Page 48 of The Best of Times
“I don’t remember you being this sure of yourself.”
Aron might have had a few drinks, but he was in control and intended to remain so. He turned to Paul.
“You have a fucking nerve.”
Paul stood back as if he’d been slapped. “What do you mean?”
Aron was on a roll now. This anger had been bubbling inside him for two years. It was time to release it.
“We’ve pussyfooted around this long enough,” Aron said. “You disappeared. Just like that. Not even a goodbye. Didn’t you stop and think for one second that it would hurt me?”
“Keep your voice down,” Paul said.
“Fine,” Aron replied. “I’m going for some fresh air. Maybe you’ll find an old dear to dance with who won’t expect anything too challenging from you.”
With that, Aron stormed outside. He was glad he still had Paul’s jacket on. Even if he had a very strong urge to throw it in the nearest bin.
“Wait.”
Paul was hot on his heels. Aron spun around.
“What do you want from me, Paul?”
The wounded expression on Paul’s face was still there.
“You’re right,” he said, holding his arms out. “I did run away. I didn’t say goodbye because I couldn’t fucking bear it.”
Aron was too stunned for words. All the time he’d thought he was a convenient distraction for Paul. They had all been trapped on Queens Crescent by other events. The minute it was safe, Paul had done a runner. What a mug Aron had been.
“I don’t do talking about feelings,” Paul said. “I never have. When the going gets tough, I leg it to a war zone or the remotest location I can find.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“I can’t tell you what’s wrong,” he continued. “I can’t.”
“You don’t trust me?”
Paul sighed. His breath becoming dancing smoke before vanishing just as quickly.
“I can’t. That’s it. I know I’m giving you mixed signals but I enjoyed having a truce. I don’t know what it is. Actually, I do. It’s you. I felt that we’d slotted right back in together. Maybe I’ve overstepped the line?”
Aron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They’d made a tiny bit of progress and he came out with that bullshit.
“Oh I see. There will be no effort on your part to overcome whatever obstacle is in your way?” he said. “And I live with that, do I? What am I expected to do? Be available for as long as you want me then off I pop to New York out of the way again.”
Paul shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”
At this moment, Aron had absolutely no idea what Paul was saying. All he knew was, once again, he felt like a prime dickhead. It was time to retreat.
“I’m going home. I’d rather you didn’t follow me.”
“You’ve got my coat on.”
Was that the real reason he’d chased him down the stairs? The man was unfuckingbelievable.
“Here then. Have your bloody coat.”
Aron started to pull the item off. Paul crossed the distance between them and slipped his arms around Aron’s body inside the quilted jacket.
