by J. P. Oliver
“Don’t bother trying. I’m done with you.”
He clicked his tongue as he began to start away. “I won’t give up on us, baby. You know I’m as good as you’re ever going to get.”
“Fuck off!” I shouted after him.
It took me a moment to regain my composure. My fingers and toes were tingling from the adrenaline rushing through me. My mind was spinning, chest unbearably heavy. Thank God I had the smarts to change the locks as soon as I’d kicked him to the curb. But if Shawn planned on making another unexpected appearance like he did this morning, I’d never get any peace and quiet. I forced myself to breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. I’d never dealt with a situation like this one before, despite my terribly wonderful history of dating all kinds of awful men.
Shawn had seemed like such a great guy when we first started dating a year ago. We met through a mutual friend at work. I remember thinking he was super funny, super sweet. It was just a shame I didn’t see all the red flags earlier. I supposed none of that mattered now. All that mattered was I got lucky and was able to get out. Now it was just a matter of staying out. Once my nerves settled a bit and I was sure Shawn was long gone, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and did a quick Google search.
How do I get a restraining order?
4
Liam
I was not a morning person.
So when somebody started knocking at my door at nine in the fucking morning, I was understandably really pissed. I just couldn’t understand why somebody would be trying to get a hold of me this early. It couldn’t be the landlord because I always paid my rent on time. Could it be a door-to-door salesman? Was that even still a thing in this day and age? Maybe it was just an overly enthusiastic Jehovah’s Witness who was excited to ask me if I’d heard the good news. That was possibly the most logical option.
Beside me, somebody groaned.
I turned my head against my pillow to see the silhouette of a man under the covers with me. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t come home alone last night, far too plastered to remember anything concrete. Tequila had been involved, I was sure. There was a little bit of dancing, some terribly tasteless flirting, some sloppy making out in a graffiti-covered bar bathroom stall.
The knocking at my apartment door didn’t stop, so I had no choice but to roll out of bed and hopped into a pair of boxers that had been abandoned on the bedroom floor. I ran my hands over my face as I walked into the living room, doing my best to wipe away the puffiness of my eyes. I had a splitting headache, a terrible throbbing at my temples that reminded me I was far too old to be drinking as irresponsibly as I had the night before. I shuffled down the hallway, slapped my hand down on the door handle, and swung the door open quickly on its creaky hinges.
I blinked, and then I blinked again.
This was no Jehovah’s Witness, though he sure as hell dressed like one. He had his dark brown hair brushed back, the palette of his outfit bringing out the sharpness of his light gray-blue eyes. It wasn’t like he was dressed up all fancy like he had been at dinner, but his posture and air of general indifference made him seem put together. His eyes studied me from head to toe, lingering on my exposed chest momentarily. I would have been embarrassed at my state of undress, but I was damn proud of my body. Normally, when I wasn’t dead set on drinking my feelings, I’d wake up to go for a quick jog around Central Park.
But, wait. Were Mason’s cheeks turning pink?
It was probably my imagination.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I grumbled, voice groggy with sleep.
“Good morning to you, too,” replied Mason calmly.
He held out a brown paper bag and a white coffee cup. The coffee inside was still steaming, deliciously fresh. I raised a curious eyebrow at him. It was surreal, honestly. Never in my life did I ever believe Mason would show up at my front door. Was I still dreaming? Was I still drunk?
Both options were highly likely.
“What’s this?” I asked him, taking the bag to look inside. There was a plain bagel with cream cheese waiting for me.
“A peace offering,” he said. “May I come in?”
Before I was able to tell him no –mainly because I had a naked, sexed-up one-night stand tucked away in my bedroom– Mason brushed past me. I was simply too hungover to find the energy to argue with him, so I indignantly picked the freshly prepared bagel out of the bag and stuck it between my front teeth as I shut the door. I followed Mason into the living room, where he was curiously taking a look around, no doubt making silent judgments about the terrible décor.
I was never much of a decorator, which was more than obvious by the variety of tattered band posters taped to the bare beige walls. All of my furniture was mismatched, picked up here and there over the years from friends or old neighbors who needed to move out and simply didn’t have the space to bring things along. It wasn’t the prettiest apartment to look at, but it was home. Comfy and familiar, full of its own special charm that made it feel cozy and welcoming.
“Drew gave me your number and address,” said Mason momentarily. “I tried calling you first, but it went straight to voicemail.”
I tilted my head back and took a massive glug of steaming hot coffee, surprised to find that it was made just the way I liked it.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, “sorry. I think I might have left it on silent.”
“Have you come up with any ideas for the party?” he asked.
Straight to business. Cool.
I shrugged a shoulder and took a bite out of the bagel. It was still warm and wonderfully soft. This was no corner gas station coffee and food. Mason must have gone out of his way to find a fancy little café. I had half a mind to thank Mason, but thought against it. He hated my guts. There was no point in wasting my breath. He’d definitely think I was being sarcastic, anyways.
“I got to talking with Drew,” he continued, as focused as ever. “He doesn’t think his guest list is going to be too large. Fewer than forty people.”
“Forty’s still a lot,” I replied. “Did he request a specific venue?”
“No, nothing concrete. Although, he did mention he’d like to have the reception where there’s a bit of a view.”
“That’s vague as fuck,” I complained.
“I’m not going to argue with you there.”
“That’s mighty nice of you,” I muttered before I had the chance to process.
Mason frowned, displeased. “Are you going to be a snarky little bitch the entire time?”
“Sorry,” I sighed. “You’re right. Look, fuck, it’s too fucking early, man. Can we–”
Somebody behind us cleared his throat. Mason and I turned to see my overnight guest emerging sheepishly from the bedroom. He had gotten dressed, albeit messily. He had slipped into his pair of black skinny jeans and oversized white t-shirt. But what stunned me the most wasn’t how disheveled he was, but the way he looked.
He was Drew. Except he wasn’t.
Bright red hair like flames, darling green eyes, freckles splashed like stars across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. I had accidently brought home someone who looked exactly like the man I was hopelessly in love with. I looked over to Mason, whose eyes were wide with the same realization, mouth agape slightly in shock. My stomach did several flips in quick succession. I wasn’t sure if the bagel Mason bought me was bad, or if I was starting to feel the beginnings of a very bad panic attack.
“Hi,” Not Drew said quietly. His voice was a lot softer, a lot tinier.
“Hi,” I said slowly, unsure what to do.
“I’m so sorry,” Not Drew said to Mason, who looked just as perplexed as I did. “I didn’t know he had a boyfriend, I swear. I normally never do this kind of thing.”
“I-I’m not his boyfriend,” Mason stammered. The tips of his ears flushed bright red.
“No, yeah,” I piped in lamely. “It’s all good. He’s just… Mason’s just a friend.”
�
�Oh,” sighed Not Drew. He visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping slightly as the worry faded away from his expression. With his jacket folded over one arm, he made his way over to me, awkwardly choosing to stand before me with an embarrassed smile. “I had a lot of fun last night.”
Too bad I didn’t remember any of it.
“I did, too,” I lied. I placed my hand on the small of his back and began to lead him out the apartment. I opened the door for him, praying that he’d hurry up and leave.
“Feel free to call me if you ever want to have a bit of fun,” he flirted. “Although, maybe next time you can call me by my name instead of ‘Drew’ all night.”
Final nail, meet my coffin.
“W-what?” I stammered stupidly.
He stood up on his toes and placed a quick peck on my cheek. “See you later,” he giggled before leaving, closing the door behind him with a firm slam.
I looked up slowly, horrified at the expression on Mason’s face. Bewildered, astonished, shocked, with a tinge of concern. We stared at each other, unmoving and unspeaking, both equally petrified at the revelation. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My heart twisted in my chest, a God-awful wave of pain washing over me. Mason frowned, mouth still open on the cusp of saying something. He looked confused more than anything, unable to process what just happened.
“You…” he hesitated, words failing him. “You’re in love with Drew?”
Kill me. Just kill me.
5
Mason
“Please,” he said, voice trembling like I’d never heard it before. “Please, don’t tell him.”
Liam couldn’t even look me in the eye. His face was a bright shade of red, gaze cast to the floor in shame and hot embarrassment. For once in my life, I actually felt bad for him. I’d never seen him like this, so defeated and small. It was pitiful, really, and heartbreaking in a way I never thought possible.
“When…” I said slowly. I searched for the right words, tried to think of something to say. This was turning out to be quite the day. “Since when?” I finally managed.
He took a moment, swallowing so hard I could see the bob of his Adam’s apple. In frustration, Liam ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair and skulked over to his wooden dining table. He sat down, the frame of his chair creaking under his weight. He rested his forehead in his hand, elbow balanced on the surface of the table. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate, tried to gather his thoughts as best he could. I remained silent, doing my best to give him the space he needed. I so badly wanted to know more, to quench a curiosity that had now been relentlessly humored. I didn’t want to say or do anything that could have Liam clamming up on me, answer forever sealed away behind his macho façade.
“I…” he started slowly, tone quiet and gentle. “Since the sixth grade. I’m pretty sure, at least.”
For some reason, this answer didn’t surprise me. It was around this time that Liam’s bullying got worse. Whenever I was playing with Drew on the playground, without fail, Liam would show up and do his best to scare me away. I realized now that it was because he wanted Drew all for himself. He was jealous of the attention Drew gave me because he saw me as a threat. It all sort of made sense now. We never acknowledged the issue, never dug any deeper than a surface discontent. I supposed that, as we got older, we simply accepted that we would never be able to get along –and as a result, didn’t.
“Why haven’t you told him?” I questioned softly. I didn’t want to come across accusatory, but judging by the hurt in Liam’s bright blue eyes, he definitely took it that way.
“It’s not like I haven’t tried,” he scoffed. “I just…” He shook his head, clenched his jaw so tight that the tendons in his face visibly drew taut beneath his skin. “Why am I even telling you this?”
I leaned against the back of his leather sofa –a dingy little thing with the fabric peeling and flaking in places– and folded my arms across my chest. “Because Drew’s my best friend and I know him very well. I think he’d want to know if you had feelings for him.”
“What if…” he groaned, face twisted in intensive thought. “What if I told him and that ruined our friendship? Besides, I don’t think I’m good enough for him, either way.” Liam looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes so wide and worried that it had me feeling anxious on his behalf.
I was about to tell him that the exact opposite could happen. Things could have been different for him. If Liam was able to grow a pair and tell Drew the truth, maybe I’d be planning a reception party for them instead of Drew and Christian. But I knew better than to kick a dog when they were already down, so I held my tongue. Instead, I studied Liam’s face, admittedly a little dejected by the sadness in his expression. He didn’t terrify me anymore, didn’t frighten me like he used to. Liam wasn’t some unbeatable force, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I finally saw him for what he was. He was a man with a fracturing heart, just like me. I understood his hesitation, driven by a fear of being unprotected, at risk of being mishandled and broken. I’d caught him in an incredibly vulnerable moment, and I wasn’t about to be an ass about it.
“What do you want to do?” I finally asked him. “I really can plan this party by myself, if I need to.”
“No, I… I’ll help you. Drew asked me to help, and I’d do anything for him.”
I could tell Liam was being genuine when he said this. I had lived with Shawn long enough to recognize manipulation when I heard it. But this was honest, pure, and true. He really meant it. He sat next to me, literally exposed. My eyes wandered along the outline of his body, soaking in the details. He really was ripped, big arms matched by a set of defined pectorals and washboard abs. A spattering of moles were found along his skin, decorating the surface of his body in a mesmerizing fashion. I wondered, ever so briefly, if Liam had any spots hidden away beneath the fabric of his boxers.
I suddenly wondered if Liam could have me looking as disheveled as his guest earlier. He’d probably never go for it, though, what with his Drew dilemma. I watched as he breathed slowly, entertaining the idea of what it would feel like to have him pressed up against me. The abruptness of my own thoughts had me feeling uneasy, unnecessarily tense. The muscles in my neck and shoulders stiffened against the intrusiveness. But I couldn’t stop staring at how Liam was slightly taller and bulkier than me. I bet the weight of his body against mine would feel comforting, exhilarating. I tried not to stare at his plump bottom lip, which he was now worrying with his teeth. I was curious to know what it would feel like to brush my fingers across them, maybe drag my tongue across his lips until his own poked out to greet mine.
This asshole was really making it difficult for me to hate him.
“Look,” I cleared my throat, “how about I meet you later for coffee. So you can, you know, get dressed and stuff. I’d rather not plan a party when you’re in your undies.”
Liam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Boxers,” he corrected. “You make me sound like a five-year-old.”
“I’ll let you get dressed,” I hurried. “We can meet at that café a block from here –what’s it called– Grinds? I’ll meet you there at noon so we can discuss preliminary ideas, yeah?”
He nodded, slumping over to rest his forehead against the table. “Yeah, cool,” he murmured.
I stood up and saw myself to the door, figuring that there was really no need to stick around. Just as I opened the door to leave, I heard him call after me.
“Hey, Mason?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for breakfast. And for listening.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. But I didn’t leave right away, lingering at the door for a moment longer as I collected my thoughts. “Hey, Liam?” I called.
“Yes?”
“I know it’s probably none of my business,” I started, “but I think you should tell Drew you’re in love with him.”
“I–”
I cut him off. “Either tell him you’re in love with him, or let him go. Otherwise, you’re n
ever going to stop hurting.”
I left quickly after that, shutting the door firmly. I sighed, leaning against the frame. I squeezed my eyes closed, listening to my own voice echo around in my mind. Liam really didn’t have to listen to a word of my advice, I knew that. After all, the words of a hypocrite never held any water.
6
Liam
Trust me.
Mason was surprisingly chill about the whole thing. It was eye-opening, really. Maybe he wasn’t as stuck-up and awful as I thought he was. I went back to bed shortly after he left, but I stayed awake, thinking long and hard about what Mason had said. He had given me an ultimatum: tell Drew the truth or learn to forget about him. Mason –like the brainiac he was– had presented me with two clear, obvious solutions to my problem. Except they weren’t easy.
Yes, I could fess up. I could tell Drew that I’d been in love with him since we were kids. But what then? What were the chances that he’d leave Christian –an all-around great guy, there was no denying that– for someone like me? I wasn’t some smart, fancy lawyer. I was a relatively successful freelance web developer, but there was no realistic way of providing Drew the kind of life he deserved. Besides, he saw me as his best friend. He’d never see me as anything but.
On the other hand, I could say nothing. It was the coward’s way out, but at least by staying silent, I wouldn’t stir up a bunch of unnecessary shit. Drew was getting married. If I told him the truth, if I told him how I really felt, I’d be the one to come across as a giant ass. I could learn to grin and bear it. I could bite my tongue and resist the urge to want to rip my hair out by the roots. It would kill me to see him in Christian’s arms knowing all the while that it could have been me. I was too late, and there was no fixing that. But I didn’t want to put myself out there and risk having my heart stomped into a million tiny pieces.
