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“Good luck, Luke.” With a shake of his head and a pat on my shoulder, Ezra’s gone, the door slamming behind him.
For a few minutes, Neil doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, he picks up a bar towel and wipes at tables in tight, fast circles as if they’ve personally offended him. I squeeze one of my beads, rolling it over and over between thumb and finger. Hard. Round. Smooth. Should I throw him a quick wave and creep out again? The air feels thick enough to choke on. I’ve only been up and not crying for a week. I’m not ready to be thrown in at the deep end of Neil’s drama quite so soon.
“Neil,” I say when I can’t stand it any longer. This tension could go on until the evening punters start trickling in if one of us doesn’t break the seal soon. “I’ve come at a bad time. I think I should probably go and?—”
Neil laughs, mirthlessly. “What, disappearing on me again, doc? So soon?”
“No, of course not. But just until you have perhaps calmed?—“
Exhaustion marring his strong features, he throws me a cursory glance. A braver soul than me would walk over to him and give him a hug. God knows we’re both in need of one.
“How long will you be gone for this time? Or is it a need-to-know basis?”
“I was ill. You knew that. I’ve come here today to say sorry I left you to deal with things on your own. I didn’t feel well enough to talk to you. You wouldn’t have wanted me to, honestly—I haven’t told you everything about me. But I want to. Look, I’ll text you later when you’ve settled down a bit. Maybe talked to Ez?—"
“Some of us don’t run when things get ugly, Luke. Remember? We suck it up.” Harsh words tumbling from him, Neil’s hands twist around the bar towel.
I worry my wristband over and over, praying I’m not visibly shaking. Solid. Spherical. Worn.
I need to escape. I’m too weak for this. No surprises, never again. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?
“I’m sorry. I…I can’t argue with you today.” I stumble back towards the door. Panic humming under my skin, I fumble for the latch. I need out, I need out.
“Hey, Luke,” Neil calls after me. “You’re right about one thing: I don’t know the full story of what’s wrong with you. You wouldn’t tell me, and I didn’t push it. But I’d have stood by you, you know.” His voice cracks. “You disappeared, Luke. I at least deserve to know why. What did I do wrong?”
“It’s nothing you did. Honestly. I told you, I have issues. I’m sorry. I underplayed them because I didn’t want you to think I was useless and weak—I am, by the way. Seems like you’re finding out anyhow. That was survival, not rejection. I promise.”
“You could have called me. If only once. You could have filled me in on these health problems Isaac and Alaric are obviously special enough to know about, but apparently I’m not. I had to rely on them to reassure me you were still fucking alive. It’s not fair, Luke. I could have looked after you. I could have protected you.”
My stomach knots into a fist. I hope I don’t puke. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough to support anyone. I can barely support myself. I’m no use to him, not really.
“I said I could have protected you, Luke!” he hollers, voice cracking again. “I wanted to, and you wouldn’t let me.”
My legs, my arms, every fibre of my being needs to turn and run.
And yet, somehow, I step forward. I want Neil to be happy. He’s a good man, deserving of support and deserving of as much happiness as he can find. The best I can do is persuade him to tell Ezra, Isaac, and Alaric about his eyes and then recede into the background. They’ll flood him with love and practical advice. He’ll stop falling out with Ezra. They’ll work together on the new venture. Neil will be fine.
“You’ve not been back to the eye liaison officer, have you?” I state. “And you haven’t told Ezra about your eyes. No wonder he’s wound up. Hiding behind drink, avoiding your friends, and avoiding the hospital’s assistance—how can you protect me, when you don’t protect yourself? Why won’t you do any of the things available to help you, Neil?”
If truth is a match, then I’ve just lit it. Shoulders stiffening, Neil stares across the room at me, liquid caramel eyes all flint and fire. He grips the tea cloth as if it’s the only thing holding him from launching at me in a fit of rage.
“Get out, you fucker. Just get out of my bar.”
Sick. Cold. Fear. “Don’t do this, Neil. Please, just…why can’t you do–”
“Please nothing. Just fuck off and don’t come back. Forget we ever knew each other.”
CHAPTER 20
NEIL
Because I can’t do those things without you, rash whisperer. Isn’t that fucking obvious?
Why does the perfect response only plop into your headafterthe heat of the battle?
An hour goes by. With every Malteser I lob into my mouth, washed down by neat whiskey, I hate myself more. It’s a bumper box of Maltesers, equating to a fuck tonne of hate.
And a fuck tonne of whiskey. By the time we reopen at five, the pints I pull slam down on the wooden bar a little too hard, and the room’s got that seasick slow spin. Every word from my fallout with Luke burns on my tongue.I can’t do those things without you.It’s funny how fast you can slide from holding it together to holding nothing at all. So funny, in fact, people and customers are starting to notice.
