Dave wanted to go home. He finished his cider and went looking for Alan again. The moment he found him, however, he spotted Matt, who came out of the gents' with Nick draped over his shoulder.
'Alan!' he called. 'I need to get him outside, could you go backstage and get my bass and his guitar, please?'
'Shit, what happened?' Alan asked. 'Is he okay?'
'Yeah. Just really pissed.'
Dave swallowed, and then the practical part of his mind took control. 'Small wonder, he just knocked back about five drinks in as many minutes. Alan, let's go get the instruments.' He watched Matt half carry Nick outside and then headed backstage with Alan. 'Fuck . . . This is my fault.'
'How do you figure?'
'I should have just gone home . . .'
They found Stuart backstage, hoisting his cymbal bag onto his back. 'Where's Matt and Nick?' he asked, when he saw them.
'Outside,' said Alan. 'Nick's pissed.'
Dave was surprised to see genuine concern pass over Stuart's otherwise stoic face. 'Fuck, not again . . . All right, I just need a quick chat with front of house. Take those and go outside.' He nodded towards Nick's tweed Fender case and Matt's gig bag.
Alan and Dave did as they were told and went outside, where they found Matt on a corner, holding Nick up while the latter was violently sick into a bin. 'That's good, Nick. Good lad. Get it out,' Matt was saying when they approached.
'I'm so sorry,' said Dave. 'Shit, I shouldn't have come, I should have gone home . . .'
'It really isn't your fault, you know,' said Alan. 'He would have gotten wankered anyway.'
Matt nodded, rubbing Nick's back in large soothing circles. 'Yeah, he's been doing it a lot lately.'
Nick seemed to have emptied himself. 'I'm sorry,' he croaked. 'Fuck . . .'
'Where's Stu?' asked Matt, just as Stuart stepped out of the club. He saw them and rushed over.
'Do you want to take him to my place again?' he asked.
Again? When had they had to take Nick to Stuart's place rather than home? Had this happened before? Did this happen often? Dave was full of questions it was impossible to ask just then.
Matt shook his head. 'No, we should probably get him home. Zoë'll worry, and she'll know either way if we call her.'
'I'll get us a taxi,' said Dave automatically.
Matt draped Nick's arm over his shoulders and put his arm around his waist. 'Nick, can you walk? You think you're done puking?'
'Yeah,' Nick slurred. 'Wanna sleep . . .'
Dave stepped up to the kerb, looking down the street for a cab. He heard the conversation continue.
'Should I come with you?'
'Don't worry about it, Stuart. You go home. We'll take care of him.'
'If you're sure . . .'
Dave waved down a taxi and turned around to see Stuart comb back Nick's hair with his fingers and press a kiss to his temple. It didn't look like a romantic gesture so much as one of friendship and concern, but it was strange to see. Stuart had never struck Dave as the sort to show physical affection. In fact, Dave had never liked Stuart, had thought him indifferent to everyone and everything around him. Clearly, that indifference did not extend to Nick.
'Feel better, okay?' he was saying, and Nick nodded groggily. 'Goodnight.' He turned to the others, made his farewells, and was off.
Matt hoisted Nick into the backseat of the cab and got in next to him. Automatically and without thinking, after helping Alan get the instruments into the trunk of the car, Dave got in on the other side, so he and Matt had Nick between them. Alan sat in the passenger seat in the front and gave the driver the address.
'He's not gonna chuck up all over my seats, that one, is he?' the driver asked gruffly.
Matt shook his head. 'No. He's done with that part. He just needs to get home. That okay?'
The driver looked hesitant, but then he nodded.
'I'm sorry,' Nick mumbled again, once they were underway. His head was on Matt's shoulder, his eyes closed. Unconsciously, Dave reached for his hand and held it. Nick appeared to have fallen asleep. His hand was cold, and Dave rubbed it between both of his own to warm it. He didn't know what else he could do.
He still felt guilty. The others could tell him as much as they wanted that this wasn't his fault, but he still felt like it was. Or, at the very least, it was because of him, even if he wasn't directly to blame. He shouldn't have come to the gig. He had wanted to see the band again. And he had thought it was the right thing to do, that they needed to see each other, be in the same room, that it would help them both. He had been so wrong.
When Nick had kissed him, barely ten minutes ago, it had taken every ounce of willpower Dave had not to kiss him back. He had wanted to, so, so badly. Had wanted to put his arms around him and tell him everything was okay now, that he loved him, because he did. He knew this, now more than ever, but Nick couldn't know. Dave had to keep it from him, at all cost. Knowing that Dave still loved him would hurt Nick far more than it would help him. It would give him false hope.
He thought of Patrick again, and he wanted to cry. Patrick had done absolutely nothing wrong and absolutely everything right. He was probably a better boyfriend than Nick had ever been, objectively speaking. Not three hours ago, Dave had thought of how happy he was, how much he looked forward to seeing Patrick once he was well again, how much he wanted to kiss him and hold him and take him to bed. And he still wanted those things, but he knew now how fantastically cruel and unfair that would be. If he didn't tell Patrick about his feelings, he would be a far worse person than Nick had been when he cheated on him.
The taxi pulled up outside Nick's house, Dave paid, and they all got out. The light was on in the sitting room. At least they wouldn't be waking anyone up, hopefully. Dave deliberated with himself about whether he should go to the door with Matt and Nick. In the end he had an excuse to do so by carrying Nick's guitar. Alan hung back and lit a cigarette.
Dave knocked on the door and about a minute later, it opened to reveal Zoë in her dressing gown. 'Dave? What—' She caught sight of Nick, where he clung limply to Matt. 'Nick! What's happened to him?'
Matt and Dave shared a look, and in the end Matt was the one who spoke. 'He's . . . just drunk. Had a few too many after the concert . . .'
'What, that club serves minors?'
'Who serves minors?' Richard Javelin appeared behind her. 'Oh! Hi, Dave, what . . .' He trailed off and fell silent. Dave stepped to the side so Matt could carry Nick all the way to the door. 'How much did he have?'
'Not sure,' said Matt. 'But he had them fairly quickly.'
'Has he vomited?'
'Twice.'
Richard nodded. 'Nick?' he said softly and lifted Nick's chin. He snapped his fingers. Nick's eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes. 'Nick, can you hear me?'
'Yeah . . .' Nick swallowed. His voice was slow, slurred. 'Fuckin' . . . Yeah, hear ya.' His eyes slid shut again.
'What's your name?'
'Nick Davis . . .'
'How old are you?'
'Seventeen.'
'And who am I?'
'Oh, fuckssake . . . You're Rich—' he hiccuped, 'Richard.'
'Okay, he's not in any immediate danger.' Richard sighed. 'We should get him to bed.' He took Nick off Matt's hands, and then Dave heard footsteps on the stair.
'Thanks, you guys,' said Zoë. 'You lot okay? Need anything?'
Dave shook his head. 'No, we're fine. I should get home . . .' He passed her Nick's guitar.
Zoë took the case, set it down in the hall behind her, and hugged Dave. 'Have you been doing all right?' she murmured.
'I'm fine. Don't worry about me.' Dave hugged her back.
They parted and Zoë hugged Matt as well. 'Thanks for getting him home. We'll . . . we'll take it from here.'
They said their goodbyes and Zoë closed the door. Matt and Dave returned to Alan, who stood next to the fence, fag nearly smoked down to the filter. Matt took it from him and got the last drag before putting it out. Alan put his arm around him.
'Sorry you had to see that,' Matt said to Dave. He looked tired, drained. Defeated.
'Has it been that bad all along?'
'It's been worse,' said Alan.
Matt sighed. 'Much worse. It's why he stopped seeing Brian.'
'I didn't even know about that until tonight,' said Dave softly. 'Dunno if you saw him, but he was at the gig. We talked, just for a bit. He told me they weren't seeing each other anymore.'
'Yeah, I didn't want to trouble you with it, since you seemed to be doing so well with Patrick.' Matt looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end he shook his head. 'It's not my story to tell. Nick is actually better, though. This, it's better than it was.'
Dave nodded. If that were the case, it must have been pretty bad. He chewed his lip for a moment. 'He really was amazing tonight, though.'
Matt smiled sadly. 'Yeah. He was.'
* * *
Nick's first thought when he woke up was, Ow. A moment later he voiced it out loud. His head hurt worse than it had in a good long while, and at first he couldn't think why, until—
Nick sat bolt upright in his bed. 'No. No! No, no, no, no . . .' He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself. What had he done? The last thing he remembered was sitting with Dave at the bar, pleading with him, and then trying to kiss him. God, what had he been thinking?
He looked about him. He was in his own bed, in his own room, alone. There was a bucket next to his bed, but it was empty. He could not remember getting there. He couldn't remember leaving the club. He had a vague recollection of running away from Dave, feeling sick, and then, nothing. He felt like he might have another panic attack, anxiety pulling his limbs taught, making his breathing ragged, but he forced himself to take several deep breaths to stave it off, and he fell back against the pillows, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. His head really was in agony.
There came a knock on his door. He made a groaning noise that was supposed to convey, 'Come in.' Thankfully, Zoë was fluent in tired Nick, and she opened the door slowly and stepped inside. She held a glass of water. 'Morning,' she said. Her expression was unreadable. Somewhere between amusement and concern, perhaps. 'How are you feeling?'
'Like death,' said Nick earnestly, and coughed. His throat was so dry.
Zoë came to his bedside and sat down, handing him the glass. 'You had us worried.'
Nick took a huge gulp. 'I'm sorry. God . . .'
'What happened?'
'Talked to Dave. Made an arse out of myself.'
She nodded. 'He was here last night. He and Matt and Alan brought you home.'
'Dave did?' Nick stared at her. 'Why would he even do that after I . . . ?'
Zoë sighed and smoothed back his hair. 'Because you don't stop caring about someone just because you're no longer together, I guess? You inspire concern in people, it seems.'
Nick hid his face behind his hands. He wanted to cry. How much had he cried lately? What was he, five? 'I hate that,' he mumbled.
'If you hate it so much, maybe you should avoid drinking yourself into a stupor.' Zoë took his hand and pulled it away from his face, trying to catch his eye. 'Richard worries, too. He worries that this isn't the first time. Also, I had to convince him not to take his job home with him and alert the police in Sapswell to the fact that the club you were at serves minors . . . Told him it might just have been because you were in the band and they didn't know.'
Nick gave a short, humourless laugh. 'No, I think they serve minors pretty regularly. Stuart says they hardly even check IDs at the door. Like it's just for show. He thinks the Sapswell police are well aware of it, but some of them probably go there, so they don't want to shut it down.' He sighed. 'It's the only game in town, after all.'
Zoë sighed again. 'I see. Well, you're eighteen soon, and I've even served you wine before, so I guess I can't be too angry with you for drinking. But, Nick, don't do that again. Don't black out like that. You really scared us, all of us.'
Nick looked away. For a moment, he considered telling her. About his breakdown in Birmingham, about the drugs, how Matt and Stuart had come and taken him home. He had told her that he was no longer seeing Brian. He hadn't told her the full extent of why. But he decided against it, couldn't face the reaction he would undoubtedly receive from her. The anger. The pity. That was behind him now. All he did now was smoke some weed occasionally, to quiet his head, calm him down. He wished he could do so now, but he was too shaky to get up, and it was broad daylight, so where would he even do it? Not like he could just do it in the back garden with a police detective in the house.
'How did he seem?' Nick asked after a moment.
'Who?'
'Dave. Did he . . . did he seem like he was okay?'
She shrugged. 'He told me he was. Seemed tired, though. Are you sure you want to talk about this?'
Nick shook his head. 'No.'
Zoë stood up. 'Anything you need, sweet? Something to eat?'
Nick shook his head again, violently. 'No. Can't really stand the thought of food. I think . . . I think I just need more sleep.'
She nodded. 'Okay. I'll let you rest.' She was about to leave, but halted. 'Nick? I want you to go see Evan again. I can call him on Monday.'
Nick nodded. 'Okay. Yeah, that's probably not a bad idea.'
'All right. Sleep well, little brother.' Then she left the room, and Nick was left alone with his thoughts.
His friends, his family. They all worried about him. Even Dave, in spite of everything, cared enough that he had helped Matt and Alan carry him home. Everyone was always supporting him, helping him, rescuing him the way Matt and Stuart had in Birmingham. They were all, always, kind to him. And what did he do? He made them worry. He made the same mistakes over and over. He hurt them, all of them. All of his relationships were toxic because he made them that way.
He was too tired to think any more of these thoughts, too tired even to cry, so he lay back in his bed and presently drifted off to sleep.
* * *
He had to do it face to face, so he had to wait until Patrick was feeling better. But then Patrick rang him on Sunday and said he was fine again, and Dave arranged to meet him in Dorcrest, at a small café near the college. He shook on his way there, his stomach in knots. He had no idea how to do this, how to tell him that this, this wonderful thing they had together, had to end.
Patrick was waiting for him when he got there, all smiles, and hugged him. 'Fuck, I missed you.'
Dave smiled. 'It's only been three days since you saw me.'
'Felt like longer.'
'Wish I could have been there to take care of you,' said Dave without thinking, because it was true. But then he felt his smile dissipate. He sat down opposite Patrick.
'No coffee?' Patrick asked, and Dave shook his head.
'There's something I need to . . . talk to you about.'
Patrick's face fell and he looked down at his cappuccino. 'So you finally got there.'
Dave flinched and looked away. The way Patrick could see right through him, knew his feelings before he even knew them himself, was one of the many wonderful things about him. Dave sighed. 'Yeah. I did. The concert on Friday . . . Seeing him on that stage again, performing his heart out, everything laid bare . . .' He glanced at Patrick again, and met his gaze. 'I'm so sorry.'
Patrick sighed. 'You love him. I know. I hoped it wouldn't, but I knew this would happen.'
'I didn't. I really thought it was over, that I wasn't . . . If things were different, I would fall in love with you in a heartbeat, I just, I can't. And it's not like I can get back together with him either, but I can't do this to you. It's not fair, and you deserve so much better. I know it, and you know it too, don't you?'
Patrick nodded. 'Yeah. I know. We have to end it.' He smiled sadly. 'I told you. I told you you would realise you're still in love with him, and then you'd leave me.'
Dave reached for his hand, then hesitated, but Patrick met him halfway and knit their fingers together. 'I'm so sorry,' Dave repeated. 'I really, really wanted this to work, I just . . .' He felt tears threatening to spill forth and blinked, trying to keep them in check. It wasn't fair of him to cry while Patrick was sitting there with his sad smile, keeping it all in.
'I know. Me too.' Patrick took a deep breath and released it shakily. 'I want you do know, though, that I'm not angry. I mean, I am a bit angry, but I don't hold this against you. I knew the risks going in. I knew this would probably happen, and I did it anyway. You've been so important to me, Dave. You've given me strength, and courage to be myself. I . . . I'd like to be your friend, but I'm going to need time.'
'Of course,' said Dave, quickly. 'Yeah, I get it. I want to be friends too, when you're ready.' He looked down at where their hands were joined. 'I can't help but think that if I hadn't gone to that gig . . .'
Patrick squeezed his hand. 'You know that's not true. You would have figured it out eventually, anyway. You didn't leave him because you don't love him. You left him because you do.'
Rather than reassure him, Patrick's words made Dave feel even more guilty. 'Why do you have to be so nice and understanding about this?'
'Would you rather I shout at you? I mean, I can if you like. I can make a really big scene and storm out of here.' Patrick smiled. 'I'd rather just sit here with you for a while, though.'
'Yeah,' said Dave. 'Yeah, me too.'
When they left the café together, fifteen minutes later, it was hand in hand. They walked to campus together. Once they were outside the gate, Patrick turned to him, letting go of his hand.
'Can I kiss you? Just . . . one more time?'
Dave licked his lips. 'Are you sure?' he asked softly. 'Won't that make it worse?'
Patrick gave him his sad smile once more. 'Probably. I'd still like to do it, though.'
'Okay,' said Dave, and then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Patrick's. Once again, he felt like he might cry, and once again, he kept it inside. Patrick tasted like coffee, and Dave combed his fingers through his silky hair, knowing it was probably the last time he would. It was an openmouthed kiss, but he kept his tongue inside his own mouth, didn't want to push it, even though part of him just wanted to go with Patrick up to his room, which he usually occupied alone on the weekends, and fuck him. No, make love to him. He didn't want it to be over, wished so strongly that this wasn't the way things were, that he could take it all back and forget about Nick and just be with Patrick. Fall in love with him. Spend his life with him, even, as cheesy and crazy as that sounded.
But he couldn't. And too soon the kiss had ended, and Patrick gave his hand one last squeeze and said, 'Goodbye, Dave.' And that was that. Patrick turned his back on him and walked through the gate, and that was the end.