Page 31 of Someone Like You

You

I’ll be the one turning heads

Handsome

You mean as usual ?

You

More than usual

Handsome

You gonna show up naked?

You

Better

Handsome

What’s better than naked?

* * *

He hated funerals as much as he hated churches and religious ceremonies, but he wouldn’t have denied Uncle Rory a last goodbye if it’d been his last day on earth.

Ian hadn’t seen him in ten years, since he’d moved to Antwerp with his new Belgian wife, but distance hadn’t made them any less fond of each other.

Despite not being Ian’s uncle by blood, Rory had been a pillar in his childhood and even more so in his teenage years, when Ian had lost his mother and his father Thomas was having a hard time dealing with the grief and a son who was understandably angry at the world Rory had been the one to talk Ian out of dropping out of school to escape to London, the one to reassure him that there was nothing wrong with liking boys the same way he liked girls, so long as everyone involved was treated with the same kindness and respect.

And now, at just seventy-two, Rory was gone.

“I’m next,” said Thomas as they trudged out of the cemetery, leaving behind the lament of the bagpipes and the cluster of people still gathered by the grave.

“Ach, wheesht!” Ian stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, rolling his eyes. “You’re sixty-one and don’t have a heart condition.”

“Ye never know, son. Ye never know. Life’s bloody short.”

A light rain was falling, thin, icy drops hitting Ian’s bare claves like needles. Perfect day to say goodbye to a beloved one .

Or more than one.

“We’re havin’ a few drinks in Rory’s memory.” Thomas hinted to the pub down the road with his chin. “Ye joinin’ us?”

“Nah. Got somewhere to be.”

“Ye ever goin’ to introduce her to me? Or him! ” Thomas defensively lifted up his palms before Ian could correct him. Slip as old as time.

“ Him . And it’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you.”

Ian eyed his father fondly: he was just a couple of inches shorter than his son, but his hunched shoulders carried the weight of too many years of loneliness and sacrifices.

They’d never been rich, but Thomas had worked hard to make sure Ian never wanted for anything, especially after Sheilagh had died.

They’d never been good at this father-son thing, but, with Rory’s mediation, they’d managed to make it work, if awkwardly.

Two reserved grumps like them would’ve never made it on their own.

“You think ma would’ve approved of me liking men?”

Thomas huffed out a gruff laugh. “Yer ma would’ve approved of you bein’ a serial killer.” He lifted a watery gaze on Ian behind the rain-stained glasses. “So, what about this new wee fella of yours?”

“He’s no ‘wee fella’ . He’s got a few years on me.” He said it with a vivid picture of Phil’s expression lines and greying beard spreading a smile across his lips.

Thomas bobbed his head approvingly. “I’ve always reckoned ye’d be better off with someone older. Ye’ve always been mature for yer age.”

Ian kicked a pebble on the ground. “He’s engaged.”

“Ah.” Thomas’ pause was tangibly uneasy. “Now that ’s somethin’ Sheilagh wouldn’t have approved of.”

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends who ended up with more than we’d bargained for.” Ian couldn’t believe he was ashamed of something he hadn’t done. “Nothing happened between us.”

“’Course not — I didn’t raise a homewrecker!” Thomas groused, visibly relieved .

No, you didn’t , Ian agreed grimly. He’d rather die than ruin someone else’s relationship.

A crisp pat hit his back. “You’re a good man. Yer ma would be proud.”

“Ach, rap that. I’ve cried enough today.

” Ian had to run a knuckle under his eye to prevent the wetness pooling along the waterline from spilling out.

Thankfully, they’d reached the pub. He could see through the windows that it was already crowded inside.

“Have one for me,” he told Thomas. “Rory won’t grudge me for sittin’ this one out. ”

Thomas squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck with this man of yours.”

Ian accepted the well-meaning words, but inside his heart sank.

No luck can fix this. It’d take a miracle.

They bumped fists, their surrogate of a hug, then Thomas went inside and Ian kept walking, headed to his pickup.

He arrived at the café a bit early, expecting to find Phil sitting at their usual table with his laptop and at least a couple of empty plates.

He found him by the tables outside instead, alone, leaning back against the wall with his thumbs hooked into the loops of the jeans, only a light pullover protecting him from the cold wind and the rain.

In his mind, Ian shrugged off his jacket to drape it on Phil’s shoulders, enveloping him in his arms to warm him up.

In reality, all Ian could do was walk to him, tilt his head, and sketch a smirk.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doin’ here on your own?”

Phil hadn’t noticed his arrival. His head popped up with a surly scowl, ready to bark back, but his mouth froze agape. He gave Ian a thorough once-over, with a particular emphasis from the waist down, where the blue kilt flapped around his knees, tossed by the wind.

“Like what you see, old man?”

Phil licked his lips, gulped, then finally pried his eyes away from Ian’s bare calves to pin them into Ian’s .

“You know, when you said ‘ better than naked’ , I assumed you were messing with me, because what could possibly be better than Ian Galloway without clothes , but…” His gaze dropped again and very slowly climbed back up. “ Holy shit .”

Ian’s smirk widened. He knew how good he looked in a kilt, but he couldn’t have cared less about the other dozens appreciative looks he’d gathered today; all he cared about was Phil’s attention greedily grazing all over him and that beautiful rush of colour in his face.

A chilly gust swept the street, scattering the ashes of a cigarette that was burning in the ashtray on the table in front of Phil.

“What’re you doin’ out here in the cold?”

Phil flickered a thumb at the remnants of the cigarette. “Having a smoke break.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Someone does.” A listless shrug. “It was too noisy inside, I needed a breather. Why all dressed up?”

“I’m comin’ from a funeral.”

“Oh. Is it common practice to wear kilts at funerals here?”

“Not really. Rory was… eccentric.”

“Were you close?”

“Old family friend.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Ian moved at Phil’s side to lean back against the wall with him.

“His heart was a tickin’ time bomb.” It could’ve happened any moment in the last decade, so every day after the diagnosis had felt like a gift to Rory.

“Passed away peacefully in his sleep like he’d always wanted.

That’s about it.” Ian glanced up at the thick grey cloud smothering the sky and another sigh escaped him. “We’re not here to talk about that.”

Phil tutted. “Thought as much.”

Social skills weren’t among Ian’s talents, even less so when they involved the discussion of intricate human feelings. He was in no place to hand out advice, but when Abigail had said ‘I’m worried’ he’d felt her apprehension through the text and he’d seen too much of himself in it .

“Abigail’s scared you’re having a relapse.”

The whistle of the wind covered a scoff. Phil had the look of a Golden Retriever who’d broken a vase and knew there would be unpleasant consequences.

“I know. I can barely look at her these days.” He passed the back of his hand under his nose, sniffing sharply. “She should be used to this. Some days I’m a ray of fucking sunshine, some days I’m a jerk…. It’s just how it is.”

A subtle curl lifted a corner of Ian’s mouth as he eyed the pink bracelet peering out of the sleeve on Phil’s wrist. “Ray of fuckin’ sunshine indeed.”

“Still better than being the human embodiment of misery, right?”

“She says you’re not talking to her.”

“No shit.”

“Phil…”

“Don’t Phil me!” The bout of rage distorted Phil’s charming features into an unrecognisable mask as he pushed off the wall to stab a finger into Ian’s chest, again and again.

“You have no idea what it’s like, okay? You’ve only got yourself to answer to, you don’t have to go home every day to the woman you love and pretend you’re not thinking of somebody else!

You can stick your preaching up your ass! ”

Every word cut deeper into Ian, each blow adding weight to the guilt oppressing his conscience.

“This is all my fault.”

“Your fault. ” Phil snorted bitterly. “You slap a bandaid on a bleeding man’s wound and call it your fault when the bleeding stops… Okay.”

“Someone’s feeling dramatic.”

“I’m tired, Ian. So fucking tired…” Phil scrubbed a hand down his face, looking every bit as worn out as he claimed to be.

“I’m stuck in this goddamn situation and can’t even breathe without hurting someone.

If I lie to protect Abby, you say I’m concerning her.

If I wanna tell her how I feel about you, you say I’m ruining everything…

Tell me one thing — one fucking thing — that I can do without screwing it up for everyone! ”

Ian took a deep breath. He had the solution, one he knew Phil wouldn’t like, because he didn’t like it either, but there was no other viable option. Time would make up for it.

“We should stop seeing each other.”

All colour drained out of Phil’s face, replaced by a visceral terror. “What?”

“It’s the only way.”

“It’s not the only way! It’s your way!” A vibration tainted Phil’s voice, panic mixed with anger. There was no other way and he knew it, unless he was ready to put his entire life on the line.

Ian crossed a foot over the other, the mud he’d collected at the cemetery melting away from the combat boots to form a dirty puddle on the pavement. He wished the rain could wash the soot out of his conscience, too.