Cold Feet (10 page)

They got up and dressed, and went down to get breakfast. As they moved around the small kitchen together, Ryan
kept wanting
to touch Sam—only casual touches, but ones that crossed the friends-only line they’d always stuck to before. But he kept his hands to himself because he didn’t know what the boundaries were now.

Ryan sighed.

Before they left to go home, they needed to have a proper conversation about what was going on. It would be weird as fuck being back at uni with their mates with all this uncertainty hanging between them otherwise. But Ryan had no clue what Sam thought about it all. He must fancy Ryan, or they wouldn’t have started anything, but maybe it was just a casual thing for Sam.

Ryan stirred his tea and took the bag out, then did the same for Sam’s, while Sam spread butter on the toast.

“D’you want jam?” he asked Ryan.

“Yes, please.”

Ryan watched him, his mind still roaming over the possibilities.

Honestly, Ryan wasn’t sure what he wanted either. He was head over heels for Sam—he could admit that much. However, fooling around with Sam while they were here on their own was one thing, but what would happen when they were back at uni? He had no idea if Sam would want to carry on with this ‘relationship,’ for want of a better word. And even if he did, was Ryan ready to come out? Would Sam be prepared to sneak around if he weren’t? There were too many unanswered questions, and they were stressing Ryan out. He was glad they had another night together. Maybe things would
become
clearer with a little more time.

After they’d eaten breakfast, Sam got up and put on his coat.

“I’m just gonna call my mum.” He sat on the bottom of the stairs and pulled on his shoes.

“Okay.” Ryan realised unhappily that it didn’t make any difference to either of his parents whether he stayed another day or not. He was only travelling home to an empty house. “You sure it’s okay to stay another night?”

“Yeah, if you want?”

Ryan tried to sound casual as he shrugged. “Well, I’ve got no reason to hurry back. So….”

“Cool.” Sam stood and checked his jeans pocket for his phone, patting it to make sure it was there. “Right, I’ll be back in a few.”

They hadn’t lit a fire yet this morning, so Ryan cleaned out the fireplace while he waited for Sam to return, sweeping the ash from the night before into the bucket. The dust made him sneeze and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, trying to avoid getting soot on his face.

He turned at the sound of the door, but his smile of greeting slipped as he saw Sam’s expression.

“What’s up?”

“It’s nothing major… but my granny had a fall yesterday, and she’s in hospital. She broke her arm, and it needed pinning, so she’s having surgery on it tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine, but she’s going to need a bit of help at home for a day or so. Mum and Dad want to drive up there later today and stay for a couple of nights, so I need to get home for my brother and sister. I’m sorry, Ry.” He frowned, apologetic and anxious.

“No, it’s fine. Of course you need to get back.” Ryan wanted to go to Sam and offer comfort, hug him maybe, but Sam was already hurrying up the stairs.

“I’m going to start packing,” he said. “I want to get away as soon as we can.”

“Sure.”

Ryan went through to the kitchen and started tidying up in there, packing the food they’d bought into carrier bags. He tried to ignore the disappointment that had settled in his belly at having their time cut short. He slammed a cupboard door shut
viciously,
angry with himself for being a selfish twat when Sam’s gran had hurt herself and Sam was clearly worried about her.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Fucking
fuck
.”

He really wished they’d had that extra night.

They managed to get packed up and ready to leave in less than an hour. Considering they were in a rush, they left the cottage as clean and tidy as they could manage.

“Can we go and say goodbye to Mari?” Ryan asked. “We promised.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m glad you remembered.”

They walked the short distance up to Mari’s and knocked on her door.

“Good morning,” she greeted them. “Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t stop,” Sam said.

He explained the situation, and Ryan watched the concern cloud Mari’s features.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope your gran makes a good recovery. It was kind of you to think of me, though. I would have wondered what had happened if you hadn’t dropped by. You travel safe now, and thank you again for a lovely Christmas Day.”

She drew Sam into a hug and kissed his cheek, then did the same to Ryan.

“Thanks to you too,” Ryan said. “Maybe we’ll see you again if we come back another time.”

“Yes, make sure you come by if you’re staying here again.”

Something rubbed against Ryan’s ankles, and he looked down to see Nerys. She miaowed, and he crouched to stroke her. “Bye, Nerys. Don’t you go wandering off again.
”

She answered him as though
agreeing,
then started to purr.

Sam was quiet on the journey back. From his set face, Ryan knew he was anxious. Sam was fond of his gran and was bound to be worrying about her.

Ryan kept thinking that maybe he should raise the subject of ‘them’ and what—if anything—they were going to do when they got back. But it seemed the wrong time to bring it up. Sam was preoccupied, and Ryan didn’t want to add to his stress by putting any pressure on him.

But by the time they were nearly back at Ryan’s house, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He needed something, some clue about how Sam might be feeling and how they were going to handle things.

“So, uh,” Ryan began, picking at a fingernail so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at Sam. “We never got a chance to talk about… you know. The stuff that happened.”
Eloquent, Ryan.
Very eloquent
.
“I was wondering… what we’re going to do when we’re back next week.”

Ryan caught the movement in the corner of his eye as Sam turned his head, glancing at Ryan briefly before looking back at the road. Sam’s tone was difficult to read as he replied, “Well. What do you want? Do you want to try and make a go of this?”

Ryan panicked. What the fuck
did
he want? Did he want them to date, to be boyfriends? He knew his feelings for Sam were a million miles away from just friendship. But was he ready to be all out and proud, deal with the consequences of that? He wasn’t sure he was, but it wasn’t fair to ask Sam to sneak around for Ryan when he’d chosen to be open about his sexuality.

“I dunno,” he replied. He was trying to work out how to elaborate, how to explain his complicated feelings for Sam in a way that wouldn’t scare him off. But Sam sighed,
then
spoke again before Ryan could form a coherent sentence.

“It’s okay. It’s no big deal. Maybe it’s best if we just stay friends.
And if you’re worried about me saying anything to anyone—I won’t.
Your secret’s safe with me.” He braked sharply at a set of traffic lights, and kept his eyes fixed on the red light as Ryan turned to try and read his expression.

It’s no big deal
.

Those words were like poison-tipped darts, sending out cold tendrils of venom that made Ryan’s stomach lurch and bile rise. The realisation that this had only been a bit of fun for Sam and that the feelings were very much one-sided hurt way more than he thought possible. He was obviously in even deeper than he’d thought.

“Oh. Right.” He picked at a hangnail on his thumb and pulled it, the sharp pain distracting him as it started to bleed. “Yeah, sure. We should probably just leave it, then. Chalk it up to a holiday fling or whatever.”

The lights changed to green.

“That’s probably best.” Sam’s voice was tight as he put the car in gear and pulled away, revving the engine hard.

Maybe Sam was embarrassed by this whole conversation. If so, he wasn’t the only one.

Ryan’s cheeks heated. Thank fuck he hadn’t said too much. At least with Sam not knowing that Ryan had a stupid crush on him, they could somehow get back to being friends, and it wouldn’t be too awkward. Sure, Ryan would need to lick his wounds for a while, but he’d get over it. There were plenty of other gay fish in the sea, right? Just because he’d been stupid enough to fall for his best friend didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually meet someone else who could take Sam’s place in his affections.

Sam turned the car into Ryan’s road, and they didn’t speak until he pulled to a stop in front of Ryan’s house.

“Right, then.” Ryan’s attempt at jollity sounded totally false to his ears. “Cheers for the lift, and I guess I’ll see you back in Brighton in a few days. When are you coming back?”

“Probably not till New Year’s Eve.” Sam’s face was shuttered, and he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you then, I guess.” Ryan opened the car door and got out. Sam climbed out too, hovering uncertainly as Ryan lifted his bag out of the boot.

Sam finally met Ryan’s gaze and they stared at each other for a moment. Sam looked pale, and his pink lips stood out starkly against the pallor of his skin. The shadows under his eyes looked more pronounced than usual, and Ryan’s heart flipped as he looked at him. It was going to be so fucking hard to go back to being nothing more than friends now he knew what it felt like to kiss Sam and to hold him in his arms. He put his bag down on the pavement and stepped forward, crushing Sam in a “definitely just friends” hug that was better than nothing. Sam hugged him back, and Ryan breathed in the scent of his hair like a pathetic loser, wanting to keep the memory of him safe.

Too soon, Ryan felt Sam’s arms move to release him, and Ryan let him go.

“I hope your gran’s okay. Take care, yeah? And I’ll see you at New Year.”

“Yeah, see you, Ry.”

Sam’s lips curved in a sad little smile that Ryan wanted to kiss off his face. He turned and got back in the car, and Ryan watched as he pulled away, feeling a tug in his heart as the car turned the corner and disappeared from view.

Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove away, leaving Ryan standing on the pavement.

His eyes prickled and his throat was tight. “Fuck, bollocks, arse,
fuck
,” he cursed, trying to tamp down the horrible lurch of emotion.

“I’m such a fucking idiot. Why did I do that to myself?”

He should have known better than to get involved with Ryan. He’d convinced himself he might as well take what he could get and that it wouldn’t make his crush any worse. But that was bullshit, because it felt about a thousand times worse now that he’d had what he wanted, however briefly, but didn’t get to keep it.

He snorted, suddenly remembering a time when he was a kid. They’d been allowed to bring toys into school on the last day of term. Sam’s friend Max had a Buzz Lightyear that Sam had thought was the coolest thing ever. Max liked the remote control car Sam had brought in, so they’d agreed to do a swap. In a typical six-year-olds’ misunderstanding, Sam had thought Max meant a permanent swap, not just for the afternoon. So when it was time to go home, the teacher had to literally prise Buzz out of Sam’s grip to give him back to Max. Sam had cried inconsolably all the way home, until his mum had distracted him with cake and cartoons on the TV, and Buzz had been forgotten.

If only Ryan would be so easy to forget.

The awful thing was that Sam had got his hopes up. He’d really thought Ryan might want to carry on, to see if they had something worth pursuing. He didn’t think he’d imagined the connection between them. It had felt more than purely sexual. They were
best
mates, for starters. But friendship wasn’t the same as romantic love, and maybe Sam had just seen what he’d wanted to see. If Ryan had wanted more, wouldn’t he have said so when Sam asked him? His response had sounded like a cop-out to Sam, as though by saying “I dunno,” he was trying to let Sam down gently.

Sam felt as though he’d been let down gently—onto a bed of barbed wire.

When he arrived back home, his mum and dad were on their way out. Suitcases stood in the hallway, and his mum was putting her coat on.

“Oh, that’s good timing, Sam. I’m glad we get to see you before we leave.” She pulled Sam into a hug, kissing his cheek and squeezing him tightly.

“I got some chilli out of the freezer for dinner tonight. Don’t let Adam stay up too late playing on the X-box, and if Amy goes out with her friends, she has to be home by ten at the latest.”

“Okay, Mum.”

Sam’s dad came to hug him too. “Welcome home. How was the journey back? Trouble-free now the snow’s gone?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was fine.”

He helped his dad put their bags in the boot and saw his parents off. Amy came out to wave too, but Adam was deep in some multi-player game that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—pause.

“Give my love to Gran,” Sam said. “I hope she’s not too sore.”

“See you in a couple of days,” his mum said through the open window. “We’ll call to let you know when to expect us. Take care.”

“And don’t trash the house while we’re gone. No parties!” His dad leaned over and wagged a warning finger.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I promised never again after my eighteenth, remember?”

Once his parents had gone, Sam took his stuff up to his bedroom and threw himself onto his bed. Unpacking seemed like way too much effort, and he had no idea what to do with himself. He considered calling up a mate and making some plans, but he couldn’t go out to the pub in the evening if he was meant to be looking after Adam. He supposed Amy could babysit instead, but Sam wasn’t feeling very sociable anyway.

He powered up his laptop and looked to see what assignments he had due in the early weeks of next term. Maybe he could lose himself in work for a couple of days as a distraction. He had an essay due in at the end of January. He could start writing some notes for that. He opened up a document and cut and pasted in the question at the top, then stared at the page, feeling completely uninspired.

Normally, when he was studying, he’d be instant-messaging Ryan and discussing the essay or project. They were on the same course and often worked on stuff together. But today he was reluctant to make contact.

Sam stared at the blank page, wondering what Ryan was doing. Would he be thinking about him? Regretting what they’d done? He hoped things weren’t going to be too awkward at New Year. They were going to have to find a way to get past this because Sam couldn’t bear the thought of losing Ryan as a mate. Ryan’s friendship might feel like a consolation prize, but it still mattered. Sam’s life was better with Ryan in it.

Time crawled by for Ryan, slow and lonely and full of obsessive thoughts about Sam.

The day before his mum was due home, he finally got his arse into gear and made the duty visit to his dad’s. It wasn’t too bad. Over lunch he fielded lots of questions about his career plans and then managed to get his dad onto the subject of rugby instead.

That night he went out for a drink with some of his old mates from school in an attempt to pull himself out of his Sam-induced depression.

It worked for a couple of hours. The alcohol in his bloodstream numbed the raw edges inside and gave the illusion of cheerfulness for a while. But then one pint too many had him right back in the maudlin doldrums, his thoughts trapped in an unhappy spiral, like dirty water draining down a plughole.

Nobody seemed to pick up on Ryan’s black mood. Most of his friends were too tipsy to notice. Some random girl he vaguely remembered from the sixth form chatted him up for a while, but her attention only reminded Ryan that girls weren’t his
thing
. Looking at her cleavage and her soft, dainty hands and painted fingernails, Ryan wondered why he’d ever thought he was into girls. But then again, as he stared around the table at his male mates from school, he didn’t want to snog any of them either.

The only person he wanted was Sam.

At that point he escaped—pretending to go to the toilet—and never went back.

Walking home in the dark, Ryan’s head was full of Sam, so he pulled out his phone and started typing.
I miss u
. Then, before sending, he tried to add to it.
I think maybe I’m in love with u
. But he mistyped
think
, and his phone autocorrected it to
thing
. He swore and deleted, going back and trying to fix it, but he kept making the same mistake.

Before he could finish, he was distracted by a text from one of his mates asking
Where did u go, did u hook up w that girl?

So Ryan replied
No.
Going home, feeling rough.

The reply
That
’s so gay
had Ryan snorting at the irony even while it stung. But how many times had he used the word like that when he was younger, throwing it out as a casual insult without thinking about what it meant?

He put his phone back in his pocket, his attempt to text Sam forgotten.

The next morning Ryan lay on the sofa and stared at the TV screen, not really taking in the cooking show that was on. It was all too bright and shiny, and the presenter and contestants were far too fucking cheerful. His head ached from too much beer last night.

His mum was due back later today. He needed to tidy up and get the house looking okay for her, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to move yet.

Ryan yawned, then reached for the glass of water on the coffee table and drained it. He’d already taken paracetamol an hour ago, and his head still hurt. He should probably get up off his arse and fetch more water, but he didn’t want to move.

His phone lay on the table next to the glass, taunting him with its silence. Normally he and Sam stayed in touch during the holidays, texting about assignments or TV shows or whatever game they were currently into and competing over for high scores. But he hadn’t heard a thing from Sam since they’d parted two days ago.

Ryan picked up his phone and opened his messages, thinking about texting Sam just to say hey. When he hit the new message button, his aborted message to Sam from last night appeared.

I miss u. I thing maybe

And nothing more.

Ryan frowned, the cogs in his brain turning slowly as he tried to work out what he’d been trying to say.

Then he remembered.

“Shit.” He deleted the traitorous words. In the cold light of day, he shuddered to imagine the embarrassment if he’d drunk-texted that to Sam.
What the fuck?
And where had that near miss at the L-word come from? It wasn’t a word he’d ever allowed himself to consciously think in relation to Sam before.

Still holding his phone, Ryan closed his eyes and stopped trying to fight back thoughts of Sam. He let images flow into his mind like a cinema reel of them and the time they spent together: studying, socialising, playing games,
talking
…. Then he let their time in the cottage play out in his head. His heart swelled as he remembered their first kiss. The mistletoe had been the perfect impetus, finally giving him the courage to make a move. He’d been so afraid Sam wouldn’t kiss him back or that he’d pull away and laugh it off as a joke. But then Sam had pulled him closer, and a spark had flared between them, lighting something in Ryan that had been burning ever since. Every subsequent look, every touch made it
burn
stronger.
And the sex… well.
Even the clumsy mutual handjobs on the first night had been better than anything Ryan had done before. Not because of what they’d done, but because it had been with Sam.

Ryan sighed and rolled onto his side on the sofa, hugging a cushion to his chest. The TV was still on, and inane chatter filled the living room. Alone in his mum’s house, Ryan felt so fucking isolated and miserable that he ached with it.

And the only person he wanted to see was Sam.

Ryan’s mum and Barry got back on the twenty-ninth, tanned and cheerful and full of tales of their trip. Ryan was pleased to see his mum, of course, but he was struggling to hide his own low mood in the face of their loved-up happiness.

Barry had been on the scene for nearly nine months now. He seemed a decent enough bloke, but Ryan still didn’t feel very comfortable around him. Ryan’s mum had been dropping hints that Barry might move in with her sometime in the spring, which would be weird. But Ryan didn’t live there much of the time now, so it wasn’t his business. He was glad his mum seemed happy, though.

The day they returned, Ryan spent the evening with them. They got a takeaway, and after dinner Ryan’s mum showed him their holiday photos. They watched a bit of TV, but Barry fell asleep and snored, so Ryan’s mum poked him and told him to go to bed.

“Are you alright, love?” she asked, once Barry had made his way upstairs. “You seem a bit quiet.”

“Yeah,” Ryan replied unconvincingly. He tried harder. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Girl trouble?” His mum narrowed her eyes.

Ryan flushed, uncomfortable with her intuitiveness even if she was missing the mark.

“Nothing I can’t handle. It’ll work out.”

“I hope so. It’s about time you brought a girl home. You can’t play Casanova forever, you know. It would be nice to see you settling down a bit.”

Ryan hadn’t planned on saying anything to his mum, not yet. But fuck it. He was sure now, so why was he putting it off? His heart rate soared as the words formed in his mind before he opened his mouth to let them out.

“What if it wasn’t a girl?” His voice wobbled a little, and her eyes snapped open. “What if I brought a boy home instead?”

There was a long pause, and her eyes grew suspiciously bright. She blinked. “That would be… that would be fine.
But really, Ryan?
Are you sure?”

He gritted his teeth and took a slow careful breath. “I’m gay, Mum.” There. The words were out. “You think I’d say something if I wasn’t?”

“You’re still young.”

“But I’m old enough to settle down, apparently.” He tried to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. Yelling at his mum wasn’t going to help. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“Okay, no. I’m sorry.”

She got up from the sofa she’d been sharing with Barry and crossed the room to perch on the arm of the chair Ryan was in. He refused to look up at her as she took his hand.

“I just want you to be happy. Ryan, listen to me.”

She squeezed, her fingers tight and reassuring. He raised his head then and saw tears in her eyes, but she was smiling too. “I don’t care who it is that makes you happy. As long as it’s someone who loves you and you love them back—that’s all that matters.”

A hot rush of emotion made Ryan blink back tears of his own. “Okay. Good.”

“Oh, come here, will you? Give me a hug, for God’s sake.” His mum pulled him sideways, bending down awkwardly so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders as he put his around her waist. He rested his head on her ample boobs and breathed in the faint scent of the perfume she always wore.

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Is it Sam, then?” Her voice was loud under his ear where it vibrated in her chest. It reminded him of being a little boy, cuddling her while she sang nursery rhymes to him. “Is he the one you’re fretting over?”