Page 156 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

He knew the white gemstone too. Another thing he’d told Sloane was how much Dean enjoyed it, not just for its simplicity with a hint of complexity but for what it represented. It was supposed to represent love and purity, which Dean hoped to attract to his life.

“Opal,” Dean said, stroking the white stone.

“Yeah,” Sloane said, voice hoarse.

Dean stroked the porous substance, frowning. “Wood?”

Sloane took a deep breath. “Driftwood. From outside the Fort.”

Dean looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

Sloane gave him a half-smile. “I’ve been talking to the guy who makes this sort of thing.

Apparently, he’s big on making his pieces out of stuff someone can find.

I had to find someone in Arizona who found a hunk of copper and sent some of it to the creator.

I sent him the driftwood after searching the beach for good pieces.

And he actually had some opal he’d found on his own, though I don’t know how he did that. ”

Dean stared at him and then down at the ring. His fingers slid over it, which was, of course, sized perfectly for him. In a flash, he understood exactly what Sloane had done.

“The past,” Dean murmured, stroking the copper.

“The present.” This time, he touched the driftwood, pale and beautiful.

“And the future,” he said, touching the beautiful white-blue meant to represent love.

All tied in one place, at one time, and presented as a gift.

“Oh, Sloane,” Dean whispered, throat squeezing ferociously. “It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

And oh, how he sounded like a little boy then, and it made Dean’s heart ache. Here was a gift worth something he couldn’t even begin to calculate. The effort, thought, and intent behind it blew his mind, and Dean could only nod vigorously, sniffling as he shoved the ring onto his right ring finger.

“I love it,” Dean croaked.

Then, he was flinging himself forward and wrapping his arms around Sloane’s neck, squeezing him tight.

His eyes stung with tears that threatened, and he didn’t care that he’d given a half-sob as he held onto Sloane.

It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him, and he loved everything about it.

“God, thank you,” Dean whispered, giving another squeeze.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sloane said back.

Dean looked over his shoulder at the clock and saw it was a few minutes past midnight. He gave a watery chuckle, pulling back to kiss Sloane gently.

Sloane snorted. “I thought he wasn’t going to get it done on time.

I sent him the wood a few weeks ago, and he swore up and down that was all he needed to finish it.

Had to keep following up, probably drove the fucker nuts.

Then it was in the mail, but I had to send it to a PO box in town because it was quicker than having it sent here. ”

Dean hesitated. “Wait... that’s why you’ve been on your phone so much lately?”

Sloane winced. “I haven’t exactly been subtle, I know.”

Dean stared at him and then let loose with a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. I’m an idiot, a goddamn moron.”

Sloane stared up at him, bewildered. “What?”

Dean sighed, slumping to sit in front of Sloane. “Forgive me?”

Sloane cocked his head, eyes widening a few seconds later. “Did you think I had a mistress?”

Dean groaned. “No! I knew no matter what, you would never cheat on me. But I saw you on the phone all the time, being all secretive. And some part of my brain, it just remembered?—”

“Remembered that before all this, I was only into women,” Sloane growled.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, hanging his head.

“And I got worried. I never got far enough to think you were doing anything. But every time I saw your phone out, my heart sank. I knew I was being stupid and look at this.” He held up the ring, amazed at how perfect and beautiful it was.

“This just proves how stupid I’ve been. I’m so sorry, Sloane. I should have never been worried.”

Sloane’s frown softened, and he reached out, taking Dean’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Not even I could blame you for being worried, Dean. I’m sure there’s plenty of people who know about...how we were before, and that I was straight, and now I’m...less straight.”

“That’s,” Dean began, voice pained, “not a reason for anyone to doubt you. Most of all, me.”

Sloane smiled with a gentleness and understanding that so many people credited Sloane for having so little of. His hand remained clutched in Dean’s while his other came to rest on his hip, squeezing gently.

“You spent,” Sloane said, catching Dean’s gaze and holding it, “years, years, Dean. Wanting me, wanting to be with me, to have me to yourself.”

Dean sucked in a breath, nodding jerkily. “I did.”

“And now you have me. And I have you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you, or how much it hurt, how much I hurt you.”

“You didn’t?—”

Sloane didn’t let him finish. “But I know damn well something like that doesn’t magically go away just because your dream has come true. Dreams can come true, and sometimes they can fade away right before your eyes.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, unsure if he should but knowing that was always at the back of his thoughts in his darkest moments.

Sloane reached up, taking his hand from Dean’s hip to cup his cheek.

“And you have every right to be afraid, and I’ll never blame you for that.

But I do want you to come to me with those fears in the future.

I don’t care how stupid you think they are or how ridiculous you feel for feeling them.

I want you to come to me. You no longer have to hide your feelings from me, Dean. ”

“Sloane,” Dean whispered, his voice ragged.

“Because I want you to tell me. I want you to show me. And I want to show you that no matter what happens, no matter what you’re afraid of, I’ll always be here for you.

I love you, Dean. I love you so much that I sometimes can’t think of anything else.

I’ve never loved a woman like I’ve loved you, and I know I’ll never love another person like I love you.

So come and tell me what you feel and what you think.

Tell me about your worries and fears. And I promise you, with everything I have, that I will show you I love you without reservation or fear. I love you.”

What little was left of Dean’s composure broke then, and he bowed his head, pressing it into Sloane’s chest. The stinging in his eyes became rivers as the tears were finally allowed to flow. The shame of his doubt was washed away as he breathed in Sloane’s scent and felt his arms wrap around him.

Dean stared at the ring on his finger, vision blurry from the tears.

Even obscured, it was a beautiful piece, and he would have to thank the man who created it for his eye for detail and his passion.

But most of all, he realized it was a gift from a man who loved him fiercely and knew him better than anyone.

It was foolish to have doubted it, but even his doubt was accepted and cherished.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean said, voice muffled by Sloane’s chest, closing his eyes and giving in to the moment and all the beauty it offered.