‘No, he should go,’ Maeve said, looking between them. ‘Decs, you heading out too?’
‘Yeah,’ Declan said, finding his voice. ‘He’s on the way, figured I could give him a ride.’
Chapter 28
Declan
‘Right, um,’ Declan said, fiddling with his keys. ‘This is me.’ He glanced back at Oliver, as he had several times on the drive from Maeve’s apartment, to make sure he was still there. Oliver stared back at him, eyes soft, and Declan swung the door open.
His flat had always felt too big for the time he spent there, with the windows lining the far wall offering a view of the street below. The surprisingly tall ceilings for this part of town had only ever left Declan feeling exposed.
He switched on a lamp, casting the flat in low light, and watched as Oliver wandered around, inspecting his sparse decor. Declan categorised Oliver’s reactions as he studied the Jimmy King poster above his couch, ran his fingers along the spines of books nestled on two large bookcases in the corner, and finally came to stand in front of the open French doors that led to Declan’s bedroom.
Oliver turned to look at him, and Declan realised he hadn’t moved from his spot by the door. This was the first time they’d ever been truly alone together, with nowhere else to go and no one to look out for. Something like panic ran through his body.
‘I didn’t know you read,’ Oliver said.
Declan shrugged, walking over to the bookcase absentmindedly. ‘I do sometimes.’
‘You’ll have to give me recommendations, now that I’ve got more time. It’s kind of amazing, having a life again.’ Oliver moved over to Declan’s bar, examining the bottles curiously.
‘What have you done so far?’ Declan asked.
‘You’ll never believe it,’ Oliver said. ‘I actually spent a few days visiting my family.’
‘Oh?’ Declan asked, surprised. ‘I thought you didn’t get on.’
‘We don’t,’ Oliver said, picking up a bottle of whisky and pouring himself a drink. ‘But it’d been too long since I’d been home.’
‘How did it go?’ Declan said, eyeing the line of Oliver’s throat as he drank.
‘I told them about you,’ Oliver said. ‘Well, I told them about me, I suppose.’
Declan had got the sense that Oliver’s parents were traditional. ‘What did they say?’
Oliver’s eyebrows drew together. ‘To be honest, it was the best conversation we’ve had in years. I basically told them they have to give up on trying to get me to move home, get married and have five kids.’
‘And?’
‘They said, “Okay”.’ Oliver laughed, looking younger somehow. ‘And that they wanted to see me at Christmas. I think they’ve actually missed me.’
‘Yes, well, you’re easy to miss.’ Heat crept into his cheeks at the look Oliver gave him. ‘I mean, I missed you’ – he swallowed – ‘about as soon as I lost you.’
Oliver gazed at him from across the room, the glass of whisky hanging limply in his hand. Declan stared back, hoping Oliver could see everything he was thinking.
Oliver didn’t shrug so much as slump against the corner of the bar, resting there as if he could no longer hold himself upright.
‘That’s… good.’
Declan wanted to respond, but his brain settled on Oliver’s fingers wrapped around the glass.
‘I didn’t stay for you,’ Oliver said, after a moment.
‘And I didn’t come out for you,’ Declan said.
They stared at each other, the flat so silent that the aircon clicking on was a roar.
Oliver broke eye contact first. ‘I didn’t want to go to New York,’ he said. ‘The only reason to go would’ve been to prove something I didn’t feel like I needed to prove any more. My life is in London, and leaving didn’t make sense.’
