Harry.
16
Fuck knowswhat my face does.
I freeze like I’ve done in so many classrooms. Then I burn with the same old shame at being the slowest student. The bluntest knife amongst so many sharp ones. The dimmest bulb in existence.
Did every Ex but me know that him and Flynn were banging?
It shouldn’t matter who Harry dated years ago. Somehow it does, even if Charles isn’t certain what happened between them the summer Harry dropped off his happy-hookup radar. Harry and Flynn disappeared together only to return separately. Unfinished business, he called it.
I call it fucked up. I also ripple with all kinds of weird feelings about slogging my guts out for Flynn and then working even harder for someone who says, “Darling!” today, as if he’s a friend and not a foe who has kept a secret from me.
For the second time in as many minutes, wheezing is all I got. This time, that’s due to Harry hugging me so hard my ribs are at risk of breaking. So is my heart when he lets go to clasp my facewith both hands. His own is creased with concern, and man, it looks as real as ever.
“I wish you’d told me,” he says, as if I’m the one of us who lied by omission.
I almost say so. Harry stops me dead by reminding me that I did keep a secret from him. “If I’d known about your aphasia issues, I would never have asked you to read what’s engraved on my pen. Or suggested that you use it to journal how you were feeling.” His hands slip down to my shoulders, squeezing. “I’m so sorry for putting you in that position. I came back as soon as I could to tell you so. You really can’t?—”
“Read or write?” I’m gruff. East End rough. Extra gritty. “Not even my own name. Wouldn’t know it if I saw it.”
Harry looks me dead in the eye, and here’s the problem with spending the last few weeks with someone who shows their emotions. It means I’ve learned to read them. All I see now is more of that concern.For me.And admiration. “You’re incredible, Vincent.”
He hugs me again, even tighter, and a real hard man shouldn’t let that happen. I should come out fighting. Harry drops to his knees before I can. He gathers up the mail I’ve stepped over twice, then says, “Flynn,” as if I did just punch his ex’s name from him.
Harry clutches a handful of letters. They crease and crumple. “Did he know about your aphasia?” He’s angry on my behalf. “Because if he did know, and he used it to manipulate?—”
“He didn’t.” I have to admit this. “I don’t tell people. Didn’t, I mean.” Lately, it feels like all I do. “He didn’t know.”
“Like I didn’t know Flynn was back in London last October.” Harry sighs. “Wish I had known.” He smooths out a crumpled letter. “I would have made sure?—”
“That your boyfriend didn’t financially fuck me over?”
Harry looks so conflicted. “Flynn isn’t mine. I haven’t seen him in forever.” His free hand runs through sun-bleached hair, tugging on it as if he’s tangled. It’s a familiar motion, a reminder of the morning after I sent an SOS and Harry came to save me.
I can’t forget that. I also can’t forget what he told me during one of his regular check-ins.
Let’s have this convo face-to-face. I’ve been wanting to.
“You were going to tell me about you and him being together?”
“Of course.” Harry smooths out another crumpled letter. “Althoughtogetherwas always a stretch.” He gets up from his knees. “I would have mentioned it right away, only you were in such a bad way, giving you some TLC seemed more important. Then my flight got moved up, and I ran out of time.” He gets up from his knees. “Believe me?”
Fuck my life, I want to.
He hands me the letters he gathered from my doormat and taps the one on the top of the stack. “That’s for you.”
I hand them all straight back. “No, it ain’t. None of them are. I don’t get any post here. Never changed my address on nothing official. You can bin ’em, for all I care.”
“I can’t do that.” Harry shoves them back into my hands. “The one on top really is addressed to you. I’ll... I’ll leave you to it.” He backs away. The trenches of his smile lines deepen with what looks like genuine worry. “Just know that if you ever send another SOS, I’ll always come to find you.”
You know where that gets me, yeah?
Right in the chest.
It gets to Charles too. His voice from my phone is a surprise. “Like when you found me, Vincent.”
I’d forgotten we’d been mid-call. Now his face on the screen of my phone gives me a Dair reminder—he’s glossy-eyed.
