Endless, Forever (22 page)

Licking his lips, Sam took in a breath and closed his eyes.  “Why do you want to move back to California, Oliver?”

Blinking in surprise, he laughed.  “I told you, I got offered a job by…”

“No,” Sam interrupted.  “It’s not the job, and we both know it.  You…you’re hoping to find
him
.”

Oliver laughed again, more startled than anything.  “No, I’m not.  I’ve moved on and…”

“Everything you’ve done with me is either to try to forget him, or to bide your time until you can find him again.”  Sam shuffled to the end of the bed, swinging his legs to the floor.  “I love you, Oliver.  I do.  And I would walk over hot coals if I knew it meant at the end of things you could actually move on and open yourself to me.  But tonight’s proved to me that will never happen.  He didn’t leave with pieces of your heart, Oliver.  He left with the
entire
bloody organ, and you want to go find it again.”

“All because I don’t want to move to fucking Wales?” Oliver cried indignantly, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest.

Sam shook his head, a sad smile crossing his face.  “No, cariad.  It’s because you’re aching to go back there, and you always will be.  I can’t compare to that, and I need to let you go.  I should have weeks ago, when you offered me the out.  But I was foolishly in love and I suppose we all do stupid things when other people have our hearts.”

Swallowing, Oliver cleared his throat and was surprised at how thick his voice sounded.  “So this is it, then?”

“I think so,” Sam breathed, and let out a watery laugh.  “I think it is.  I’m sorry for trying to force you into something you knew you didn’t want.  It wasn’t fair to you… or me.”

Part of Oliver wanted to fight.  To beg Sam not to go because even if he
was
in love with Gabriel still, he’d never find him.  But it was too late, and Sam was right.  Gabe had left with his entire heart and it was unfair to ask another person to spend a life with someone who could never properly love them.  “Alright.”

“I think,” Sam said, and ran his fingers into his hair.  “I think I’m going to go.  I’ll get a room somewhere, and when I can sort out a flat, I’ll send for my things.  You won’t have to worry about it.”

“Alright,” Oliver whispered.

Sam started to pack a small bag, and Oliver watched numbly as his now-former lover dressed, slipped into his shoes, grabbed his bag, and left.  Like it had happened before, Sam didn’t look back.  He didn’t pause, didn’t give any opportunities for second chances.  Oliver heard him drop his key on the kitchen table, the front door opened and closed, and that was it.

It was over.

And although he hated himself a little bit for it, Oliver felt relief blossom through his chest.  Not just for him though, but for Sam who deserved so much more than he could ever offer.

Part III

“Each time you love, love as deeply as if it were forever.”

Audre Lorde

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Hey sweetie.”

Oliver tried not to groan as he pushed his chair back to look over at his neighbor.  She was grinning, her chin propped up on her fist, elbow on her desk, and she had the look on her face he’d seen before.  “No, Kristen.  I’m too busy to do you any favors.”

The brunette bat her lashes at him a little.  “Come on.  I have this friend who…”

“Oh God, double no,” Oliver said, shaking his head and tried to push his chair back to his desk, but her lightning fast reflexes caught it before he could, and she spun him with surprising strength.

This was not the first time his workmate had attempted to set him up on a date.  Oliver had been working for his father now for a year, and when his cubical neighbor found out he was gay and single, she began to parade out her list of friends like she was a one-woman gay, dating website.

“He’s really cute.  Like totally your type.”

“I have worked here exactly one year and three months, and have dated no one,” Oliver reminded her.

“Which is why you should take me up on this offer,” Kristen replied.

“I just don’t know how you can have any idea what my type is if you’ve seen me date absolutely no one.”

“I see who you check out when we go for drinks,” she said, waggling her finger at him.  “Seriously, his name is Will and he’s really cute.  Tall, broad shoulders, gorgeous face, no weird accents or anything funny like that.  He’s a manager at the SeaSide Farmer’s Market.”

“Unwashed hippy, is what you’re saying.  White guy with a beard?”

Kristen rolled her eyes.  “Look, he’s had shitty luck with guys lately, and you’ve had literally no luck at all.  What can a single drink hurt?”

Oliver bit down on his bottom lip, hating himself a little for actually considering the set up this time.  Kristen wasn’t the first of his co-workers with a well-meaning offer to set him up with their, “Really cute, really gay friend,” that he’d turned down.  And really, Oliver hadn’t been actively avoiding dating so much as he was busier than he anticipated when taking the job at his father’s company.

The split with Sam had gone as smooth as it could have.  When Oliver went into work the morning following the split, the only thing left of his former boyfriend was a letter of resignation delivered to their boss.  No one said anything about it, giving Oliver wide berth, and kept the topic down to quiet whispers behind his back they thought he couldn’t hear.

He left a month later, the moment he was approved for his work visa, and though he promised to stay in touch with everyone, he knew it would never happen.  He and Leo packed up the flat, sold what they didn’t want to take with them, and said goodbye to London for what Oliver hoped was the very last time.

A month after arriving, Leo was accepted to Stanford, mostly by the grace of his father’s money, but the two year graduate program was highly rated and Leo was feeling better than ever.  It would be the first time in his life Oliver had lived alone, and though he missed his brother, he was looking forward to it in a way.

It was the final step in moving on, really.

The work also kept him busy.  It hadn’t been like his old job, sitting around a desk, making the occasional correction, and formatting articles for their web publication.  Now he was dealing with overly picky authors and manuscripts so poorly written, he couldn’t work out why they’d been accepted.

He spent more time re-writing manuscripts than he did correcting spelling and grammar, and at times he fought the very real urge to just stand up and walk out.  But he had something to prove—to his father and to himself— and after a while, it just became routine.  He learned how to tune out the authors shouting at him through video chat and email, he learned to ignore their protests, and forced the changes to go through.  He stopped worrying about making them happy, and more about just doing his job.

He had friends there, too.  He drove down to Stanford a few times a month to see Leo, and on weekends he and his office mates would have drinks and drag their least favorite authors over plates of fried foods.

It was nice.

It was
normal
.

A life he’d always craved and always felt was beyond him, and was now within his grasp.

“If I do this,” Oliver said, giving Kristen narrow eyes, “you’re going to owe me.”

Kristen’s face dropped.  “Owe you what?”

“Well, a little birdie told me you just got a brilliant new manuscript in your inbox.  And you’re going to trade me.”

Kristen’s eyes widened.  “Not for the…”

“Yes, love.  For the Vampire one.”

With a huge groan, she sat back, covering her face.  “Oliver,” she moaned.

“How much do you love your friend?  How much do you want him to have this date?”

“I hate you
so
much,” she said, dropping her hands.  “Fine.  Fine, but you have to go on at least two dates if he’s interested.  Barring like, racist comments—which I know he’s not a racist so you can’t make shit up—you have to get past your weird…”  She stopped and waggled her fingers at him.  “Your weird whatever it is that keeps you from dating, and try to like him.”

Oliver let out a harsh breath.  The idea of dating exclusively did not sound appealing, but the idea of getting the worst book he’d ever read off his desk and into someone else’s queue was enough to make him take her up on it.  “Alright, fine.  But I’m going to tell him I bartered the date for the book.”

“You’re a complete asshole.”

“This should not be news to you, my love.  Now text me his number.  And expect an incoming email in three minutes.”

Oliver shoved his chair back to his desk and got to work, sending her the file before shooting an email off to his boss about the swap.  He heard the deep groan from her end when the email arrived, and a second later his phone buzzed with the mystery man’s number.

“Any chance you’ve got a photo of him?” Oliver asked through the cube wall.

“Nope.  You’re just going to have to be surprised.  I’ve already sent him a text telling him to expect yours, and to not send any selfies.  I’m not going to let you get some ridiculous, preconceived notions about him from the way he looks.”

“He’s got a neck-beard and a fedora, hasn’t he?  He’s not some bi-curious twat who wants to experiment with his sexuality because he thinks it’s edgy, is he?”

“Jesus Christ, Oliver,” Kristen said, poking her head around the cube again.  “If you must know, he’s about six months out of a long-term relationship.  So he’s fragile and wants to take things slow.  Which is exactly why I thought he’d be good for you.”

Oliver sighed again, but wasted no time in sending a text to Will the Mystery Date.  Within ten minutes, they had a time set up for later that evening—just a quick drink at the local bar, and Oliver had an email with his new project.

It wasn’t the most ideal way he could have ended his day, but as far as endings went, it didn’t seem so bad.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“…and for whatever reason, I agreed.”  Oliver stopped just outside the bar and lit up a cigarette as he finished up his conversation with his brother.  “I mean, I guess two dates is worth it to get rid of that nightmare book, but I’m starting to wonder if this was such a good idea.”

“Well, at the very least you can get a couple drinks out of it,” Leo said, his voice sounding muffled.

“Mate, are you in bed right now?”

“I’m tired,” Leo complained.  “Really bloody tired, and Max isn’t going to be home until after two.  He’s got all the closing shifts this week so I get no shags
and
I have to cook for myself.”

“You are unbelievable,” Oliver complained.  “I wish my biggest problem was having to fry up some fucking bacon in the mornings.”

“That
is
your biggest problem,” Leo reminded him.  “Anyway, quit faffing round and just go inside, get your beer—or whatever shit you drink these days—and send me a text after.  Though if he actually does have a neck-beard and fedora, you’re immediately snapping a photo.”

“Oh absolutely,” Oliver said, sucking on the cigarette one last time before flicking it away.  “I’m going to post it and tag that bitch Kristen in it if she seriously tried to set me up with some white boy.”

“White boy TM, bane of your existence?” Leo asked with a laugh.

“Fuck off.  I’ll talk to you later.”  Oliver hit the end button and shoved his phone into his pocket before heading for the front doors.  He wished he’d brought gum or something to kill the cigarette smell, but in the end he figured it wouldn’t matter.  He had no intention of actually making something work with this guy.  Just two drinks and a less difficult book to edit at the end of the day.

Pushing open the doors, Oliver stepped into the bar and glanced around the dark space.  Will hadn’t given in to his request for a selfie, and instead said he’d be at a pub table near the bar, and would be wearing a white t-shirt, and had ginger hair.

It wasn’t a lot to go on, but as Oliver scanned the crowed, there was only one who fit the description.  The man was wearing a very wide smile, which was barely visible through the massive beard on his chin, as ginger as the curls on his head.  Oliver had to physically hold back his grimace as he offered his own smile and walked over.

He was not a fan of facial hair at all, and he had always been clear about that one.  It was no surprise why Kristen had kept it a secret, and he knew Will’s personality would have to be screamingly brilliant for him to be interested in anything beyond a second date.

“Oliver?” Will asked, his voice surprisingly light for being so tall and broad.

Oliver extended his hand for a quick shake.  “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”

“Nah, I got here a little early.”  He flicked the edge of his pint glass with his thumb.  “Paced myself though.  Can I grab you a drink?”

Just then a server popped by, and Oliver quickly gave his order.  “Gin martini, rocks, extra dirty with two olives.”

When she was gone, Will gave a short laugh.  “I like a man who knows what he wants in alcohol.”

Oliver almost grimaced at the horrible line, but instead he smiled and shrugged.  “I’m only a little fussy, and mostly about my booze.  I’m sure Kristen told you loads more, and it’s probably all lies and slander.”

“How about the part where you’re the CEO’s son?” Will offered.

Oliver’s cheeks pinked a little.  “Fine.  And that.  Though it should be telling that I’m not some corporate suit, and I’m working in the dredges just like everyone else at the company.”

Will chuckled and shook his head.  “Dude, no worries.  My dad actually owns the SeaSide Farmer’s Market.”

“So you’re a sell-out hippy, then?”

When Will laughed again, Oliver felt a stab of annoyance at how easily entertained he was.  The server dropped off the martini, and he quickly took half down in one gulp.

“Bad day, is it?  Or is this because you had to be coerced to go on this date?” Will asked.

Oliver flushed and shrugged.  “It was less a coercion and more of a buy-out.  She let me trade one of the worst books I have ever read for something written by a decent author.  I just have to agree to at least one more date if you’re keen after this.”

“Are you going to try and make yourself seem unfriendly and rude so I won’t want to?” Will asked, a small sparkle in his eye.

“Oh, no worries there, mate,” Oliver said with a wry grin.  “It’ll only take me being my sunny self.”

With a snort, Will leaned forward.  “Would it help if I told you that I only agreed to go on this date to get her off my back?”

Blinking in surprise, Oliver set his glass down and clasped his hands.  “Really?”

“Really really.  She doesn’t seem to understand that after a long relationship and painful break up, some people might actually want to be alone for a while.  After six weeks of nightly phone calls and daily emails, I got her to agree to get off my back if I tried one date and it didn’t work out.  I think she thinks you’re more charming than you actually are.”

“I’m not sure if I should be relieved or insulted,” Oliver admitted.

Will laughed again.  “Don’t worry, you are ridiculously good looking and I think your personality is more friendly than you want to admit.  But I’m not interested in having a boyfriend.”

Oliver sighed in relief.  “Thank God.  I was not interested in trying to fend you off all night.  But you seem like a decent sort so I’m happy to at least share a few drinks.”

Will’s grin widened, and Oliver felt himself relax knowing now the pressure was completely off.  “So why not tell me about this book you traded off.  I want to know Kristen’s suffering.”

Oliver laughed hard, leaning forward and putting his hands splayed flat on the table.  “Oh love, believe me.  She’s going to be crying herself to sleep every night.”

***

“…and the tattoo appears out of nowhere—no mention of it in the entire sodding book, and yet it’s suddenly the solution to all their problems.  And miraculously this human, this chemist, by the way with no previous experience in the supernatural, actually bloody knows the legend behind it.  And the poor girl just up and says, sounds alright, I’ll be the savior.”  Oliver was grinning at Will’s doubled-over laughter, the ginger swiping tears from his eyes.  “So yeah, darling Kristen has to sort out that entire thing.”

“Oh Christ, that is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

They were three drinks in, two hours into the fake date, and they’d ordered and shared a plate of fried mushrooms.  In between talking about the Book from Hell, as Oliver had lovingly dubbed it, he learned more about Will and the two of them found an easy connection.

“I expect several furious emails, and probably two am phone calls just to shout at me,” Oliver said with a shrug.  “But she asked for it.”

Will sat back, taking a breath.  “She did.  She
so
asked for it.  I swore if she didn’t stop telling me the only way to get over my ex was to move on with someone as quickly as I could, I was going to start sending her singing telegrams at the office.  Or something equally mortifying.  I don’t know, I’d have come up with something good.”

Oliver chuckled.  “Why are straight people so weird?”

“No idea.  It’s probably why their divorce rate is so high.  I’ve got this friend…well I use the term loosely but anyway, he’s a Mormon.”

“Those barmy religious blokes with the white shirts and ties?”

Will nodded with a smile.  “Those are the ones.  Anyway so he’s married to this woman he can’t stand, and he begs his church to grant a divorce—because you know, with them it’s not just with the courts?  Anyway, his bishop agrees to it, but
only
under the condition that he be married again within six months.”

Oliver’s eyes widened.  “You’re shitting me.  Six months?  To find a person, fall in love, and get them to marry him?”

Will snorted.  “Yeah, only it doesn’t seem like love comes into play a lot with them.  He was sent to what I called Dating Bootcamp.  They were all these singles events that people in their church who weren’t dating or engaged had to attend.  All chaperoned by church elders or whatever they’re called.  He explained it to me and I swear to God, I had nightmares for months after.”

“I would have as well,” Oliver said, sipping on what he determined would be his last drink.  “God, I have never been more relieved to be gay, Atheist,
and
British.  We have a handful of those over there but not like here.  You Americans with your religion.  It terrifies me.”

“Republican Jesus.  Blessed be the automatic assault rifles, ayyy-men,” Will drawled.

Oliver chuckled and set his glass down.  “Exactly.  And on that rather bizarre note, I should go.  It’s late and I actually have to get a bit of work started before morning. I’m in a meeting first thing.  But this was more pleasant than I expected.”

Will nodded, signaling for the server, and handed over a card.  “Look, we should do this again.  You seem like a good guy, and I’m not opposed to having a new drinking buddy.  Especially one that isn’t going to change his mind and try to get into my pants.”

“Well, I
do
fit that description,” Oliver admitted.

“It’s the beard, isn’t it?” Will asked.

With pink cheeks, Oliver laughed.  “A bit, yeah.  It doesn’t put me off being friends, though.”

“I can live with that.”  Will clapped him on the back and then got his card back, scribbling his name at the bottom of the receipt.

“How about Wednesday, then?  On me,” Oliver offered.

“Perfect.  Text me pictures if Kristen starts crying tears of blood with that book, alright?”

“Oh, I will,” Oliver said, and winked as he pushed his chair in.  “See you later.”

With that, he headed out, feeling lighter than he had when he went in.  It never felt better to have a friend who understood him, and even better having someone who shared his lifestyle without wanting more than he was willing to give.  He had an almost bounce to his step as he made his way home, and was still smiling as he sat down on his couch with his laptop to begin a little bit of the work.

The book was still in his queue, and he wanted to give the first parts a read-through before heading off to bed.  It would be his big project for the next few weeks, and although he was told the quality was much better than the other books he’d been given, he didn’t trust his co-workers to actually know quality writing most of the time.

Firing up his program, he went into the kitchen while his email and queue loaded, flicking on the kettle for a cup of tea.  He sent a text off to Leo, a quick run-down of the night, but got no response since his brother was likely sleeping.

With his tea in hand, Oliver sat back down and opened up his documents.  There were four, as per usual.  The author’s bio, their marketing plan, blurb, and manuscript.  He clicked the first one open, and saw the penname in bold, black writing.

G.S. Sanders

Nice and generic, nothing that stood out, and nothing that sounded familiar.  He knew this one was a debut author, and had wowed his boss, Jake Kelley, who had immediately sent off a contract to the author’s agent.  It wasn’t often Jake got excited about fiction coming in, especially something classified as romance, so Oliver had to assume there was something good here.

The blurb itself was less than impressive, and would have to be re-written, but that was the least difficult part of the job.  The book itself seemed to be a gay romance—something that was only vaguely surprising since the market for things outside of cis, hetero-romance was picking up.  But there was nothing striking about the tale.  Two men who fall in love, fall apart, and find their happy endings.

He’d read it a thousand times.

With a sigh, he went back to the bio.

G.S. Sanders lives in Northern California where he received his graduate degree in English.  He’s currently a professor at San Francisco State University, teaching Literature and Creative Writing.

Oliver found that information oddly specific, as most of the authors writing under pennames preferred to keep details like that out of their bio.  But to each their own, he supposed.

Clicking open the manuscript, Oliver sat back with his tea, and his eyes began to scan the words.  The language and writing were an almost physical relief, he realized within the first few paragraphs.  A few misplaced commas here and there were nothing like the constant passive language and run-on sentences he’d been dealing with over the last few weeks.

The author’s language was just short of poetic, not over-worded, and not patronizing.  The book opened with the introduction of a young man getting ready to start his first semester of college, and holding a secret so tightly, even the reader couldn’t know right away.

He liked it almost immediately.  Resigning himself to doing far more than just a few minutes of work that night, he settled in for the long haul.  He was grateful to finally have some decent work, and something that made taking this job worth it.