Chapter 22

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NOTE:  I had to revise the conversation between Mitch and Brandy in CH 21, due to a slight shift in story line. Very necessary to read the revision :)

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It was five-thirty Christmas morning when Luke reluctantly crawled out of John's warm bed and equally warm arms, his throat parched and in need of a cold drink. The baseboard lights lit his path as he went downstairs and into the kitchen. A dim fluorescent lamp cast a pale glow onto the counter from beneath the cupboard above. Luke grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and walked to the kitchen doorway and glanced down the hall toward the living room. He smiled at the memory of coming down here last night and finding John on display beneath the tree. "You are a lucky man, Luke Rivers," he whispered and started up the hall when he heard movement in the other room.

Luke frowned. Who would be up at five-thirty Christmas morning? Maybe Santa Claus was making a late delivery, he thought with a chuckle. But no, "Santa" had delivered plenty to this house last night. He moved down the hall in his bare feet and flannel pajama pants and stepped into the living room archway. He smiled when saw Bob before the Christmas tree, arranging a couple presents.

"I guess it was Santa I heard in here," Luke said with quiet amusement.

Bob jumped a little then stood up. "Don't sneak up on an old man like that." A smile graced his lips but seemed to be having a hard time reaching his eyes.

"You're hardly old." Luke entered the room and glanced at the tree—unable to look at it now and not see John lying there in his sexy stockings and red ribbon...He shook away the image and nodded at the gifts. "I see you retrieved the gifts from the car. John didn't even know they were in there."

"Thanks for the help," Bob said.

Luke twisted the chilled bottle of Gatorade in his hands. "Thank you," he murmured. "For not telling them everything."

"Not my place," Bob said quietly and gazed at Luke. "Are you going to tell them?"

"I was," Luke sighed. "But...I don't know. John told me tonight how it comforted him to find out that I was okay the whole time. Is it really necessary to tell him?"

Bob rubbed his thumb absently across his lower lip. "Can I ask you something, Luke?"

"Of course."

Bob stared at him. "Which part about what happened out there, exactly, is it that you're afraid to tell John?" Luke stared at him, his throat. Bob held his eyes. "The part where you almost died—or the part about us?"

Luke glanced away, a ripple of guilt shuddering through him.

"Luke..." Bob touched his shoulder. "You don't have anything to feel guilty about." He turned Luke's face to him. "Talk to John. Even if he doesn't need to know the details, I think it's you who needs to tell him. The easiest thing for someone to see in your eyes—is guilt. If you hold stuff back from John, he will start to sense it...and then it will only go downhill from there. John loves you. He has a good head on his shoulders. The best thing to do is just be open and honest with him."

Nodding, Luke cleared his throat. "I will," he whispered. "But maybe wait till we get back to school, where we can be alone and talk."

"Whatever you think is best," Bob said. "Just always remember to communicate...and don't keep secrets." He sighed as his eyes shadowed a bit. "Rule of thumb, don't do anything behind his back that you can't admit to his face. Stick to that rule and you'll be off to a good, healthy start."

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