Imperfect Harmony (22 page)

“What? Think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and in love? I remember those nights. Sleep wasn’t always a priority….” She sounded a little wistful now.

John lost the ability to form words. The combination of Maggie speculating about their sex life and using the L-word in the same sentence was too much for him.

Rhys was laughing openly now. “Stop it, Maggie. You’re embarrassing him.” He took John’s arm. “Come on, stud. Take me to bed.”

“I hate you both,” John muttered.

“No you don’t,” Rhys guided him down the path.

“No.” John sighed. “Although right now I’m not exactly sure what I see in you.”

John let them into the house, and as soon as they were inside, Rhys pushed him up against the now-closed door.

“Let me remind you.” Rhys slid gracefully to his knees and started to undo John’s fly.

“That’s not the only reason I like you,” John protested. His voice came out husky and strained, and not because he’d been singing all night.

Rhys drew out John’s hardening cock. He licked his lips and glanced up at him from under dark lashes. “But it helps.”

“Yeah….” John clenched his fists as Rhys fitted his lips around him and sucked. His head thudded back against the front door. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.”

On Friday, John was teaching in a school on the other side of town when his phone vibrated in his pocket shortly before lunchtime. Normally he’d never answer his phone in a lesson, but he was expecting the call and didn’t want to miss it. The kids were busy working, so he took out his phone and answered.

There was muttering as some of the kids noticed. “Ooh, Mr Fletcher, you’re not allowed phones in class,” one of the bolder girls called mockingly and the rest of them giggled.

“Sorry, but this is important.” He turned his back on them. “Hi, sorry. I’m teaching.”

“John, it’s Anna Dawson. Sorry, I thought you’d be on your lunch break by now.”

John’s heart pounded hard. “Hi. The timetable is a little different here.”

“Okay, I won’t keep you talking, but I wanted to let you know we’re offering you the job. If you need time to think, call me back later. I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing.”

“No,” he said sharply. “I mean no, I don’t need time to think. Yes, I want to accept. Thank you.”

“That’s great news.” Her voice was warm. “In that case, welcome to the team. You’re back here on Monday, yes? We’ll get the paperwork sorted then, and you’ll start officially after Easter. Congratulations, John, and have a great weekend.”

“Thank you.”

He ended the call and turned to face the kids, who’d taken the opportunity to disintegrate into noisy chatter, their work forgotten.

“Come on, 9W.” He clapped his hands. “Ten more minutes till lunch. Back to work unless you want to stay behind at the end of the lesson.”

“Good news, sir?” the girl from before asked with a smirk.

John realised he was smiling. “Yes. Yes it was.”

As soon as he’d let the kids go, John got out his phone again and called Rhys.

Rhys answered quickly, his voice expectant and hopeful as he said, “Hi.”

“I got the job.” He leaned against the desk, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Yessssss!” John could almost imagine the fist pump at the other end of the phone. “That’s brilliant. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. So… do you want to help me celebrate tonight? We could go out to dinner, or get a takeaway or something.”

There was a drawn-out pause. And maybe it was John’s imagination, but he thought he could detect an unfamiliar tension in Rhys’s voice as he replied. “A takeaway sounds good. The Chinese place on the high street delivers, and they’re pretty good. Shall I come over to yours as usual?”

“Yes.”

Rhys turned up on John’s doorstep at seven, with a bottle of bubbly in one hand and a takeaway menu in the other. “Just in case you didn’t have one.” He waved the menu.

“Good thinking. I don’t.” John let Rhys inside and cupped his cheek, kissing his lips as soon as the door closed.

Rhys kissed him back, the menu crumpling in the small of John’s back as Rhys slid an arm around him.

When they separated, John smiled. “Let’s go and find some glasses for that bottle. I’m sure my mum had some flutes somewhere.”

He finally located them high up in one of the kitchen cupboards. They hadn’t been used for years, so he rinsed them and shook the water out before putting them on the table. “Thanks for bringing this. I didn’t think of it.” He tore the foil off and started to untwist the metal wire.

“My mum gave it to me, actually,” Rhys said. “And she said to say congratulations.”

“That’s sweet of her.” John eased the cork out. He lost control of it and it exploded in a rush of fizz, and he jumped as the cork hit the ceiling, narrowly missing the light fitting.

“Fuck.” John grabbed a glass to try and catch the froth that was pouring out.

“Sorry.” Rhys said when he’d stopped laughing. “I guess it got a little shaken up on the walk over.” Then, when John handed him a glass that was more froth than wine, he gave him a mischievous grin. “Reminds me of our first time.”

John mustered what dignity he could while his cheeks burned hot at the recollection. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope.” Rhys raised his glass. “Cheers, and congratulations again.”

They sat at the kitchen table and drank their first glasses while they pored over the menu, deciding what to order. Once they’d chosen, John phoned in the order and refilled their glasses. By the time he finished his second glass, John was pleasantly tipsy. He’d never been a big drinker, and this was on an empty stomach, but tonight he was enjoying the buzz. Excited about his future for the first time in a long time, he was happy about his new job, and happy in the moment with Rhys. He’d pushed his worries about their relationship to one side and was glad Rhys was here to celebrate with.

If Rhys was a little quieter than usual, John put it down to himself being unusually talkative. The bubbly loosened his tongue, and he talked about his plans for the house now he knew he was settled.

“I’ve been meaning to start decorating for a while. Until I was sure I was staying, it seemed pointless. If I was going to sell, I wouldn’t have bothered to do much other than a quick coat of paint. But now I have the job, I think it’s time.”

“It’s a great house,” Rhys said. “It’ll be a lot of work, though. Will you do it yourself?”

“I think so. I always enjoyed decorating. David and I did our place ourselves. There’s something very satisfying about putting your stamp on a home. Making it yours. Not that I want to whitewash all the memories of Mum. I’ll keep a lot of the furniture, and the paintings she collected will stay—I like those. The wallpaper needs stripping and all the carpets need replacing or taking up. There might be nice floorboards underneath them. But they definitely have to go.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I didn’t like to say, but they are pretty minging.”

John tried and failed to be offended. “My mum liked bright colours.”

“I can tell.”

The doorbell rang. “That’ll be the food,” John said. “I’ll go. Can you get some plates out?”

He came back with the bag full of food to find Rhys laying out knives, forks, and spoons for serving along with the plates. John paused in the doorway and watched him for a moment. It felt so right to see Rhys there, in his house. John wondered what it would be like to have him there all the time and found the idea of it was appealing. His heart surged at the prospect, yearning for more.

Rhys glanced up and smiled, his blue eyes bright, and his smooth, unlined face fresh and youthful in the unforgiving overhead light of the kitchen. He looked so young.

He
was
so young.

What did Rhys see as he looked back at John?

John’s doubts came crashing back. How could he hold Rhys? How could he keep his interest? And if, by some miracle, he could, was it fair to Rhys to let him tie himself down to a man nearly twice his age?

The champagne in John’s stomach turned to acid.

“What are you waiting for?” Rhys raised his eyebrows.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, John moved forwards. He put the bag down and started methodically unpacking the contents. Rhys helped, and John banished his negative thoughts to the back of his mind.

Live in the moment, focus on now
, his counsellor had taught him, and he made himself breathe normally, letting the wave of unpleasant emotion settle.

John’s appetite returned at the delicious scents. He was starving despite his misgivings, and the food was good. They were quiet as they ate. But the food was the perfect excuse for that. It was hard to talk with your mouth full of noodles.

After they’d eaten, they cleared up together. It felt too domestic to be a date, but Rhys insisted on helping load the dishwasher and put the leftovers in the fridge. John let him, torn between wanting and fearing the easy intimacy growing between them.

When they were done, the wanting won.

Rhys closed the fridge door and turned. John was waiting. He reeled Rhys in with his hands on his hips and kissed him hard, craving the union of their bodies. When they were in bed together, it was easy to forget all the things that made John doubt they had a future. His physical need and desire for Rhys was straightforward and uncomplicated, with no uncertainty. He wanted to lose himself in Rhys again tonight and forget about everything but the slide of sweat-damp skin, the touch of lips, the perfect cresting moment of climax when nothing else mattered.

Rhys kissed him back, responsive at first.

But when John drew back to murmur, “Bed?” in a husky voice, Rhys pulled away.

“Actually… I want to talk.”

The words dropped like pebbles into the space between them and John’s stomach lurched with renewed anxiety. The tone of Rhys’s voice made it clear he wouldn’t be persuaded to leave it for the morning.

“That sounds ominous.” John tried to keep his voice light, but his heart tripped fast. Maybe this was it. Maybe Rhys was having doubts too. Perhaps it was for the best if Rhys was the one to end it. John wasn’t sure he’d have the strength.

“It isn’t. Well… I hope not. I just think it’s time we talked a little about what we want.” Rhys took John’s hand. “Not here, though. Living room?”

John let Rhys lead him through his own house and tug him down onto the sofa. Rhys sat beside him, his feet tucked up cross-legged. The pose made him look even younger than usual. John angled his body so he could meet his gaze easily, although he would have preferred to avoid it. But Rhys pinned him, his blue eyes alight with determination.

“So… it’s cards on the table time. We’ve been muddling along so far, and it’s been great. But I need to know.” Rhys took a breath. “I’m not sure if it’s obvious, but I like you. A lot. It’s maybe too soon to say I’m in love with you, even though it feels like love. I need to know how you feel, John. I can’t tell…. Sometimes I think you feel the same, and then I’m not sure again.” His eyes pleaded with John.

John’s mouth felt too dry to get words out, but he had to try. His brain had seized up, the gears locked by panic over saying the wrong thing. He had no idea how to convey his jumbled feelings without hurting Rhys.

“Rhys, I….” John swallowed and took Rhys’s hand, squeezing his fingers tight as he searched his face and begged him to understand without John having to explain himself.

But all Rhys heard was John’s silence, and his expression changed from one of hope, to one of hurt, quickly masked by flat impassivity. “Oh.”

“No. It’s not what you’re thinking,” John said quickly, horror at what conclusions Rhys might be reaching finally giving him the impetus to speak. “I do… I do feel the same. Everything you said. I like you—more than like you. When I’m with you, it’s… it’s really good, and I want us to be together. But… I’m not sure if it can work long-term.”

Rhys frowned. “What’s the problem? It sounds as if we’re on the same page. Surely that’s a good thing. No relationship is ever guaranteed a perfect future. That’s the chance you take when you fall in love. If we both want to be together, then surely it would be stupid not to try?” His fingers tightened around John’s as though he could sense him slipping away.

“I’m nineteen years older than you, Rhys. When you’re my age, I’ll be in my sixties. You want me now, but that might change.”

“I don’t care about your age. I care about
you
,” Rhys said fiercely. “It doesn’t bother me. It never has.”

“Well, it bothers me, because I’m afraid of you changing your mind, realising down the line that you don’t want to be tied to a man old enough to be your father. You might feel differently in two years, five years, ten years. And even if that doesn’t happen, even if by some miracle it works and it lasts… then at some point down the line, chances are you’ll lose me, anyway. I don’t want you to have to go through that again. Not when I know how it feels to lose a partner too soon.” He dropped his gaze, emotion prickling his eyelids.

“That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.” Rhys tugged his hand away to clench his fists on his thighs as he raised his voice in frustration. “You can’t ever know what the future holds. So, what are you saying… is this over? Are you throwing away the possibility of happiness before even giving us a chance?”

John shrugged. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all. He’d wanted to go to bed and have sex and pretend everything was perfect. It was easier to bury his head in the sand and enjoy what they had.

Rhys had raised the topic. He was the one who’d insisted on dragging the tentative, tender shoots of their new relationship out into the bright light of scrutiny, and now John could feel it withering and dying, unable to withstand the betrayal of John’s uncertainty.

“I don’t want it to be over,” John finally admitted. “I really don’t. But I feel like you’re a few steps ahead of me right now. You asked the questions and I’ve been honest.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation tonight.” John had been blindsided. He knew they’d need to talk eventually about where things were going. Leave it to Rhys to cut right to the heart of everything with no warning. His honesty had left no room for evasion from John.