The Best Man: Part Three (FINAL) (3 page)

Something flashes on Patrick’s face then, a hint of the truth within. “Don’t what? Sleep with that kid?”

Noah swallows, steps forward a little so he can lower his voice. “Don’t sleep with anyone.”

Patrick looks as though he has a thousand thoughts racing through his head, none of them giving him satisfaction. “A man has needs, Noah.”

“I know, but… You’re leaving in a few days, aren’t you? And I won’t…I won’t have to know about it.”

“In the meantime,” Patrick says slowly, the expression on his face suggesting he can’t believe what he’s hearing, “I just watch you marry someone else.”

“I know it’s not fair…”

“Not fair? Do you even realise what you’re asking of me here?”

“Patrick, please…” He takes Patrick by the arm and pulls him into the alley. For some reason, Patrick doesn’t resist, and it gives Noah hope. “This…this thing,” he says, voice low and private. He’s got his eyes fixed on Patrick’s chest rather than look at his face for his reaction. “I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m marrying your best friend in a few days. I just…” He looks into Patrick’s eyes then, and he takes a breath of courage. “All I know is I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else and I know I’m being completely unreasonable, but I…”

“Do you love him?” Patrick cuts in, and Noah’s stomach flips over painfully. “Think about it, Noah. Because if you do, even a little bit, you’ll walk away from me right now.” He leans in close, drops his voice to barely more than a whisper. “There’s only so far you can push a man before he breaks.”

“He’s given me so much,” Noah says, squirming. The argument sounds weak even to his own ears.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s not like I can win either way, is it? I marry him and you walk out of my life, or I don’t marry him and you choose your oldest friendship over this.”

Patrick fixes him with a stern look. “Don’t try to make decisions for me.”

“Tell me I’m wrong then,” Noah says, and he knows he’s begging, gets his hand on the collar of Patrick’s shirt, pulls on it. “Tell me you’d throw away what you’ve had with him all these years. For
me
. You don’t believe in real love, remember? How do I even…”

“Walk away, Noah,” Patrick warns.

And Noah should, he really should. What he does, instead, is step in closer.

“I don’t want to.”

“Then let me make this easy for us both.”

Before Noah can blink, can come to his senses, can do anything other than hold his breath and wait for Patrick to make a move for them both, Patrick’s pulling away from him, and he’s gone.

But this time Noah’s not having it.

“Ron,” he says, poking his head into the shop. “I’m going on my lunch. I’ll be back soon.”

Then he goes to the flat, determination pushing him forward, although determination for
what
, he doesn’t yet know. All he wants is to get something real out of Patrick, stop having him walk away, each time leaving Noah that little bit more confused.

He finds Patrick in his bedroom, and he’s packing.

The sight of it makes Noah feel sick.

“Are you leaving?”

Patrick laughs under his breath, a bitter, desolate sound. “I can’t watch it,” he says, leaning over the open suitcase on his bed, carefully laying folded trousers inside it.

“Connor’s gonna be upset.”

“He’ll get over it. I’m doing him a favour.”

Noah steps into the room, and he approaches Patrick from behind, and he puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder that makes Patrick freeze in his movements, suspended in motion.

“I was meant to meet you that night all those months ago,” Noah says, finally, those words he’s had building within him for days, weeks. As soon as they’re out he feels free, light, buoyed by the weightlessness of honesty and relief.

And it’s like his words snap something within Patrick because he turns suddenly, and he pushes Noah up against the wardrobe, and Noah might be winded with the impact but the thrill shocking through his veins keeps him upright and focused on the blaze raging in Patrick’s eyes now.

“Don’t think I haven’t been able to get that thought out of my head, Noah.” He’s got his teeth bared, and his forearm pinned across Noah’s chest like he’s fighting him. “But you met him instead,” he hisses, “and now you’re marrying him.”

“You can’t leave.”

“What other choice do I have?”

Noah wants to say
this one, you could choose this one
, but that means making a decision he’s in no position to make, choosing a path that doesn’t just affect him, and Patrick—but also Julie, Ron, the future of them all.

Letting Patrick in like this, like he so badly wants to, means the end of everything else. Weighing Patrick up against the rest of everything is not something he can do standing here, pressed against a wardrobe, the fierceness in Patrick’s eyes so distracting.

Fortunately he’s saved from stepping into that landmine now by the front door banging shut, and Patrick huffs a breath against his face that’s pure frustration before letting him go, stepping back.

“What’s going on here?” Connor asks, stopping in the doorway and frowning at the open suitcase on the bed.

Noah peels himself away from the wardrobe, tries to look normal even as Patrick keeps his back to them both. “I was just helping Patrick get started on his packing.”

Connor gives an awkward laugh. “Few days to go yet, mate.”

“I know,” Patrick murmurs. His voice sounds hollow, flattened. “But I’ll be leaving straight after the wedding, so I need to start getting things sorted now.”

Connor seems to accept that excuse without question, and he’s sad about it. Goes through the whole spiel of wishing Patrick could stick around, how he misses him, how much of a good time he’s had catching up with him. Patrick nods and tries to smile and Noah leaves them to it, goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

His whole body floods with relief when Patrick heads out ten minutes later, leaving all of his belongings behind.

* * * * *

“Are you going to talk to me or keep having a staring contest with that wall?”

Noah blinks over at Julie. “What?”

“Well you come here for a visit and you’ve barely said a word.”

“Sorry, I just…” He runs his fingers over the ancient upholstery of her sofa. “Lot on my mind.”

“Is it the wedding?”

“I don’t know.” He looks at her, biting his lip. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“I know I wasn’t sure of him at first,” she says slowly, after giving it a moment’s thought, “but I really do think he loves you, Noah.”

“You’re just saying that because he gave you a load of money.”

“No…” She smiles. “He’s been coming round here.”

“What?”

“Last few weeks. He’s been coming here, having tea with me. We’ve been talking.”

Noah sits up straight. There’s an undercurrent of buzzing in his ear, the white noise of disbelief. “About what?”

“You, mostly. Asking me everything about you. But really I think he just wants to get to know me. He knows how important we are to each other.” She reaches over, gives his leg a squeeze. “He’s a good man, Noah. And he’s trying.”

He deflates at that. It’s half his problem right now. “I know.”

She considers him for a long while, brows drawn. “But if this isn’t what you want,” she says eventually, voice lower now, “if you’re not absolutely sure, then you can’t go through with it.”

It’s not an option he can even begin to risk thinking about, especially when he has no idea if there’s anything waiting for him on the other side.

“I’d lose everything.”

“We’d make it work again, you and me. Just like we did before.” She squeezes his leg again. “Financial security isn’t a reason to marry someone, Noah. Love is. You have to love that man more than any other person in the world, or you’ll never be happy.”

“I do love him,” Noah says, and he means it, but what if it’s not enough? Then what? He doesn’t know where that leaves him.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Julie says, taking his answer at face value. “It’s natural to get cold feet, you know.”

Noah so wishes it could be that, that the only reason he’s so full of confusion is because he’s young, and he’s about to get married, and it scares him.

But he’s not scared of marrying Connor, not really. He’s scared of what will happen if he doesn’t.

There are no moments alone with Patrick over the next couple of days, and Noah gets the time to drain his mind and focus on the wedding, on the frenzy of final preparations. And just when he thinks he’s got a handle on it, that he can choose the music and finalise the seating plan without wanting to throw up or panic or both, Connor drops the bombshell on him.

He’s going away for the night. The whole night.

“I’ve just got this thing in Liverpool I have to deal with.”

Noah tries to stay calm. “It’s two days before our wedding, Connor.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But after this I’m all yours for the next couple of weeks.”

“But I’m not gonna see you until we’re standing up there getting married. You’ll be gone tonight and I’m staying at Lenny’s tomorrow…”

“But think how much sweeter it’ll be after these two days apart.” Connor kisses him, and he grins, and he adds with a note of glee, “You’ll be gagging to marry me, if only to get to the wedding night.”

Noah doesn’t share his excitement; all he feels is the rising threat of panic, because a night without Connor doesn’t mean a night alone.

“What about Patrick?”

“I’ve asked him to stick around tonight to help you with the wedding favours. Two hundred of those things on your own would make you crazy by the end of it.”

“That was supposed to be you and me,” Noah says, almost desperate now, clinging to the front of Connor’s shirt like a child holding on to a security blanket.

“I really am sorry, babe. But I’m not gonna leave your side for the next two weeks, I promise you, okay?”

It’s no consolation, and there’s an energy thrumming in him later that night, waiting for the moment Patrick comes in. He’s watching the clock, and he can’t tell if he’s terrified or excited, and he’s so worked up by the thrill of it all that when Patrick finally does come in, late and without explanation, Noah’s too on edge to act nonchalant.

He watches from his place stood by the table as Patrick drops his keys and wallet onto the breakfast bar, has his fingers gripped around the top of a chair, knuckles white and aching.

Patrick takes a few steps over to him, looks him over. Whatever he sees makes his eyes darken. “Connor left already?”

“Yeah.” His voice is breathy. “We’re meant to be doing this tonight,” he adds, nodding at the two hundred organza bags on the table, waiting to be filled with engraved gemstones.

Patrick gives the bags the barest of cursory glances. “I’m not helping you with that.”

“But Connor said—”

“I know what Connor said,” Patrick says, snaps almost. He’s got his hands curled into fists. “But I’m not helping you put together your goddamn wedding favours. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Noah pushes away from the chair he was leaning against, charges up into Patrick’s space, breath heaving through his chest and making it rattle. “What’s your problem? It’s just putting stones in bloody bags!”

“It’s what it represents.”

“Which is?”

“This joke of a wedding,” Patrick spits.

“It’s
not
a joke.” He’s sick of hearing it, of Patrick making him feel bad for believing in love and marriage and commitment. Marrying Connor is not a joke.

The joke is planning on marrying Connor while he’s standing here with his whole body burning for Patrick, and Patrick’s looking at him like he hates him and he’s starved for him and he wants to tear him apart and hold him together and just—Noah
can’t
with this whole thing anymore.

“Isn’t it? Not so long ago you were stood out there with your tongue down my throat.”

“I shouldn’t have… I’m getting married—”

Patrick lets out a growl suddenly, and he scrubs both hands over his face before pinning Noah with violent, blazing eyes. “I swear if I hear that one more time—”

“Well it’s the truth! In two days I’m committing myself to Connor for the rest of my life.” He’s saying anything that comes into his head, doesn’t care if he’s making any sense, wants to push Patrick, and push him, and see how much of this is real. “None of this matters anymore.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I have to think.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Patrick says, and for the second time this week Noah finds himself pressed up against a wall, next to the kitchen this time, and Patrick’s breathing heat and fury and frustration into his face. “Feel that?” he asks, pressing a hand against Noah’s chest, branding him with it. “Feel how hard that’s beating? When have you ever felt that with Connor?”