And
By mid-October, Vic and I had sunk into our old routine of breaking at the same time each day. Shortly after one, we'd meet in the break room with our lunches, usually the only ones there. And it was nice. It was nice not to feel alone for thirty minutes of the day.
But it wasn't the same as before. Things had shifted between us. For a long time, I blamed it on myself, telling myself I'd ruined everything with that one split second kiss. After a while, I began to realize it was something else. Something deeper.
Plain and simple, we didn't have much to talk about now that Beckett was gone.
Irritatingly enough, he was the thread that united us.
We talked about our personal lives, too – but personal life had become a tender subject. I was afraid to ask about her social life because I knew it inevitably reverted to her single status, and she didn't ask about mine because she knew it was difficult for me to talk about – and simultaneously, to avoid talking about – Fitz.
Altogether, our conversations wove a sad tapestry of bitterly overworked, fresh-outof-uni-and-quickly-jaded young adults.
"Did Alison give you a project today?" I asked her as I polished my apple on the front of my shirt and then bit into it.
"What, you mean like envelope stuffing or file reorganizing or useless research? No, I've escaped unscathed today."
"Oh, good."
"Why?" she asked.
I hesitated, choosing my words carefully as I chewed. "What if I had a... thrilling proposition for you?"
Her brows quirked in excitement. "Like ditching the afternoon to spend all the money I don't make in the shops?"
"Or..." I trailed off, scrunching my features in apology, "you could help me with data entry."
Her face fell. "Such a bore."
"I know. But if you have the time, I'd really appreciate it."
She sighed dramatically. "They're giving you too much again, aren't they?"
I nodded. "There's a spillover from Sales because they haven't rehired for Beckett's position yet. The other analysts are handling it, which means whatever they can't do gets dropped on my plate."
"I say find another restaurant or eat at home," Vic grumbled.
"Yeah," I snorted. "Anyway, Alison's on my case for an updated report on the new product, but I've barely had time to enter the stats. I know it's all going to be skewed, anyway." "Beckett's fault."
"Yep."
"Well, all right," she said with a sigh, gathering her things and standing up. "Guess since I have even less to look forward to at my desk, I'd better get back."
"S'not all bad," I said with a chuckle, following her out of the break room. "Imagine every key on your keyboard is Beckett's face. You get to smash it in at a rate of seventy-five words per minute."
"Excuse me, Captain Fail," Vic said, holding up an index finger in offense, "that would be one hundred and ten words per minute."
My jaw dropped in mock surprise, and I muttered under my breath as I followed her, certain that she could hear, "Keener."
"Idiot," she threw back. And for a second, I paused my step in midair. It was just a word. An insult, actually.
And it was only said in jest. "What is it?" she asked over her shoulder, sensing that my presence had faded.
"Nothing," I said, shaking myself out of it. I jogged a couple of steps to catch up to her. "No, it's just, for a second, you sounded like... I thought it was Fitz."
"Oi, right here!" said a tall, lanky man who stood at the reception desk. Hand in the air as if on roll call, he turned abruptly.
I ground to a halt, staring in disbelief.
"Callum?"
"Hey, Harry," said Fitz's brother, his face erupting in a smile as he stepped forward to take my hand and shake it against my will. He used his other arm to pull me in for a half-hug. "You called me?"
"I... what?" I asked, returning neither the handshake nor the hug.
"You said my name." "I said Callum," I confirmed as we separated.
"You said Fitz," he corrected me, patting my shoulder.
"I..." Catching Vic's eye as she took her seat at reception, I could only shrug in confusion before shaking myself out of it yet again. "I wasn't talking about you."
"Oh," he said with a short laugh. "Well, one of these days you will be, and I won't be listening."
I continued to stare in the utmost disbelief, unable to fathom that this was really Callum. In my office. In my life. A city away from where he was supposed to be.
"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "how've you been?"
"I don't know," I said in a breath, absently shaking my head.
He found this comical. "You don't know how you've been?"
"I just... you're... sorry, what are you doing here?" I stammered. Maybe my mind was cluttered with figures and data, but this was one thing I could not process.
He shrugged as if it was obvious. "Came to see you, of course."
Callum wore the same relaxed, smug grin as he leaned against Vic's desk in a leather jacket. The devilish twinkle in his eye was shimmering more than ever. Just as Fitz's twisted logic often had me scratching my head in confusion, Callum had a way of making me feel like he knew something I didn't – it put me on edge. There was some sort of gene running through the Fitzpatrick bloodline hell-bent on boggling minds.
"How did you even find me?" I asked.
"Briony reminded me where you lived," he began.
"Oh, God. Briony," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. I'd forgotten about her.
"Don't lose your shit," Callum laughed, "this was through Facebook. My train just got in – I haven't even seen her. Promise."
"Fine. Go on," I said, shooing him along and hoping our voices weren't loud enough to arouse the interest of other employees – other than Vic, who eavesdropped without shame.
"Soon as I got in I went to your flat. Your roommate told me where to find you. Now I'm here."
"I... why?"
"I have some money for you."
His statement was so blunt and surprising that I had to rub my eyes with the heels of my hands in exasperation.
"Callum, that's not necessary."
"Come off it. You all right with a cheque? Otherwise we can go down the street to the bank right now."
"No, I—shh," I hissed, gesturing wildly to get him to shut up with my eyes darting this way and that. "Don't worry, Callum. It's fine."
He snorted, crossing one ankle over the other. "I'm not leaving 'til we've made the transfer, so you might as well cooperate."
I glanced over his shoulder at Vic. If she was interested before, she was enthralled now. I desperately hoped that my colleagues hadn't overheard.
"All right. Shh," I said, pointing at him in warning. "Vic, is there anyone in the boardroom?"
"Um..." she said, fiddling with the computer mouse and checking the screen for the schedule. She turned back to me. "Not for another fifteen minutes."
"Let's go."
I nodded my thanks to Vic, gesturing for Callum to follow me. He trailed quietly behind, through a row of cubicles to the other side of the office where I held open the door to the boardroom for him.
I didn't intend to sit down and instead slid a chair out of the way, leaning against the table and folding my arms across my chest. Callum didn't notice my pressing stare – he was too preoccupied with the boardroom itself; his brows raising in interest as he scanned the projection screen, the charts and graphs propped up on an easel in the corner, and various equipment scattered around the table.
"Sweet set-up you've got in this place," he remarked, genuinely impressed.
My brows knotted in confusion. I wasn't certain we were looking at the same room, to be honest. It was just a table and chairs; a room that brought on great stress as it was where I gave most of my presentations.
"Yeah, it's divine," I said slowly, unable to hide my sarcasm. "Go over this with me again: why've you come here?"
Back to business, Callum removed his wallet from his back pocket and opened it as he approached. He pulled out a prewritten cheque and handed it to me, saying in all seriousness, "I owe you this."
I stared at the slip of paper in my hands. Made out to Harry Styles and signed by Callum Fitzpatrick, in scratchy handwriting. One thousand pounds.
I looked up, catching his eye. "You don't have to do this. It wasn't a loan to be repaid, it was just... I was helping you out."
"That's not how I saw it," Callum said, shaking his head. With a frown of offense, he added, "I don't take charity."
"It wasn't charity," I muttered, though we both knew there wasn't much feeling behind it. I had half a mind to mention that he'd had no problems shacking up with his financially struggling sister for weeks without compensation, but thought better of it. Instead, I tried to hand the cheque back to him. "I'd rather you just keep it."
That earned a knowing smile from Callum, who refused the cheque and backed away. "Junie told me you'd say that."
My head shot up again at the mention of her.
Callum went on, "She said you'd probably not accept it and would play it off like it didn't matter to you."
"It doesn't matter to me," I stressed, "and... when? When did she say that?"
He shrugged, making a face. "Thirty minutes ago when I talked to her on the train."
"So she... she knows you're here," I said slowly, trying not to imagine the entire conversation she'd had with her brother and the number of times I was mentioned.
"Yeah." I should have bit my lip to keep myself from asking, but I wasn't quick enough before I was asking another prying question: "What did she say?"
Callum snorted in amusement. "She said, 'Took you long enough, you stupid knob. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if you'd just been an upstanding moral citizen and I should have called Dad the second you showed up at my flat bloodied and bruised and the next time you need cash, you'd better be on the streets begging for it, because I'm never doing this for you again, not ever, not even if...'" He paused, grinning nonchalantly. "That's around the point I stopped listening."
I nodded as he spoke, my arms uncrossing so that my hands could grip the edge of the desk. It wasn't her voice, but those were her words. It had been so long since I'd heard them outside of my own head. Suddenly, I felt weak.
Callum may have noticed the colour draining from my face. He softened, realizing he'd struck a nerve.
"Hey," he said gently, reaching out to nudge my arm and bring me back to Earth. "I know I haven't seen you since before the... before things went... well, before. But I want you to know I'm sorry it didn't work out with you and my sister."
Shrugging, I tried my best to remain stone-faced. "Shit happens," I said in monotone.
"Not really," Callum said. With a patient smile, he elaborated, "People make shit happen."
I nodded, lowering my gaze to the floor as I chewed the inside of my lip.
Callum took a breath before speaking again, pointing to the cheque in my hand. "Now, I know it's not the whole of what I owe you, but I figured I'd pay you in installments." I sighed in surrender.
"I don't mind waiting if you'd rather pay it all at once."
"No, no. Take it. Seriously," he said, backing himself into the wall. "If I keep it for myself, I'll probably do something stupid with it. It's best that you have it."
I couldn't argue with that. I shifted, reaching into my pocket for my wallet and slipping the cheque inside.
"All right," Callum said matter-of-factly once I'd stuffed my wallet back into my pocket. "So we're good?"
"Yeah." I pushed myself off of the table, standing tall. "I should get back to work."
"Yeah. 'Course," Callum agreed. "Thanks for being cool about this. You're a good guy, you know?"
I smiled without amusement as we shook hands, replying calmly, "Depends on who you ask."
"Yeah, well. To me, you're tops."
I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.
"To Junie, too. But you probably already know that."
My smile faded. Callum noticed, clearing his throat.
"It was good to see you, Harry."
"You too."
Grabbing the doorknob, I held the door for him again. He walked past, looking both ways as if he was at a traffic light.
"Um... which way to get out?" he asked me under his breath.
I pointed him in the direction of the exit. As he nodded his head and walked away, I thought longingly of Fitz – how I missed her, how I wondered about her, and how compelling it had been to be with someone who was close to her. Briefly, I shut my eyes to concentrate, talking myself out of my next course of action.
I failed.
"Callum," I called, thankful that he'd heard my urgent whisper and turned around. "Are you in town for the day?"
"Yeah," he said, "staying the night."
I bit my lip as I nodded. "You want to go for a pint? I'm off work at half past five."
Callum thought about it for a total of three seconds at most.
"Sure," he said easily. "Yeah."
"Okay. McNally's. Down the street from my place. I have to be there tonight because I have a friend who... well, she plays a set there on Wednesdays. She's quite good, though."
Callum didn't need much convincing. "Cool. I'll find it. See you there."
I nodded. With a final wave, he turned and left the building. I went back to my cube knowing that I should work, but instead fixated on the idea of drafting several potential topics of conversation for Callum and I.
Because if I didn't have anything written down like rules to be enforced, I knew I'd only be asking about Fitz.
*
"Where did you come up with that kind of money so fast?" I asked Callum. We sat across from one another at McNally's as Finley crooned softly in the background.
Niall had joined us, but he was less interested in our conversation and more focused on Finley. Weekend evenings had been difficult for him since he'd called it off with Claire – I knew he was itching to fall back on her so as not to feel alone. But Finley's law student boyfriend hadn't been around much as of late, and somehow, that made things easier on him. Even so, I saw him fiddle with his phone and then stuff it into his pocket, as if it was the only way he could force himself not to film her performance.
Callum brushed off my question, the glass to his lips as he took a long sip. He set it down, exhaling in satisfaction. "I sold some stuff."
My jaw set as my eyes darkened. "You what?!"
"Relax," he chuckled. "Not that kind of stuff. My stuff. You know: bed, laptop, textbooks."
I brought the palm of my hand to my forehead, shaking my head at the martyr.
"I'm not taking the spoils of your personal possessions," I said. I made a move to grab my wallet to return the cheque. "I'm robbing you."
"No, it's fine," Callum insisted, reaching across the table to grab my arm and stop me. "Honest. I don't need that stuff. I'm not going back to school."
"Well, you need a bed, at the very least."
"Nah. I'm generating income by subletting my flat. I don't even live there anymore."
"Then where are you staying?!"
"Couch surfing." He shrugged it off.
"You can't do that forever."
"No, just until I've got myself a job. It's a tough market out there. Besides, it's not terrible. Friends are generous, and even if they're not... I know how to sell myself." He shot me a wily grin.
"I know you are," I agreed, grumbling under my breath. After all, if he hadn't been caught, Callum would still be running a successful black market business in Leicester. He'd persuaded Briony to hop in the sack with him, and considering she'd never shown interest in any man as far as I'd seen, I knew it was no easy task. Callum may not have known what to do with money – or with a girl – once it was in his possession, but he certainly knew how to generate it. He was a magnet for business. I remembered thinking that my father would likely be quite impressed with him.
Then I thought of Beckett and his vacated Sales position at Myriad. Alison was looking to hire someone new. And I'd just been promoted. She trusted me and my judgment.
I'd be putting my reputation on the line to recommend someone that I didn't entirely trust myself... but when it came to sales, I had a feeling that Callum could do a far better job than most.
"Callum," I said suddenly, furrowing my brows as I caught his eye across the table, "are you set on staying in Leicester?"
He shrugged, elbows on the table. "Not really. Why?"
"Well... I mean, don't get your hopes up or anything..." I trailed off, leaning back in my chair, "but I might have something for you, if you're interested in business."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"You know, you're the only person outside of my family who calls me by my first name," he said with a chuckle. "Call me Fitz if you want. Everybody else does."
I returned the smile, firmly shaking my head. "Yeah, I'm not gonna do that."
"Suit yourself. Guess that name means something else for you."
It did. Something and someone else entirely.
Callum leaned forward in his seat, his eyes shining with mischief and curiosity. "So tell me about what you've got up that sleeve of yours, Harry."
*
I'd spent the past two weekends on a film set. Niall was operating the cameras for another director on a short film, and because the budget was lacking, he'd recruited me for set construction. Free labour wasn't exactly glamorous, but it wasn't like I had anything better to do. Besides, after a few hours with the other labourers, it was clear to me that they'd all been pulled from Niall's artsy crowd. They had fabulous ideas for an extravagant set but no ideas of the real cost in time and parts and very few construction skills. I spent most of my time talking them out of complicated, dangerous tasks and teaching them to operate basic tools and machinery.
But I did get free lunches out of it.
One Sunday afternoon, I dangled my legs off a small scaffold as I ate my two complimentary slices of pizza. Niall spotted me from across the warehouse and joined me with a grunt as he lowered himself onto the scaffold. He inspected the soles of his shoes, inexplicably covered with red paint, and cursed to under his breath.
For a few minutes, we ate in silence. Surveying the half-constructed set in fascination and thinking over all the effort that had gone into it, I was the first to speak.
"So... this is what you wanna do, eh?"
Niall looked up, using his thumb to wipe a trace of pizza sauce from his lower lip. "What?"
"Work on sets? Make films?"
I wasn't speaking in an accusatory tone, and Niall took no offense to the question.
"Yeah. This is what I wanna do."
"You don't mind, like, the grunt work? Or paycheck instability?"
He shrugged, taking a swig of his can of Coke. "It's not ideal, I guess. But being on a set, that's where I feel useful, you know? Like what I'm doing means something. I like the energy and the creativity and..." Spotting me out of the corner of his eye, he hung his head. "Yeah, I know. It's not for everyone."
"No, that wasn't what I was going to say. It's just... that's cool. I can't see you doing anything else."
Niall raised his head, seeming to understand that I'd had more to say. "What?" he urged.
"I don't know. Do you see me as... anything? Other than a business person?"
Niall snorted. "I've never seen you as a business person to begin with. You're just my mate. That's always how I've seen you."
I nodded, still unsettled. "But what a person does... that's how he's seen, right?"
"Mm... dunno," Niall said, unbothered as he took another gulp from his can before setting it down. "Isn't it better to see people for who they are?"
"But what we do is who we are."
"No, that's a part of who we are. Not the whole bloody thing." He shifted on the scaffold, turning to face me as he elaborated. "The way I see it, a lot of things contribute to who we are. Where we're from and what we do and what we stand for. All the easy stuff that's not hard to measure or put into words. But maybe there are other things, too. Stuff like who we love – and how fiercely we love them – that says just as much about us."
I let my gaze linger on him as he chewed, marveling over his insights and hidden intellect and all the people who wrote him off as just another idiot.
Then I lowered my eyes to my lap, staring at the crumpled napkin in my fist as I thought of the two people I loved most in the world: Fitz. My father. Two people who weren't even with me, but I held onto them as desperately as I could. I loved them more fiercely than I could even reason within myself.
And I wondered what that said about me.
I wondered what it said about Niall.
"Who do you love?" I asked him, expecting him to say his mother or, if he was especially off-guard, Finley.
Niall gave a boyish grin, replying without hesitation, "I love you." He nudged me in the side with a soft chuckle.
But from the look on his face, eager and innocent, I knew he meant it. After it sunk in, I cracked a smile. I'd never allowed myself to consider that others could love me. I built relationships inherently expecting to love the other more than I was loved in return.
But maybe I hadn't been as deprived as I'd always thought. After all, there was Niall. And Louis and Josie. Even Muffy, for reasons I couldn't understand.
And Fitz loved me, too. I knew she did. She kept pieces of me even after I was gone.
Niall shot me a wink, and I couldn't help laughing.
"Wanker," I muttered, nudging him back.
"Jackass." Without warning, he shimmied to the edge of the scaffold and jumped off, landing with a thud on the ground below. He straightened up, asking me to watch his drink for him while he went to the loo. The red paint on his soles left a trail of footprints in his wake.
I collected his napkins, Coke, and mobile in a neat pile for when he came back, my eyes lingering on the mobile as a thought struck me.
I knew that Fitz wouldn't have kept her number while she was overseas. Her father had probably encouraged her to get herself a mobile with an American number so that she could always be reached.
If anyone had that number, Niall did.
Breaking into Niall's electronic devices was easy. His stupid password – the month and date his deceased family dog was born – was the same for every account he owned. Bank PIN, email password, everything. I unlocked the mobile without complications and went straight to his contacts.
I scrolled down the list until I found Fitz, reaching into my pocket for my own mobile. Once I'd confirmed that she did indeed have a new number, I quickly copied it into mine. I stuffed it back into my pocket and set Niall's mobile next to the rest of his things, picking up my drink and pretending to be absorbed in our carpentry when he returned.
I wasn't sure why it had been so important to me to steal her number. I wasn't exactly sure yet what I intended to do with it. I wasn't sure why I'd had to be secretive about it, either – if I'd only asked Niall, he would have been more than happy to give it to me.
Probably because even though I knew that Fitz loved me – maybe as much as I loved her – that didn't mean she'd want to talk to me. And if I was going to try one last time, I wanted it to be alone. Just us.
That way, nobody but her had to see me fall.
*
That night, I stood under the showerhead for a long time, letting the hot water soak my sore muscles. Eventually, I got out and toweled off, turning out the lights of the flat before retiring to my bedroom. I was in the process of laying out my work clothes for the next morning when something caught my eye in the corner of the room. On a floorboard next to the wall, there was a tiny spot of colour.
A mini sandwich, small enough to be crushed in my fist.
I let my clothes fall to the chair as I crossed the room to pick it up. I pinched the little keychain between my thumb and index finger, examining it as I walked around my bed. I sat down on the edge of the bed, recalling how I'd thrown it across the room in a fit of rage.
But I hadn't gotten rid of it. All season, it had remained on the floor where it had landed. I'd been hesitant to pick it up because that meant I would have had to decide whether to keep it or throw it away.
I set it on my nightstand before turning out the light.
Then I laid on my back, head propped up by my pillow as I stared at the illuminated screen of my mobile. Her name was glaring at me before I even knew I was in my contacts searching for her.
I stared for a long time, my heart rate steadily increasing.
And then I did it. I didn't think; I just wrote.
Hi. It's Harry. Just wanted to let you know your brother's gonna be all right. Think I've got him a job to get him back on his feet.
I sent the message without reviewing it, but I wished I had. My heart was pumping in my chest and thundering in my ears. Moments later, I sent a second:
I really hope you're well.
I waited a few minutes, never taking my eyes off the screen. It was only when my heartbeat slowed and sunk in my chest that I forced myself to believe she wasn't going to answer.
So I set my mobile down on my nightstand and rolled over, imagining her resting beside me as I drifted into sleep.