AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, they can,” Hayden said, “and I painted the blades of grass. Remember that when you see it, Casey. And … I’m off.”
Definitely time to go.
CHAPTER 5
Strong as Oak
As usually happens, Hayden’s exit sparked a general exodus, and five minutes later, he was standing in the driveway with Luke and Tom as Marko and Nyree climbed into Marko’s car, at the back of the queue, and reversed out of the driveway. Luke’s car was next, but he hesitated a moment, and Hayden thought …
He wasn’t sure what he thought.
Now, though, Luke said, “Well … I’m off myself,” and put a hand on the door.
Hayden thought, Good. Only answer. And instead of saying, “Well, goodbye!” he said, “We could go have a drink if you like, toast your big day. Nonalcoholically, of course, which makes it an even more blameless idea. I don’t feel like going home yet anyway. It’s still light out, and barely seven-thirty. Whenever I’m with Zora and Rhys, I feel like I’ve aged thirty years, like I’d better run out and buy a spectacularly unsuitable convertible in a desperate attempt to hold onto my vanishing youth. Why is that?”
Tom was looking between the two of them, and Luke looked frozen, like he had no idea how to answer that. Hayden thought, At least I was insouciant, tried not to feel rejected, and said, “Or not, of course. Whichever.”
“No,” Luke said, the color rising into his cheeks again, and Hayden thought, Clearly not insouciant enough. Luke added, though, “I mean—sure. That would be good.”
To celebrate coming out, obviously, or at least to come to terms with it. To talk things over, maybe, except that Luke didn’t seem like the chatty type.
Oh, well. You had to look out for each other, didn’t you? Not like the rest of the world would do it. Hayden said, “There’s a place near Britomart that’s surprisingly quiet. That could work. It’s called Caretaker, and I’ve heard they do nonalcoholic as well. Not a gay bar or whatever you’re imagining,” he added hastily, “so no worries, no more coming out required.”
“Sounds good,” Luke said. “I’m staying at a hotel in Viaduct Harbour. I’ll park and walk over, meet you there.”
Viaduct Harbour again. No escape, it seemed.
Just because he’s staying there, Hayden thought, doesn’t mean he’s anything like Julian. And tried to believe it. But when he’d sat in the deep murk of the basement bar for fifteen minutes, then twenty, he started losing faith. He didn’t even have Luke’s number, and Luke didn’t have his. If he stood Hayden up, that didn’t mean he was rejecting him. It just meant it was too much right now.
Or that he was rejecting him.
He wanted to put his head down on the table again. He clearly was too fragile to be going out, however casually. He was fit company for George the cat, and possibly a movie.
Or, of course, wine.
No. Luke had been right about the wine. Drinking alone and sad—no. It should be George and the movie, or even better, the gym. If he went home now, packed his kit, and went to the gym, he could be home by ten. The gym was definitely better. He’d go right now. He’d just—
The dim doorway of the place darkened even more, and then somebody approximately the size of a tree was wending his way among close-packed tables and chairs with surprising grace, his eyes fixed on Hayden’s.
The forehead-on-table thing was probably a bad idea right now. Also hyperventilating.
“Hi,” Luke said when he’d pulled out a chair and sat. And smiled.
“Hi,” Hayden said, and, because he wanted to babble on, something about being glad Luke had come, or possibly about the cat, he told Luke instead, “So you know—they don’t do regular drinks so much here. You say what you enjoy—sour, sweet, bitter, and so forth—and they make you something special. An adventure, is the idea.”
“Ah,” Luke said. “An adventure.” And looked at Hayden again.
OK. Not so good for the hyperventilation issue. Hayden held it together, though, and when they’d given their orders to a server who vanished into the gloom again the same way he’d swum into view, went on, “You’ve been living in Paris, so the darkness and cramped quarters will be a feature, not a bug. Or not. I don’t really know, other than films. I’ve been to Paris once in my life, on my gap year. Got bedbugs in a hostel and itched for days, and saw the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa. I’m one step removed from reading Madeline for my knowledge. Never read Remembrance of Things Past, much less remembering the title in French. I read The Three Musketeers as a kid, though. Does that count?”
“Probably,” Luke said. “I never read the Proust one myself. Started it once, and got about a hundred pages in before I gave up. Seven volumes of tormented introspection. No, thanks.”
“Tormented introspection,” Hayden said. “Good one. Did you read it in French?”
“Yeh,” Luke said. “Maybe I’m not as dumb as I look, eh. Though, like I said—only a hundred pages.” And smiled.
This was too hard.
Hayden looked at his water glass, picked it up, and set it down without taking a drink. “I need to say something.”
