The next Monday finds Jason back in Bond Street. The coffee shop windows are steamed up, warmth hitting him as he enters along with the scent of freshly ground beans. He takes a seat opposite his brother.

Andrew doesn’t look up from dissecting a single flapjack very carefully into equal pieces. “You do realise,” he says as he slices, “that it’s me who’s meant to get cold feet around about now, not you.”

Jason focuses on the chocolate powder topping the cappuccino Andrew’s purchased. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Andrew pushes the plate his way. He waits until Jason’s mouth is full before explaining. “I mean, for a best man, you’re awfully hard to get hold of considering I’m getting married at the weekend. All I can say is thank goodness you made it up with Vanya.” He continues blithely like he doesn’t notice Jason stop chewing. “At least he’s keeping me up to date with what’s happening at home. And Anna’s a godsend.”

Vanya’s at Riversmeet right now?

It’s not exactly what Jason expected. Not after outright threatening to report him.

As he chews, part of him feels sick about making that threat without thinking. He only wanted Vanya to keep his distance, but today’s news reads like fiction—gay men rounded up like cattle in a distant part of Russia. Chechnya might be a thousand miles from Moscow but politically that’s no distance. Perhaps fear of something like that in his future is why Vanya chose to come to London.

Hearing he’s at Riversmeet is awkward. A week ago, having him there was all Jason wanted. Now it’s salt in a wound that has no chance of healing.

Andrew speaks like he has no idea there’s a problem. “I thought them both going down early was a good idea when Vanya suggested it.”

“He spoke to you?”

“Yes, didn’t he mention it?” Andrew’s eyes narrow a little. “Maybe if you’d return calls from people who care about you once in a while you’d know so.” He sips coffee before adding what sounds like the real reason for this meeting, “Chantel said she tried calling you a few times too. She’s worried something’s up.”

This is exactly why he’s gone silent. The irony isn’t lost on him that he’s caused her concern, not Vanya. “I’m fine.”

“She wondered if the wedding being so close now was getting to you. You know, after the last ones didn’t work out so well.”

Jason’s starting to see it’s typical that she thinks of him when, by rights, she should be a bridezilla right now.

“She also wondered if you wanted to come down early too, rather than leaving it until Friday.”

That sounds like an awful idea.

Spending as little time with Vanya as possible is the only way to get through this.

“I can’t. I’m way behind on a project for Dom. I’ll have to catch a late train on Friday.”

“Just don’t leave me standing at the altar.” Andrew’s watchful over the rim of his cup. The small scar on his top lip whitens. “I’m not getting married without you right there beside me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” The flapjack tastes dry despite being soft and sticky. It takes an age before Jason next swallows. “You must really trust her.” Luckily, it doesn’t come out as a question.

Andrew certainly answers like he hears it as a statement. “I do. And I trust that we both want the same things.” His feet nudge Jason’s under the table and their ankles knock together like they had as kids at their kitchen table. His voice lowers. “Everything that’s happened has been worth working through together. Every single problem only means we know each other better. None of it’s been easy, but all of it’s been worth it.” The smile he casts across the table is desperately fond.

He looks so much like his mother.

“I thought I knew what real love felt like.” Andrew’s ankle knocks against his once more. “Turns out I only scraped the surface, and I think it’s because I’ve learned to listen, at last.” Then he adds out of nowhere, “Like you do to Vanya.”

They’re words, that’s all, not a punch to his stomach.

Just words, not a reason to stand up so abruptly.

“I’ve got to go.” Jason stares at the blank screen of his phone as if reading a text. “Dom needs me.”

Andrew pulls the plate closer. “More flapjack for me, then. Just don’t be late for the wedding.” He raises a piece to his mouth, happiness seeping from him like syrup. It’s the one good thing about this whole disaster—something Jason hadn’t dreamed he’d ever get for himself until it was almost within reach. Andrew’s last words ring out. “It’ll be your turn next.”

Jason nods, when inside he’s so sure he’ll never get to have this.

* * *

Jason takes a late train down on Friday evening, sitting alone while trying to summon some excitement for the wedding the next day, only his thoughts won’t settle. He tries looking out of the window, but there’s not much to see beyond his own brooding reflection and the haze that halos London as he leaves it. It gradually recedes and the sky darkens, but he’s too engrossed in an internal show reel by then to pay much attention. In his mind’s eye, highlights play on a loop showing someone who should still make him angry.

It’s ridiculous that missing Vanya takes up so much headspace.

Once the ticket inspector passes, he closes his eyes only to replay more moments he could really do with forgetting. His memory supplies Vanya’s smile across a similar train table, so open while aimed in his direction.

He has to stop thinking about him.

He has to.

At least he can stop pretending once the wedding is over. Or maybe he’ll wait for a little while after. No point making Chantel unhappy right after her big day. Doing that would be a whole lot easier if Andrew stopped texting him so often, extolling Vanya’s virtues. Another message arrives as the train slows down at a station.

Your man is working so hard. I feel like I should pay him a bonus, only he won’t take any money.

The urge to type, that’s because he’s illegal comes and goes in a fleeting moment. The more he’s read and researched this week, the more he’s learned about living in the UK without a visa. Vanya must have subsisted on fresh air. Part of him thinks that’s rational, but another part can’t help recalling how politely ravenous he was every time Jason fed him.

Another text arrives before he can fall into another if-only cycle.

Everyone’s staying at the hotel tonight apart from us. Don’t wait up; I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.

Good. That means he won’t have to deal with seeing Vanya until the service.

Got to say, Andrew persists, Vanya and Anna have been amazing. His next text is equally complimentary. Vanya got all the kids from Chantel’s class to take part in the wedding. They just had a dress rehearsal that was epic. You’d think he was her brother for all the care he’s taking of Chantel.

That smarts in a way Jason can’t pinpoint.

Part of him wants to rail about Vanya’s skill at lying, but a bigger part of him revisits doubts that won’t quit niggling at him. They haven’t let up since he walked away down that alley.

Vanya was so good with Chantel. He’s seen that enough times for himself to believe Andrew’s text was true. He likes her, plain and simple. On reflection, so many of his actions regarding her seem genuine, touching and truly thoughtful. Surely some of it must have been real rather than fake? But his thoughtfulness wasn’t the only thing that had felt convincing.

Vanya couldn’t have faked how much he liked Jason to touch him, could he?

He stares out the window one more time, his gaze unfocused.

He has to stop believing that the sex felt important.

He must have been kidding himself, he guesses, as the train keeps pace with motorway traffic running parallel to its tracks before speeding even faster. Each mile brings him that much closer to someone who asked for his touch, nervous at first in a way that seemed authentic. Each station they clatter through without stopping means less time before he’s face-to-face with someone who might have done all that for a different reason.

Has he really paid for each kiss, each touch, each amazing exploration?

No.

He can’t believe any of that was fake when the last time they were together felt like so much more than fucking. And surely, a small internal voice chimes, if their physical connection was genuine, then maybe….

No.

He can’t let himself go there either.

Letting himself believe that Vanya ever felt something for him will only leave him hurting even worse than he does already. If he’s learned anything from Garry, it’s that giving in to hope for a moment only leads to years of regret. But the train rattling over rails in a constant refrain isn’t helpful. Hearing believe him, believe him, believe him is close to torture when doing so would be stupid, especially after Vanya couldn’t answer so many of his questions when he posed them.

The cab ride from the station takes less time than usual, the road out of Moreton-in-Marsh deserted so close to midnight, and the house is empty when he gets there. It’s a relief that’s bittersweet when he reads a note that Chantel’s left propped up on his pillow, written in glittery gel pen. He can picture her so clearly as he reads it.

I can’t believe I’m getting married in the morning! But more than that, I can’t believe that I get to have Dad there to give me away.

He rubs his thumb over a wrinkled patch of paper, like a tear once splashed it.

I can’t thank you enough for speaking to him. He said your explanation made all the difference. I owe you so much for that.

She signs off with a doodled love heart and a postscript.

There’s a box of gifts on the kitchen table. Could you bring it with you tomorrow? Don’t let Andrew come to the hotel too early. It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding, and for goodness sake, he’s had enough of that already!

He has.

It’s a pertinent reminder.

Jason kicks off his shoes and settles his head on the pillows while reading her letter again from the start. This weekend has to be about two good people who found each other, not his own fucked up judgement.

It has to be about the fact they hung on when the odds were against them.

He’ll focus on that and try his hardest to be happy for them.