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Joq blinked and felt a tear track down his face, it was hot; he didn’t remember tears feeling hot before.
16
Chris had been living in Brendan’s spare room for three weeks when Brendan marched in, his face determined. “Right, you need to get over this or get out.”
“Seriously?” Chris asked and rolled over so he could look at him. He’d been lying on the couch watching… he wasn’t sure what he was watching.
“Yes, seriously, you’re bringing the vibe of the whole place down. Even Chanel is upset.”
Chris glanced at Tegan’s Macaw. She was sitting on her perch in the room, playing with some toy she was holding up to her beak with her right foot. She didn’t seem upset.
“She doesn’t seem upset,” Chris replied.
“She’s not talking as much,” Brendan crossed his arms over his chest.
“Who’s not talking?” Tegan asked as she came in from the kitchen. “You want some sem sav with dinner, Chris?”
“Chanel,” Brendan told her, “and he’s not getting wine with dinner unless he eats at the table.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Chris groaned and rubbed his face.
“Chanel’s fine,” Tegan said. “Babe, can you make the salad?”
Chris listened to him swear, but he answered her, “Do you want a coleslaw as well?”
“That’d be awesome, thanks, Babe,” she said and Chris listened to them kiss—a quick peck—before Brendan could be heard marching back out.
He felt Tegan move closer to him, felt her presence as she sat down in the armchair across from him.
“He doesn’t want you to go,” she said.
Chris made a sound to acknowledge he was listening.
“He’s worried about you.”
Chris dropped his hands and looked at her. “I know, and I’ll be fine, I just.”
“You just need some time, we get it,” she smiled sadly at him and he hated that.
He sat up, rubbed his hands over his face. “I just,” he looked at his bare feet on the floorboards. “I thought I was done, you know? I thought I had someone.”
“Chris,” she sighed. “I’m so—”
He stood. “I know, me too. I’m going to get some work done.”
And he hightailed it out of there, said he’d eat later, and went into the room he was using. It’d be better if he could’ve gone back to his townhouse, but he’d rented it out when they bought the Brighton place. He could go to a hotel, was going to, but Brendan wouldn’t hear of it.
But with time, he thought as he lay on top of the covers and closed his eyes, with time, he’d be fine.
Chris had resumed his spot on the couch and stayed there all that weekend. He had his laptop and phone, half-heartedly doing some work so Brendan wouldn’t insist he go to the tennis with them, and he was pretending to focus while he listened to them getting ready to go.
There was a knock on the door. He didn’t realise everyone was meeting here beforehand, but it made sense. He listened to Brendan coming down the hall, opening the door. He hoped they’d all just go quickly—
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brendan asked.
“Is Chris here?” Joq asked; Chris heard his voice and sat right up.
“He’s got nothing to say to you—”
