The Worst Best Man

by M. J. O'Shea

  “You want to go outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?” Aaron asked.

  “Sure.” He waved at his friends again. “I’ll be right in. Just going to go outside for a few minutes.”

  Will glared at him. Salome just put her thumb up to say good luck. August let Aaron lead him outside by the hand. There weren’t many people by the front of the club. Most of the smokers and the others had congregated on the small deck out back. August let himself be crowded against the wall and kissed. He tried to lose himself in the sensation, get into the feeling of something new. It didn’t last long, though. Soon something, or someone rather, was pulling Aaron off him.

  “Get off my boyfriend.”

  The voice was low, growly, very British. August’s stomach dropped.

  “Chris? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “SERIOUSLY. What the hell are you doing here?” August asked. Aaron was long gone, probably too smart to stick around whatever drama was about to go down. August didn’t blame him.

  “I’m here for you.” Christopher looked at him like the entire situation was completely self-explanatory. And maybe it had been over a month since he’d seen him, since they’d touched and kissed and Christopher told him he wanted to be with August forever, but that time disappeared and August was right back at Libby’s wedding, hearing that Christopher planned to keep him hidden from his real life once again.

  “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you feel bad about hurting me again.”

  “Baby, it’s not like that.”

  “Don’t call me baby. Don’t call me anything.” August started to walk off. He could get a cab to his flat, loft, whatever the hell. And meddling Will, who’d clearly told Christopher where they were, could fuck the fuck right off.

  “At least let me give you a ride home. My driver’s waiting around the corner.”

  His driver. Jesus. “We’re not even in England. How the hell are you so like that still?”

  “Can I please take you home? We can talk, and I can make you some tea.”

  Christopher was playing to his weaknesses, damn it. Even drunk August loved his tea.

  “Fine. Let me go in and tell Benedict Will that I’m leaving.”

  “He knows,” Christopher said quietly.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. Of course he does.”

  They walked the half block to Christopher’s car and got in quietly. August didn’t know what to say to him. In a way, it felt like going all the way back to December when he’d been so shocked to see Christopher’s face he’d barely known how to react.

  “What’s your address?” Christopher asked. “I need to tell my driver.”

  “What, you don’t know that too?” August snapped.

  “Please don’t make me sound like a creep.”

  August sighed loudly and rattled his address off for the driver.

  “Thank you.”

  They were quiet after that, all the way to August’s loft, up the elevator, and into the kitchen. August got out the stuff for tea and some bread and butter for toast. Then he sat at one of the kitchen stools and watched Christopher work.

  “Why are you in New York?” he finally asked.

  Christopher popped the toast out of the toaster and put it on plates. He buttered the slices and slid them over to August along with his tea. Then he answered.

  “I think that’s obvious.”

  “Is it? We didn’t really leave things on a see you later note. That felt an awful lot like good-bye.”

  “Not to me. I’m never going to say good-bye to you. I think if that was possible, I’d have been able to do it years ago.”

  “So you’re going to keep me hidden away from your society crowd in the colonies and come visit me once in a while? That sounds healthy.” August snorted.

  “No. If you let me, I’m going to show you off wherever I can—New York or London. I just want to be with you. And I want everyone to know it.”

  “Right.” August chugged the last of his tea and got up. He shuffled over to the couch and sat. His head spun a little, but it was more from shock and confusion than the residual drinks. “That’s exactly what it seemed like when you were going to sneak away for a weekend with your friends and not tell me so you didn’t have to introduce me to them. Sounds exactly like showing me off.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You want to explain how it was, then?”

  Christopher sighed. “The people at those events, well some of them, at least, are the snobbiest people I know. I don’t like them, and to be honest I would’ve come up with a way to get out of that party before it happened if Edward hadn’t opened his big mouth. I was trying to protect you from them, not the other way around. I’m not ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of them, of how you’d see me when I’m with them. I didn’t want to remind you of what had happened all those years ago.”

  “You had to know how that was going to look to me.”

  “I guess I didn’t think about it until it was too late. I’m not ashamed of you, babe. I never have been.”

  “Then why don’t your parents know who I was to you?”

  Christopher winced at the “was.” “They do know—too little too late probably, but if it means anything, I think my father was really impressed with how professionally you handled the wedding.”

  “I’m sure he liked my little tantrum too.”

  “Nobody really saw that. Most of it was out of the way.”

  August huffed out a laugh. “I guess I’m enough of a pro to hide the drama. I’ve spent enough years steering drunk bridesmaids out of the reception to know that stuff happens in the back hallways and the parking lots, not the main room.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You could’ve screamed at me in front of the whole wedding and I wouldn’t have cared. I love you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’ll never be ashamed of you. No matter what happens here, you were always the best part of my life.”

  “Shit… I need to sleep, Chris. This is a lot right now. Can I talk to you tomorrow?”

  He looked hurt, but he nodded.

  “Yes. Of course. I’ll leave my number here. I’m guessing you no longer have it.”

  Christopher took a card out of his wallet and put it on the kitchen counter. Typical Christopher move. Somehow it was cute rather than annoying.

  “No, I didn’t still have it. I might have dropped my UK phone in a pint of beer,” August admitted sheepishly. “How long are you in town for?” he asked.

  “Indefinitely. As long as it takes. Forever, if you want me to be.”

  Definitely too much after the alcohol and the talks and the shock of seeing Christopher where he least expected him to be.

  “I’ve gotta go to bed. Tell Will I suppose he’s forgiven even if he is a traitor.”

  “I will.”

  August walked Christopher to the door and shut it. He flipped the deadbolt and wandered back to his bedroom before falling facedown onto the duvet and passing out.

  HE thought about not calling Christopher the next day, but August didn’t have it in him to resist when he’d come so far to see him. He ended up texting and asking to meet him at Soho Square. He could use a bit of a walk, and it was just too much having Christopher in his apartment with walls and all that enforced proximity.

  Soho Square was a lovely, leafy brick courtyard that he’d walked through a few times in his first few weeks in the city. Usually August stopped to admire the turning leaves, sat and soaked in the dappled sunlight for a minute. That day he was too nervous to even sit, let alone enjoy the sun. It didn’t take long for Christopher to show up. He was wearing jeans and a light sweater—something August had rarely seen him in back in London. He also had Fergus with him. Fergus trotted up to August excitedly and wagged his tail.

  “Hi, boy. How did you get here?” August scratched Fergus’s head and looked up at Christopher questioningly.

  “On the plane with me. I wasn’t going to l
eave my only child in England.”

  “So you’re an American dog now?” August teased.

  Christopher grinned. “Probably not while he’s staying at Soho House. Somehow that’s still British soil.”

  “You’re staying at Soho House?” August rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be staying there long.”

  “Already getting tired of New York?”

  “No, I told you, I’m here for the duration. I want to find something more permanent. Get some things shipped over.”

  “I don’t get it, Chris. I’m trying to start a new life here. We tried being us, and it didn’t work.”

  “But it did work. I already explained to you what I was doing. If you want to go to the next party, I’ll fly you back to England and you can meet every last one of them. I’d rather not, though. I like your world an awful lot better than mine. I always have.”

  “How about your parents? Are they going to keep pressuring you to find someone more suitable?”

  Christopher shook his head. “They can fuck off if they don’t like it. I’m not a kid, and I don’t need their approval.”

  Wow. Someone had been getting pep talks from Will.

  “I also called them last night after I spoke to you, told them I wanted to marry you, if you’d have me, and they were going to adore you once they gave you a chance.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “I’m not going back to England, Christopher. I love it here. I’m running my own branch of the company, and it’s a huge step up for me.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you to go back to England. You want to start a new life here? I’d love to start one with you.”

  “But your life is in London.”

  He shook his head. “Wasn’t much of one until you came back into it.”

  “You’d really stay in New York for me?”

  Christopher nodded. “Maybe a little bit for me too. I like the idea of being someone else. Maybe a photographer. I’ve always liked taking pictures.”

  “So just like that?” He couldn’t believe Christopher was perfectly willing to uproot his entire life just to be with him. August figured he’d be a fool not to give him a chance after that.

  “Just like that. Babe, I love you. I want to be here with you.”

  “I love you too.” August was scared and nervous and happy and, really, too many things to catalog all at once.

  “Want to go for a ride? Fergus has never seen Central Park, and I think he’ll love it.”

  August chuckled. “Wouldn’t want Fergus to miss out, would we?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Epilogue

  “FERGUS, c’mon! We’ve got to get into the car or we’ll end up in traffic.” August’s adopted dog-son gave him a big-eyed whimper and rolled over on the bed they kept for him at August and Will’s place. August chuckled.

  Will rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Fergus totally understood that. He hates afternoon traffic as well. C’mere, boy!”

  Fergus gave Will the same baleful look he’d given August.

  “See, I told you he doesn’t love you more than me,” August said with a laugh and punched Will’s shoulder. “Is your bag in the car?”

  “Yes, mother. We’re all ready to go. We just need the ginger prince to get his leash on and we’re off.”

  “I swear he knows we’re going in the car. He hates long trips.”

  The door to Will and August’s loft opened, and Christopher came bustling in. He had snow on his coat and hat, and his nose and cheeks had turned bright red.

  “Is my dog being a pain in the arse again?” he muttered. “Fergs. You can’t hold up Christmas just because you’re cozy by the fire.”

  “At this rate, we won’t be in Boston until Boxing Day,” Will muttered.

  Christopher strode over and simply picked Fergus up from the floor, ignoring his protests at being dragged away from his favorite spot by the gas fireplace. He flipped the switch on the gas range and brought the dog over to get his collar and lead snapped into place. “He probably would’ve come a lot quicker if you’d have just turned the fire off, you know?”

  “He was a guest. I hated to be rude.”

  Fergus was a rather frequent guest at Will and August’s loft, as was Christopher and the girl Will had started seeing around Thanksgiving. It was cozy and crowded and felt a lot like family. August loved it… except when their walls were a little too thin and couple time got a bit too public.

  “Do you have his jacket in case he gets cold in the car?” August asked. He fretted about Fergus like he was a toddler, but he always had and there was no point in stopping now.

  “He’ll be fine.” Christopher laughed and rolled his eyes at the same time. “Let’s go before I decide I’m too scared to meet your whole family and I lock myself in my flat.”

  Christopher’s place was a few blocks over, on a quieter street with more trees. It wasn’t permanent, and they all knew it, but nobody had said anything yet about who was moving and when.

  “Come on. They’ll love you. My parents have fallen for you, haven’t they?”

  It wasn’t easy, but Christopher had worn them down over Thanksgiving with his charms and repeated assurances that he was in it for the long haul with August. Fergus didn’t hurt either. The O’Learys had always been suckers for a cute dog. A cute Irish dog.

  The little foursome got into the elevator and rode it down to the front of the building, where Christopher’s car that he’d rented to get them to Boston was waiting. The snow was coming down thick and white, and even restless Manhattan was quiet.

  “Are your parents going to miss you this year?” Christopher asked Will.

  “Yeah, but I’ll be going home for a couple of weeks in the spring. My mum says she talks to me more now than when I was just in London.”

  “Probably true,” August said. They bundled into the car and let Fergus crawl onto the floor, and then the driver was off.

  IT all seemed to have come full circle since a single year ago when August was leaving for Christmas with a heavy, nervous heart and no idea what was going to happen next.

  He’d figured it all out—at least the big parts about his job and where he wanted to live and what the hell he was going to do about having Christopher back in his life. And whatever was left? Well, he supposed he could deal with that in time.

  M.J. O’SHEA has never met a music festival, paintbrush, or flower crown she can stay away from. She loves rainstorms and a perfect cup of tea, beach days, music, bright colors, and more than anything a cozy evening with a really great book.

  She is from the Pacific Northwest. While she lives there still and loves it, M.J. has the heart of a wanderer. So she puts all her dreams of far-off places and extraordinary people in her books.

  Except for every once in a while when she does what all travelers have to do on occasion… come home.

  E-mail: mjosheaseattle@gmail.com

  Website: mjoshea.com

  Twitter: @MjOsheaSeattle

  By M.J. O’Shea

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  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Coming in March 2017

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