Out of this World (Browerton University Book 5)

by A. J. Truman

  “What the hell—was this because you’re gay?” Eamonn’s fingers locked into fists.

  “No. We live in a progressive enough society where a few pricks could be all right with my homosexuality but take umbrage with me trying to punch them for claiming Arsenal is the best football team in the U.K.”

  “I thought you were a Manchester United fan.”

  “I am, but I just wanted to see their reaction. I don’t know how it started. Sometime after my tenth pint, everything went into a blur.”

  “Ten pints?” Jesus. Nathan seemed hollowed out, as if everything he was saying was rehearsed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Eamonn picked Nathan up, but as soon as he let go, Nathan wobbled backwards and fell against a trash can. He slunk to the ground and had no intention of moving.

  Eamonn held out his hand. Nathan swatted it away. “Are you planning to celebrate Christmas down there?”

  “What the fuck are you doing here, E?”

  “I was making a grocery run, and I heard a familiar voice.”

  “Shopping at the bourgeois palace? My how the Yank has changed you.”

  Eamonn shot him a look.

  “You should’ve just ignored me.” Nathan’s words jumbled together. Eamonn could barely understand him. “You should’ve just left me to rot in a puddle of my own piss!”

  Nathan lurched out his leg in a half-assed kick. Eamonn tried to wipe a glob of blood and dribble from Nathan’s mouth. Nathan smacked his arm hard, ripped the scarf out of his hand, and flung it across the alley.

  “What the fuck is going on with you? What the hell are you doing drinking until your liver gives out and getting in fights with strangers?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, somewhat in a daze. “I drink to get rid of the pain, but then I like getting in fights so I can feel pain all over again.” Nathan held his shirt sleeve to his mouth.

  “Once your film comes out, you won’t be able to pull shit like this anymore. People have phones. You’ll wind up on the front page of The Sun.”

  “There is no film.” Nathan laughed to himself.

  “Bollocks. What were you doing the whole time you were gone?”

  “The director fired me. Apparently, he didn’t like his actors getting so wasted they couldn’t remember their lines. I offered to blow him to make amends, which he really didn’t like. He cut me loose in September, said he was going to reshoot all my scenes. There goes my Hollywood career. Poof.” Nathan soaked through his sleeve. Eamonn darted into the pub and grabbed a stack of napkins. He handed Nathan a clean one, which he did not swat away. “Thank you.”

  Eamonn saw his ex-boyfriend clearly for the first time. His vivacity, his biting lines, they were all part of a thick coat of armor that he never took off.

  “Mate, you never used to drink like this.”

  “Well, life happens. Life just loves to kick me in the stones,” Nathan said. “I was massively excited about getting cast in the film. I really was. Then they rewrote the script and turned my character into someone who was abandoned by his mother, and it hit too close to home.”

  “Too close to home? Just because your mum died doesn’t mean she…”

  “I lied to you. One of many,” Nathan said. He sat up a little bit, as if he were pulling this from deep within. “My mother didn’t die. She left. She and my dad had a one-night stand, then nine months later, she showed up on his doorstep with a newborn and hightailed it the fuck out of there. My dad told me the truth on my fifteenth birthday after I came out to him, like he was trying to top my news.”

  “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  “I had pushed that all down years ago, but the movie just sliced open these fucking…who fucking does that?”

  Eamonn offered a hug. He didn’t have any wise words. Nobody deserved that, and he wished he could find his mother and bring her here. Nathan burrowed himself into his chest for a moment before pulling away.

  “Bugger. Now I’ve gone and gotten blood on your nice jumper,” Nathan said

  “It’ll wash out.” Eamonn wiped it away.

  “You’re the only person who knows the truth. Lucky you.”

  “You could’ve told me about getting fired.”

  “You were preoccupied with your Yank.” Nathan stood up and winced with pain in his ribs. Eamonn checked out his stomach, which looked just as ghastly as his face.

  “I think you need to go to a hospital.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Nathan held his mouth open and drank raindrops, then soaked Eamonn’s scarf to clean his face. “I don’t want to keep you from your boyfriend.”

  “What did you expect? You don’t get to play the jealous card. I moved on. I thought you had. Right in front of my fucking face.”

  But Nathan held up a hand to stop him. “I know. I’m sorry for trying to fuck that up.”

  Eamonn made sure he heard that right.

  “I am.” Nathan stared up at the buzzing fluorescent signs of the pub. “I didn’t even like the guy you saw me snogging. He had horrible breath.”

  “Where did you meet him?” Eamonn had wondered this ever since it happened.

  “Grindr.” Nathan let out a laugh. “We met in the Waterstones outside our terminal. He was like one of those ten pints. He got rid of the pain for a moment.” Nathan cleaned his face in the rain. “It’s hard to love someone when the one woman who’s supposed to love you wants nothing to do with you. It doesn’t really set the tone. I was scared of that happening with you. I was scared to find out if we could survive the distance, the fame. So I pushed you away. I was a total prick to you.”

  Eamonn never saw Nathan cry before, no matter how bad things got. It amazed him that his ex-boyfriend could be an actor where he’d have to cry on cue. Nathan didn’t cry tonight, but that didn’t mean his eyes were without sadness. It was worse. He was filled with it, but he couldn’t let it out. Maybe one day he would.

  “It’s not your fault, what your mother did.”

  Nathan waved it off. He’d probably heard it loads before. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll let you get back to Rafe.”

  “He’s cooking a big meal tonight,” Eamonn said.

  “Lots of hamburgers and French fries?” Nathan asked in his own American accent, which actually sounded American.

  Beneath the joke though, there was an ocean of cold misery, one that Eamonn couldn’t ignore.

  “You need help, Nathan. You have a problem.”

  Nathan nodded in acquiescence.

  “I’m going to call your father.”

  “Oh, he won’t like this. He and the wicked stepmother are set to go on a cruise tomorrow.”

  “He’ll come,” Eamonn said firmly, even if he had to go to London and drag him out of his penthouse apartment himself.

  “Thank you for coming, E. Can you please not tell anyone about this? Please,” he pleaded, grabbing Eamonn’s jumper. “I have a reputation as a first-rate arsehole to maintain.”

  “I promise.”

  Nathan saw his reflection in a window. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  They waited in the fancy market with food from the hot bar. People gawked at Nathan, all bruised and bloodied. Once Eamonn got Nathan situated at a table with water and some food, he texted Rafe.

  Am majorly delayed. Something happened with Nathan. He needed help. Can’t get into it, but will be back soon – with butter! I am so sorry.

  It took Nathan’s dad close to an hour to meet them, and despite Nathan’s prediction, his father seemed worried, not annoyed. He couldn’t imagine seeing your child in this state and feeling so helpless. He took Nathan back home that night and told Eamonn that he was getting him into a rehab facility immediately.

  Eamonn made the trek through the rain back to Stroude. Rafe never texted back.

  Chapter 27

  RAFE

  Rafe’s Thanksgiving meal wasn’t as delectable as his grandmother’s. It was missing her magic touch. But that being said, he still managed to cook edible fo
od that tasted good, if not great. Every guest at the table complimented his culinary skills, and Rafe would have to take their word for it because he was not in the mood to eat.

  Just drink.

  Rafe poured himself his third, or fourth, glass of red wine. Allison had brought a bottle, and Rafe had pretty much kept it all to himself. He didn’t need liquid courage. He needed a liquid therapist, something to calm his nerves about Eamonn spending his first Thanksgiving with Nathan. Drinking, fucking, laughing about that idiot Yank Baxter who dared to think he’d actually found a guy who wanted him but scared him away. The Baxter had gone to war, and the Baxter had lost.

  What did Eamonn mean in his text that Nathan needed help? Before he hit glass number three, Rafe was concerned for both of them. Maybe there was an accident, but then wouldn’t Eamonn have said as much? As the alcohol worked its way through his system, he began realizing that “help” could be another ruse Nathan pulled to get Eamonn close. Eamonn could be having second thoughts about Rafe staying—he sure seemed that way—and gladly took whatever help Nathan was giving.

  “It looks like we’re out of stuffing. I’ll get us more stuffing!” Rafe jumped up from his chair, which fell to the floor. He swiped the empty bowl of stuffing from Heath’s hands, who was scooping out the last bits, and charged into the kitchen. He kicked open the swinging door Charlie’s Angels-style.

  “I’ll be right back!”

  And the door swung back in his face.

  “Rafe!” Louisa ran to his side.

  “I really like that you got dressed up for Thanksgiving. That means a lot to me,” Rafe said to the multiple Louisas in front of him.

  “Up you go. On your feet.”

  Rafe did as she commanded, with help from her and Heath. They each hoisted him up, and he found some semblance of balance.

  “Thank you,” he said to both of them. “I’m fine. I need to get more stuffing for everyone.”

  “Do you need help?” Louisa asked.

  “Nope. I can do it all, like a gay June Clever. Do you know who that is? I don’t either, but my parents like talking about her.” Rafe swung the door open slowly, keeping his hand on it until he made his way through.

  Rafe liked to believe that Eamonn went to see Nathan with good intentions. Like maybe Nathan said he needed a kidney or something. And then bam! Nathan seduced him like a twenty-something Ian McKellen.

  He wasn’t so drunk as to forget putting on an oven mitt, fortunately. Rafe scooped out more stuffing from the roasting pan. He tossed some bits into his mouth since no one was looking.

  He heard the kitchen door swing open, and his heart crossed its aortic fingers hoping it was Eamonn.

  “Y’alright?” Louisa asked.

  “I’m fine. We needed more stuffing. So I put more stuffing into this bowl.” Rafe held up his accomplishment. He couldn’t stand her reaction. “I’m not drunk! I’m just a little tired and anxious about everything going okay.”

  “Everything is smashing. You are a brilliant chef.”

  Louisa poured him a glass of water and handed it over. He traded it for the bowl of stuffing. He still couldn’t fathom how she could drink him under the table and show zero signs of being drunk.

  “He’ll be here soon.” She rubbed his shoulders. It felt nice, but it still couldn’t get rid of the dread coating his stomach.

  “That American girl you invited is really nice. She’s from California, and she’s giving me the whole scoop! I want to visit there so badly.”

  “I’m glad everyone is getting along.” Rafe wished he had his wine glass with him.

  “She seems friendly with Heath. Maybe he’ll pull her if he’s lucky,” she said.

  “Oh, he already has. Ow!”

  Louisa’s hand dug into his shoulder. “Sorry.” She let go. “What do you mean?”

  “They had sex. Twice.” Rafe wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a secret or not. Alcohol was like a skeleton key that opened all doors.

  “What?” Louisa glared at Rafe.

  What did I do?

  “They’ve shagged?”

  “Yes.” Rafe must’ve been missing something, because Louisa looked like she needed to face a punching bag. “You guys aren’t together.”

  “We’re not. I’m just surprised. She doesn’t seem like his type.” Louisa went back to smiling, but it still creeped Rafe out. “Will you excuse me? I’m going to have a fag outside.”

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “It’s a new Thanksgiving tradition.” She shoved open the kitchen door and the breeze it left in her wake nearly threw Rafe to the floor again.

  He returned to his guests. Eamonn stood over the table, waving hello to everyone. Rafe found his beloved wine glass and poured himself another session with his fermented therapist.

  Eamonn came up to him before he could take a sip. He took the glass out of his hands and kissed him on the lips. “Rafe, I am so sorry about all this.”

  It was a damn good kiss, one that made Rafe forget about the drama and the wine. But he couldn’t shake the fact that before Eamonn gave him this earth-shattering kiss, he was with his ex-boyfriend.

  “How’s Nathan?” Rafe asked. “And is that blood on your sweater?”

  “It’s not what you might presume. Nathan was in trouble.” Eamonn’s damn blue eyes were wearing him down and threatened to swallow him whole.

  “And you were the only person who could help him?”

  “Yes.” Eamonn said it with a surprising amount of confidence. Rafe wished he would’ve lied. That would’ve hurt less. “Can we talk in private?”

  Eamonn led them into his bedroom. Rafe wanted to lie down so badly, but he resisted the pull of Eamonn’s bed. He told Rafe about finding Nathan getting the shit kicked out of him outside a bar after having way too much to drink. Rafe thought of the fight Nathan picked outside the Bloc Party concert, and it sounded like more of the same. Nathan causes a scene to get attention, and Eamonn saves the day.

  “Why was Nathan acting like that?” Rafe asked.

  “He’s going through some personal stuff.”

  “What kind of personal stuff?”

  “I can’t say. It’s private. I’m sorry.”

  Rafe couldn’t get past that non-answer. He appreciated that Nathan had secrets he didn’t want known. We all did. He tried his best to trust Eamonn, but this was a brutal reminder that he and Nathan had a history and a past that Rafe wasn’t able to compete with.

  “Great. Glad you could help him. He’s lucky to have an ex-boyfriend like you.” Rafe got up. The room spun again, but he pushed through it.

  “Rafe, please trust me. Nothing romantic or sexual happened between us.”

  It was worse. There was a bond there that Rafe couldn’t supersede. All of his past Baxter experiences bubbled to the surface of his mind. No matter how well he thought it was going with a guy, there was always a curveball he didn’t see coming. There would come the sudden ghosting, the rejection. Rafe wondered if that ever stopped, if there was ever a point in a relationship when he could feel secure.

  “I’m going to enjoy the rest of my Thanksgiving,” Rafe said, feeling a flash of sobriety hit him.

  Back in the hallway, the dinner table turned out to be just as tense as Eamonn’s room. Louisa had come back from her cigarette break with a guy Rafe recognized from Apothecary.

  “Hi. Welcome.” Rafe shook his hand.

  “This is Jeremy, my boyfriend,” Louisa said loud and proud.

  Rafe glanced at Heath, who moved his fork around his plate but seemed to have zero interest in eating. Eamonn emerged from his room and took a seat at the far end of the table. The other guests, a smattering of classmates and flatmates, stared at their food in awkward silence.

  “Welcome,” Rafe said to the new guy. He sat at his end of the table. He didn’t look at Eamonn.

  “This is a wicked spread you made here, mate,” Jeremy said. Louisa nestled into his chest, which made it difficult for him to spo
on himself some cranberry sauce, but he managed.

  “Here, I want to try some cranberry sauce,” Louisa said. Jeremy spoon-fed her. Her face cringed when it hit her tongue. Cranberry sauce was not something meant to be eaten alone.

  Rafe could feel Eamonn’s eyes on him, and he wanted to look back, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself get anymore attached than he had.

  “Louisa, you’re making a scene,” Heath said.

  “I’m sorry if you have a problem with my new boyfriend being here. Allison, have I mentioned how much I love your hair?”

  Allison smiled politely.

  “How long have you two been together?” Allison asked Louisa and Jeremy.

  Jeremy stammered for an answer, but Louisa had one ready. “Only a few weeks,” she said. “We’ve been in loads of classes together over the years, and…something just happened. We just felt this…” She interlocked her fingers, and it made Rafe’s heart clench up.

  “Connection,” Eamonn said, his voice thick. He cut his eyes at Rafe.

  “Right!” Louisa cocked her head at Heath. “Is something the matter?”

  “Nothing at all,” Heath said.

  “Can we please fucking stop this?” Rafe said, making a scene at his own table but too jumbled up with his own shit to care. “How many times are you two going to go around the carousel? Heath, she’s jerking you around. No matter what Louisa does to you and no matter how mad she makes you, you’re still waiting for her like some fucking puppy.” Rafe cut his eyes back to Eamonn.

  “Fuck you, Rafe!” Louisa said.

  “Fuck you right back!”

  “He’s right.” Heath eased up, and something like clarity seemed to come over him. “I reckon that you and I never worked. We never did. It’s time that I bugger off and get over you for good. If you’re with someone who makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

  Louisa didn’t say anything, but an eternity seemed to flash on her face.

  “That’s proper of you, mate,” Jeremy said. He tried to spoon feed her stuffing, but she declined.

  Lots of silverware clanging against plates filled the silence for the rest of the night. It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was Thanksgiving.