chapter six
Jay crammed the last of his clothes into his large holdall and zipped it shut just as a figure appeared at his bedroom door. His brother grinned, leaning his bulky frame on the chest of drawers. Jay smiled back, lugging the stuffed-to-the-max bag over his shoulder.
“Can’t fucking believe it.” Bryan sniffed, and if Jay didn’t know his older brother well enough, he would have thought Bryan was tearing up. “My little bro. Professional footballer. With the Irons, no less, and off on his first pre-season tour. Proud ain’t the word, mate.”
“Cheers, bro.”
“You know you’re their favourite now, right?” Bryan nodded his head at the door, indicating their parents waiting for Jay at the bottom of the stairs.
“I always was.”
Bryan snorted.
“I could say somethin’ to ‘em that’ll change all that, if you want?”
“Piss off, would it.”
Jay shrugged.
“Seriously, bro, they’re proud of ya. So am I. Just tell ‘em. I bet they won’t even bat an eyelid.”
“Maybe after this tour. I gotta keep my head together, y’know. Not let anything ruin it.”
“I hear ya.” Bryan tapped Jay’s bag. “Can’t believe you earn a mint, yet still carry that same tatty bag.”
Jay laughed. “It’s a superstitious thing.”
Bryan chuckled. He shifted on his feet, raising an arm, and Jay thought he was going to head in for a hug, but he straightened out and scratched the nape of his neck instead. “Are you all right, though? Really? Going to New York an’ all that?”
Ah, so that’s why Bryan’s acting weird. Seb had been an off-limits topic between Jay and his brother. Although Jay had come out to Bryan last year, with Seb’s encouragement, he still didn’t think they were ready for the whole relationship advice heart-to-heart thing. But it seemed Bryan was attempting to step on the scattered egg shells that he’d successfully avoided the past few months, probably having far more important things to content with such as his new found status of fatherhood.
Jay’s stomach wrenched into knots at the thought of New York. Of Seb. Fucking glad Bry didn’t go in for the hug. He swallowed. “It’s a big place.”
“So they say.” Bryan scooted to the side, allowing Jay to bundle past him to the top of the stairs.
He met the excited grins on his parents’ faces. John had his arm wrapped around a sobbing Barbara and he winked up at Jay. He’d made his father proud, finally. And his mum had stopped banging on about birds and accepted that football was more important than all-couple Sunday dinners. It was what Jay had wanted. Right?
“Bry?”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna do me a favour while I’m away?”
“Sure thing.”
“Find me a new gaff. I need to get outta this room. Live my life, y’know? Go it on me own.”
“Done. Know a couple places down Limehouse would suit ya. Mitchell’s been working the electrics on a new build. Fucking perfect view of the Thames.”
“Sounds good. Cheers.”
“How about a decent motor, an’ all?”
Jay smiled. “Sure. Knock yourself out.” He fished out a credit card from his back pocket and threw it over. “That’ll cover a deposit on both.”
“You trust me with this?”
“Yeah. I trust ya. With everything.” Jay bowed his head. “And thanks. For keepin’ your word and your mouth shut.”
Bryan nodded. Jay walked down the stairs he’d been using for twenty-one years. The start of his new life was outside this poky house in this east London street and now awaited him in New York.
What would the bookies make of the odds on that?
* * * *
Seb flicked the end of his cigarette over the balcony, the orange glow drifting down to the street level and fading from view as it lay on the sidewalk. He blew out the last remaining lungful of smoke into the humid air and peered up at the night sky. He missed seeing a scattering of stars. Even on a clear night in New York, the smog and light pollution tended to cover up the sprinkling of silver glows. Just as he would fix his eyes on one lone star, it would start flashing red while hurtling across the sky, proving that it was, in fact, an airplane.
He picked up the bottle of expensive red wine he’d purchased at the corner liquor store on his walk home from work and took a swig straight out of the bottle. It was warm and smooth and slid down his throat like treacle. He was on his second bottle; the first had barely touched the sides. Normally his vice was whisky, but after the Light House, he’d been unable to set his lips to another drop of the stuff. It reminded him too much of pain, misery and regret.
Taking another sip, Seb leaned his forearms on the balcony railing and dangled the bottle over the edge. The tattoo on his wrist was still red and raw. The alcohol Seb had been consuming nightly hadn’t allowed for it to heal as quickly as it should. He ran the bottle over the ink and sighed. It’d take forever to heal now, but he couldn’t stop. He needed the drink almost as much as he had the tattoo needle.
Darkness engulfed him. All his apartment lights were switched off and he hadn’t bothered with the outside fairy lights dotted along the railings. It was only the flash of the occasional car headlights and the faint glow of the advertising billboards in the distance that gave him unwelcome relief from the gloom.
“You shouldn’t drink so much.” Stephen stepped through the open French doors and sat on one of the decking chairs.
“Like you give a fuck.” Seb downed another gulp from the bottle while Stephen’s breaths behind him were an irritation too far, along with the smell of his over-potent cologne. Seb stood straight and twisted, attempting to see through the hazy fuzz of his sloshed mind. “Thought Lisbeth was here.”
“She is. Jet lag. Passed out before we even got to dinner.”
Stumbling, Seb glugged from the bottle, then waved it in Stephen’s general direction.
“Can I ask you something?” That sentence proved Seb had consumed too much. Not just because he slurred every word, or couldn’t see straight, or was tolerating Stephen’s presence on his balcony, but because he’d just engaged the man in conversation. His desperate loneliness always pulled him back to Stephen and their familiar bond. Seb was a creature of habit, after all. Something he couldn’t seem to fully escape from.
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?” Resting his back on the railing, Seb crossed one foot over the other and narrowed his eyes, trying to focus through blurred vision.
“She is the mother of my child.”
“That’s not what I asked, Stephen.”
“Yes, I love her.”
“But you cheat on her,” Seb pointed out. “With men.”
“No, I don’t.”
“My arsehole begs to differ.”
Stephen snorted, which erupted into a full-on laugh. Seb rolled his eyes.
“I only ever slept with you. Until you ended things.”
“Why?” Seb shook his head. “Why just me?”
Stephen shrugged. “We have a good thing—”
“Had,” Seb corrected, for the record that no one was keeping but him.
“What we had fulfilled an urge. Desire, perhaps. I thought it did for you too. Should we want to start up again, it wouldn’t be cheating on her. Not really.”
Seb winced at the harshness of the statement, taking another large gulp of wine. The bottle and a half of alcohol buzzed around in his head, making him think and want things he couldn’t have. Drink was supposed to suppress the needs, not making them fucking worse.
“Did you ever love me?” If he hadn’t been half-cut, Seb would have probably been embarrassed about the desperation and vulnerability behind the query.
Stephen stood, taking a step closer. It enabled Seb to see him clearer. The beard, the brown eyes, the scent of his wife on his shirt.
“You make it impossible for anyone to love you.”
Seb’s chest tightened and the blood drained from his face. He hadn’t known what he expected the answer to be. Or what he’d wanted it to be. God, I really am a fucking mess.
“Think about it, Sebastian.” Stephen licked his lips, his tongue raging against the coarse hairs of his beard. “You used me just as much as I did you. Remember that time on your father’s chair? What you said?”
Seb closed his eyes.
“And then anyone and everything you did after me was always a way to screw it to your father. I knew it then. I know it now. So.” Stephen tugged Seb’s chin back to face him. “Why do you need to romanticise everything now, eh? Love and sex are two different things.” Stephen’s warm breath landed on Seb’s alcohol-flushed face. “Or have you discovered something new? This is because of that boy back home, isn’t it?”
“Don’t,” Seb pleaded, his voice barely a whimper.
“You used him too. The ultimate way to piss off your father, fall in love with some council-estate nothing. And did you, Seb? Did you end up falling in love with someone?” Stephen tutted, shaking his head. “Guess he figured you out, though. How he was just another nobody to you. You chose money over him. You chose to keep your dream alive, because he couldn’t offer you anything. Where is he now, eh? Is he calling you? Is he returning any of your pleading messages?”
Seb closed his eyes, trying to shut Stephen out. Why was it ears didn’t have ear lids? Okay, I’m definitely too drunk now.
“So the player got played.” Stephen brushed his lips to Seb’s ear. “How many times did you call him, Seb? How many? To the point he changed his number?”
“Go. To. Hell.”
Stephen chuckled, his chest vibrating through Seb’s shuddering skin.
“You need to forget about him. Do as the old saying goes: if you can’t be with the one you love, fuck the one you’re with.”
Seb held Stephen’s gaze, his chest heaving. Stephen smiled, snatching the bottle of wine and downing a large gulp. Wiping away the red dots of liquid from his beard with the back of his hand, he dropped the empty bottle to the floor. As he straightened, he slid a hand up Seb’s loose-fitting T-shirt and dragged his fingertips across his clammy skin. Seb shut his eyes.
“There you are, Sparky,” Stephen purred, leaning forward to rub his beard against Seb’s ear. “I know you want me to do this to you. I know you crave it.”
Seb opened his eyes, biting his bottom lip.
“You’re practically begging me to fuck you just so you have some human contact.” Stephen licked up Seb’s neck. “You forget how well I know you, Sparky. You want me to flip you around and fuck you right here over that railing. You’ll deny it. You’ll blame me in the morning. But really, you want it so bad it’s eating you up inside.”
“I hate you.” There was no force behind the words, but Seb meant them with every fibre of his being. And right then, with the alcohol clouding his mind, he wasn’t sure if it was because Stephen was right.
Stephen chuckled and bit down on Seb’s earlobe. “I hate you, too. I hate that you make me want you like this.”
Tucking his fingers into the waistband of Seb’s jeans, Stephen yanked him around. Seb stumbled, forced against the edge of the balcony with the metal railing digging into his midsection. He grunted and Stephen ran a hand up his back, splaying thick fingers around his neck. Stephen pushed him forward, bending him over.
Rocking his hips, Stephen ground his hard cock against Seb’s arse. Seb involuntarily wriggled back against it, wanting to feel it, needing something.
“Was it always just fucking to you?”
“You’re the best fucking lay I’ve ever had. I made you that way. The things we did.” He ran his hand into the back of Seb’s hair and gripped the strands. Yanking Seb’s head back, he nipped his earlobe. “You encouraged me every single time. And, look, you’re still doing it.” Stephen rutted forward. “But, if things have changed for you, I can hold your hand for a bit after? If that’s what he’s done to you.”
“Suck. My. Dick.”
“With pleasure.” Stephen tucked one foot in between Seb’s legs, kicking them apart. “After.” Releasing Seb’s hair, he fumbled with his belt buckle.
Seb closed his eyes, imagining he was with someone else. Someone kinder, someone gentler, someone who could love him.
“Stevie? Honey?” Lisbeth Coles, petite and blonde, stuck her head through the open window to the balcony, her mascara blotted around her eyes. Running a hand through the wavy hair, she stepped out into the night. “Why is it so dark?”
“Shit.” Stephen stumbled away and clasped his belt shut. “Thought you were sleeping, baby?”
“I think I’m still on UK time. I’m hungry!” She pouted and craned her neck to catch Seb’s eye. “Hi, Sebastian.”
Seb didn’t move from his precarious position of dangling over the railing. Fuck Stephen and fuck her.
Lisbeth glanced back to her husband, concern in her eyes as she mouthed something to him.
“He’s fine. Been drinking.” Stephen widened his eyes at Seb over his shoulder. “Told you not to drink so much.” He placed a hand on the small of Lisbeth’s back and steered her through into the apartment. “Let’s get you fed, darling. What are you in the mood for?”
“Ooo, how about that nice Italian place. If they’re still open?”
“I’ll make them open for you, darling.”
Seb stood straight and cracked his neck from side to side. “Stephen?”
Stephen pushed Lisbeth farther into the house.
“That’s the last time I’ll ever let you near me.”
Stephen smiled. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that.”
“Lisbeth?” Seb licked his lips.
Stephen stepped forward as his wife reappeared in the doorway.
“The Mexican on 5th Street does much better food.” Seb didn’t remove his fixed stare from Stephen.
Lisbeth smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Sebastian. Maybe we’ll check it out.”
“Please, do. But, you know, if you’d rather hang around here with me, when I’m on my own, then I’ve got quite a few stories about Stephen you might like to hear.”
“Maybe another time.” Stephen guided Lisbeth into the building.
“Only if you find me alone,” Seb called out, hoping the words were received loud and clear.
Husband and wife walked out of Seb’s apartment with Stephen explaining that Seb’s unusual behaviour was just due to another drunken night alone. Seb sighed. The door slammed shut and Seb fell into the heap he needed. Hugging his knees to his chest, he couldn’t hold it all in any longer. He cried. Uncontrollable tears streamed down his cheeks and smeared the skin on his arm. He flipped his hand around, sniffling into the scorching and bleeding wrist, heedless of the black ink and red blood tarnishing his face.
He’d never felt so fucking alone in all his life.