I’d never spoken to Gary like that in my life, but fuck it, he needed to understand what he’d done.
He winced, and I knew my blow had found its target.
“I realise how much that must’ve hurt him. How much I’ve hurt both of you.”
Silence pressed in around us, the bulb above us painting Gary’s face in stark light, deepening the shadows.
“I wasn’t protecting you,” Gary said at last. “I was protecting the version of you I still carry around in my head.”
I clenched my jaw.
“I keep thinking of you at sixteen,” he said quietly. “Awkward, looking at the world as though it might bruise you if it breathed wrong.” A bitter huff of laughter. “I forgot you grew up.”
“You didn’t ask me what I wanted.” My voice came out steadier than I would’ve believed possible, given the circumstances.
Gary flinched. “No. I didn’t.”
A beat.
“Or how I feel about him.” I wasn’t going to tell him. Theo deserved to be the first to hear that confession.
Gary nodded, his face pained. “I’ve known for years that you worshipped him. I just didn’t want it to be real.” His mouth twisted. “Because real meant I couldn’t protect you from it.”
I softened my voice. “I don’t need protecting.” Then I remembered. “You left me a voicemail.”
Gary froze.
“I listened to it after Theo disappeared,” I continued, struggling to keep my voice even. “You told me you’d spoken to him. That you’d told him to stay away from me.”
Gary’s face drained of colour.
“You said you were doing it because you cared. You said I should be careful. As if I didn’t know my own mind.”
Gary swallowed hard. “I thought?—”
“I know what you thought,” I cut in. “That you were protecting me. But that message?” I exhaled slowly. “That message arrived after he’d already walked out the door.”
Gary flinched as though I’d struck him.
“So when I came home,” I went on, “I had an empty flat, three lines of apology, and your voice in my ear explaining why the man I… I care about thought he was doing the right thing by leaving me.”
Gary’s breathing hitched.
“I didn’t hear concern in that voicemail,” I said in a low voice. “I heard fear—yours.”
His jaw tightened. “I never meant to push him away.”
“I know. But intent doesn’t undo impact.” The maturity in those words took me by surprise.
Heartache makes you grow up fast, apparently.
Gary closed his eyes. When he opened them, they glistened. “I took your choice away.”
“Yes,” I said simply. Another beat. “And I took his.”
His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”
I took a moment to breathe.