Chapter 3
Kieran knew it. In his soul, he knew Dawson’s happiness wouldn’t last. Because the illusion wouldn’t last. He knew that Cal was just stringing Dawson along, pretending to be someone he’s not. It was a matter of time before Dawson got hurt again.
“I fucking told you so!” is what he wants to say when Dawson shows up on his doorstep two weeks after the movie date.
But seeing his crestfallen face as he stands in the door, a duffel bag in one hand and a dog lead in the other, is enough to make Kieran swallow any harsh words.
This isn’t about him. It’s not about being right.
It’s about being there for his best friend. His only friend.
“Will you fucking spill the tea or do I have to resort to violence?” he demands when his attempt at sensitively coaxing Dawson into telling him what happened goes without success.
Infuriatingly, Dawson just shrugs, curled up on the sofa with his dog, Donut.
“Okay, fine. Have it your way.”
“What are you doing?” Dawson asks, alarmed, when Kieran starts digging through his closet.
“I realized I don’t need to know what happened.” Ha! Here it is! “The fucker’s going down one way or another.” With his best impression of the Joker, Kieran spins around, victoriously presenting the baseball bat he’s been keeping around for an occasion like this.
And just like magic, Dawson starts talking. Well, he mumbles something about Cal remembering the past, which Kieran takes to mean that he’d shown his true colors and reverted back to his abusive, asshole self. Shocker. As if Kieran hadn’t called it.
After that, Dawson crawls into Kieran’s bed without asking if the sheets are fresh—they aren’t—and dozes off with Donut curled up against his chest.
Kieran considers grabbing the bat and paying Cal a visit anyways, just to let off some of the steam that’s built up over the years, but decides jail wouldn’t agree with him. He’s such a klutz, he’d drop the soap on the first day.
Whatever. The important thing is Dawson got away. He finally got away! And he came to Kieran.
Everything’s gonna be okay now.
“What the fuck do you mean you went back?!”
Three. Days. All it took was three days for Dawson to forget about what made him leave in the first place and go back to Cal. Three. Fucking. Days. Kieran never should’ve gone to work and left him alone. He never should’ve listened when Dawson insisted he was fine.
There’s a sigh on the other side of the line. “Kieran—”
“You’ve been a fucking mess these past three days! You were a mess this morning! And I leave for a few fucking hours and you fucking go back?!”
“It’s not like that. I didn’t plan to do this behind your back.”
Yeah, right. “So what groundbreaking information could you have possibly got that suddenly erased everything that made you not leave the bed for days?!”
There’s a long stretch of silence where Kieran can only hear his own fuming breaths.
“It’s complicated.”
“Are you fucking shitting me right now?”
“Kieran—”
“Get out. Get out of there right now, or so help me—”
“Kieran!” Dawson snaps, as if Kieran is overreacting. “It’s okay. I’m okay, I promise. It was all just a big misunderstanding.”
Dear god. All those therapy sessions with Mr. Asshole, and Dawson never even came across the term gaslighting. Fucking figures. It’s all a scam.
“Kieran?”
At the sound of his name, Kieran’s eyes snap open. When did he close them? And why is his vision all blurry?
“Hey, Dee…” he starts once he finds his voice. “Can you promise me something?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
Fuck, he hates this, but it’s the best he can do. Dawson will never listen to him. “You’ll come to me. You’ll always come to me wh— if something happens.”
He hears Dawson’s shaky exhale first, followed by a fragile, “I promise. But—”
“You promised,” Kieran cuts in, not interested in any more excuses. “Remember that you promised.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay.” He hangs up first.
Nothing about this is okay. But then again, it never has been.
Nothing ever really changes, does it? He would know.
On Sunday morning, Kieran drags his uncaffeinated ass into Lost and Ground in desperate need of a pick-me-up. He doesn’t know what Gabe and Zeke put in the coffee, whether it’s some overhyped mushroom shit or cocaine, but he needs it. Now.
“Fuck me.” The CLOSED sign stares at him mockingly. “Fuck me.”
“This isn’t that kind of establishment.”
A mightily undignified sound leaves Kieran’s mouth. He spins around to glare at whoever snuck up on him like that.
“You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Zeke regards him with amusement. “It’s more likely you’re gonna get one from all the junk you eat.”
“Look who’s talking. I thought you were the one they call bin chicken.” From what Kieran’s heard, no one ever has to worry about leftovers when Zeke is around.
“Hey!” Zeke objects indignantly. “That’s different.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! I just hate wasting food.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyways, what are you doing snooping around here?”
Right. He desperately needs coffee. “I forgot you’re closed today. This whole week has been a fucking nightmare, I don’t even know what month it is.”
Something flashes in Zeke’s eyes, a kind of recognition that Kieran can’t even hope to analyze this early in the morning.
“Well, it’s your lucky day.” Zeke dangles a set of keys in front of him. “Come on in and tell Uncle Zeke all about your woes.”
“I’ll just have coffee, thanks.”
“Nuh-uh. You want coffee, you have to pay for it.”
“I have money, you know?”
Zeke waves a hand. “Not that kind of payment. You need to use your mouth.”
“I thought this isn’t that kind of establishment.”
Barking out a laugh, Zeke steps behind the coffee machine and does whatever it is that makes it hiss and sputter. “I need to flush it first, it won’t be long.”
“Take your time.” It’s not like he has anything better to do today. He moves to the end of the counter to watch Zeke work. “Why are you here, by the way?”
Zeke looks at him like he’s stupid. “Why do you think? Same reason as you.”
“Contemplating the point of life?”
“That, and because my blood pressure drops to a corpse’s if I don’t caffeinate myself before noon.”
“Don’t you have a coffee machine at home?”
Zeke purses his lips, hesitating. “There are also some croissants from yesterday that didn’t sell, and I forgot to take them with me.”
Kieran snickers. “Bin chicken.”
“Hey!”
“What about Gabe? Does he know you come here on your day off?”
“He comes here more often than me to do the pastry prep when he’s too lazy to get here early before his shift.” The grinder whirs to life as Zeke prepares the shots, filling the air with a delicious, earthy aroma. “Not that he’s been with the flow lately.”
“Gabe? Not with the flow? In what universe?”
“Yeah, well…” While the shots are being extracted, Zeke starts frothing the milk. He has to speak a little louder over the high-pitched sound of the steaming wand. “It’s been a while since he got a hard-on for anyone. I suppose he’s pent up, so I can’t really blame him.”
Kieran does a double-take. “What?” Gabe? Their Gabe? Lusting after somebody? “He has a crush? Who is she?”
“He. And he’s a customer.”
“Right. I forgot Gabe’s an equal opportunist.” Maybe Kieran should play both teams too. It’d double his chances at scoring.
Multiplying zero still equals zero, mate.
Scowling at his inner voice, he says, “So, a customer, huh? Is he a regular? That must be hard for Gabe.” He giggles at his own pun.
Zeke gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re a child.”
“Don’t call the kettle black.”
Zeke sticks his tongue out, proving Kieran’s point. “It all worked out in the end. He’s got a date. Today, actually.”
Of course he does. Everyone can get a date except Kieran. “Hope he has better taste than some people I know,” he grumbles.
Zeke’s sharp gaze roams over his face. “That didn’t sound bitter at all. Here.” He pushes a paper cup towards Kieran. “Go take a seat, I’ll be right there.”
“Cheers.” He picks a table by the wall so there’s less chance of someone seeing them and thinking the café is open. By the time Zeke joins him, Kieran’s already inhaled half the cup. Fuck, he needed this.
“So—”
“Why do people turn so fucking stupid when they fall in love?” Kieran blurts out. He planned on being more aloof and mysterious, but honestly, talking to someone doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
Zeke’s eyebrows slowly climb up. “Are you talking about yourself?”
“Fuck you, and no.” That would never be him.
At least he doesn’t have to worry about it, since he’s never been in love anyway.
And hopefully never will be. He’d much rather do stupid shit on his own than as a result of his feelings for someone else.
“It’s Dawson. He went back to Cal. Again.
” He lets go of the cup in case he crumples it in a fit of rage. “He always goes back to him.”
“Ah. I see,” Zeke says. “He was staying with you recently, right?”
“Yeah. Because he was being gaslit to hell and back. But voila.” Kieran spreads his arms wide. “Three days later he got over it and forgave that asshole.”
Strangely enough, Zeke looks unsure. His fingers drum against the tabletop.
“Have you talked to him? Maybe he’d be able to explain why he did that.”
“Oh yeah. He said it was complicated.” He adds little air quotes, in case the sarcastic tone wasn’t sharp enough.
“Complicated, my ass. Seems pretty fucking clear to me.” He takes another large gulp of his coffee.
Over the lid of the cup, he sees Zeke’s face do something strange.
“What’s with that face? Why are you making that face? I don’t like the face.”
“Hm? Oh, nothing. Sometimes I get stuck in my head.” Zeke scratches himself behind the ear, letting out a sigh.
“Look, I get that Dawson is your best friend and you worry, especially given…well, his history with Cal.” His expression becomes pinched.
“But chances are things are different now. That Cal is different.”