We finish dinner, but my appetite is gone.
Later, Pete squeezes my hand. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers.
I smile, tell him it was lovely, but inside, I’m knotted.
The name Chris is whirling through my mind more than it should.
But more importantly, Craig told me James would be welcoming. Supportive. Lovely.
And all I can think is: Craig was wrong.
Chapter 15
PETE
Pete stands at the doorway as Tom pulls on his coat. The night air is cool, cutting through the tension that has clung to the house like static since dinner.
“Well,” Tom says, his hand on the zip, voice light but not light enough. “That was… weird.”
Pete smiles, soft, disarming. “Weird good or weird bad?”
Tom hesitates. “Just… weird. James seemed upset.”
“He wasn’t upset,” Pete says quickly, too quickly, before softening it with a shrug. “Just nervous. That’s how he is—he’s protective. But he was pleased to meet you.”
Tom’s expression says he doesn’t quite buy it.
“I thought I heard you arguing,” Tom adds carefully.
Pete waves it away with a hand, casual, like shooing a fly. “Oh, no, just a little disagreement. Nothing serious.” He flashes a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Right,” Tom says, unconvinced, his eyes flicking away.
They stand for a beat too long, the air charged with things unspoken. Tom’s Uber appears at the driveway. Pete leans in, kisses him on the cheek, keeps the smile fixed even as something inside him coils tight. “Get home safely.”
Tom disappears into the night.
The door clicks shut. The smile slides from Pete’s face.
The house exhales into silence.
In the garden, Sam’s silhouette glows faintly, a vape lighting his face like a cigarette in a noir film. James is slumped on the sofa, long legs stretched out, an empty wine glass hanging loosely from one hand.
Pete doesn’t speak. Not yet. He slips into the kitchen, the sound of plates and cutlery a quiet cover for the storm he feels brewing. He moves mechanically — scraping leftovers into the bin, rinsing dishes, stacking glasses — his mind replaying the dinner in detail, frame by frame.
Tonight was never going to be easy.
James was never going to play gracious host. He’d known that before Tom even arrived, and still he’d pushed for it. Should he have warned Tom? Probably. But he didn’t want to scare Tom off when things were going so well.
Tom needed to meet James, needed to see him as a person, not just a shadow behind Pete’s life. He wants this to work so badly, him and Tom, making it work together.
James would come around eventually. He always did.
This was their rhythm — conflict and calm, storm and still water. It was what they’d built together.
But still, Pete had hoped it would go better than this.
And Sam, Sam couldn’t help himself. Always the little arsonist, tossing matches just to see what burns. Mentioning Chris like that — casual, cruel — watching Pete stiffen and James go cold.
