CRAIG
CRAIG
I very much enjoy holding Sebastian’s hand.
I enjoy the calloused feel of him and the warmth of his fingers lacing mine. The brush of his thumb and the firmness of his squeeze. Every single part of it.
“Somewhere interesting?” he asks, glancing at me with an indulgent smile— I enjoy that, too.
“Incredibly interesting, yes.” My arm starts to swing, taking his along for the ride, only for him to swiftly hijack the momentum. Raising our hands, he presses a sneaky kiss on the inside of my wrist, and my pulse reacts wildly beneath it. “It’s also private, so mind your own.”
There’s no great mystery behind the goofy grin I’m wearing—none whatsoever. Sebastian knows precisely where my head is because he hasn’t missed a single step I’ve taken along the way.
Two days ago, we took a trip to Exeter College for their open event. I’ve registered to check out a couple of other campuses over the next few weeks, too, planning ahead for September. My future may still be somewhat undecided, but I’m determined to find a purpose that fits right.
Yesterday, he encouraged me to phone my dad. It took several attempts before my call was picked up, and to say the news of my mission failed to impress would be an understatement. He listened in silently while I was told of Principal Cutter’s support for my return to Marley Higher, an invitation I’d decline regardless of whether or not Gary’s still there (I didn’t bother to ask), then got angry on my behalf at the accusation of ingratitude and wasted potential.
If nothing else, though, with Sebastian at my side, a solid reminder of my resolve, I didn’t crumble under Dad’s tirade.
This morning, our breakfast got interrupted by a callback. “Your mother is away at a spa retreat with Kathryn for the weekend,” I was informed without preamble. “There’s a meeting I can’t reschedule this afternoon. So collect Christopher at three and have him home no later than seven, understood?”
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
And I hadn’t fully registered how worried I felt that my little dude could’ve forgotten me until the best sound in the world greeted our arrival at the barred gates: “Ayg!”
“Seven sharp, Craig,” Dad’s crisp directive failed to dent my intense rush of relief.
First, meeting Ashleigh outside YCS, we crashed the football team’s training session to surprise Alex, a disturbance well worth provoking Coach Kenneth’s ire. From there, Christopher finally got to visit the farm for a picnic tea of home-baked treats and a tractor ride tour. I’d swear Judy could not have made a bigger fuss of royalty, capturing the occasion with a million photos, and Dobby behaved like an excitable pup. But nothing touched my soul quite so pleasantly as watching Sebastian act the clown, proving himself to be every bit as great with kids as he’d claimed.
Too soon, seven sharp found us back outside the gates, buzzing the intercom like couriers; too swiftly, a chirpy chant of “Ayg” became a teary goodbye, and too late, I thought to ask what happens next.
Yet, even so, “I’ll be in touch,” Dad said in parting.
It’s plenty enough to grant me hope.
Leaving Roxy with Alex for the evening, Sebastian and I are now alone, strolling around the quiet park toward Yoverton community hall. The sky darkens as the late Spring sun creeps lower behind the View’s grassy peak. Shadows stretch, and the playground at the slope’s base takes on an eerie appearance in the glow of awakened streetlamps. This will be my third AA meeting in a row. It doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, so we needn’t hurry. And although I can think of a million better ways to close our day, not even the prospect of enduring stories far worse than mine could dampen my spirits tonight. Neither of us feels inclined to fill our silence as we follow a path alongside beds of tulips and daffodils, turning at the park gates in the direction of town.
Then, “Fuck, Craig!” An intrusive shout from the playground I’d assumed empty slams my heart into my throat.
The sharp bite of fingernails into flesh jars me to an abrupt halt, Sebastian’s grip on my hand tightening.
I whip around, and it’s an instinct deeply ingrained that snaps every nerve-ending alert to the keen watch of a skate-wearing twosome through the fence at my back.
“This is genuinely true, then?” Tate pipes up again, arresting my startled gaze while Mikey blinks warily between us. “Yoverton’s very own bully-busting hero, out and proud?”
But I’m getting better at remembering myself, and the unwelcome itch to let Sebastian disengage from me is quashed by a determined tug to draw him closer. I don’t shield our hands or duck my head. I also don’t acknowledge the flutter of doubt when discouraging stares warn me against engagement.
Because…
Because, yes, I’m fully aware my personal business has become town gossip; Ashleigh updates me on its mutating spread. And because, goddamn the shrewd witch, those aren’t the only tidings she’s hounding me to address.
That Tate actively called my attention to him has my gut churning.
Beyond the barrier, he and Mikey lean into each other, fitting together with scarcely a pocket of air separating their bodies. My previous confrontations with the pair may as well have happened an entire eternity ago, for all I can recall. Inebriated meltdowns which exposed the very worst of me, I understand now what I couldn’t then, and no curse could be more damning than the distrust I’ve earned. A distrust neither hides in the private glance they share as my brain whirs uselessly for an appropriate opening.
Behind them, I see Tate’s little sister, Megan, playing with a friend on the slide, both girls appearing utterly oblivious to the world beyond their game.
Beside me, I feel Sebastian’s commanding presence. “You have nothing to prove,” hot breath skims my ear, “Okay?” His hand escapes mine only to settle on the small of my back instead, and the ground instantly becomes steadier underfoot.
This is my opportunity to tell Tate I don’t regret him anymore. If I thought he might let me, I would explain my newly realised appreciation for every wrong turn taken and every misleading twist of fate.
“Closure, Craig,” Ashleigh pecks at my conscience. “Let go. Move on.” She lectured as though her wait to fully unleash on me had exceeded her patience, imparting far more than I believed she could possibly know about with an uncanny acuity I genuinely shouldn’t be shocked by from her anymore. “It’s well past flipping time to cut that final toxic thread loose, don’t you think?”
I could commend Tate’s courage and admire his integrity, recognising the challenges he overcomes daily. However, after the two years of self-serving ignorance I’ve forced upon him, the curl of his lip suggests those are words he absolutely won’t care to accept.
Something is surely expected from me here, though. Otherwise, why else would my notice have been sought?
“Uncle Mikey, we need help,” Megan’s young friend shouts, jolting the thick moment. “Come push us on the swings, please, Uncle Mikey!”
“Jeezus, Soph,” Mikey huffs, flicking a swift glance over his shoulder. “Hold on two minutes, okay?”
A blink and Tate’s incisive green eyes cut away, too. “We’ll have to go soon, girls,” he answers his sister’s beckoning wave with a head shake. The news of an imminent departure erupts both girls into a flurry of noise that could rival Christopher’s tantrum this afternoon when his fun with Dobby had to end.
Yet, as I’m abruptly held to account again, I’m no better prepared for how to proceed.
“I owe you thanks, Choirboy,” the defiant note in my voice can’t be helped.
It comes out sharper than intended, and at Mikey’s bewildered flinch, Tate readily responds with an edge no less keen.
“Thanks? Really? That’s what you owe my boyfriend after accosting him?”
“Yes, thanks. Really and sincerely. Although, granted, perhaps not quite so much for your boyfriend’s ditch, selling me out to my boyfriend’s ex.”
I inwardly curse myself even as the significant press of Sebastian’s palm flares a sudden thrill along my spine. The peculiar noise he lets slip at my impetuous claim of him is an acute reminder that, for all our earnest intimacy this past week, we’ve yet to define what we are to each other. Still, I refuse to shy away.
Nor am I afforded time to dwell in any case. “You’ve hurt people, Craig, and made the fault theirs,” Tate’s mindful to temper his tone, at least. “For years. All for the sake of your precious image.”
“True enough.”
“And now, you’ve finally discovered your backbone. Well done. You’re happier with it; I can see that much. Yet, you still have no intention of ever saying sorry, do you?”
“My intention is to make amends. Not hollow apologies.”
“Right. But I’m deaf, not dumb,” his statement lands another direct hit. “So, why should I believe your gratitude is any less hollow?”
“Because it’s something I vowed your magpie would never get from me.”
Further aggravating old wounds won’t serve my aim here, so I resist the impulse to meet Mikey’s disbelieving gawp with a satisfied smirk. “Awesome,” he collects himself enough to contribute, and I determinedly hold my tongue as he digs his phone from a pocket, dismissing me.
Tate’s stony glower releases me an instant after, one eyebrow disappearing under his shock of dark hair while he reads whatever message Mikey is busy typing on the screen for him. “Pathetic indeed, my angelic avian,” he remarks. My gaze drops to the one-shoed elephant doodled above the left knee of his faded jeans when he next hooks Sebastian to ask, “You can understand why we have our doubts?”
“Sure,” I hear Sebastian’s reply.
The two have likely never spoken until now. And it’s far from an ideal first encounter. But, hey, at least they’ve gotten started on agreeable ground.
Perhaps my extreme disquiet is unwarranted…
“You have some idea of just how much I’d like to smack him, then?”
“Yup.”
…Or perhaps this situation is about to go terribly awry.
“You won’t spare me the chance to act on it, though?”
I dare a sidelong glance. Sebastian catches me on it. His hazel eyes are flecked more brown than green, a tell I’ve learned to recognise as agitation despite the soft smile he flickers in return for mine. My mouth snaps open in an eager attempt to impede Satan-only-knows what his response would be.
Except, the indignant elbow jab Mikey delivers to Tate’s ribcage grants me a swift reprieve. “Seriously?!”
“Ouch, Alston! Why?”
“Better I shut you up before he did.”
“You’re just as curious as I am about—”
Another jab interrupts. “For all that I love you, McAllister, please behave.”
“—Whoa, okay,” this second reprimand startles Tate into a near-fall. He snatches hold of Mikey at the threat of his wayward skates escaping him, and the sudden appearance of his wild grin isn’t any less remarkable now than my rare glimpses of it when I’d thought us close. “That’s a no to the fisty-cuffs,” his laugh erupts like a thunderclap. “Point made.”
In stark contrast, another entirely less appropriate distraction kicks my heart up to a tempo I’m sure must be dangerous as Sebastian lets his hand roam, his fingers trespassing underneath my top in search of bare skin. “I’m not opposed to the fisty-cuffs,” he murmurs teasingly at my ear, so close it tickles.
There’s a fair chance my nerve would’ve already failed me if not for the heady awareness of his body enveloping mine like armour.
Instead, however…
Instead, I give myself a fortifying beat.
Folding in flush against him, his sharp inhale has me biting hard into my lip, fighting the urge to turn and steal a kiss.
He secures my waist, receptive to my needs.
Then, “My sorry wouldn’t mean anything to anyone,” I forge ahead. “The only purpose of saying it would be to soothe my guilt, and forgiveness isn’t something I’ve earned the right to seek. But whatever this might count for, Choirboy, truly, your efforts to support Lyndsay are admirable, taking the self-defence course with her. I’m glad she has you. I’m glad T does, too, no matter what shit I’ve spouted in the past.”
And the amusement at Mikey’s graceless bid to save Tate’s balance ends as both stares are promptly reclaimed, neither batting an eye at the protective embrace I’ve encouraged Sebastian to wrap me in.
That it’s Mikey who speaks up for himself this time relieves me a little. Until he starts.
“In the spirit of honesty, Craig, you’re snooty and obnoxious,” he doesn’t hold back. “There’s nothing even the remotest bit special about you either, no matter how intimidated I am by you.”
Ouch!
“Yet, still, you’ve freed yourself from Tinwell, you’ve won Lyndsay back, and your guy looks about ready to put my self-defensive skills to the test.” His dark eyes hold my blindsided gawp without any slight effort to curb his spreading smirk. “I don’t want your envy. I don’t want your apology or your appreciation. Nor can I stand to hear your stupid nicknames ever again. All that counts for anything here, really, is whether you can convince Ashleigh to, please, please, quit hassling us about closure?”
I’m stunned by the laugh that escapes my throat, becoming ever more so at the sudden reappearance of Tate’s dazzling grin. Skates swerving towards the swing set where the girls are waiting, Mikey doesn’t hang around for any further response before moving away from the fence.
Looking unreasonably smug, the scrote glances back just once as I watch him, and only when I feel Sebastian’s chuckle thrumming through me do I realise we’ve been excused in much the same jarring manner as we were snagged.
“Guess I owe you thanks, too, while we’re doing this,” Tate throws me for another loop, already turned to start after Mikey. “You kept my secret despite our issues. That counts to me.”
“Oh. Uh, sure,” I manage, nodding as his grin kicks up. “Not so much a secret anymore, though, I’ve heard.”
“Yeah. No, not so much. It’s well past flipping time, don’t you think?”
The sound of Mikey reaching their charges snatches my attention—the fuss over having to leave picks up volume quickly. I catch him retorting to the raspberry Megan blows at him with one of his own, and I do nothing to stop the smile tugging at my mouth.
“Best of luck to you,” Tate’s parting shot goes to Sebastian, tossed over his shoulder as he ditches us to join them. “Being his better half, you’ll likely need it.”
“Noted,” Sebastian claims the final word, pointless though it is.
Then we’re alone again. Just the two of us, standing together under the spotlight of a street lamp. Looking through fence bars into a shadowy park, we don’t say or do anything for quite some time.
“It’s the small things that matter most,” Ashleigh really shouldn’t ever be doubted.
The air feels clearer. I feel lighter somehow, and although my history with Tate might be too complicated and convoluted for any hope of friendship, that’s okay. Because, at least now, I can believe he needn’t be an enemy anymore if nothing else.
Dropping my head against Sebastian’s shoulder, I fold my arms over his across my torso, close my eyes, and allow myself to enjoy the peace he alone evokes in me.
“You know,” he says, gently breaking the silence. “The littlest Lawton menace has one pretty damn amazing big brother.”
“Alex?”
“Obviously.”
“Agreed.”
“Duh.” A teasing brush of his lips on my cheek almost buckles my legs from under me. “But I reckon my smartarse boyfriend’s not such a terribly bad influence for him either.”
The impulse to confess the full and profound extent of my emotions in this moment, right here, is overwhelming. Words I never thought I’d say are poised on the very tip of my tongue, needing a release with an intensity I never imagined I’d experience.
Opening my mouth would be all it takes…
But I still have a meeting to get to, I’m painfully aware, and it starts in less than five minutes. So, by unspoken accession, our walk finally resumes.
…Clinging to him, I show rather than tell.