by Jamie Knight
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I said, my heart sinking into my stomach.
“Our dad. He’s not well. Kind of brought it on himself with the booze and the smack.”
My jaw dropped.
“The smack? Like heroin?”
Eoin nodded.
“Aye, he’s a lifelong addict. Keeps disappearing and turning up odd places. A gutter, a rooftop, in the forest passed out. It’s gotten to be like a macabre game of Where’s Waldo? Anyway, last time he went on a bender, he OD’d and was dead for ten minutes.”
He paused then, and I could tell what was coming. He put on a brave face, but his chin wobbled, and I knew that Eoin MacBride was about to cry.
“I tried to get him to go into rehab like Gavin suggested last time I talked to him, but he refused and ended up in the hospital. He’s got a real bad blood infection. It’s not looking good. I need to know what to do. Gavin is down as next of kin. The hospital staff won’t listen to me or any of our brothers. We need to decide the next step, and since he’s been ignoring my calls, I decided to come here and talk to him one on one.”
I reached into my purse and got out a fresh tissue, handing it to Eoin, which he took gratefully. I really wanted to give him a hug, but I restrained myself, unsure if he wanted me to.
“Thanks,” he said, blowing his nose noisily.
“He never told me about that,” I said.
He never told me anything.
“I’m not surprised,” Eoin said, pocketing the tissue. “He likes to keep his dark secrets in the past. He’d rather run from them than actually have to face them.”
My stomach somersaulted.
Dark secrets?
“Was he— violent?” I asked, remembering the scars I had seen on Gavin when I was drying him off.
It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t know the first thing about the man I’d gone to bed with.
“Only when he had to be. You’ve got to understand we’re from a really rough neighborhood in West Belfast. Pretty much every boy over fifteen has at least one scar. It’s considered a sort of rite of passage. Time was it used to be guns and bombs, back when Gavin was a teenager, during the end of The Troubles. We count ourselves kinda lucky that we just gotta put up with the occasional shanking now. Hurts like hellfire, but everyone survives, mostly.”
The kid was young but had done a world of living that I couldn’t even imagine and seemed wise well beyond his years.
“Oh. Um. Well. I was just on my way out. But would you like to come in?” I finally asked. “I’m sorry for being so rude. I just hadn’t known who you were at first. And now I have to dart out.”
“Thanks,” he said and sauntered into the apartment. “And no problem.”
“Eat what you want from the kitchen,” I told him. “Gavin should be back soon. He had an audition.”
I left the apartment and made my way down to get the bus home, fighting the hot rage stirring up inside me. Gavin had many reasons to go to therapy, yet he had acted like he didn’t. Almost as if I was the strange one.
There was a lot he wasn’t telling me.
And why should he?
This was only a fake relationship.
And I guess he really thought of this whole arrangement as make-believe the entire time. Or else he would have shared some details about his life with me. Instead, he had acted as if everything was just fine, and he had even said he had no need for therapy.
I felt like a fool for thinking that Gavin and I could ever be anything other than fake engaged. A real relationship took honesty, and we certainly didn’t have that.
Chapter Thirteen – Maggie
During my bus ride home, terrible images flashed through my mind, of what Gavin’s childhood could have been like. I might have seen too many movies, but I imagined bomb plots and gang fights with knives.
I had heard about what Northern Ireland had been like years ago. We’d learned a little bit about it in school, but everything had happened before I was born. I was so far removed from that part of the world that the events there didn’t seem real.
I remembered reading something about President Clinton helping with a peace agreement. I guessed everyone thought The Troubles were over in the late 90s. Seemed that they weren’t, though, and Gavin had grown up in a country filled with turmoil.
I was really confused, flitting between feeling as if I was falling for him, feeling really bad for him, being really mad at him for lying to me, and realizing that I never really knew him at all.
Not the real him, anyway.
How could he keep such a major part of himself from me?
It was then that I felt the crushing weight of hypocrisy come down on me. My past wasn’t as deep and dark as his, but I wasn’t really open about it, even with my therapist, either. At least not as much as Gavin seemed to think.
Dr. Benoit knew what had happened with Kenny and Raquel, of course. It had been the effects of that whose ordeal that had brought me there to see her, after all. But I meant everything before that. Before my mom married Raquel’s dad.
My dad’s death had gone entirely unsaid, and that was no small matter. I supposed I hadn’t ever really dealt with it.
While I hated that Gavin had lied to me, I couldn’t really blame him for how he grew up and the fact that he wanted to keep that part of himself buried. It wasn’t as if it was his fault.
I just didn’t feel like I could risk a real relationship with him, though.
If he could keep the trauma of growing up a secret, what else might he be willing to hide?
Was he violent?
Eoin hadn’t seemed to think so, but his perspective could have been skewed by how he had grown up.
I needed to talk to someone. I called the one person who would tell me the truth, as hard as the truth might be to hear.
“Hey, girl,” Darcy said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Hey,” I said, with considerably less excitement.
“What’s up, buttercup? You sound a bit down.”
“You could say that,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye.
“What happened? Did you and Gavin try anal? Did it not work out for you?”
“Not that.”
“But you fucked, right? Please tell me you fucked that gorgeous Irish man.”
“Yeah, we did.”
“And he kicked you out after? Is that why you’re so down?”
“No,” I sniffed. “He was sweet. Too sweet, really. Said I could take my time. I could eat anything from his massive kitchen. He even gave me the code to his fancy apartment.”
“Okay, not seeing the downside,” Darcy said.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Spill the tea and tell me what happened.”
I stared out at the passing scenery.
“His brother came by.”
“He has a brother?”
“Yeah. He has five.”
“There are five of them? Geez Louise. Did the brother who stopped by look like Gavin?”
“Yeah, he does, but he’s a kid. Only like eighteen.”
“Still legal,” Darcy pointed out. “What did this brother want?”
“He was there looking for Gavin.”
“Makes sense,” Darcy said.
“You haven’t heard the bad part yet.”
“Oh, sorry, continue.”
“He’d come all the way from Ireland to see Gavin. Turns out their dad is sick. Like, death’s door sick after years of drinking and drug abuse, and Gavin is down as the next of kin. They won’t listen to the other brothers, and Gavin is screening his youngest brother's calls. Apparently, he had a rough childhood in a really, really bad part of Belfast.”
“Wow,” Darcy said and blew out a breath.
“I know, right?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. I think I love him.” I swallowed down a sob. “Or I’m at least totally infatuated—”
“Oh, love schmove. It’s too early to think about the L word! How was the sex?” Darcy asked, ever so practical.
I gave a watery laugh.
“Earthshakingly amazing, but that’s not the point. I mean, it’s a factor, but I don’t really know who he is. I thought I was getting to that point, but if he could hide a major thing like that from me, then what else is he hiding? Does he do drugs too? Was he violent? I mean, other than in self-defense. He has some pretty big scars. It looks like he’s been stabbed at least twice.”
“Hard core!” Darcy said, sounding thoroughly impressed.
“Yeah, I suppose, but I’m not sure that’s really what I’m looking for.”
“Guess not. You went through enough with he-who-shall-not-be-named.”
“Not quite the same. Kenny acted tough but would run away if you shouted boo,” I pointed out. “I would be fine with Gavin and me just having very different pasts, and even fine with him not opening up about it until I found out from his brother, given that we really only just met and are just in this dumb fake relationship—”
“A fake relationship with very real hot sex,” Darcy interrupted.
“Right. But the thing is that we kind of had a moment between us, in which he was kinda getting on me for having to go to therapy, and I was asking him if there isn’t anything he might need to go to therapy for, and he said there wasn’t.”
“Well, what guy is going to admit that?” she pointed out. “Plus, he probably knows he needs it but doesn’t want to even admit it to himself, let alone you.”
“True,” I conceded, but something was still nagging me. “It’s just that I really didn’t appreciate being made to feel as if I was the only one in the room with problems when clearly he has so many of his own.”
“That makes sense. He sounds like a complicated guy, and your period of required fake engagement is over, right?” she asked.
“Good question,” I admitted. “I have no idea.”
We hadn’t really talked that part through. I thought both of us were assuming we might get a wedding invite from Kenny and Raquel, and that we’d best keep pretending until then. But I also thought both of us were secretly hoping that if we never defined a time period, it would just continue to last.
“Well, I think it’s a good time to cut loose if you’re not that into it or you think he’s dishonest or complicated,” Darcy said. “It might be best to get out while you can. No hard feelings at this point. You might be best just trying to forget him. Maybe don’t ghost him, let him down easy, but don’t take things any further. I’ll even help; we can go out for margaritas to plan a strategy. A good happy hour always cures the blues. At least temporarily.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Maybe.”
“I’ll meet you at the bar opposite the office tomorrow at six. See you then, cupcake!”
If Darcy didn’t think that Gavin and I were meant to be— the thought of my fake fiancé and I being “meant to be” sounding silly to even think about— then I guessed we really weren’t. I hung up feeling a bit dumb for believing Gavin when he seemed too good to be true.
Not that it was all a lie, but there was enough that he had been hiding to make me doubtful.
***
I had just sat down to try and write a blog post when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was odd because of the controlled entrance but figured Darcy had gone out and forgotten her key. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I rolled my eyes and went to the door to find someone I really didn’t want to see on the other side of it.
Fucking Kenny.
“How did you get into the building?” I demanded, anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach.
“A very accommodating delivery man,” Kenny said.
“Great. Now get the fuck out.”
“I need to talk to you, please. Don’t send me away. Hear me out.”
I had never heard him beg like that. All signs of fronting were gone completely. He looked so pathetic that I relented, even though I had no feelings for him left anymore— other than pity, I supposed— and I had recently realized that perhaps I had never really had any to begin with.
“Okay, fine,” I said, stepping out of the way, “but no funny business. Touch me, and my boyfriend will throw you out a window.”
“I thought he was your fiancé.”
Oops.
“Semantics. What do you want?”
“I just needed to come tell you that it was a huge mistake. Cheating on you with Raquel was stupid and selfish.”
I huffed out a laugh.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“No, I mean it. We really aren’t working out at all. She changed completely after we got engaged. I was hoping you might take me back. I’ve never been happier than when I was with you.”
His face crumbled, and a sob flew from his lips.
He really was pathetic.
“Not a chance, though I’m quite glad to hear that you’re miserable,” I said.
Kenny went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer, and opened it without asking. I was about to bring up this fact when he explained himself.
“Sorry, but I need this after the day I’ve had.” He took a long pull from the bottle and then lowered it. “This is really good, actually.”
“It’s Darcy’s,” I said coldly.
“I thought his name was Gavin.”
“It is. Darcy is my roommate; she’s a girl.”
“Oh, swinging both ways, hey?”
I crossed my arms.
“That’s uncalled for.”
He shook his head.
“Shit, sorry, just a joke. Anyway, I found out that Raquel was cheating on me with the new head trainer at her gym,” he said.
I tried hard not to laugh.
“Karma’s a bitch, haven’t you heard? That doesn’t surprise me, and it shouldn’t surprise you, either. I don’t want you here. You can’t think you can come to my place and get a beer whenever you feel like it. I’m sick of guys using me,” I blurted out in frustration.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
When I didn’t answer, he pressed forward.
“Why did you say ‘guys’? Who else has used you? Gavin?” He smirked. “Is there trouble in Irish paradise?”
“No, there’s not,” I told him quickly, wanting to kick myself for being so rash and for having such a big mouth. “You. You used me, and I’m sick of it.”
“Look, I already said I was sorry,” he said, shrugging. “Can’t we just forget about this?”
I grunted and rolled my eyes, not even caring if he saw how agitated he was making me.
How many times did I have to go over this with him?
Fate was cruel to have brought him back into my life on the same day that I had just decided Gavin needed to be out of it. I didn’t want Kenny near me, and I sure as hell didn’t need this complication when I was already feeling so down about Gavin.
“No, we can’t,” I told him. “Or at least I can’t. Now get out of my place and my life.”
Chapter Fourteen – Gavin
Snagging this role was far from a sure thing, but I was confident. The casting director was the same one who had put me on the series, so I knew she liked what I could do and had a firm grip on the obvious. Which is more than could be said for most of the other casting directors that I had met.
The only issue was the subject matter. The character was supposed to be struggling with drug addiction. That was something I should have known well enough about because of my history with my dad, but it wasn’t really something I liked to think about, let alone mine for dramatic effect.
Still, though, at the end of the audition, I was fairly sure that I’d done well. At least well enough to be in the running. It was a beefy part in a movie and would give me something to do when shooting wrapped on the sitcom's first season.
“Come with me,” the director said, in a tone impossible to read.
She took me out into the
hall, which meant that what she wanted to talk to me about was either really good or really bad. Either way, at least it should be over soon.
“I think we both know you can do better than that,” she said.
“I—”
She held up her hand.
“You don’t know how close I am to giving you this role, but I can’t unless you can nail that monologue. Right now, you sound like you’re doing a commercial for a sedative.”
I shoved a hand through my hair.
“I guess I just wasn’t able to connect as well as I thought I was…”
“Go home and think about it for a few days,” she instructed me. “You and I both know that you won’t be convincing at the role without that ability to connect. See if you can get over whatever block you have, bring some emotion to it, and then come back and try again. I can hold off on making a decision for a week or so.”
I nodded.
“I appreciate your confidence in me. I know I’m right for this role.”
I put on my jacket and headed for the exit. Maybe Maggie was right, and I did need to work through my past. Perhaps therapy could help.
I hadn’t done myself many favors, keeping all my feelings stuffed inside. There had been a time in my late teens and early twenties when I drank too much, but I kept that under control these days. I could take a beer or two without drinking to excess.
If I was honest, I feared I might wind up going down the same path my dad had. I wasn’t doing smack, of course, but I had relied on a substance to cope with life just the same as he had, and I really didn’t have much of a moral high ground.
I couldn’t imagine myself letting it get as far as he had, but then again, I guess he never imagined that happening to him, either, until it did.
I also felt bad about Maggie. About not telling her about that part of my life. I was worried it might scare her off if she knew the whole, ugly truth. Addiction could be genetic.
Plus, she had specifically asked me about violence, and I had been pretty rough in the past. Not unprovoked, but still. Once you’ve fractured a man’s skull with a beer bottle, it wasn’t the sort of thing you tended to forget. Even if he had been shanking your baby brother at the time.
