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“But it’s new,” Ambrose said. “It’s all new for you, right? The rest of us, we learn the ropes in primary school. And don’t even get me started on how dramatic high school is. If Liam says something dumb, I tell him he’s a fucking idiot and we start over. And vice versa. But this is your first time Harry, for everything. So I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself for feeling hurt. Jack said a shitty thing, even if he didn’t mean it. And you’re allowed to take time to figure it out. Relationships are messy as fuck.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Welcome to the shitshow, I guess.”
“Relationships are hard.” Harry shrugged and ate another glob of ice cream. “At least the sex is good, right?”
“That’s the spirit!” Ambrose burst out laughing and Tobermory, offended, got up and left the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Jack tried to call Harry, but it went to message bank every time. He left messages saying he was sorry and that they needed to talk. Then, because needing to talk sounded too ominous, he left more messages saying that he was sorry and they were still good, right? Then, because that sounded too needy, he left a message asking if Harry was coming home, and if he wanted Jack to order a pizza? Then he put his phone down, because he’d just left six messages in a row like a crazy stalker.
He groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, then stared at the empty TV screen for a moment, too lazy to hunt down the remote control. From his position in the living room, he could hear Tristan rattling around in the kitchen. He wished he was hearing the creak of the front door instead, and the scrape on the floor where it always jammed for a second. He wished Harry would come home.
He picked his phone up again, just in case he’d missed a text in the four seconds it had been out of his hand. He hadn’t.
Tristan was still giving him the side-eye, and Jack couldn’t blame him. When he’d explained to Tris that Harry had overheard him telling his mum that Harry was a one-night stand and bolted before Jack could explain, Tris had looked at him with something halfway between pity and frustration, and said, “You’re a fucking moron, Jack. You do realise that?”
And the thing was, Tristan was right. Jack was a moron. He’d known Harry was upset. He should have called in sick and stayed home to sort their shit out. He should have knocked on Harry’s door, insisted they talk, and apologised immediately. But no, he’d gone to work like nothing was wrong, like a—well. A fucking moron.
His phone rang in his hand, and he snatched it up eagerly and answered it without even checking the screen. “Harry?”
“No,” Mia said. “Want to tell me why I’ve had Mum and Aunt Cassie on the phone today fishing for details of your love life?”
“Shit.” He should have known they’d call Mia. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them I’m far too busy with my wedding to worry about who you’re dating,” Mia said. She really was the best. “I do want to know what the hell is going on, though,” she continued. “Cassie said you were kissing some guy at a restaurant, and Mum said you told her it was a one-night stand, and I know that’s not true. So, what gives?”
Jack took it back. She was the worst. “It was Harry.”
“And water is wet. Obviously it was Harry. But why did you tell Mum you didn’t have a boyfriend and were having one-night stands? Now she thinks you’re on the path to damnation, one slutty fuck at a time. Not that she put it like that, but you know she’s thinking it. The words loose lifestyle were used. As the actual family slut, I was offended.”
Jack sighed. “I fucked up.”
“Oh, just letting that ‘actual family slut’ thing pass without comment, huh?”
“Mia.”
“Jack.” She took pity on him. “What happened?”
“Cassie saw us at dinner. I panicked and shuffled her out of there without introducing Harry. Then, when Mum called to ask about who I was at dinner with, I panicked even harder said Harry was a one-night stand, a nobody. He overheard.”
For a moment there was dead silence. Then Mia said, “Wow. There are a million things you could have told Mum. Let’s start with, ‘Yes, I am seeing a boy, his name is John. Or Charles. Or Miguel.’ Why would you say he was nobody?”
“I didn’t know what else to say!”
“You are a terrible liar, that’s the problem. You could have just given him a fake name!”
“And then what happens a few months down the track when we run into Cassie again, except this time she’s with Mum, and she says, ‘That guy’s not called Harry. That’s Miguel!’”
“You laugh it off and then drop a bug in Mum’s ear about Aunt Cassie’s early-onset dementia, obviously! You did take a Miguel out for dinner that time, but this is a totally different guy.”
“Holy shit.” Jack blinked. “That’s fucking evil.”
“Thanks. The real question, though, is why, in a few months’ time, Mum wouldn’t already know about Harry. How long are you planning to keep him your dirty little secret? Because I don't know about you, but if my shiny new boyfriend wanted to keep me hidden away like an old man’s porn stash, I don’t think I’d stand for it.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Harry felt the same. He’s gone to stay at Ambrose’s.”
Mia sucked in air between her front teeth, and the sound wasn’t any more reassuring than it was when the mechanics at Jack’s work made it with their heads under the bonnet of a 1972 Commodore that was making weird knocking sounds and was definitely going to need specialty parts ordered in. “You really screwed this up, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jack said miserably. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
