Chapter 10 #3
Tristan covered Joshua’s hand with his own.
“You know, if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn?
It’s that honest communication saves you a whole damn lot of drama.
It’s not about pride, or having the upper hand or some crap like that.
There’s no tally. It’s just…” He paused, then lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug.
“It’s about what makes both of you happy.
And if he already told you he’s in love with you? Seems fair to return the favour.”
“He told me he loved me right before he said it didn’t matter.
” The memory cut through the haze in Joshua’s brain like a sharp knife slicing through tulle.
Leo had made his decision. Even if he was in love with Joshua, he didn’t want the public exposure that would come with a relationship—and Joshua couldn’t blame him.
The constant attention and judgment would have been a high price already, even for someone without Leo’s baggage.
It would mean sacrificing a slice of normalcy for Joshua, and he remembered his own words from what felt like years ago when really, it had been no more than a few short weeks.
Show me the guy who’ll stick around once the media calls on the hunt.
For Leo, the potential price was so much higher than normal.
“Of course it matters,” Tristan said, an echo of Joshua’s own response to Leo’s words.
Leaning into Tristan’s side, Joshua exhaled in a rush.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this drained.
“No.” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.
And it doesn’t matter that I love him back.
He doesn’t want the publicity, and I have to respect that.
If I told him… I’d only put him under pressure. That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is bloody fair.” Tristan muttered a half-hearted curse, quiet for a moment before he asked, “Who’s he protecting, though? Himself or you? And don’t you think he has a right to know how you feel, maybe?”
Tired, God. So very, very tired. Joshua wanted to sleep for a century. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that this… That Leo and I won’t happen.”
“You just said you don’t care about the shitty opinions of strangers.”
“I care if they rip him to shreds.” Joshua turned further into Tristan. “I’m used to it, the scrutiny and all, but he isn’t. I could never force him into that.”
“I hate this so much,” Tristan whispered. With a wet chuckle, Joshua rested his head on Tristan’s chest and closed his eyes.
“You and me both.”
Tristan didn’t reply, but his arms came back around Joshua’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. Relaxing into it, Joshua waited for the second-hand warmth to sink in.
* * *
Leo had dragged himself out of the shower and climbed into bed still naked and damp, hadn’t left it for the remainder of the day. He’d dreamt of shadows. Of pale skin and his hands tangled in dark curls.
On Monday, he was the first person to arrive at the office.
When Carole got in half an hour later, she froze at the sight of him in the tea kitchen—the tea kitchen where Leo had argued with Joshua on that day he’d walked back into his life.
Had it really been less than a month? Three weeks, God.
Was that all it had taken for Joshua to turn Leo’s life upside down?
“Is it a ghost?” Carole asked, propping her hip against the doorframe. “You’ve never been here before me. Is it the apocalypse?”
“Zombies banging on the doors in T-minus five.” Leo worked hard to send her a smile that he knew would turn out crooked, far from convincing. He was proven right when she shot him a worried look.
“Scary,” was all she said, though. She nodded at the kettle. “Want me to make you a cuppa? You look like you need it.”
“I do,” Leo told her.
He didn’t offer more, and Carole didn’t ask. Because that was how they did things around here. Part of the deal.
A month ago, Leo wouldn’t have thought to question it.
With a steaming cup of tea, he retreated into his office and went to sort through his emails. Some of them were leftovers from last week, loose ends, contacting Leo about his involvement in Joshua’s coming-out. He redirected all of them to George.
Nate came in a little after nine, and he didn’t even pass by his own office before he dropped in on Leo.
Planting himself in the seat in front of Leo’s desk, he leaned forward, both elbows on the tabletop and a worried crease between his brows.
“Mate, you all right? I tried to reach you yesterday, you know?”
Oh. Yes, right. Now that Nate mentioned it, Leo remembered that he hadn’t charged his phone since Friday. He should probably do that. “Sorry,” he said out loud. “My battery must have died. And yeah, I’m fine.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed as he studied Leo. “You’re not.”
After a few beats, Leo looked away, tried to focus on the blinking cursor of his mouse where it hovered over his desktop wallpaper—a shot of the England national squad huddled together before a match. Right now, their defeat by Italy seemed laughably insignificant.
“I will be fine,” Leo amended, glancing back at Nate. “It’ll just take me a little while to let it go, so if I’m a bit of a dick in the near future… Sorry, yeah?”
Nate lifted his shoulders, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing new there. But you haven’t actually told me what happened. When Josh came to find you on the balcony.”
“I’d rather just… not. Not think about it, you know? It won’t work, that’s really all there is to it. I want Joshua to be happy, and I’m not—that’s not me. I’m not the one who can make him happy.” Leo swallowed around the open wound in his chest. “What about you and Mo? What did I miss?”
It was obvious that Nate considered pushing for more information, but in the end he simply bumped their feet together under the desk.
“He drove me home on Sunday, then stayed the day.” While his tone was casual, there was a bright, happy gleam in his eyes that made Leo breathe a little easier than he had ever since he’d left Joshua’s place on Saturday.
“I take it he also stayed the night?” he asked, and Nate grinned, soft and sweet.
“Maybe.”
In response, Leo gave Nate’s foot a light kick. Nate kicked back, then let his foot rest against Leo’s, ankles pressed together. “Hey,” he said, suddenly serious again. “You know that if there’s anything I can do…”
“I know,” Leo told him, and he did. He’d never been more certain of their friendship than in this very moment, and he supposed that was another thing he owed to Joshua—even if Leo couldn’t have him, his temporary presence had prompted a change for the better in Leo’s friendship with Nate.
“Okay,” Nate said. “As long as you know.”
“I do.” This time, Leo’s smile didn’t feel quite so much like a parody of itself. “But I think there’s nothing that can be done, really. I need time, that’s all.”
While Nate smiled back, he didn’t look convinced. Leo was first to look away.
Work was a blessing.
James accepted a new client on Tuesday, a politician claiming he’d been wrongly accused of corruption, and Leo threw himself into it.
On Wednesday he got home when Chile were already two goals ahead of Spain, and watched the second half of the match in a blank haze before he headed off to bed and fell into an exhausted slumber.
He crawled out from under the covers on Thursday feeling as though he’d caught the flu, weak and disoriented. By eight, he was back at the office.
James sent him off on an errand late in the afternoon and expressly forbade him to return to work afterwards. That was fine, though; the England match was scheduled for eight that night, and Leo had already agreed to meet Nate at a no-frills pub near Nate’s flat in time for kick-off.
As it turned out, Leo was some thirty minutes early.
Claiming a seat at the bar, he ordered chips and a pint, then turned to face the large screen that had been put up on the wall, the usual pre-match commentary washing over the heads of the growing crowd.
Our lads need to win this one or they can start packing, pressure is on. Leo listened with only half a mind.
He snapped to attention at the mention of Joshua’s name.
Some of the lead-up remarks had escaped him, but it soon became clear the presenters were summarising the controversy around Joshua planning to attend the third match of the group stage.
Some conservatives—stupid arsehole dicks—argued that his sexuality no longer made him an appropriate representative of the English public.
“Now, we could take a position here,” Gary Lineker said, leaning towards the camera.
“But why not let His Royal Highness speak for himself?”
And then Joshua’s face filled the screen.
Leo felt his blood run cold. Fingers clenching around his glass, he soaked in the sight—that nervous hair flip Joshua did, his lips a little chapped, bitten red. A flickering smile. The screen offset all colours and tinged the green of Joshua’s eyes with blue.
When Joshua spoke, his slow, deep voice resonated in Leo’s stomach.
“I think that many people conveniently forget that this country is diverse. I mean…” Joshua paused to tilt his head.
“There are white atheists and black protestants, you know. There are some who are born to a title and money and others who are born to parents who just lost their job; there are some who are gay and some who are straight and some who are neither.” Smile widening, he seemed to be gaining momentum with each word.
“There are blue eyes and brown eyes and green eyes, and we’re all a part of this country.
You don’t have to fit the norm to belong.
Which is why”—his gaze found the camera, clear and direct—“I consider myself a perfectly adequate representative of this beautiful and diverse nation. Thank you.”