But just as he considered taking a step towards him, Oliver said something that stopped him in his tracks.
“Hard to have a wedding without a best man,” Oliver replied, with a naïve little shrug, like he hadn’t just cut Aberlour off at the knees.
Surely, somewhere out there in the universe God was laughing his ass off right now. Aberlour just knew it. The fucker was having him on. There was no other explanation for Oliver’s statement.
Abe laughed. A maniacal sound that echoed around the parking lot.
“Is this what this little set up was about? Get me here? Feeling guilty and trapped so I’d say yes to participating in this absolutely twisted fuckery?” Miraculously, standing out here on the wet pavement, feeling as if he was smack dab in a war zone, he was quite comfortable yelling at Oliver. No swanky lawyer staring at him from across the room now, was there? It felt good to just let out all that poison naturally and with deadly intent.
“I want you there,” Oliver pleaded. “You’re my best guy, you’re—” He stopped and took a deep breath.
Aberlour smiled humorlessly. That’s right, asshole. There’s no word for it.
“I need you there, Gavin.”
Gavin.
Gavin.
Fucking Gavin again. What the hell?
Oh, Oliver had almost had him. For a minute there, Aberlour had thought he might give in. Those charming puppy dog eyes. The dimples. Thedesperation.
But that was where Oli had slipped up. His use of Gavin had sliced cleanly through the bullshit like a Ka-Bar, reminding Aberlour of everything that gone before. Of all the reasons why this situation was so terribly fucked up and beyond any hope of redemption.
“Seems like the big city made you stupid, so let me spell it out for you in simple words you can understand,” Aberlour said, shaking his head. He laughed then, a real one. Genuine amusement at the total shit show that was his life now, thanks to Oliver. Laughing was a fuck ton better than crying.
“I’m not your anything. You want to pretend you like pussy so your mommy won’t be mad—fine. Marry the bitch, be my fucking guest, but leave me out of it.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open in shock. Aberlour took it as his cue to go.
Oliver didn’t call after him. He didn’t even try, and dumbly—numbly—as Aberlour drove away, he did his very best not to be pissed about it.
Chapter 36
June 2017
It was the last he heard of Oliver. There were no more messages flashing on his answering machine and no more invitations delivered by courier. Aberlour had asked for radio silence, and he’d gotten it.
Life got easier in some respects. Days passed and though he never quite forgot—how could he ever?—grief settled over him like a heavy blanket. Not quite comfortable, slightly suffocating, but—familiar and protective almost. He acknowledged that he really wasn’t living. Not as he had done previously, but he didn’t feel like he was dying either, so it was a distinct change.
Bart helped.
Something about the blind, sassy, over the top, proud gay man, healed parts of Aberlour in ways he didn’t fully understand. Gradually giving in, Aberlour began accepting his invitations. He met Bart’s fiancé Michael, and they frequently went out for drinks after work. They were friends, he supposed, even though it was nothing like the tight bond he’d had with Team Specter, it was—good. Easy. Undemanding.
At least, he wasn’t completely alone.
Not quite two years later, on a Saturday in late June, Bart talked him into attending his first drag show.
Aberlour checked his reflection in his rearview mirror again. He probably should have shaved. Or—maybe tried to style his hair? It was falling every which way. Too long on the top and in the back. His nose was peeling from a recent sunburn, and the noticeable bags under his eyes were darker than the grey of his eyes. It was pitiful.Hewas pitiful.
He wasn’t sure why he’d accepted Bart’s request that he attend. A moment of weakness no doubt. Bart’s suggested going in that casual, charmingly persuasive way of his that Aberlour found it difficult—well, okay, impossible—to refuse.
It was really a drag show brunch. He was going to a drag brunch with Bart and a few of his friends. He hoped Carlos was looking down and mocking him. He would have loved this.
The Brunch Restaurant was hosting several special events in June—Pride month—as Bart had explained. They were collecting money for an LGBTQ+ foundation, and Bart’s fiancé had helped to organise it. He’d been beaming with pride as he’d invited Aberlour to join him and his friends.
He still was today.
