of pain that slices through me sharper than any rejection ever could.
“We can’t,” he whispers, the tremble in his voice betraying the firmness he’s trying to hold. His words aren’t just for me; they’re for himself, a mantra of denial he’s desperately clinging to. “Paul, we can’t. You know that.”
I lean back slightly, enough to catch the crumbling walls of his composure as they start rebuilding—brick by painful brick. I see him retreating, retreating from me, from us. And I can’t fucking take it.
“Why not?” My voice cracks, the question breaking free like a jagged piece of glass from my throat. I’m trying, begging, to hold onto the thread of connection we just shared. “Why the hell not, Damian? Tell me, because I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean anything. That I don’t fucking love you.”
His head shakes once, twice, his jaw tightening until the vulnerability I glimpsed earlier vanishes behind his cold, practiced mask. “It’s complicated,” he says, his voice dull and distant, as if it’s already decided. “You know it is.”
“No.” My hands frame his face, forcing him to meet my eyes, refusing to let him slip away. “What we have—what we just shared—isn’t complicated. It’s real. And you know it.” I pause, searching his gaze, hoping to see something that tells me I’m not alone in this fight. “Stop running from it.”
For a brief, fleeting moment, I see it. Love. Deep and aching, buried beneath his fear. It’s there, but then it’s gone, shuttered behind a tight press of his lips as he turns his face away from me.
“I can’t give you what you want,” he says softly, the words cutting deeper than any scream could. “I’m not what you need, Paul.”
His words hang between us, a suffocating weight that presses into my chest. I stay still, my body still entwined with his, desperate to hold onto the intimacy we’ve just shared. But thetruth is seeping in, cold and relentless—he’s already slipping away.
“Damian,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You can’t live your life like this. Hiding who you are. Hiding who you love.”
Tears glisten in his eyes as he looks at me, but his voice remains steady, unyielding. “We can’t,” he repeats, softer now, like he’s trying to soften the blow. “Paul, I told you from the beginning—this was never more than?—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, my chest heaving as anger and heartbreak collide inside me. “Don’t reduce it to that.”
His lips part, but the words never come. The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. Slowly, I pull away from him, the loss like a physical wound. I stand, reaching for my clothes, my hands trembling as I dress.
“You said we can’t,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder, my voice ice-cold despite the fire burning in my chest. “So we won’t.”
I don’t wait for a response. I don’t look back. The door clicks shut behind me, sealing the space where my heart still lingers, shattered on the floor.
By the time I reach the elevator, my legs feel like lead, my breaths shallow. The doors slide closed, and the fragile facade I’ve been clinging to crumbles. Hot tears spill over, blurring my vision as I press my palm to the cold metal wall for balance. The pain is unbearable, ripping through me with the force of every unsaid word, every unfulfilled promise.
I love him. I love him so fucking much, and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. But right now, all I can do is leave and hope I survive the wreckage he’s left behind.
Chapter Five
Damian
Winter has always beenmy least favorite season. Sure, it’s great for the town’s revenue, drawing tourists with its snowy allure, but for me, it’s the season when the loneliness settles in,colder and harsher than any storm. And after what happened with Paul on New Year’s…
It’s been over a month since… whatever that was. A breakup? It doesn’t feel right to call it that. Too big and yet too small for the mess we left behind. Breakup implies a relationship, something defined and mutual, and we were never that. What we had was raw, untamed, and always teetering on the edge of ruin.
Now, he’s done with me. I saw it in his eyes that night, heard it in his voice when he walked out. He didn’t just leave. He stripped away the pieces of me I hadn’t realized I’d given him. When we cross paths now, we’re strangers wearing masks—polite, indifferent, and hollow. At family dinners or community events, I play the part perfectly: smiling, laughing, pretending that my heart doesn’t trip over itself every time I hear his name.
Do I regret letting him go?
Not for a second. He deserves more than I could ever give him. He deserves someone who can love him openly, without hesitation, without fear. And I’ve always known I’m not that person. I can’t be.
Did my heart stutter when he told me he loved me? When he said the words, I felt it. The love—intense and undeniable, like the first breath after nearly drowning. But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Because Paul and me? We were doomed before we even began.
It’s as simple—and as impossible—as that.
It’s the twenty-first century, sure. People like to say love is love, and that’s fine. Kentbury isn’t the kind of town that forgives men like me for loving men like him. It’s the kind of place where people smile to your face and whisper behind your back. Where even my sister Knightly, trying to help in her clueless way, introduces me to women like I’m some ticking clock running out of time.
“You can’t stay single forever,” she said last week, her smile too bright, her tone too forced. “You need a good woman, Damian. Someone to settle down with, have a family.”
I nodded, the lie coming too easily. I’m good at that—saying what people want to hear. But the truth? I can’t love a woman, and I can’t love a man in Kentbury. Not openly. Not without consequences.
I glance out the window of my office at the powdery snow shimmering under the sunlight. The gathering crowd waiting for the ski lift is lively, there’s probably laughter carrying through the crisp air. It should make me happy, and maybe it does, a little. Business at the resort is thriving, and my siblings seem content with how things are.
