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“Um.” Jack swallowed, and his heart beat faster. “No.” As he cast about for a way to get out of this, his gaze fell on a discarded shirt that he was pretty sure belonged to one of Tristan’s many, many one-night stands.
One-night stand.
In his desperation, Jack grasped at the flimsy straw with both hands, and before he could think too hard about it, he blurted out, “I’m not dating anyone. I didn’t introduce him because it was a random hook-up, okay Mum? Just some guy. He’s nobody.”
From behind him, there was a sharp intake of breath.
Jack turned on his heel to see Harry standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his boxers, face pale, with his mouth hanging open in shock. Before Jack could say anything Harry was gone, footsteps clattering up the stairs.
Fuck fuck fuck.
“Mum, I have to go,” he said, and ended the call before she could protest.
Harry was in their shared bedroom, grabbing his clothes out of the wardrobe with a violence that suggested they’d personally offended him.
“Harry—”
“Just—don’t, okay? I can’t talk to you right now.” Harry pushed past him and down the hallway to his own room, and the door shut with a slam that sounded an awful lot like an accusation.
“Harry?” Jack called down the hallway, but he didn’t follow him. He sat on his bed instead, and laughed at how ridiculous this all was, half pissed off at Harry and half pissed off at the universe. Because what? He was supposed to tell Mum the truth? Even though that could ruin Mia’s wedding, not to mention Mia and Tate’s relationship with Mum and Dad? Because the Bad Boyfriend thing? That would maybe be funny in a decade or two, but Jack very much doubted his parents would see the amusing side of it right now. Harry couldn’t seriously think that Jack denying he was dating anyone meant anything.
He listened hopefully for the sound of Harry’s footsteps returning. He’d make it to his room and take a breath and realise how dumb this was, right? But Harry didn’t come back.
Tristan wafted down the hallway at some point, wrapped in a pink silk kimono. He leaned in Jack’s doorway for a moment and narrowed his eyes at him. “Trouble in puppy paradise?”
“Fuck off, Tris.”
Tris fucked off.
Jack’s alarm went off and he swore under his breath. Whatever was going on with Harry, he wasn’t going to have time to get it sorted out before work. Still, leaving it until tonight to talk might be a good thing. By then, Harry might have thought about it long enough to realise that it wasn’t that Jack didn’t mean what he’d said, that he’d just been covering his bases for Mia’s sake, and that it wasn’t about Harry at all. Then they’d kiss and make up, and it would all be fine.
He held onto that thought as he showered and got ready for work. He was still holding onto it as he made his lunch for the day in the kitchen and Harry still hadn’t come downstairs. Harry’s first lecture on a Monday wasn’t until ten, so it wasn’t as though Jack could wait for him to come down. Not when he was supposed to be at work—he checked his watch—five minutes ago. Shit.
He wanted to go and check on Harry before he left, but he was already late, and he wasn’t willing to risk Barry, the head mechanic, handing him his arse on a plate. In the end, with a last glance at the stairs, he grabbed his lunch and bolted out of the door.
Barry gave Jack the expected bollocking for being late but it was water off a duck’s back, with Jack’s thoughts firmly elsewhere. He apologised, then spent the rest of the day checking his phone.
There were no texts from Harry.
His finger hovered over the call button a dozen times as he debated if he should be the one to call, but in the end, he decided to wait and talk it out in person. The day crawled, but finally it was five o’clock and Jack raced out. He seemed to catch every red light on the way home, and by the time he parked he was thrumming with—impatience? Nerves? Anticipation of making up? He wasn’t sure, and wasn’t sure it mattered. The important thing was, he’d finally be able to make things right with Harry.
Except when he went inside, Harry wasn’t downstairs like he’d hoped, waiting eagerly to talk things out. He didn’t even get as far as the stairs before Tristan, sitting at the kitchen table with his arms folded over his chest, said, “Don’t bother. Harry’s not here.”
Jack’s brow scrunched in confusion. “Shouldn’t he be back from uni by now?”
“He didn’t go to uni. He packed a bag instead and went to Ambrose’s, looking for all the world like someone had shot his dog,” Tris said, face tight with disapproval. “What the fuck did you do, Jack?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Idon’t have a boyfriend.”
It hurt more than Harry had expected when he’d heard Jack telling his mum that—a deep, dull ache—but he got it. He knew Jack couldn’t exactly tell his family he was dating Mia’s evil ex.
His behaviour last night at the restaurant, while understandable, had stung. Sure, they’d managed to rescue the date, and there had been handjobs and cuddles, but still. Jack had brushed him off. Harry might be new to dating, but he was pretty sure one of the basic building blocks of a relationship was admitting you were in one.
And he wanted to be in a relationship with Jack, more than anything. Jack made him feel things, want things, that he never had before, and Harry figured that was pretty fucking special. The question was, did Jack feel the same, or would he step away when it all got too hard?
Then Jack said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” And just when Harry was telling himself that was okay, he said, “He’s nobody.”
