Page 63 of Santa of the Creek

I close my eyes briefly. “They’re back in town?”

“For Christmas.”

“And no one warned you.”

“No.” He gives a short, unamused laugh. “No one warned them, either.”

I am going to kill someone. I don’t know who, but someone. I’ll start with the mayor and work my way through the town. I feel desperately sorry for Marty’s parents too. It must have been a shock to come face-to-face with their past.

“Do they blame you for Marty’s death?”

He shakes his head. “No, the truck driver was clearly to blame, and Marty was driving. They don’t blame me for his death. They blame me for living when their son didn’t.”

“They said that to you?” I feel anger boiling in my gut.

“They don’t have to say it out loud. I can see it in their expressions. It’s why they moved away. Every time they saw me or one of his friends they were reminded of their loss.”

“That’s understandable.” It had to be hard being faced with constant reminders of what their son would never have. I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child. “But why do you want to walk away from us, honey?”

“Because I shouldn’t be happy when Marty will never get the same.”

I stop on the sidewalk and tug Dean over to face me. “Marty is dead, Dean.” I see him flinch at my harsh words, and I’m sorry, but it has to be said.

“I know that,” he mumbles.

“Do you? Because it seems to me you’ve never let him go in here.” I press a hand over his heart.

“I should have died with him.” The hoarse confession hangs in the darkness like a shard of ice.

“But you didn’t,” I say gently. “You lived, and you’ve been blaming yourself for that ever since.”

He stares at me, tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t know how to stop blaming myself.”

A solo tear rolls down his cheek to get lost in the Santa beard.

I take a chance and step into his space, gathering him in my arms. “Let me help.”

Dean shudders and leans against me, his beard tickling me as he presses his face into the crook of my neck. I rub soothing circles on his back.

We stay like this for a few moments. He’s crying, mourning his lost love, but I hope he’s understanding that he can live again. I’ll be by his side if he lets me, because I promised to be his friend.

Dean gives one last shudder and raises his head. He opens his mouth, but I put a finger over it.

“If the next words out of your mouth are I’m sorry, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You’ve just had a huge reminder of your past.”

He kisses my finger. “I was going to say thank you. And I’m sorry.”

I growl and he chuckles, even if it does sound forced.

“I do need to get back to the grotto.”

“I’ll come wait with you.”

I wasn’t going to leave him on his own if Marty’s parents could be there.

“You’re going to be Mister Elf,” he says, his smile genuine this time.

“I haven’t got the costume,” I protest.