I type out the next message about how he used to like me even though I’m stubborn, but then delete it. I’m not going down that route again. Riling him and Jamie up isn’t fun anymore. Not now I’ve seen how genuinely in love they are. Not now that I’ve experienced that kind of love for myself.
Me: Fine.
I’m going to need a nap and a couple ibuprofen before I can facethatpart of my past.
By the time I drag myself to Caiden’s place, it’s already past five and I am severely regretting my decision to take up his invitation. We’re not even friends – he made sure of that – so why the fuck am I here?
Because you’re lonely.
Fuck.
It’s Jamie who opens the door when I knock. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, and there’s a huge fucking hickeyon his neck. He doesn’t smile when he welcomes me in and I get the distinct impression this was not how he wanted to spend his Sunday evening.
“Hey,” Caiden says in greeting. “Jamie’s making lasagne if you want to stay for dinner? It may be edible.”
“Hey!” Jamie remarks, shooting his boyfriend a grin. “It’ll be edible. I think.” He furrows his brow then heads further into the house, leaving me with Caiden.
“Nah, thanks though. I’ll take a beer if there’s one on offer?” I’ve had two therapy sessions so far and while I’ve opened up more than I expected I would, I’m a long way off from sharing a meal with people I barely consider my friends.
Darius though…I push away the thought. It no longer matters that he was the one person I was most comfortable with.
“Sure, come sit.” I follow Caiden to the kitchen, pulling a stool out from beneath the bar. Taking a seat, I look around the place and, like in my own home, I can picture Darius in this space. Darius making pasta at that stove. Me almost kissing him that day. If I went through to the lounge, I’m sure I’d be confronted with memories of the two of us sitting on that sofa, the silence between us more meaningful than any words I’d heard in my twenty-four years.
Don’t ruin this.Well, fuck, somehow I did without knowing how.
Caiden opens the fridge and Jamie comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist while leaning over him to reach inside. He pulls back, a block of cheese in his hand. He returns to the other side of the kitchen, where there’s a mess of flour, tomato paste, and milk on the counter next to a glass dish. A lumpy white sauce sitting on top.
“Here.” Caiden pushes a beer across the counter to me and I take a sip before putting it back down. The silence that falls between Caiden and me is awkward. Other than the brief chatwe had on the night of the quiz, I think the last time we had a conversation that didn’t revolve around drinking, sex, or a party, was back when we were sixteen.
“How are you?” He eventually asks. I pick at the label on my beer, narrowing my eyes at him. Why does he suddenly care?
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yep,” I answer, popping the p and then taking another swig of my beer. “Why wouldn’t I be? Got head from a sweet twink last night, may go out again later. Life is peachy.”
Jamie eyes me over his shoulder, his lips pursed but he doesn’t speak before he turns back to his lasagne.
“Good…um…I’m glad you’re okay and that you’ve moved on,” Caiden remarks.
Moved on.His invite this evening suddenly makes so much sense.
“Holy shit! He asked you to check on me, didn’t he?” Caiden shrugs, but he can’t look me in the eyes. I stand from my stool and open my arms wide. “Well, here I am, Caiden. You can tell your bestie that I’m fine. But if he really cared, maybe he shouldn’t have…” I shake my head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna go.”
I pocket my keys and phone that I’d left on the counter earlier.
“He’s just worried about you.”
The laugh that passes my lips is bitter. “He doesn’t get to worry about me, not anymore. I get that he’s your friend, Caiden, but he cheated onme. I may be a fuck up, but I would never have hurt him the way he hurt me.”
“He didn’t chea-”
“Caiden.” Jamie interrupts his boyfriend and Caiden squeezes his lips together before pushing my beer towards me.
“Don’t go, Oliver. Stay. Finish your drink.” I’m about to take it when my eyes catch on an orange piece of card stuck to hisfridge. I saw it earlier but didn’t give it a second glance. Now, though I don’t know why, I study it harder, vaguely making out the words and what I see makes my stomach turn.
My vision narrows, my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my ears. I leave my seat, round the countertop and stride towards the fridge.
