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“Well,” George looked up again and smiled, his face still caught with the expression he had for the baby, his hand moving in incremental sweeps up the infant’s back as he rocked him. “Finn’s the bio dad. We’ll do mine next, but I dunno,” he returned his eyes to the baby, “Laine’s so perfect, we might stick with Finn,” he glanced up and nodded his chin at the shop in front of him. “He’s in there getting those onesies. He can’t help himself, says good fashion has to start young,” he chuckled so fondly it made Joq want to—he didn’t know, hit him?
He was over this. He’d moved on. But as he stood there, heard his voice making small talk, he felt beneath his shock this incredulous anger as he told George how beautiful the baby was. Because unfortunately, he was. They were normally ugly at this age, but when this one’s little eyes popped open and stared at the world around him with the startled, wide-eyed gaze they had, the eyes the disarming blue that was so recognisable, Joq had to concede, he was beautiful.
People were doing double takes, phone cameras out, and here was George, standing on the busiest shopping street in the country with his fucking newborn while his fucking husband shopped for their son a little ways away.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” Joq said because the words were just coming out.
“Yeah, you too,” George smiled, friendly enough, but it was a media-approved smile, nothing personal in it, not a hint of acknowledging they’d been a fucking couple for over a decade.
The baby made a little sound and George focused back on him, hugged him closer to his chest with a palm that covered his entire back.
Joq caught the movement of Finn coming out of the shop and he had to get out of there.
“See you round, congratulations,” he finished lamely and turned to head in the opposite direction.
“Thank you,” he heard in that same detached voice, but he didn’t miss the way it changed when he started talking to Finn, Joq still close enough to hear him asking what he got, his laughter, Finn’s voice carrying with his reply, “You right with him? I need to check out those prams.”
“Babe, we’ve already got a pram…” the unmistakable fondness; Joq could almost see it, Finn buying whatever he wanted, doing whatever he wanted, running all over the country with George and his fucking son in tow for all the world to see.
Joq glanced back. Finn had an arm around George’s waist and George was leaning in to meet his lips in a gentle kiss, right there, in the middle of the street, their baby snug against George’s chest between them, Finn’s palm resting over George’s on the baby’s back.
Joq bumped into someone.
“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped out.
His hands were shaking. He hugged the package under his arm and walked, unseeing, and had no idea where he was going. He just needed to get away, to calm the anger and hurt he could feel crashing around inside him.
He walked. He walked for so long that in the end he didn’t even know how he got to the stretch of bay in front of his house. It was dark. He sat on the beach. His phone had been going on and off for a while. He continued to ignore it.
He just needed to calm down. He needed to be alone. He’d get under control and then he’d be normal again.
14
Chris didn’t think he’d ever felt this nervous in his life, even Brendan shot him a look when he met his eyes as he walked in, his expression telling Chris to chill the fuck out.
He looked down at the white table cloth. Starched and pristine, it glowed yellow with the flicker of candle lights. The wine glasses caught that same light, the champagne flutes. Chris reached for his glass of water. He wanted to look back at the entrance to the restaurant but felt too nervous, like his body was too stiff to move.
When a waiter came by and asked if he’d like a drink while he waited, he almost said yes. But no, of course he could wait, Joq was never late. The waiter smiled, said, “Of course,” and disappeared.
What was the time?
Quarter past.
Unusual, but maybe Joq decided to go home to check on Delia, missed the tram, and decided to use a car after all. Chris imagined him walking briskly to the table, apologising with a small smile, the flicker of warmth in his eyes he reserved for Chris. He’d look good in his suit, he’d look like someone Chris couldn’t wait to stand beside whenever and wherever Joq decided to do it.
If he said yes.
Chris swallowed. He took another drink of water. Pulled out his phone.
Half past.
And okay, that was weird.
He cleared his throat and called.
It rang out.
He frowned. Joq wouldn’t be driving.
