Chapter 9
The two men stood on opposite sides of the room, Dean staring at Jay, and Jay…he looked back but his gaze seemed unable to settle. Dean wanted to go to him but couldn’t move. The weekend was supposed to be about romance, and love, and long-lasting relationships. Yet here they were, across from each other, an expanse between them neither seemed able to bridge.
How had this happened? Had to be his fault. Wasn’t Jay’s—of that Dean was certain.
Jay focused on the floor, back straight, hands fisted, tight to his sides, a pose Dean recognised. He often used it himself. Jay stood, a man waiting for someone to lead him to the guillotine. The insight glued Dean’s jaw shut, paralysed him. A few seconds ticked by before he could speak, let alone form a coherent reply to Jay’s question of
