Really disliking that James and Elle had ambushed Andrew, Brian said, “Only if you want to.”
“Want to.” Andrew’s voice had dropped into a husky rumble and lost some of the drunken slur. He pushed off the car and got close to Brian again, head ducking to close the few inches of difference in their heights. “Brian, I love you.”
“Love you too, mate. Let’s get your drunk arse home.”
“No.” Andrew’s hand landed on Brian’s hip and he got even closer, whispering, “Brian Stagliano . . . I’m in love with you.”
Andrew put on his sunglasses, sat down on the top of his esky, hooked his hardhat over his knee and waited. Cars whizzed past on Central Street, one of Labrador’s main east-west roads, the traffic noise a rumbling counterpart to the faint pounding in his head. Hopefully Terri wasn’t too far away. The sooner he was distracted by work the better.
He wasn’t really hungover, just a bit tender. Four tequila shots and two beers in under an hour had been a big mistake after two years abstinence. And not just because the alcohol had hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. The drive back to his and Brian’s townhouse from Tots had been excruciating. His stomach had curdled and not even staring fixedly at the passing lights had settled it. Especially not with Brian silent and tense behind the wheel. They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t looked at each other, hadn’t argued over whose Spotify list to listen to. There was nothing during the twenty-minute drive home to wipe out the image of Brian’s shocked expression, or the way he’d reeled back from Andrew like he was physically repulsed.
Definitely had been the wrong time to drop that little bombshell. Shouldn’t have said anything at all. Andrew had messed up again and this time, he might lose his best friend.
Brian had been gone by the time Andrew woke up that morning. Quarter past five was too early to leave for a six a.m. start at a hospital fifteen minutes down the road, even if Brian had been his usual bundle of nerves about starting a new part of his internship. Andrew had wanted to see him off, reassure him he would blitz this like he had every other rotation. Wanted to know he hadn’t ruined everything.
A dark blue dual cab ute pulled up and the passenger side window rolled down. “Come on, Drew. We’re going to be late!”
For whatever reason Terri had decided she was going to call him Drew and that was that. Andrew didn’t mind, mostly just grateful she’d hadn’t picked “Andy.” One of a small group of women construction workers, Terri could definitely hold her own on any site. Of mixed Filipino descent, she was lean, wiry and used to kickbox at high competition levels until her second pregnancy and she decided a more stable job was required. She’d taken him under her wing when he first joined the crew and helped him until he’d rebuilt the muscle mass chemo had eaten away. Two months in and he could finish the day’s work without feeling like he was going to die.
Andrew tossed his esky into the footwell and settled into the passenger seat. The belt was barely clicked in when Terri rocketed them back into the seemingly ceaseless flow of traffic.
“So, was it as bad as you thought it would be?” she asked.
For a moment Andrew wondered how she knew about his epic blunder with Brian, then he remembered what had led up to possibly the stupidest moment of his life. To date.
“They asked,” he muttered. “It was pretty bad.”
“Really?” Terri indicated a turn and took the corner on a yellow light. “I can’t believe she actually asked you to be the best man. I mean, a man doing something that fucked up I get, but her?”
Andrew shrugged. “We are friends. Good friends.”
“Yeah, but you were with her for, what? Four years or something.”
“Five.”
“Fuck me. Five years! And now they expect you to get up in front of the world and say how happy you are for them?” Terri grumbled under her breath, maybe about Elle and James’s audacity, or the tiny convertible that whipped in front of them on the Gold Coast Highway. “Should have taken Olsen.”
“One’s as bad as the other at this time of day.”
Terri conceded his point with a grunt. “Did you tell them to fuck off about the best man shit?”
“Said I’d think about it.”
She threw him a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t give in. I’m telling you, it will suck dirty balls. Trust me.”
“Been there, done that?”
“Hah! I’m not that stupid. My sister-in-law on the other hand.”
“Crazy Catherine?”
“That’s the one.”
Andrew smiled. He’d never met the self-appointed “Crazy Catherine,” but he’d heard enough stories from Terri to believe it. Terri filled the rest of the commute with stories about her sister-in-law’s wedding and Andrew almost forgot about his ill-timed confession the night before. By the time they parked on the side of the road several doors up from the work site in Palm Beach, he’d even laughed a couple of times.
That mood disappeared as soon as he saw the red Tesla Model 3 sitting in front of the partially constructed house.
“Oh, yay,” Terri murmured under her breath. “The architect is here.”
The site manager, Ron Aldridge, was standing out the front with the architect. Vaughn Sheridan was one of the more prominent architects in the state and was steadily making a name for himself across the country. Andrew had studied his buildings for a third year assignment on innovative design. The man was one of the best environmentally sustainable integrators currently working. Which was why Andrew had strived hard to get a graduate architect position at his firm, Green Life Homes. He’d been there for barely four months when he’d got his diagnosis and had to leave. The last thing he wanted was to be recognised as the guy who couldn’t cope and was now working construction.
Manager and architect had a set of plans between them and looked like they were arguing about something. Not unusual when the nicest thing Ron had to say about Vaughn was “cool car.” Using it to his advantage, Andrew put on his hardhat, ducked his head and steamed on past the men, Terri between him and them as an added barrier.
They’d stowed their gear, got their jobs for the day from the foreman and were heading into the work site when Ron called Andrew’s name.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Terri sing-songed.
Andrew threw her a withering glance, then turned back to Ron. “Yeah, boss?”
Ron waved Andrew over to where he and the architect stood. He went while Terri continued on into the site.
Sheridan was average height but lean and broad shouldered. Office gossip from two years ago said he used to be a volunteer lifesaver and still swam most days, and that still appeared to be true. His hair was sandy blond, eyes a dark blue and smile perfect. Most days he wore fitted jeans and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Today, however, he had on a suit that accentuated the swimmer’s build.
“Andrew, this is Vaughn Sheridan.” Ron crossed his arms and looked between them. “He asked to meet you.”
Oh shit. He felt Ron’s gaze boring into the side of his head, probably wondering what the architect could possibly want with a bricks and nails guy.