Page 21 of After Felix
“Yes, she probably would have.”
“You stopped us being happy, Felix.”
I sigh, feeling suddenly sad. “If that’s what you two called happiness, I suppose I did.”
I think of the hours I devoted to convincing my mum that we’d be okay on our own, persuading her that she couldn’t have him back after what he’d done. I’m still not sure what use it was. She died with his name on her lips, and I have to live with that.
I don’t have to live with this shit, however. “You need to go,” I say coldly. “You’ve got no business with me. You told me often enough that I’m no son of yours.”
Max's body tightens, but my dad waves a dismissive hand. “And I still don’t,” he says and then returns with drunken stubbornness to his favourite subject. “That life insurance policy should have been mine, Felix, and you know it. I was her husband until the day she died.”
I nod. “You were,” I say tiredly. “But I was her son, and she left it to me, and it’s all gone on the boat. There is nothing left. Not a penny. So, I’m unsure where you think I’m going to get it. Maybe click my fingers, and it’ll appear out of thin air.”
“Look at you,” he sneers. “Talking posh like the gays do. I knew that scholarship was a bad idea. Gave you silly ideas.”
“I don’t think speaking posh is a membership requirement for the gays,” I say wryly.
Max chuckles, his hand falling to the base of my back. It’s an unseen gesture of support, and his hand is warm against me in thecold air. Unbidden, I relax into it, and I’m suddenly absolutely knackered.
My dad shrugs. “It’s that posh job too. You think you’re better than me.”
“I don’tthink. I know it. Because I’ve never actually woken people up to threaten them.”
“You’re talking crap again, Felix.” He points a finger at Max. “I’m watching you,” he warns.
“Well, one eye is,” I mutter. “The other one’s looking at the pub over there.”
Max bites his lip and steps forward. “I’m watching you too,” he says in a deep and rather threatening voice. “I’ve got Felix’s back now, and it’s in your best interests to not come near him. I don’t want you speaking to him unless you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”
My dad takes a judicious and probably sensible step back. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “You’re welcome to the little shithead. No use to a person, that one. He’s a sly little fucker.”
I wince, but Max turns his back on my dad and steers me towards the door. My dad curses and stumbles behind us, but I focus on Max’s warm hand and the strength of him at my side. It’s strange and sort of amazing to have had someone at my side when my dad paid one of his visits. It’s always been just me before.
I want to lean into Max’s strength, use it like a protective shield. But I can’t do that, of course. Max hadn’t even wanted to stay the night, so why the hell should I treat him as though he’s my knight in shining armour?
I straighten my spine and force an unconcerned look on my face as I turn to him. It wavers slightly as he steps forward and drags me into a hug. “Ouf,” I say. His grip is tight.
“Are you okay?” he mutters. “That was a bloody awful scene.”
I rest against him for a second, giving in to the warmth of his concerned voice and all of his lovely attention. I love it so much that I step quickly out of his embrace.
“I’m fine,” I say carelessly. “He’s just pissed.”
“Would he have said all those things sober?”
I laugh. “Of course, but at least his breath wouldn’t be a hundredproof, and he’d manage to string whole sentences together.” He carries on staring at me, and I shake my head, saying lightly, “You’re either turning into the Incredible Hulk, Max, or you’ve put my T-shirt on by mistake.”
He looks down at the Little Mr Gobby T-shirt that Misha bought me last Christmas. The thin material is stretched over his taller and wider frame. “Shit, I thought it was drafty,” he mutters, and I laugh. His eyes seem very bright in the low light. “So your mum died when you were seventeen?” I nod. “I’m taking it that he never came through for you when she was gone?”
“No, thank God.” I shudder. “I’d never have turned into the magnificent physical specimen that you see before you, if he’d had a hand.”
He smiles, but his eyes remain intent. “And is that why you don’t want a relationship with anyone?”
I stare at him for a second.Is that true anymore?The thought sends panic sizzling down my body. “Of course,” I say. I walk over to put the kettle on. “I’m just a poor boy with daddy issues. But a very beautiful poor boy with fantastic dress sense.”
He shakes his head, his eyes knowing. “Themostbeautiful,” he says solemnly.
“Shit, you inhaled his breath, didn’t you? Don’t try to drive for at least an hour and don’t stand near any open flames.” He opens his mouth to ask probably a thousand more questions, but I stop him with a wave of my hand as I lean against the counter. “You’ve never displayed any interest in my life before.” He winces, and I smile to make sure he knows I’m not hurt by that. “Did you think I’d come out of an egg?”
