Page 46 of Someone Like You

“Non-alcoholic,” he clarified, then took a sip with a grimace. “Tastes like cold pish.”

Phil picked up his can, studied it, swiping a thumb over the‘0.0’indication. “Why did you even buy it?”

Good question. Ian had seen it atSainsbury’sand had put a six-pack in the trolley without giving it much thought. It had beenonly after putting it away in his fridge that he’d realised he could do more, so he’d gone down to the pub and told —told, not asked — Cal to stock up some zero-alcohol beer. Cal had gawked at him like he thought he was kidding, but when Ian hadn’t budged he’d just waved him off, grumbling‘Aye, aye, whatever!’

Slumped in his chair, Ian titled his head. “For you,” he said in a condescending tone that implicitly added‘you prick’. “Why else would I buy this shite?”

“Son of a bitch,” Phil chuckled under his breath. There they were, the charming crow’s feet that Ian was constantly looking out for, the telltale sign of the sincerity of Phil’s smiles. Still transfixed on the beer, Phil bit his lip, charily gazing up at Ian through his eyelashes. “You know, this would be so much easier for me if you quit being so annoyingly wholesome.”

“What would?”

“Pretending.”

In the silence that fell afterwards, the power of that declaration gashed into Ian’s chest like a claw, tearing through every layer of self-deception he’d so carefully built to restrain those feelings he knew could never see the light of day and which were now threatening to bleed out. All Ian could do was stuff more denial into the gaping wound and pray it held.

Unaware of the upheaval he’d caused, Phil snapped the can open and raised it to his lips, taking a large swig and granting himself a moment to savour it, then took another one, and another. “Ah, that’s good. Don’t care what you think,” he said before Ian could beg to differ. “I love it. Gimme ten more.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about you getting drunk,” Ian tried to joke, but the comment obtained the opposite effect of a joke.

“IwishI could get drunk,” said Phil, suddenly sombre. “I could blame it on the alcohol. I could spew out all the things I’m holding back, get this crushing weight off my chest and just brush it off as drunken nonsense, conscience clear. I could…” The can cracked in his hand. “I couldkiss youand pretend I don’t remember.”

The chair shrieked and tumbled to the ground as Ian bolted up to his feet. The noise was deafening, but not nearly as much as the lingering echo of Phil’s words — words he’d dreamt to hear in some more cinematic variation, but he’d firmly believed would never be more than a delusional fantasy.

Phil licked his lips with a sniff, looking miserable and exhausted. His throat bobbed when his eyes lifted up on Ian, glassy and strained with emotion. “Do you feel it, too?” he asked in a trembling whisper that crumbled towards the end, losing all colour. “Is it killing you, too?”

Ian couldn’t breathe. There was a knot in his throat and the pain in his chest was sinking its talons deeper and deeper, tearing through all his defences. From where he was standing, he could see the hope slowly draining out of the gleam in Phil’s eyes, morphing into a grief Ian couldn’t bear to see. He turned his back to it, to everything it represented, with hands clenched into fists.

“We can’t have this conversation, Phil.”

The dam was cracking. All the denial in the world couldn’t stop the flood from breaking through now.

The creak of the chair pushing back told him Phil had stood up before he sensed him behind himself.

“Ian.” The sound of his name sounded like a prayer. “I know it’s not just me.”

The blow came down without any mercy, forcing Ian to close his eyes to withstand it. He had to hang on tooth and nail to his honour to resist the urge to pull Phil into his arms and hold him until it hurt. Even though everything was already hurting.

When he found the strength to turn back around, he braced for the punch of Phil’s pleading look, but nothing could have prepared him for that yearning agony riddled with guilt. It was like looking into a mirror of how he felt inside.

“This can’t happen, Handsome,” he murmured.

Phil swallowed. “I know.”

“You have a fiancée — a lovely one.”

“Iknow.”

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“I wish I could.”

One thing Ian had never doubted, not even for a split second, was Phil’s devotion to Abigail. He still didn’t. And yet those beautiful, kind eyes he was such a goner for oozed love while scrutinising him so close up he could’ve counted the green specks in them one by one.

Phil took a bold step forward. Ian couldn’t move.

“Get out my face before I do something we’d both regret,” he warned, even though every inch in his body was burning to reach out andtouch. He wanted it too much — just to hold him, tofeelhim. Just once.

Just once…

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