An Unexpected Kind of Love

by Hayden Stone

  “Oh?” Blake’s expression is hard to read. Remote.

  “He had a fight with his boyfriend. Eli apparently decided calling me was the appropriate response.” I roll my eyes. “The man made his own bed and he should go lie in it. I told him to go deal.”

  “Makes sense.” We resume walking, side by side. He glances at me again. “This is the same ex you told me about?”

  My only ex.

  “Um. Yeah.”

  “The one you got the heart tattoo for?”

  Double cringe. I give him a sharp look back. “Well…yes. To be honest. I was young and dumb. Dumber than I am now. I’d like to think I’ve wised up with age.”

  More silence as we walk, the drum of rain on our waterproofs giving a staccato rhythm to the day. Before us, verdant fields give way to mountains. Our destination is a pub before we loop back on the higher trail.

  “You were on the phone a long time.”

  “Longer than I meant to be,” I concede. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I mean, obviously Eli called, and I answered. I should have cut to the chase immediately and told him to go fuck off.”

  He’s looking at me. Still unreadable. And I’m definitely starting to feel like I’m failing at something important. “What was the fight about?”

  “Hard to say, really. Him and Ryan were squabbling about things, from getting his wheelchair into a restaurant and taxi, to…well, me,” I admit sheepishly.

  Blake nods, digesting all of this as we walk.

  “And that’s it, really. I hope he went home after that to sort things out with Ryan.”

  I glance over at Blake. His profile, like the rest of him, is striking. His lips twist.

  “Aubrey?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you tell him about me? That I was the reason you were out of town.”

  And now I realize what that expression is: hurt.

  I don’t know how to process that. “I didn’t realize we were at that stage of telling people about…things.” I wave a hand helplessly.

  Shit.

  We stop again as the rain comes down harder, and of course we’re having this conversation in a downpour, because why wouldn’t we?

  He frowns at me. “Aren’t I important to you?”

  “Of course you’re important to me. I mean, I’m here, right? With you.”

  “But you didn’t tell him. Eli. The man who broke your heart.”

  “Well—I know you’re private or, I guess, selectively public about things—” And true, he’s put a couple of scenic shots onto his Instagram, but certainly not of us out here.

  “It’s a cop-out,” he counters, giving me a hard stare. “You need to figure out who you’re protecting in this situation. Him? Me? Or yourself?”

  I open my mouth to protest. And it stings. “All of the above, I guess? I don’t know. I mean, what are we doing, exactly? Maybe we should figure that out.”

  “Maybe you’ve already figured it out if you’re fielding intense calls from your ex in the middle of the night and giving space to that?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of my daft ex—”

  “Why wouldn’t I be jealous, or hurt, or whatever you want to call it, when you get a call like that and don’t think it important enough to tell me about it yourself? Like I don’t matter in your world, like I don’t even register,” Blake retorts, arms folded tight across his chest. He’s glorious but angry, and it’s hard to know if that’s just rain on his face or tears too. I could probably say the same for myself.

  “Of course you matter!” I stare at him, pushing wet hair out of my eyes. “Blake. God. Listen. I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re hot, sexy, funny. And you see a lot more in me than I see in myself. I didn’t tell you about the call because Eli was just jerking me around. Not because there’s anything there.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks gently. “Because I think you’re holding on to the past pretty tight.”

  I open my mouth again to protest, but once more, he’s nailing truths into my heart that are altogether too true. “I’m sorry. I should have told Eli about you. That we were away for the weekend.”

  “I think…” says Blake slowly, dragging a scuffed toe of his boot through the grass. He looks hurt. “You need to figure out why you didn’t.”

  “Who have you told about me?” I counter, stung. As if I’m someone to talk about. As if Eli deserves to know what’s going on in my life anymore.

  Blake’s eyes widen. His mouth opens and shuts. “I haven’t…yet,” he confesses.

  With a sigh, I nod. Of course he hasn’t told anyone about me. Why would he? “To be honest, I’m having a hard time believing any of this is real. That someone like you would want someone like…well, me. Ordinary Aubrey. And yes, you’re right, I have too many ghosts, and I didn’t handle that call well, and I should have set some fucking limits, but I didn’t. And I’m scared to actually like you too much, because you’re going to go back to America next week, and where does that leave me? Alone yet again, that’s what.”

  It all tumbles out, messy and hot, words that won’t stop, my mouth going faster than my brain. And it’s visceral, this pain. Like I’m already grieving a future loss. Steeling against the inevitable loss when Blake comes back to his senses and he sees me for who I am—just some guy running a shop that’s basically doomed, and like Eli pointed out, a guy who’s totally broke to boot. Yay, me. Winning hearts and minds.

  We stare at each other.

  His mouth twitches again. “Most of this is on you. I told you—I really like you. You need to sort your shit out, Aubrey.”

  So we stand in an awkward silence for an excruciatingly long time, a stalemate where we’re both hurt, where everything’s all wrong.

  “What’re we even doing?” I manage eventually, shaking my head. “You’re going to have to go home—when, exactly?”

  He straightens, holding my gaze. “Actually, I got a text from my agent that I need to go to L.A. for an audition.”

  “L.A.?” A cold shock hits my stomach hard. “As in, Los Angeles?”

  He nods once. “Yeah, L.A. Tonight.”

  “What?” My face burns as we stare at each other. “Tonight? You—you weren’t going to tell me?”

  Blake deflates. Runs a hand over his wet face. “I don’t know. I was trying to forget. Trying to extend things if I could, checking to see if I could go next week instead.” He hesitates. “But it could be a chance at a breakout role. My agent said I shouldn’t wait.”

  “It’s what you’ve always wanted,” I say, flat.

  Blake looks defeated. “I guess. I mean, of course. I’ve worked so hard for it. And my family…”

  “Then you should go,” I manage. “And live your life like you’ve been doing before we met. We can…we can meet up when you’re back?”

  “Yeah.”

  We stand and stare at each other. How did something so brilliant fall apart like this so quickly? My stomach twists. If only I hadn’t answered that phone. If only I’d told Eli where I am, who I’m with. If only I had told Blake right away about the call.

  Once back at the cottage, we pack up early.

  “Would you take me to the station?” I ask softly in the car after we drop off our keys.

  Blake looks at me, startled. “I can drive you back to London. I don’t mind.”

  “I think it’s better we went our own ways, don’t you?” Listless, I gaze at him. “It’s a long drive. Spare us a whole lot of awkward. I can give you some money for the petrol. It only seems fair.”

  How can it be two days ago that I felt light and free on the car ride up, like we were embarking together on some grand adventure, the two of us? Like maybe we were characters in the film he was shooting, like some fairy-tale rom-com where someone gets swept off their feet in a whirlw
ind romance? Except Blake’s not a prince and I’m not a princess. There’re not a lot of queer romances out there to model after, though I’ve always been one to forge my own way. But right now? Disaster.

  “I don’t know,” Blake says unhappily. “I mean, I don’t care about the petrol. But you can ride back with me. I don’t mind.”

  “Please,” I whisper, barely keeping it together. There are too many crashing thoughts in my skull, overwhelming me. The promise of Blake and the history of Eli that’s always getting in the way of everything. And the obligations of my life, one that I haven’t had a chance to live on my own terms, not really. “I think…I need to be alone for a while.”

  And at last he takes me to the station and I can’t bear to kiss or hug him goodbye. It’s going to be a long ride setting out back south to London, left alone with tears and two images on his Instagram and nowhere near enough on my camera to prove the whole thing ever happened outside of my own imagination.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wait on the platform in the blustery afternoon is lonely. When I finally settle in my window seat on the train, the long ride to London is even lonelier. At least I have the two-person seats to myself without anyone beside me. My bag’s been stashed by my feet. Something’s missing—not just someone. And then I remember: Blake has my dad’s guitar. Even if I resolved an hour ago to never see the man again, obviously I’ll need to see him again to get the guitar back.

  A headache squeezes my skull, an ever-tightening band around my forehead and temples. I’ve skipped lunch and won’t get to eat something decent for hours yet. Somehow, I’m the one who ended up with the mixed nuts in my bag, and so I scavenge those and munch away while gloomily staring out at verdant views.

  How could everything go so wrong, so fast? What’s wrong with Eli? What’s wrong with me that I didn’t tell him to fuck off right away? Worse, what’s wrong with me for not flat-out saying I was there with Blake?

  Stupid, Aubrey. And now everything’s fucked up.

  Miserable, I sulk for a little while before pulling out my phone. In the train car, there’s a pack of laughing teens at one end, others talking or on their phones. I’m hardly adding to the din if I make a call too.

  My fingers hover over Blake’s number, but no. I can’t. Instead, I call Lily. She’s probably busy. She’s always busy. It’ll go straight to messages and that’s fine, because who rings rather than texts?

  Of course she answers after the third ring. I can hear her frown on the phone. “Aubrey. What’s wrong? I thought you were still away.”

  “Level five emergency.” I crunch a nut to punctuate my unhappiness, a sacrificial almond.

  “Obviously, because you’re calling. Hang on. Let me get back to my office.”

  Right, work. Of course she’s working. Selfishly, I didn’t even think about that, that she might be doing legitimate things rather than waiting to field my drama. And it hits me that I’m calling to unload like Eli did to me, except with two important differences: one, it’s not 3:00 a.m., and two, Lily and I haven’t ever been in a romantic relationship.

  “Sorry, Lil. I’m calling at a bad time.”

  “Nonsense. They have to wait for me anyway, and there’s enough going on for them to do without me there for a few minutes. The show install is going as well as can be expected.”

  “That’s good.” I can only imagine Lily behind the scenes at her art gallery, calling the shots while people shuffle the art around to her specifications. “This isn’t the Spain stuff, is it?”

  “No, no. That’s still in development. This is all about the influence of street art and punk rock in fashion. Very Alexander McQueen, plenty of skulls. Goth rating, ten out of ten.”

  Despite myself, my lips twist into a smile. “I didn’t realize you were gothic, Lil.”

  “Want to come to the private view next week? Might cheer you up.”

  I hardly feel festive. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “I’m back in my office now. Tell me everything. What’s wrong?”

  A groan escapes me. “It’s stupid.”

  “Let’s not make me drag things out of you again. I do need to get back before too long.”

  “Right, sorry. Well, Blake and I went away like I texted you. And we were having a great time hillwalking and relaxing in pubs. Till Eli called me in the middle of the night, having a crisis.”

  I hear Lily sucking back air. “He what?” Then a sharp exhale. “The jealous arsehole.”

  “No, no. He doesn’t know about Blake. I haven’t told him.”

  “You haven’t told him?” she asks, incredulity in her voice. “Why not?”

  Isn’t that the question? “I don’t know. Because this is so new? I mean, not telling Eli about him is part of the problem.” I sigh. “Eli went on and on, upset after a fight with Ryan, with the punchline being that their fight was ultimately about me.”

  If I was there, I could imagine her wide-eyed gawp. Instead, I hear clicking. Probably some rapid-fire pen fidgeting, knowing her.

  “You still there?” I ask.

  “I’m so mad at Eli!” she explodes. “Why doesn’t he deal with his own shit rather than bothering you in the middle of the night? Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

  “Mm, I didn’t say anything and God knows I’ve kept Blake a secret from Gemma because I would never hear the end of it, which is easy enough because the shop’s been a tip since the filming, and she hasn’t been in. But Eli did stop by the day that Blake sent me an incredible bouquet of flowers, and then Blake came in. They met…somewhat. So, maybe on some level he knows something’s up.”

  “I would dearly love to give the man a swift kick in the ankle. I mean, I would never actually do it, but I can’t believe it,” Lily moans. “Level five indeed.”

  “Then, I fucked things up even worse by not telling Blake about it, because I thought he slept through the call, but he must have heard at least part of it. And he brought it up the next day. And one thing led to another. I, er, didn’t tell Eli about Blake and now Blake’s upset. Course, he hasn’t told anyone about me, like I’m some guilty secret. Which, fair, I’m nobody on the celebrity scale. And his filming wraps next week, and then he goes back to America and his regular life, and all of this is for nothing, anyway, right? To make things even worse, he has an audition in L.A. like right now and it’s even worse than I thought, because he’s leaving tonight. For a couple of days. So, he won’t be back for long and then he’s gone for good. So, you see, everything’s ruined.” I’m breathless from my monologue.

  Silence. More pen clicking follows.

  Meanwhile, I chew my lip as we pull into the next station. There’s an announcement over the speakers, and through the mutterings of passengers, I can hear that the train is abruptly terminating service. And that we all need to wait for the next one. Nothing can be straightforward, can it? Not trains, not men.

  “Sorry, this train’s given up the ghost, I’m afraid. Bear with me while I get onto the platform.”

  And I do and she does. At least there’s a bit of shelter from the rain. I go into the cramped waiting room, with its foggy windows from the muggy day. The clouds are low and gray outside, like a storm threatens but hasn’t delivered yet.

  “What a mess,” Lily says at last.

  “Hard agree.” My unhappiness comes through my voice.

  “I’m sorry. I want you to have good things. And some fun.”

  “It was surprisingly fun, till then. We’d actually been getting on and, er, getting to know each other—”

  “So the sex was hot,” she teases without mercy.

  “Never you mind and maybe it was,” I say hurriedly, flushing, “but we were on the same wavelength and finding out maybe we weren’t entirely so different after all, and then…Eli and geography and timing. I’m on the train back alone. He’s driving.”

  L
ily tuts. “You didn’t even ride back together?”

  “I needed some time on my own. Plus, I thought that would be the end of it between us, but he has my dad’s guitar. I need to see him to get it back.” I groan.

  She considers. “Maybe that’s a good thing. You’ll both be calmer by then, have had a chance to think. You can talk things over then, if you want.”

  “Doesn’t change the simple fact that he’s due back in short order to America, with the audition of a lifetime by the sounds of things. And my life is here with the shop. Which, by the way, has damages from the filming that I need to deal with when I get back, but it’s just making my headache worse.”

  I chew my lip, watching as another train approaches. Everyone watches the board to see if this is the train for London. It is, and it’ll be here in three minutes.

  “Damages? What damages?” Lily’s frown is in her voice.

  “The floor. There’re gouges and things. Some splintered bits. They’re talking about fixing things this weekend. I don’t know.”

  “That’s not right, Aubrey. They should compensate you appropriately and make the repairs. It’s their fault there’s damage. That should be out of their pocket, not yours. Including compensation for the closures. And never mind the patching. Isn’t there an agreement?”

  “There is,” I acknowledge, fidgeting with my pockets. “I guess…it’s not just the shop disaster. There’s everything with…a man that’s not right either.”

  “Promise me that you’ll talk to Blake too?”

  I gulp as the train glides to a stop at the platform, and I weave my way outside. The angsty butterflies in my gut are having some sort of riot, though I’m not clear if the riot is over Blake, Eli, or far too many vegan snacks in the last three days. Or possibly not enough. At any rate, I’m out of sorts, but to be honest, I’m feeling resentful toward Eli. Like, Eli’s had a whole year to get his shit together. It’s as if by some finely honed instinct, he knows I’m starting to make moves toward something good and happy and mine, and then he appears like some sort of villain out of the shadows like some B-grade film that Blake would probably know about.