I was trying not to.
This was in stark contrast to Nick’s introduction to my brother, Jonas. He’d flown in not long after we returned from Kettleworth to check I was still in one piece, and to rip me a new one about what the hell I thought I was doing. He also came over to grill me about the man who’d captured my heart.
If I’d been worried, I needn’t have. The two men got along, if not exactly like a house on fire, then a small dog kennel, at least. They shared a dry sense of humour, a low threshold for bullshit, and it warmed my heart to watch them argue and laugh about anything and everything from politics toLove Island. Don’t ask.
In contrast, when it came to Nick and Davis’s friends, it wasn’t like we’d been flaunting our new... whatever. God forbid. But word had spread regarding the change in Nick’s relationship status and we kept ‘bumping into’ people who required an introduction. Garden centres, cafés, bookstores—no retail space was safe from lurking and overly concerned friends of Davis wondering if Nick had lost his goddamned mind. A situation not helped by Nick’s ghosting of almost everyone after Davis had died.
I chewed on my muesli and mentally slapped myself because it couldn’t be an easy thing introducing the new man in your life to a million and one best friends of the very popular old one. The man who’d died less than a year ago. The husband whom everyone had loved to bits.
Queue a number of very awkward meetings.
Some of their friends had accepted me with grace, happy that Nick had found someone he cared about to move on with. But those people were in the minority. More than a few regarded me with obvious sympathy, like I was some rebound hookup who wasn’t going to last and was only deluding myself that our relationship could be anything more. Those people mostly ignored me once the introductions were done, like it wasn’t worth their time getting to know me since I wouldn’t be hanging around. And then there were some for whom I was likely an unwelcome reminder of life moving on without Davis while they were still grieving.
I could handle all of those friends.
Who I found difficult were the few who were overtly caustic at the idea that Nick could’ve found someone else so quickly, making their suspicions clear via accusatory looks and comments not so discreetly implying that Nick must’ve been unfaithful to Davis, with me, while Davis was still alive. It was the only way they could explain the suddenness of it all.
Thosepeople I wanted to slap into the next century and then catch up with them and do it all over again. I wanted to scream at them about how wrong they were. If they only knew how very close Nick and I had come to never even being friendsafterDavis died. How terrified and racked with guilt Nick had been at the very thought of opening up his heart to another man so soon. And how difficult it had been to forge a path for ourselves with the constant shadow of Davis hovering over our lives.
But nothing I said would have made an ounce of difference to those arseholes, and I had the sense to know that, thank God. In their eyes, I was, and would always be, the interloper. The new kid on the block. The...replacement.
God, I hated that word, especially since I knew that’s how some of them saw me.
All of which came to a head during the get-together we’d attended the previous night—a party organised by Davis’s friends and hosted by his best mate, Luther. He’d wanted to commemorate Davis’s final book earning an international crime-writer’s award just the week before. It was an honour, for sure, and of course Nick needed to go and celebrate with those who knew Davis best.
Me? Not so much.
I’d pushed him to go on his own, to reconnect with his friends, reminding him that Davis wouldn’t want him to lose contact with them. But Nick wasn’t having a bar of it. He’d remindedmethatmyname was on the invitation as well and that we’d agreed on a relationship premise going forward.
Together, or not at all, right?He’d parroted my words back to me.
He’d known full well they’d never been intended for this type of scenario, but what could I do? And so, I’d gone, agreeing it was probably better to give people some actual facts to gossip about rather than rumours and speculation. But to say I’d been nervous was like saying Beyonce had a fair to middling set of lungs on her.
It had been a mistake.
An epic one.
Luther’s flat was festooned with Davis Minton memorabilia, including a giant blow-up of the last book cover. A photo of Davis and Nick on their wedding day stood front and centre on the mantelpiece next to the fire, and the playlist was apparently made up of Davis’s favourite songs. I should’ve read the room and skedaddled right then and there, but Nick’s white-knuckle grip on my hand held me captive.
It went downhill from there. The minute we walked into the apartment the condolences and tears began, along with an outpouring of sympathy for Nick. Nick, who was standing infront of them, holdingmyhand. Nick, who looked positively stricken and completely bamboozled by the inappropriate onslaught. Nick, caught between a rock and a hard place. Piss off Davis’s friends by protesting and trying to include me, or pissmeoff by not.
I might’ve been invited by name, but I quickly saw that it was only from politeness or curiosity. Or maybe they hadn’t expected me to actually attend.Thanks for that, Nick.
Regardless,Nick and I had walked right into it. I should’ve stayed home. Nick should’ve gone on his own. Nick had been naïvely hopeful, and I’d been just plain stupid to let him talk me into it. All of which meant that his failure to acknowledge our relationship in any of the ensuing introductions or to have my back in the face of the many insensitive comments hurt like hell. But it was also kind of understandable.
I wasn’t holding Nick entirely responsible. The situation was way more than just complicated, and we’d both been ambushed. It was too soon for a lot of these people. Too soon after Davis’s death. Too soon in Nick’s and my... relationship. No one was ready for me to be at Nick’s side and they maybe wouldn’t be for a long time.
Lesson learned.
And as far as uncomfortable scenarios went, the evening pretty much took the cake. There were far too many long silences if I was in the vicinity; a lot of concerned, puzzled, curious, and even some outright hostile looks had been directed my way; and a ton of reminiscing about incidents that involved Nick and Davis, which left me feeling like a third wheel on a very rickety bike.
To be fair, some of the incidents had been fun to hear about and I’d even joined in the gentle ribbing. But after the first hour, the banter lost its lustre. Nick’s hand regularly found mine in an attempt at reassurance, but he didn’t interrupt the flow ofconversation or try to change the topic. Eventually, I’d excused myself from his side and found a distant wall to lean against and nurse my bruises.
Luther, Davis’s best mate, spotted me skulking and joined me with an offer to top up my drink. Impeccably dressed in dark fitted jeans and a crisp white linen shirt, he was somewhere in his late forties, a tall, lean man with a mass of dark brown waves and warm hazel eyes. He had a strikingly angular face that, while not classically handsome, drew your attention, and he’d been one of the few people to give me a warm hug on our arrival. In this crowd that practically earned him a sainthood, I gratefully accepted his offer and thanked him for hosting the event.
If I was murdered, I’d probably be polite with the culprit, so don’t judge me.
But Luther hadn’t been fooled for a second. When he’d returned with a brimming glass of admittedly excellent South Otago Pinot Noir a few minutes later, he gave my hand a long squeeze and whispered, “This too will pass, sweetheart. You and I must have coffee together.”
