Page 34 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

I put my glass down and make my way into the bathroom.

It’s empty, so I lock the door and subside onto the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

I stare at my reflection and contemplate what Patrick said.

I’m sure he wasn’t lying. That was patently and painfully apparent.

And I only have to remember Zeb’s odd hesitation when he mentioned why he’d agreed to be Patrick’s best man to know it’s true.

Fucking hell, he slept with Patrick knowing he was engaged to be married.

I shake my head. The Zeb I know would never do that. He has too many ethics, and he’s too full of the desire to treat people well. Then I slump. “You obviously don’t know him,” I say out loud and the words are devastated, echoing the feeling in my eyes.

“Shit,” I say, scrubbing my face. “Fuck.” I make myself stand up. I can’t sit here like a twat. I’ll have to go back out there. I run cold water over my hot palms and brush my hair back. “Get a grip,” I advise my reflection. “Go out there and behave like the adult that he doesn’t think you are.”

I still as a desperate thought suddenly occurs to me.

Maybe there’s still a chance . After all, he hasn’t been with Patrick this month and his reaction to him has mainly seemed to be a kindness with a slight edge of impatience.

I know he’s enjoyed himself with me. The half-starved way he fell on me tells me that.

Time and time again he’s reached for me, entering me every time with a deep groan as if he’s in heaven.

I know relationships have been built on less.

But we’ve been together outside the bedroom too.

Surely all the laughter and easy conversation have to count for something.

Not against five years though, I think glumly.

And Patrick is the finished product. Perfect exterior even if the interior is rancid.

Patrick could be lying, though. The thought comes out of the blue, and I seize it like it’s a life raft.

Somehow, despite what he said, I still cling deep down to my knowledge of who my Zeb is.

A man who’d never entertain sleeping with someone who was with someone else.

He’d rather cut his hand off than hurt anyone.

He’s kind and generous and thoughtful. How have I lost sight of that in the last ten minutes?

I straighten my jacket. “I’ll go out and talk to him,” I say out loud, seeing the resolution in my face. “I’ll ask him what’s happening. He won’t lie to me.”

My plan is foiled when I get back to the main room and I can’t find him.

The room is packed now with people talking loudly and happily.

He isn’t here. I come to a stop in the room.

Where is he? Then I spot that the door to the patio is ajar, letting in a draught of cool air.

I push my way towards it, but when I reach my destination I pause, hovering with my hand over the handle.

I don’t know why I’m so uneasy. He might not even be out there.

He might have gone looking for me or be helping Patrick.

The nice thought gives me the encouragement to open the doors.

They swing open, letting fresh air flow around me as I stand stock still, staring at the sight in front of my eyes.

Zeb and Patrick are standing on the patio, their arms wrapped around each other and their mouths fused together in a hungry kiss.

For what seems like an eternity but is probably only a couple of seconds I can’t move, standing looking at them.

Then Patrick gives a low groan and it breaks my stasis and I step back, banging my elbow clumsily on the door.

Then I’m gone back into the room, making my way towards the door and escape.

ZEB

For a too-long second I stand on the balcony held tightly against Patrick’s chest, who seems to have developed hands like an octopus since we split up.

Surprise keeps me there for a second but then reality surges back and I get my hands up and push him back forcibly.

He stumbles back, his mouth swollen and his eyes at half-mast. Once, that would have done things to me.

Now, I just feel a weary surge of disgust.

“What the fuck?” I say, wiping my mouth. “What are you doing ? Have you gone mad? ”

He rests back against the stone balustrade and shrugs, a half smile on his face. “I’ve always been mad. You know it.”

“Yes, but not suicidal.” I stare at him. “Pat, you’re getting married in a few hours and you’re trying to kiss your ex.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not my ex.”

“I must have a powerful imagination, then,” I say wryly. “Because I’m sure I remember a fair few screaming matches followed by you taking half my furniture and my pension.”

“We’ll never be over,” he says stubbornly, coming back towards me, his arms outstretched. I sidestep them neatly, so he stumbles slightly.

“Why?”

He stares at me feverishly. “Because nothing and no one can get in our way. Not Frances, not your silly boy toy.”

“Leave Jesse out of this,” I say sharply. He laughs, and I narrow my eyes. “What have you done?” I say.

I feel the sense of unease again that started to gather this morning while I tried to catch Jesse’s eye numerous times and failed.

Every time I looked at him, he was resolutely staring away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.

The one time I thought he was looking and I smiled, he turned away from me, and I felt nausea grip my stomach.

I regretted the row as soon as it happened.

I just got cross when he wouldn’t stop talking about going to Devon.

Part of the anger was because I wanted to go more than anything.

I wanted to apologise as soon as I saw his face fall at my rejection, but I couldn’t find a way to get back to us, so I stayed silent.

It’s given me a sour stomach but here was not the place for a serious discussion. I’ve therefore put on a good face for others all morning, but I’ve felt sick since we got here, and the only thing that’s got me through is the thought that I can apologise to him when the wedding is done.

The uneasy feeling grows into a steady pressure on my chest. “Patrick?” I say loudly and he jumps.

“I told him.”

“Told him what?” I can hear the panic in my voice and he smiles.

“Zeb, don’t worry. He can’t stand between us. I won’t allow it. ”

“What did you tell him?” I say, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

His smile widens. “I told him about the circumstances of you agreeing to be my best man.”

My stomach knots so badly that I feel like throwing up. “Oh fuck,” I groan, pacing away from him and staring unseeing over the balcony. “Why did you do that?”

“He had to know.”

I whirl. “No, he didn’t. He fucking didn’t need to know about the one moment in my life I am most ashamed of.”

“Why are you ashamed?”

I stare at him. “You just don’t get it, do you?” I say incredulously. “Jesus, Patrick, you have less morals than a fucking polecat.”

“What?” he says crossly. “It’s just us.”

“No, it isn’t. It hasn’t been just us for a very long time, and now there are two camps. There is you and Frances and there is me and Jesse and never the twain shall meet.”

“But they did meet,” he says smugly. “And fucked.”

“We fucked because you never told me you’d asked her to marry you,” I roar. “You gave me the impression you’d split up. You didn’t tell me until after.” I laugh incredulously. “And then asked me to be best man.”

“So why did you agree to it, Zebadiah?” he shouts.

“Because I felt sorry for you,” I say quietly, the soft words falling like rocks into a still pond.

“ What ?”

I nod. “Sleeping with you that last time made me realise that I’d never really loved you, Patrick. It was like the scales fell off my eyes all of a sudden and I looked at you and I realised that I pitied you.”

He flinches. “Why?” I hesitate, even now unwilling to deal the blow, and he gestures sharply. “Get on with it.”

“I pity you because you have never been true to yourself in your life. You tell lies to so many people, but the most important person you do it to is yourself. You’re pretty, but there’s nothing else to you, Patrick.

You see yourself in other people’s eyes and you exist to please them when you should be happy with yourself.

” I breathe in. “I’ve felt more for Jesse in this last month than I ever did with you. ”

“How can you say that? This isn’t what was meant to happen.”

“What was meant to happen?”

He stares mutinously at me. “You were supposed to wait for me, and we could have been together once the dust had settled.”

“That dust is your marriage. Don’t you care about Frances? She’s a good girl. Aren’t you bothered that we’d have hurt her?”

He shrugs, something cold showing in his eyes. “She knows the score.”

“She’s not a fucking umpire. She’s a person with thoughts and feelings, and to be honest I really don’t think you should marry her.”

“Because you want me?”

“No, because she deserves more than you’re capable of giving her.” I pause, acid running through my stomach. “Oh my God, he was right,” I say slowly.

“Who was right?”

“Jesse.”

“Why? Did he get the answers for the homework you set him?” he says snidely.

“He said you were trying to get me back. We actually had a fucking row over it because I said you’d never do that.” I stare at him. “He was right.”

He stares at me for a long second, and I think we both see the years we had together fading away like sparks from a fire. Then he straightens up and buttons his jacket. “Whatever. I’m not terribly interested in that boy’s opinions. Thankfully your stupid relationship isn’t my business.”

I nod slowly. “And Jesse isn’t either. Please don’t speak to him again unless it’s just bland civilities. He’s not your concern.”

Spite crosses his face and I marvel that I ever thought I loved him. “I don’t think he’s yours anymore either, Zeb. Not after seeing his face a few minutes ago.”

I go cold. “What do you mean?”

He smiles. “He saw us, Zeb. Stayed long enough to watch us kiss and then fucked off sharpish. ”

I feel vomit rise in my throat, and panic fills me. I dash towards the door just as he comes to life. “Wait, where are you going?” he shouts.

“To find Jesse.”

“But I’m getting married.”

“Not to me, thank goodness. You are now totally someone else’s problem.”

“What about my fucking best man?”

“Ask someone who still gives a shit about you. Good luck.”