3 years later. June.
"Hey Harry, do you think you can scoop Harlow up from preschool today and take her for a bit? I have to stay late at work editing tonight and Jeff won't be home till after dinner," Gemma asked me over the phone on a Friday afternoon.
"Yeah sure, no problem Gem," I replied, slipping on my pair of junky red converse, then grabbing my car keys off the hook in the foyer. "I just gotta be to work by quarter to seven."
"Thanks baby bro, I owe you one."
"Don't even worry about it. We'll just hang out and watch Paw Patrol...maybe eat McDonald's," I tossed back, knowing very well that the last part of what I said was going to send her off.
I was right.
"Harry! Do not give her McDonald's, I mean it! This is a vegetarian household...you know that," she scolded me.
I laughed. "I know, chill out. I'm joking," I said as I marched down the front steps of my house in Kensington.
I hopped into my white 1970 Ford Capri with Harlow's car seat already secured in the back and started up the engine of my new vintage roadster, speeding off down the street towards the Caversham Nursery School.
I only bought this vintage car a few months ago after I saw it in a car auction in Manchester and since I had been saving a ton of money over the last few years after being quickly promoted to assistant manager at Bentley's Bakery, I was actually able to snag it.
But I didn't work there anymore.
I graduated from UEL last year with two honors degrees in both business and media communications, an achievement that I never thought I'd ever have under my belt, but I somehow managed to do it. My mum couldn't have been any prouder.
I ended up turning down a professional career with football, even though everyone called me crazy for doing it, because after all those years of playing for East London, I realized that I had bigger dreams than making the sport my whole life.
What I really wanted was to have my very own vineyard and winery.
There was just something that clicked in my brain during my third year at university when I had to create a hypothetical business plan for an assignment, and the very first thing that I thought of was Lombardi Imperial Wines.
I guess it stayed with me.
I knew that it was going to take a lot of money, land, and a serious amount of work to ever do what Gio did, but I wasn't planning on giving up on that dream. I knew one day in the future that I would do it. But for right now I settled with being a lounge and club manager at Stella's in London.
And speaking of Stella, for whom the club was named after, I just saw her now as I exited my car upon arriving at Caversham Nursery School.
Stella was only two years old, just a few months shy from turning three, with her bouncing brown curls that were pulled up into two pig tails, her wide brown eyes and her adorable, cheeky grin, and she ran up to me straight away as I popped in to Mrs. Dean's preschool class to pick up my three year old niece that late afternoon.
"Harry! Hi Harry!" Stella exclaimed in her high pitched toddler voice, tugging on the end of my red and orange paisley, button down shirt.
"Hey Stels. Where's Low? Can you go and get her for me?" I asked as I bent down to her tiny level.
"Mhm," she grinned at me and hopped across the room, pulling on Harlow's arm from out of the reading nook.
"Uncle Harry!" Harlow shouted, her big hazel eyes lighting up as she skipped towards me in her yellow corduroy overalls, the ones that I bought for her.
"Hey pipsqueak. You're gonna hang out with me for a bit today, okay? Only until mummy and daddy get home from work."
"Yay!" she shouted, hugging my leg.
As I gathered up Harlow's things out of her cubby I nodded over to her teacher, the kind and elderly Mrs. Dean, now slinging her pink, sparkly unicorn backpack over my shoulder while a very friendly face entered the classroom.
"Mama! Mama!" Stella shouted, running up to Adrienne straight away.
"Ciao baby. How was your day?" she asked her daughter.
"I made picture for you," Stella said as she yanked a piece of construction paper out of her cubby, shoving it up into Adrienne's face.
She peered down at it, observing a bunch of squiggly colored lines. "What is it?"
"You, papá, me and zio Zaynie!" she shouted excitedly.
The Z word.
Adrienne looked up at me right then after Stella said the name of a specific uncle of hers that she tried not to ever mention much, now smiling apologetically at me, but I just waved it off. Although we didn't speak about Zayn, I couldn't get away from him completely because I still talked to his friends.
"It's beautiful. Papá will love it," she replied as she placed it in her backpack, then turning to me again. "You've got it covered tonight down at the club?"
"Yep, I'll be there. You and Marco have a fun family night out. I'll see you soon," I replied, waving goodbye as we exited the nursery school and walked back to my car, buckling Harlow into her car seat.
* * * * *
Last summer after finishing up at UEL, Marco and Adrienne had left their positions working at the vineyard and decided to move their family to London with Stella instead, to start fresh, and they had since become quite close with me and my family, especially Gemma, Jeff and Harlow.
About six months ago Marco finally achieved his actual goal in life, other than getting married and having a family. He had always wanted to open up his own club, and so he did. Right in central London he created Stella's Lounge and Club, which he named after his daughter. So when I was off to look for a new job after the bakery, he kindly hired me as the club's manager.
I didn't mind it, though. I often worked late into the night there since we were open until four am, but I enjoyed being in a fun atmosphere and I was learning more about what it takes to run a business, so I looked at it as just another stepping stone in my life.
As we made our way back to Kensington, we pulled up to my Georgian townhouse. I had only been living there for the last year, but I was starting to make it feel like home. Lightly colored bricks adorned the front on Upper Wimpole Street with its long windows, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, dating back to the late 1700's.
It was in a posh area, certainly not the type of place I grew up in, and I felt very lucky to be able to have such nice things as I walked in through the front door, taking my shoes off in the bright foyer, a giant picture of a sunset hanging on the wall to my right. Harlow ran across the shiny, hardwood floors immediately, heading straight into the living room to the wooden antique toy trunk, taking out all of the toys that I kept in there for her.
My dog Cleo passed away a few months ago, which was quite hard for me, but I ended up adopting this sweet natured black and white cat named Dusty, who was creeping toward her, purring as he rubbed against her arm. Harlow stopped, dropping a doll on the ground and promptly picked him up, squeezing him until he mewed. I chuckled, strolling into the living room and took a seat beside her on the colorful area rug as she handed me over one of the dolls.
"You play with me," she said with a grin. "I'm the mum, you the daddy."
"I never get to be the mum!" I whined in jest, making her laugh.
She often acted out pretend scenarios between Gemma and Jeff, which never made any sense because she was three and most of the time it ended up with the boy doll, who was allegedly Jeff, her dad, stuffed behind the couch cushions because he's in 'time out,' and she'd giggle like mad until she got bored five minutes later and asked me for a snack.
We walked into the all jade green countered, spacious kitchen next and she pulled up her favorite chair with a booster seat, grabbing a piece of paper and crayons from the corner where I often left them for her when she came over, and started diligently coloring.
"Peanut butter and apple slices or cheese and crackers?" I asked Low, who scrunched her nose at me after both suggestions.
"Cookies!" she exclaimed instead.
"Your mum will be mad at me if I give you cookies, Low," I reminded her.
"Shhh...it's a secret," Harlow replied sneakily, giggling again.
I was a sucker for her, I will say that. She was so precious to me, my favorite tiny human in the whole world and naturally I got the chocolate chip cookies out of the jar and gave them to her as she happily munched on one and finished her drawing with a purple crayon.
I was supposed to be eating healthier, but I decided to have some cookies with her instead and took a seat beside her at the square table. My hair was long now, down past my shoulders and I tied it back with a hair tie in a messy bun, watching Low work on a drawing of some blob like person thing.
Then I heard the front door open and familiar foot steps walking down the hall and into the kitchen through the arch way.
"Si-si, you're here!" said Harlow, beaming.
"Hi Low," Silas greeted her with a broad smile. "Eating cookies before dinner?"
"Mhm," she said with a mouthful. "Uncle Harry is the best."
I grinned sheepishly. Silas shook his head and chuckled, walking up to me then and planted a kiss on the cheek. "Hey hun, how was your day?"
"Pretty good. Got the new washing machine in this morning," I replied.
"Oh nice. Did you go to the store and get those things?"
"What things?" I asked.
"The things for Julian's bachelor party," he replied, giving me a knowing look because said things were x-rated party favors, namely boob shaped lollipops.
I wasn't a huge fan of Julian's, to be honest, but I dealt with him because he was Silas' best friend. He was that typical heterosexual male who was very into himself, had bad taste, and still had a very juvenile attitude about things. He was getting married now, surprisingly, and I was definitely not looking forward to this bachelor party, either, which was probably why I subconsciously made it a point to forget.
"Oh right, the things. No I didn't. Completely slipped my mind..."
"That's alright, I'll go out later. You're working tonight, right?" he responded, grabbing the freshly squeezed lemonade from the fridge and pouring himself a glass.
"Yeah, Marco asked me to."
"So you'll be gone till what, 4 am?" Silas questioned, his voice lowering.
I sighed. "Yeah, but he's always the one who closes up there so I offered to do it. He just wanted a night for him and the girls. He works hard, he deserves it."
He nodded, leaning against the counter. "That's nice of you. I'd come by and visit but I've got an early session with a client tomorrow so I'll probably be asleep by the time you get home."
"Okay, no big deal," I responded.
"Si-si do you like outer space?" Harlow then asked, holding up her drawing.
"Yeah, of course."
"I'm an alien!" she said cheerfully, pointing to a purple blob with several eyes.
"Wow. That's very cool, Low," Silas remarked.
"Yeah aaaaaand there's more aliens," she went on, scribbling another giant blob beside her with one cyclops-like eye, now holding it up again for us to view.
"Who's that one?" I questioned.
She grinned. "Zee. He's an alien, too."
Silas sort of looked at me with this awkward expression on his face and I had a tight lipped smile on mine because once again, the Z word was mentioned.
Zayn was a big part of everyone's life still, even though he and I didn't talk to each other. But I accepted it, ever so reluctantly. Just because I was angry with him years ago didn't mean that everyone else had to be, and I was mature enough to understand that he wasn't going to be hated by everyone else just because he and I had a falling out.
But it was hard for me to get over him and it took me awhile to let it go, so our mutual friends did their best not to talk about him around me or mention Zayn's name in conversation. I didn't want to know what he was up to or anything about him.
I didn't even go to Adrienne and Marco's wedding, even though I was invited, because I didn't want to see Zayn. I kept in touch with Gio on occasion, but I never returned back to the vineyard either, and when Marco and Adrienne had Stella, they came down to London so I could see her because I couldn't bring myself to go to her baptism.
Because Zayn would be there.
But what I did know was that he still lived in Paris and that was enough to ease my worries in knowing that he wouldn't be anywhere near me. And maybe it was extreme of me, but it was the only way that I was ever going to stay out of the funk that I had been in over him, over our split and I had to do some much needed growing up over the years.
I still wasn't sure if I was emotionally capable of being around him yet.
After everything ended with Zayn and I cried for a week straight, I sought comfort in Silas' friendship. He was really there for me through that dark period. He listened to me bitch and moan, listened to me go on drunk rants over Zayn, dealt with me in all of my emotional mess, helped me with school, and I couldn't have been more grateful for his space in my life.
He was a true friend.
All through that year we remained friends and built a close bond with each other, but I never tiptoed into any sort of relationship with him because Silas kept his foot on the break. He knew better than to get involved with me. He was patient and kind, more than understanding, and on through the second year of uni things started to calm down.
I felt much better about myself, stopped talking about Zayn altogether, got on track with a plan for where my life was headed and I started to feel hopeful again. It was during the holidays of my second year at uni that our friendship turned romantic again and by the start of third year, he and I were officially dating.
And now we lived together.
* * * * *
Stella's on a Friday night was the place to be if you were queer.
Marco had made it lgbtq+ night every Friday, so all of the queer uni students filtered into the crowded club and danced the night away to the best pop hits, electro house, throwbacks, the entire Dirty Dancing soundtrack and Abba, my other personal favorite, just throwing back drinks, falling in and out of lust with each other, and I'd be there managing everything, often times alongside Marco, just watching them and ensuring that everyone was alright and having fun.
And Nick always came to Stella's on Fridays, of course.
Nick still had some growing up to do himself, and was just the same as he always was. We still had a close, but also a slight love-hate relationship most of the time because of how different we were, especially now, but I still loved him anyway. He was one of those childhood friends that I just couldn't get rid of and he flounced in that night with a neon pink blouse and black pants, patent leather loafers and pink nails and sought me out in the lounge immediately, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
The lounge area of Stella's was on the bottom floor of the two story establishment. It was the more laid back area of the club with plush violet colored sofas, black and grey arm chairs, oak tables, loads of exotic plants, and cool, decorative art work on the walls. There was a bar in there, as well as hookahs and eclectic rugs with some floor pillows, a bit similar to the decor of Club Vibrazioni, which had actually inspired Marco's interior design decisions.
I stood next to Liz, a voluptuous black woman in her mid twenties, and probably my favorite employee at Stella's. She was stunning, loud but fun, with no filter whatsoever, and she always dressed scantily clad, as much as she could get away with. Liz had a tendency to flirt with me on occasion too, but I was used to it, and I often let her because such was her personality and it was ultimately meaningless.
I still hadn't been with a woman ever since Zayn and I never planned on it. There was no question about my sexuality anymore. I now rocked long, brown curly hair and donned more flamboyant style choices of dressing like suits, colorful tops, fun accessories like scarves and hats, painted my nails all the time, wore a lot of rings and jewelry and I didn't care.
I knew who I was, and I quite liked the person that I was becoming. I felt free.
I wiped my wet, ring fingered hands off from picking up ice from the floor on my red velvet flared pants and spun around to help Liz make drinks for the two young thirsty gay guys at the bar, who were now leaning forward and eying me like they were interested. There was almost always some guy interested in me at Stella's, it seemed. Liz narrowed her brows and shooed them away once I handed her the vodka redbulls.
"He's taken, stop staring!" she shouted at them, and the guys walked away and climbed the stairs up to the large dance floor on the second level. Liz then turned around to face me and tugged on a strand of long hair that was in my face. "You ever going to cut your hair? It's getting long as all hell," she stated.
"Nah, I think I'm going to personify it," I replied with a smirk.
"You should get some braids in, maybe dress it up with flowers and do a cute little nude shoot in the garden or something. Silas has a birthday coming up, bet he'd love that," Nick drawled, half jokingly as he shimmied over to the bar, plopping down on the stool there.
I snorted with laughter under my breath, already making Nick his usual drink of choice; sex on the beach. "That's weird. I'm not doing that," I said. "I was just going to get him some new neck ties or something."
"That's boring," Nick commented dryly, taking a sip. "You need to spice it up, mate. And your sex life is seriously droll and lacking."
I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn't entirely incorrect about that one. I had absolutely no issues with Silas, honestly. He was so good to me, plus he and I never argued or fought with each other, which was so relaxing. Silas was attentive and always listening to everything that I said, no matter how boring or dramatic it was. He was beyond helpful, thoughtful and considerate, always getting me things that I liked, doing little gestures here and there, super kind to everyone and likable, charming, and my family and friends loved him.
The perfect guy who understood me and loved me just the way I was.
But the only slight downside to our relationship together, however, was that I never truly felt that same insane body high, that wild fire, that magnetic energy that I once did with Zayn.
And I reasoned over and over again in my mind that not everyone was going to be the same as him, that perhaps the same feeling I got with Zayn wouldn't happen twice for me with someone else, and not everything had to be passionate and all-encompassing in that kind of way.
Sometimes you had to settle for something else and you couldn't always get everything you wanted in life, I learned.
"It's not that bad," I defended. "Our sex life is fine. We just need to have more of it."
"You were all over each other before you moved in together. Now it's like, proper husband shit. Bet your only sense of intimacy is re-filling the toilet paper roll," he teased.
I snorted, leaning my elbows on the counter top as I stole a sip from Nick's drink. "Maybe if I wasn't working here every night," I said. "I get home late and he's like, passed out."
"Well, you were the one who wanted to take this job," Nick pointed out. "Why don't you just ask Gio for help with starting up the vineyard like you really want? I'm sure he'd be more than willing to give you a hand. He's a generous guy."
I shook my head. "No, I can't do that. I can't go ask him for help."
Nick sighed. "Why not? Who cares if it's Z word's step dad. I personally think that you should take the stick out of your ass and be civil with him. I mean, Gemma still goes and sees Z word for fuck's sake."
"Yeah, I know," I murmured.
"There's always gonna be just one degree of separation between you and him. You're still so petty...honestly, I thought you were maturing and getting past how you used to be."
Nick was always too good at making me think about shit. "I am getting past it. I'm beyond past it," I replied flatly, but I wasn't sure if I believed what I was saying.
"Well it's been years, Harry. If you're over him and he's over you and you've both moved on then there's no need to hold a grudge still, is there?" Nick questioned. "Just make amends for everyone's sake, at least."
"It's just better for me if I don't see him," I responded. "Out of sight, out of mind."
"So you're not over him then," Nick proclaimed.
"No, I am," I countered sharply.
"So if you're over him then why does his name still bother you when people say it? Why can't we say it, hm?"
I glared at Nick, who was now giving me a knowing smile. "It doesn't. I'll say it. I can say it right now. Zayn. Zayn. Zayn Malik. See? I can say his name. Doesn't do anything to me at all."
"Right," Nick replied before taking a large sip of his drink. "You keep telling yourself that."
* * * * *
"Um, excuse me," a voice rang into my ear at the DJ booth on the second level later into the night. "Excuse me, are you the manager here?"
I turned over my shoulder and saw a thin, blonde haired guy with a baby face who had a look of concern. "Yeah, I am. Can I help you with something?"
"There's some drunk guy out front of who's swinging at people and being homophobic," he said.
I narrowed my brows. "What? Okay, thanks."
I immediately called Jared and Len, our security guards, and we traipsed down the steps and made our way out to the front of the club. The man's back was turned to me as he held a bottle of Jameson in his hands, yelling at the queer guys walking by and calling them all homos.
Len clapped a firm hand on his back. "You need to leave before we call the police," he said in a deep voice.
The man turned around and I realized that it was my dad.
"There never used to be fag pubs on this street. What's this world coming to!" he slurred, glaring at Len and he didn't recognize me standing there at first, until he did.
"Harry?"
My jaw was clenched, feeling my anger and resentment towards him bubbling. Once my dad got out of prison he attempted to visit my mum, but she ordered a restraining order against him and he fled up north somewhere; we hadn't seen or heard from him, until now.
He was just as disgusting of a person as I remembered him being with his scraggly beard and wild eyes, his greasy forehead and red face from how much he drank all the time. Looks like all those years in prison did nothing for him. He looked me up and down briefly, noticing my ruffled cream blouse and style of clothing and made a disapproving face at me.
"Harry you're a fag? My own fucking son!?"
I didn't care what he thought of me. "You've got thirty seconds to walk away, Des, or I'm calling the police and your parole officer," I hissed. "You'll be right back in prison."
"My own flesh and blood! What a fucking disgrace to this world that I created a bloody sinful child," he scoffed, taking another swig. "I raised you better than that, better than all this ruffly, frilly rubbish you've got on...painted nails and everything. Fucking hell."
"You didn't raise me for shit now get the fuck out of here," I roared, whipping my phone out of my back pocket to call the police.
He rolled his eyes at me and took another gulp of whiskey before attempting to walk away, a crowd of people now forming outside to see what the commotion was about, and I was growing irritated by the second. My dad stumbled backwards onto someone who had been walking by on the sidewalk just then, and he spilled the rest of his whiskey on him.
"Hey, watch it!" the guy shouted.
My dad's drunken eyes darkened at the person who he had just knocked into, covering the outside of his jacket and shirt in his sticky, dank whiskey. "You a fruity boy too, eh?"
"I would knock your teeth out right now if you weren't already such a drunk, pathetic excuse for a man," the guy spoke harshly, and my whole body tensed when the crowd cleared and I saw who it was.
Zayn.
"You don't wanna brawl with me," my dad warned him, now hiccuping as he stumbled again and by now the police had already shown up.
The cuffs were latched onto his wrists and he was thrown in the back of the police car as Len and Jared ushered everyone back inside Stella's. The onlookers had now scattered, leaving just me and Zayn standing out on the sidewalk and he was now pissed, covered in whiskey and cursing under his breath.
Zayn looked exactly the same except that his hair was longer, dark and swept back with green highlights in it, and he appeared to have neck tattoos now. I was completely frozen where I stood, a trickle of anxiety creeping up my spine from the sudden appearance of him, the darkened shadow of my former lover.
It was strange, a very heavy and strange energy lingering between us, like it was just a dream, like it wasn't real, just two ghosts standing in the place of who we once were.
I cleared my throat, unsure of what to say for a few more seconds before Zayn finally interrupted the quiet.
"Hey."
"Hi..." I greeted him back, shifting uneasily. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
How do I react to this? What do I do? But I didn't want to start freaking out internally over this unexpected moment, so I just acted like myself, like I would if it was anyone else and tried to play it cool.
"That was my dad, by the way. Fucking dickhead. I'm sorry about that," I returned, glancing over my shoulder at the entrance of Stella's and realizing that I really needed to get back to work.
"Don't be sorry. I know how dickhead dads are," he spoke with a hesitant chuckle.
We locked eyes for a second before he looked down.
And when I looked at Zayn just then I didn't feel hatred or anger towards him. I didn't want to run away or scream in his face or all the other things I once imagined I'd feel if I ever bumped into him out of the blue. Instead I just felt bad that he was covered in whiskey from my homophobic, piece of shit father and the only thing I thought of instinctually was offering to help him.
"You wanna come inside and get cleaned up? I've probably got an extra shirt in the back or something," I asked.
"Yeah...okay. Sure," Zayn replied.
I nodded and he followed me inside the club as I slunk along the back behind the bar and made my way into my office. It wasn't much, but there was a grey, metal desk with a lamp and a bunch of unfiled papers resting on top, but I saw that I had a plain black t-shirt in the shelf behind it, so I reached out and grabbed it for him.
Zayn stood behind me quietly, removing his leather jacket now and tossed it over the chair in the front as I gingerly handed him the t-shirt. He smiled tightly, then removing the black shirt he was wearing that read FEAR OF GOD and threw it on top of his leather jacket.
And now I realized that Zayn was standing shirtless in my office, so I looked away quickly as he then began putting on the dry t-shirt.
But damn, Zayn was still just as gorgeous as always, and probably even more so if that's even possible. He had his nose ring in still, a few more tattoos on his torso and back that I noticed quickly before I had forced myself not to inspect him, and I would be lying if I said that I wasn't physically attracted to Zayn anymore.
No matter how I felt or didn't feel about him, that would be impossible.
"So..." I began, trying to find the right words to say. "It's been awhile."
Zayn chuckled at my awkward, obvious statement. "Has it?"
"Yeah. I, uh...I'm sorry I don't know what to say," I responded with nervous honesty.
Zayn pressed his lips together in a tight line and bent down to grab his clothes off the chair. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything. I'll just get going. Thanks for the shirt...I'll get it back to Marco and you can just pretend I wasn't even here," he said as he started to exit my office.
But something inside of me didn't want him to leave. Now that I had seen Zayn for the first time in a little over three years I couldn't help but feel curious about him now, wondering why he was in London and what he'd been up to recently.
I never wanted to know anything about him before, but now that I was looking at him, I felt my mind change.
"You can stay," I called out to Zayn quietly, watching as he paused in his step and looked over at me. "I mean, if you want to...if you aren't busy. You can go have a drink in the lounge or something. On the house," I offered.
"Seems a bit suspicious. Are you going to poison my drink?" he asked with that slight, wry smirk of his.
I laughed lightly. "Maybe. You want to take that risk?"
"Yeah, I think I do."