by Helen Juliet
Sandra, the manager, came bustling out from behind the counter as soon as she realised Nicholas was there. She pulled him into her ample bosom, clapped him on the back, and assured him in her strong Jamaican accent that the order would be ready soon. She was apparently putting the final touches onto the glazing herself. In the meantime, she fussed around and got him a table in the reasonably crowded diner, then sat him down with a complimentary coffee and doughnut.
Nicholas sipped the coffee, and saved the doughnut for Fynn.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if his dad arrived before he did. But just as he was mulling the possibilities over, the chime on the door sounded and Fynn walked in from the sunny street.
He was dressed in a pair of cargo pants with a white vest top and a lightweight stone-coloured jacket. Like on the first day they’d met, he was also sporting a neckerchief and several chains, and a big pair of combat boots. The only thing missing really was his guitar.
Nicholas felt like he lit up at the sight of him, and tried not to wave him over too enthusiastically. Fynn gave him a small half-smile and walked over with his hands in his jacket pockets, which wasn’t the most exuberant response. But before he sat down, he leant over, and grazed the softest kiss on Nicholas’s cheek.
Nicholas’s whole body rushed with hot pride and a flicker of embarrassment that someone might object. But a quick glance around the diner showed that no one seemed to have noticed a thing, and were all going about their own business as before.
“Hi,” said Fynn in his low, rumbling voice. He took the seat opposite Nicholas on their little, round table. They were in the corner, and Nicholas felt like that afforded them a bit of privacy.
“Hey,” he replied shyly. He slid the napkin with the regular glazed ring doughnut over. “Um, that’s for you.”
Fynn smiled down at the offering, but he didn’t pick it up. He just toyed with the corner of the napkin. “So, you had another mishap?” he prompted.
Nicholas snorted and readjusted his glasses. “The cake lasted about thirty seconds before the cat pushed it on the floor. Like I said, this wedding is cursed.”
Fynn smiled again, but he didn’t laugh. Then he looked around at where they were sitting. “Ahh, because of their first date,” he correctly deduced, whirling his finger around to encompass the whole store.
“Yeah,” said Nicholas. He was quietly thrilled that Fynn had remembered the story he’d told him. “I’m waiting on nine dozen doughnuts that we’re going to pile up into some sort of replacement cake. But, it should hopefully all be fine. What about you? You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
He was aware of the anxious strain that crept into his words, but he didn’t seem to be able to do anything to stop it. Fynn reached over with one of his hands to grasp Nicholas’s briefly, then he dropped them both into his lap. “I got an email from Storm Sailor’s people,” he said without preamble.
Nicholas blinked. “Um, who’s that?”
Fynn chuckled. He was rubbing his thumbs together between his knees. “He’s one of my favourite Swedish music producers.”
Nicholas took a second to realise what that meant. “Oh shit!” He banged his leg against the table in his excitement and almost upset his coffee. He slapped his hand over his mouth and threw an apologetic glance to the young mum sat on the table next to them with her kids. “Sorry,” he mouthed over to her, then turned back to Fynn. “That’s incredible!” he said at a more reasonable volume. “Right? I mean, what did he say? Did he like your demo?”
Fynn sat forwards, his clasped hands resting on the table edge. “It was his PA who emailed, but, yeah.” He allowed himself a little smile. “He liked my stuff. He wants to meet.”
Nicholas bit on his knuckles to stifle his scream. “Fynn, that’s beyond amazing,” he cried. “Why aren’t you more excited?” There was definitely something Nicholas was missing. Fynn swallowed, and his gaze was fixed on the table top.
“He’s only in London for the weekend, and his schedule is really packed.”
“Okay,” said Nicholas, still not quite getting it. “But he can squeeze you in, ri-oh!” The penny dropped. As did Nicholas’s heart. “The weekend. As in…this weekend?”
Fynn didn’t move for the longest time. “I’m so sorry Nicholas, I don’t want to do this to you.”
Nicholas waved his hands. “Stop, wait,” he said, refusing to panic just yet. “What time is your appointment, interview, audition – and how long is it? Maybe there’s a way to make this work – you can’t pass up this opportunity.”
“No,” said Fynn, still not looking up. He was fiddling with the napkin again, and he licked his lips. “I can’t.”
“So, I’m sure there’s a way to do both, right?”
Fynn finally raised his grey eyes, and shook his head. “The appointment is at three o’clock on Saturday. In central London.”
So, basically, exactly when he was supposed to be playing at the wedding. A knot was tightening up in Nicholas’s chest. “Okay, well, can you ask if he can fit you in in the morning, or on Sunday?”
Irritation flashed across Fynn’s features. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. Then he scrubbed his face with his hand, and his tone became softer. “Look, I feel awful, but this is my career. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can’t pass this up.”
Nicholas swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And I’m not asking you to,” he said carefully. He’d gone from ecstatic to fighting off tears in a matter of thirty seconds. “I’m just saying – asking – can’t we at least explore some possible ways we could make this work?”
Fynn drummed his fingers on the table. “I know you paid me already, I can give that back—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Nicholas spluttered. The idea that this came down to money made him feel sick. He now wished he hadn’t had that coffee before; it was just churning in his stomach. “All I’m saying is it can’t hurt to ask. If they know you have a wedding, they might be sympathetic.”
“Nicholas,” he said with an air of barely-contained patience that irked Nicholas no end. “I feel awful, okay. I got the email last night, and I’ve been torn up trying to work a way around this. But I’m literally nobody. If I go back to someone like Storm Sailor demanding a different time, I could get branded as being difficult, a diva. It might get my name blacklisted with other producers as well. I just can’t risk that.”
Out of the corner of his rapidly watering eyes, Nicholas spied the young mum hastily scooping up her toddler and pushing her baby away from her table and out the door. Nicholas didn’t blame her. He was swiftly yearning for an out from this conversation himself.
“You’re not nobody to me,” he whispered. He lost his battle with his tears, and he angrily wiped the back of his sleeve over both sides of his face.
Part of him sparked with hope as Fynn’s face dropped with sympathy, and he reached out with both his hands to scoop up Nicholas’s. He squeezed them tight. “Please don’t cry.”
Nicholas screwed up his mouth. Sure, it wasn’t like having live music was essential. But it was the only thing he’d been asked to contribute to the wedding, and now he was going to be left with a whole load of nothing. “You won’t even try to ask if they’ll change it?” he asked. “You’re just going to chuck me under the bus and assume you’re not worth even asking for some consideration.”
“Darling,” Fynn said softly. The term of endearment hurt. “I can’t see any other way.”
Nicholas pulled his hands back towards his chest. “No,” he said flatly. “You just don’t want to try. I mean, I’m just some weirdo you met this week, you don’t owe me anything—”
“Nicholas,” Fynn tried to cut in, but he didn’t want to hear it.
“I get it,” he bit out. “You barely know me. You have to do what’s best for you. And I want that.” He made himself look at Fynn, even though he felt about an inch tall. “I want you to get a contract. You’re so talented,
you deserve it. What’s a silly wedding compared to that?” What am I compared to that?
Clara’s wedding wasn’t silly, but Fynn hadn’t even committed to it this time last week. It was Nicholas’s fault he’d forgotten to book Jones’s sister to play harp back at the start of term. And now, thanks to that selfish oversight, he’d set off a chain of events that had just spiralled out of control.
What did he want? He wanted Fynn to try. He didn’t want him to abandon his shot at a big break, but he wanted him to at least make Nicholas feel like he was worth pushing the envelope, worth trying to find a solution to work around the problem.
But he wasn’t, was he? He was just some weedy, specky little virgin with a scarred face. What did he ever expect to get back from a cool, up and up, on the rise, gorgeous talent like Fynn? He needed to just escape with what dignity he had left.
“I appreciate what you’ve done,” he said. He was glancing back and forth to the counter, praying his sister’s order would be ready soon. “But you’re right, your career has to come first.”
“Hey, no, Nicholas,” said Fynn. He didn’t like the way he kept using his name. It made him feel like he was being backed into a corner. “Please don’t make me feel like the bad guy here. I don’t want to hurt you, I just don’t see a way to make both things happen. I can’t.”
“Nicholas?” Sandra called out. She must have heard his silent, begging, prayer. He was almost relieved.
He gave Fynn a pinched smile. “It’s been fun, but don’t feel bad, alright? Go live your dreams, I’ll be fine.”
He stood up and marched over to the counter. He could feel Fynn rise up behind him; heard the scrape of his chair, saw his reflection in the glass divider in front of the doughnuts on display. But he didn’t have much more he could say. He’d been a dalliance, a bit of fun. Who was he to kick up a fuss over some covers played over dinner when Fynn had the chance to make his mark on the music industry for real?
Take your troubles out to fly, give me a wink as I pass by.
It had been a really nice wink.
Fuck, he was glad they hadn’t gone all the way and had actual sex. Nicholas felt ridiculous enough now, without offering that up to the first guy that had really turned his head. Next time, he’d need to be a little bit more aware.
“Thank you,” he said to Sandra as she placed the last of the boxes on the counter.
She was beaming, but then her smile faltered, no doubt as she took in his blotchy, tear stained face. She looked between him and Fynn, who he could tell from the glass reflection had moved up to stand next to him. Jesus Christ, he hoped people in the diner weren’t listening in. It had been bad enough that they’d scared off that mum and her kids. “Don’t worry about the money,” he said quietly over his shoulder. His throat was so thick, he was amazed he squeezed the words out. “I wish you the best, we’ll work something out for tomorrow.”
Fynn wouldn’t leave tough. He reached out, and wrapped his fingers around Nicholas’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I wish… Can I call you? Later?”
Nicholas smiled and shook his head, his eyes itchy and hot. “What’s the point? I think we both knew you’d be heading places. I’m going back to uni in Bristol anyway. So, if you can’t play the wedding, what’s the point?”
His last few words took on a savage tone, but he didn’t know how else to protect himself. He should have known the second something between them got difficult, someone like Fynn wouldn’t – shouldn’t – be expected to stick his neck out. He had his own life to think about.
“Art lasts,” he said, turning to face him with the best smile he could muster. “People don’t. Remember? I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go make some art. Sing me a song.”
Fynn gnashed his teeth, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want this to be the end,” he growled.
But they’d never really had a beginning, had they? If he wasn’t playing for the wedding, what did they really have in common? What did Nicholas have to offer him?
“I’ll maybe text you next week, or something, yeah?” he said dismissively. He really just wanted him to leave now. He was done being humiliated.
He’d let himself be stripped down, exposed. He should have known that Fynn wasn’t really here to stay. He had always been bigger than little Sticky Nicky.
“Okay,” Fynn uttered, stepping away. “I’ll wait to hear from you. I – I really am sorry.”
So was Nicholas.
He listened to the bell chime, and watched in the reflection as Fynn walked quickly out of sight, hunched down in his jacket despite the glorious sunshine. Once Nicholas had received the last of the boxes from a more subdued Sandra, he gave her a nod, carefully picked them up to cart back over to his little round table, then sat silently as he waited for his dad to come in and pick him up.
Chapter Thirteen
(The Wedding)
Robert Herald was a man of few words. He generally approached any given situation with the attitude of ‘it’ll sort’, and left the fretting to his wife. Nicholas was in no doubt he got his motor mouth from her, but he had to say there were many times when he appreciated his dad’s quiet nature more than he could say.
So when Mr Herald had walked into the Kristy Kreme diner and seen his son struggling to fight back tears, he’d not said a word. He’d squeezed Nicholas’s shoulder, then gone up to the counter with big smile to thank Sandra numerous times for her speedy work, compliment her on doing such a great job, and pay her with gratitude. All it had taken to get them going back to the car was him picking up half the boxes and a nod towards Nicholas to do the same.
“Everything okay mate?” he’d asked as they’d walked.
Nicholas had answered with a nod and a sniff. “I’ll be fine.”
The journey back in the car was just as quiet between them. Nicholas had let the rock music from Absolute Radio drift over him, the well-known classics and the newer popular tracks washing over him as he attempted not to think of anything at all.
The house had spent most of the afternoon in chaos, but his dad had told everyone that Nicholas had a terrible headache and was going to rest up for the big day ahead. And therefore, he’d been allowed to spend the rest of the day and night curled up in his bed, trying his best to forget about the world.
It didn’t realty work, but he tried.
At some time around one o’clock, he had the vague memory of turning over and seeing the sweep of headlights in the driveway below. The front door had opened and closed quietly, footsteps had creaked up the stairs, and Nicholas guessed his dad had come back from the airport. Thank goodness. At least everyone was in the country now.
Lauren and her family had agreed to stay two nights in the hotel they would all be staying at after the reception. Her old room already had Kinny and Ash camped out in it, and it would be less disruptive for little Milly to stay in the same place for the whole weekend. Selfishly, Nicholas was also quite glad that that would limit the hours a screaming three-year-old would be running amuck in the house. He loved his niece dearly, but tomorrow was going to be undoubtedly stressful, and Nicholas felt like he was hanging on by a thread as it was.
There was the small matter of there being no musician for the wedding breakfast. But that was a problem for the morning. As Nicholas tossed and turned he only had one thing on his mind: Fynn.
He felt empty, and numb, but at the same time, like he had too many thoughts battling for his attention. When he wasn’t sobbing into his pillow, he was staring into the darkness with barely a blink.
He tried to be angry with Fynn, but all he could muster was a disappointment that he hadn’t been willing to at least try and move the audition around. But even then, Nicholas kept coming back to the knowledge that he wasn’t worth his time, and he’d be foolish to expect Fynn to go out on a limb for him when they’d only know each other a few days.
That was his train of thought when he was feeling like a husk. A tired-out thing. But then the floodgate
s would open when he thought of never getting to be near Fynn again. He had wrestled with the fact that Fynn had asked to call him, but he was convinced it was just because he was feeling guilty about bailing on the wedding. Fynn wasn’t his to keep, he’d move on quick enough, and he’d soon forget about that odd guy barely out of his teens who had had his first gay fool-around with him.
That was when his crying got really gut-wrenching; when he pictured Fynn moving on with someone else. He’d meet all kinds of interesting and talented people in the music industry, and they’d be more experience and more confident than Nicholas probably ever had a hope to be. He would meet someone who was his equal.
No wonder Fynn didn’t want to bother with him; he shouldn’t have created such a fuss about the wedding. He should have been more supportive of Fynn’s amazing opportunity. If he hadn’t been such a cry-baby and taken it so personally, Fynn might have been more inclined to come back and give him another chance.
Nicholas tortured himself into the small hours of the morning agonising over whether Fynn might have been genuine about his offer to call, and then picturing his imaginary future lovers. Fuck, he’d let Fynn get him off – twice. He shouldn’t have been so selfish that first time, and insisted on reciprocating the hand job. Why would Fynn want to stay with someone so useless in bed?
Really, he’d been lucky to get even a few days with someone so incredible.
He managed to doze off into some semblance of R.E.M. at about four in the morning, but then the house started going crazy at not long after six, and he knew he’d be fighting a losing battle to try and get any more sleep. This day, he figured, would have to be sponsored by coffee. Lots of coffee.
