Page 34 of Grief & Glitter

The doorbell rang. I yelped. Dad yelped. “I’ll get the door. Finish up and get dressed.”

“I’ll need a hand lacing the back,” I whispered in a mix of fear and excitement.

“I’ll come back up.” Dad raced off to let Gideon in. My belly rumbled. Despite the heartburn and trembling hands, I finished my face, tied a thin scarf over my hair—it was done and sprayed so thickly it would take ten washings to get it clean—and pulled my new dress over my head. The satin lining slithered down over me, tickling my ribs as it settled into place like a second skin. After losing the scarf, I slipped my feet into my heels, spritzed my wrist and throat with some perfume, and spun like a drunken goose when the bedroom door flew open and Dad came in.

“Taft is downstairs looking amazing in that suit and… oh, Ryan, you look so beautiful. You’re glowing.”

“It’s the makeup,” I replied shyly as I turned my back to him so he could pull the laces tight around my lean waist.

“No. It’s you. It’s you embracing the true person that lives inside your heart.” He came up behind me, gave me a big dad hug, and then lifted the ties, one in each hand. “Okay, hold onto the bedpost.”

I laughed. “It’s not a whalebone corset,” I snickered as he tugged the laces tightly. When I turned to face him, he gave me a look of pure love and pride. “Will he like what he sees?” I waved a hand at myself.

“I think he’s going to take one look at you and forget what his name is.” Dad bussed my cheek. “Okay, I’m going back downstairs so I can have the camera ready to film your grand descent. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

With that, he scooted back out the door, leaving it open for me. I pulled in a breath, and then another, and with the exhale I slowly made my way out the door and into an uncertain but freeing future.

Chapter 12

Gideon

I forgot my name. Not literally. I knew I was Gideon Taftwell, winger for the Rochester Copperheads, twenty-five years old, six-four, currently wearing an oxblood suit, but when Ryan came down the stairs, every useful thought disappeared.

He’d worn the dress. For some reason, even after our phone call, I wasn’t sure he would. I told him I’d be happy with whatever he chose, and I meant it. Suit, dress, jeans, that ridiculous ramen hoodie he’d stolen from me. I wanted Ryan beside me tonight. The rest didn’t matter because he looked fucking incredible. The dress was dark blue, fitted through his waist before falling around his legs, the fabric catching the light when he moved. His hair was up, held back with little blue things I didn’t know the name of, and his eyes were dark around the edges with blue glitter catching at the corners. His lips were darker than usual too.

Pretty wasn’t enough. Beautiful sounded too much. Hot worked, but I probably shouldn’t lead with that in front of his dad.

Ryan reached the bottom step and stopped, and I realized I was staring.

“Say something,” he whispered. “Do you hate it?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

His dad started laughing from somewhere behind me. “I told you the big hockey player would forget his name.”

Ryan’s mouth twitched, but he was nervous. I could see it in the way he held his hands together in front of himself, one thumb rubbing hard over the other.

“You look…” I tried again and waited for the rest of the sentence to show up. It didn’t. “Fuck. I mean, you look amazing. Really amazing.”

His smile grew, and I stepped closer, stopping before I got into his space. I’d gotten better at remembering that touching Ryan without warning could still startle him, even if he trusted me now.

“Can I?” I asked, all kinds of gentlemanly, when what I really wanted to do was gather him up and kiss the gloss from his lips.

He glanced at my hand. “Yeah.”

I took his fingers. His hand was cold. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have to do this. We can go get noodles.”

“I know.”

“Hell, we could drive around Rochester for three hours and tell everyone we went to the fundraiser.”

He laughed then. “That would be lying.”