Someone nearly bumped into them, possibly on purpose, so they stepped apart and continued walking, not holding hands anymore.
“We have to figure out what we’re doing before it’s too late,” Nally said with a serious frown. “We can’t stop things from changing, but like Dad and his schedules for the arts center, we have to make a plan of how we’re going to proceed so that we don’t end up losing everything.”
“We’re not going to lose everything,” Jude insisted. “But you’re right. Maybe instead of going to a hotel tonight and bonking each other’s brains out, we should each go home and decide what we really want going forward.”
“I wantyou,” Nally said immediately.
“I’m not talking about us,” Jude replied just as quickly. “I’m talking about everything else. We need to step apart for a half-second, figure out where we each want our lives to go, and then come back together and figure out how to make those things work. Because if it turns out we want everything else in our lives to go in different directions it’s going to be harder for us to figure out how to stay together.”
Jude could tell Nally wanted to blurt out something emotional. He was deeply proud of the way Nally took a deep breath instead and said, “Okay. But I only agree to this whole taking a step back thing if it doesn’t last forever.”
“It won’t,” Jude insisted. “But I think we can both agree that it isn’t healthy for us to be in each other’s pockets all the time either.”
“I like being in your pocket,” Nally said, leaning his head against Jude’s shoulder as they waited at the crosswalk at the end of Blackfriars Bridge for the light to turn green.
Jude laughed and slipped his arm around Nally’s waist. “I like being in your pocket, too, but if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, we aregoingto have a healthy relationship, not a freakishly codependent one.”
“Okay,” Nally sighed, straightening. “We can do this.”
“Yes, we can,” Jude said with a smile.
He just hoped he was right.
SEVENTEEN
There wasa good chance that Nally had stuffed everything up royally. He shouldn’t have walked away from Jude after their night on Blackfriars Bridge. That’s what it would forever be in his mind, even though they’d spent most of the evening atOvertureand the Tate Modern. The things they’d said on the bridge felt more important than fine food and famous art.
But what had they said, really? Was it a confession of love or a veiled admission that everything was over? They’d taken the Tube back to Mayfair and Jude’s family’s house, but after a kiss that wasn’t even close to half of what Nally wanted, Nally had headed straight back to the closest Tube station and hopped a train home instead of spending the rest of the night at Jude’s or between hotel sheets.
It wasn’t what he wanted at all, but what hedidwant seemed so far away.
No, that was wrong. As his train rattled home through a night where everyone in the countryside around him seemed busy while his world had dropped into slow motion, he felt more like everything he wanted was right there in front of him, but separated from him by paper-thin glass that he couldn’t break.
He was glad that none of his family was up and wandering the halls when he reached Hawthorne House. His family had made no secret of how giddy they were that he and Jude were trying to make something more of their friendship. Of course, by the time he snuck back into his flat, locking the door behind him, which was something he never did, knowing that made him more anxious and depressed than ever. It wasn’t just him and Jude he had to worry about. His entire family was invested in what should have been a natural relationship.
Simply put, it was all stupid and miserable. Nally flopped into bed, frustrated with himself, longing for Jude, and dead certain he wouldn’t sleep a wink.
He woke up what felt like five minutes later, surprised that he’d slept the whole night, but not feeling rested at all. His brain picked up right where it’d left off the night before, with worry and panic.
“Why are you being so stupid about this?” he asked his reflection in his bathroom mirror with a sigh before getting into the shower. “It’s Jude. Jude isn’t Timothy.”
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? After all this time, all these years, neither he nor Jude could shake the specter of everything that had gone on between Jude and the guy who could have been their other best friend forever.
A sneaky idea began to take hold in Nally’s head as he showered, prolonging the whole thing so he could stand under the hot water with the sound of splashing drowning out the volume of his thoughts for as long as possible. There were bits of information he didn’t have, things he had never asked about because he’d been too busy doing damage control from his own end. Maybe some of what had happened back then made a difference to what was going on now.
The idea stayed with Nally as he dried off and got dressed, as he fixed himself a cup of tea and ate a bowl of cereal. It wouldn’tlet go as he checked his emails, remembered that he had a recording session in London for a project Silver Productions had set up for him, and quickly glanced at his socials.
Looking at the sheer volume of replies and DMs across platforms from the pics he and Jude had posted the night before nearly blasted the idea out of his head, especially since there was a message from Quentin.
“He’s not good enough for you. I would treat you so much better.”
“Why won’t you just give me a chance?”
“I showed up atOverture, but you were already gone.”
That last message nearly made the tea sour in Nally’s stomach. He was so tempted to just block Quentin and stick his head in the sand, but doing that felt like it would leave him blind to the intentions of someone who was proving to be legitimately dangerous. He needed to send it all to the police, but even thinking about doing that filled him with a spikey sense of hopelessness. The police had already said they couldn’t do anything until Quentin threatened or committed violence.
In the end, Nally left his half-eaten breakfast and headed downstairs and into the heart of the arts center side of Hawthorne House to his studio. What he needed more than anything to sort through the chaos was his music. He needed to play and lose himself in it. He needed to block out everything and focus on what made his heart beat.
