Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Thirteen

Freddie

I’m clutching onto Elliot’s hand like it’s a life raft. At one point I even thought I heard the poor guy wince in pain, and I only hope I’ve inflicted a severe case of pins and needles rather than broken digits.

Andrew scared the shit out of me, not so much because of his size — which is ginormous — but because of how he’d looked at me. It was as though I’d been under a microscope, being studied like some rare and outlandish insect. I’ll just have to make sure I’m more beautiful butterfly than motley moth.

“Freddie,” Andrew says, “let me introduce Marcus.”

It’s hard, I mean really, really hard, not to laugh. If Andrew’s a man mountain, then Marcus is a man molehill. It’s not that he’s so short — although he is — it’s just the almost comical disparity in size. It makes them look like a double act, and I have a vivid flash of memory, sitting with my Nana Doreen, after school, watching re-runs of Laurel and Hardy.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for allowing me to accompany Elliot.” I hold out my hand, repeating what I’d said to Andrew.

Marcus’ handshake is as insipid as his dishwater-grey eyes.

“You’re most welcome. Although,” he says, turning his gaze on Elliot, and then back to me, “we didn’t know anything about you until a few days ago.”

I can hear the question in his voice and as he switches his attention back to Elliot, giving him a smile only marginally friendlier than the one he’s bestowed on me. If this guy’s Elliot’s friend, then I’m a unicorn.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say, the words slipping like silk — or maybe oil — from my tongue. “It’s entirely my fault. I’ve been keeping Elliot somewhat busy. Haven’t I, babe?” I turn to Elliot and give him what I hope is my most winsome smile as I squeeze his hand, and stare long and hard at him.

Just come with me on this…I squeeze his hand harder, and he returns the pressure. His lips curl up in the smallest of smiles, but those creases at the edge of his bright eyes are all I need from him.

“Extremely busy.” He extracts his hand from mine — and slips his arm around me, tugging me close.

I almost stagger forward from the force of the thump in my heart. His body’s pushed against mine, and he’s everything I knew he’d be. Hard, tight muscle, his arm’s sure and strong, and the heat from his palm, clamped against my hip, is as searing as a brand.

“Yes. I see. Gavin, Elliot’s fiancé — I’m sorry, ex-fiancé,” he corrects himself, “told us he met you both when you arrived.” His smile’s about as warm as a frozen dinner for one.

Andrew’s been silent throughout this waspish exchange, but now he makes some kind of growling noise and glares at his husband-to-be.

“You’re quite right, Marcus. Ex-fiancé,” Elliot says, his voice smooth and unruffled. “Freddie’s aware of the situation.”

“I’m sorry.” Marcus bows his head in the shabbiest display of mock humility. “Mea culpa. But you were together for so long—”

“But no longer. Gavin and I have moved on. We both accept that.”

And so should you, you little bag of shit, are Elliot’s unsaid words. At least I hope they are, because they’re certainly mine.

“I think I owe Gavin a big thank you and a bigger hug,” I pipe up. I really, really, really, want to wipe that mock simpering smile from the face of a man who most definitely is not Elliot’s friend. “I mean,” I lean forward, as though to share a confidence, “if he hadn’t had been found with his dick up the cleaner’s arse, Ells and I wouldn’t have met. Maybe he was demonstrating to the guy the proper way to use a crevice tool? Anyway,” I say, with what I hope is a self-satisfied smile on my face, “he’s done me a huge favour.”

Marcus’ face freezes, and Elliot’s hand on my hip, which has been resting there loose and relaxed, turns to steel.

Oh, God…

The silence that drops is so solid and tangible I could cut it up and serve it on a plate with a cup of tea. All we need now is the sound of the wind, and tumble weed drifting past. Within minutes of meeting my hosts, I’ve gone too far, and if Elliot hisses in my ear that there’s a taxi waiting to take me back to the airport, I wouldn’t blame him.

“Andrew, we really should check on the caterers. If you’ll excuse us?” Marcus says, almost shoving his fiancé away.

My skin throbs hot and cold at the same time. I have to say something, I have to apologise, before Elliot orders me to pack my bag and be off the property within the next ten minutes.

I draw in a deep breath. “I am so, so sorry. What I said, it was—”

“It was fucking brilliant.”

I blink hard. Elliot’s attempting to keep a straight face, but his eyes are shining and bright.

“But I shouldn’t have—”

“But you did. And the cleaner?” Laughter’s tugging hard at his lips. “That was inspired, but also not so far from the truth. One of the men I found him with was the window cleaner. He’ll hate that, when he gets to hear of it. As he will. Marcus is Gavin’s friend, not mine, as you may have gathered, but he’s indiscreet and finds it hard to keep his mouth closed. Anyway, enough about him. Where did the Ells come from?”

I groan. It’d been off the cuff, said before I could stop myself. Just like the rest of it.

“I didn’t mean to make you sound like a teenage girl. It just came out of my mouth. Sorry.”

Elliot shakes his head and smiles. “The last person who called me Ells, or Elli, or anything like it, was James, when we were fifteen. I dislocated his jaw, broke his violin, got detention for the rest of term, and had my privileges taken away from me.”

“I thought you were at boarding school, not a young offenders’ institute?”

Elliot snorts. “It was every bit a prison as young offenders, but with worse food.”

“So, I should never, most definitely, absolutely ever call you Ells again?”

“Come on, we need a proper drink.”

We abandon the vile green cocktails Andrew had thrust into our hands, and I scamper after him as he strides towards the bar.

And then I realise — he hasn’t answered my question.