Page 52 of After Felix
“Well, let’s see if I can do anything about that,” Zeb says.
I’m sure I do not imagine the slight air of menace in his voice.
The door swings open and my stepbrother appears. He’s wearing one of his expensive suits and a rather forbidding expression on his craggy face, but his eyes are warm and concerned, and I suddenly feel like the young boy I’d been when my mum married the charming wastrel who was Zeb’s dad. My mother gained a whole roster of bad debt from that marriage and a credit score that only a dead person would be proud of, but I was the winner because I got Zeb.
He was a steady and kind presence in my life all through my adolescence, turning up at my school for sports days and to take me out on the weekends, and I clung to him even when I became an adult. He’s the best man I know, and it kills me that I’ve disappointed him.
We stare at each other. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the wedding three weeks ago, and the aftermath from that debacle hangs between us like an ugly curtain I want to tear down.
He’d woken me that night by throwing a pint of water over me. He then proceeded to inform me that Felix had gone, driven away by me because I was determined to be alone. But that was just the warm-up act. He then tore so many strips off me I was lucky to have any left. And every word he spoke came with that heavy air of disappointment.
I deserved every syllable of those words because of what I did to Felix. In truth, I deserved more. Pain twists in my chest at the thought of him and I rub it absentmindedly. As if he senses my thoughts, Zeb’s expression softens, and he comes to sit on the chair opposite me, lifting his feet to rest them on the coffee table.
“You look terrible,” he observes.
I sniff. “Thank you. What a lovely compliment.”
“Have you shaved this year?”
I rub my face. “I’m growing a beard. It’s supposed to make me look distinguished.”
“It actually makes you look like Tom Hanks in Castaway. After being on the island and talking to a volleyball for a year.” I open my mouth to reply, but he shakes his head. “Cut the crap, Max. What’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, rubbing my chest again. “I think I’m ill. I’m not hungry. My head hurts all the time. I ache. Maybe it’s the flu. You shouldn’t be with me in case you catch it.” I hope that he’ll take his far-seeing gaze off me and bugger off back to London. But no such luck. Zeb defines steadfastness.
“Hmm,” he says. “Maybe it’s not the flu. And it’s not a hangover?” He looks at me in question, and I shake my head. He shrugs. “Maybe you’re just missing Felix.”
I wince at the sound of his name. “How is he?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Do you remember me saying that I wouldn’t become an intermediary between the two of you? That this whole fiasco has nothing to do with me?”
“I remember it vividly,” I say sourly. “And for reference, you didn’t exactly say it. It was more shouting it at a decibel level that could have woken the dead.”
“How dreadful for you,” he says tartly. I stare imploringly at him, and he groans and rubs his eyes before giving in. “Felix is fine,” he says. “He’s better than you, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that’s… that’s good,” I force out.
He snorts. “Try and sound like you mean it.”
“I do,” I say immediately. “I want him to be happy more than anything.”
The riveted expression on his face slowly changes to something I’ve never seen on Zeb before. “Why?” he asks.
“Well, why not?” I ask.He carries on staring at me, and I’m the one to give in this time. “Because he’s amazing,” I say simply. “And he deserves the world. He’s funny and so clever and sharp but kind underneath. There’s a softness to him that whoever he ends up with should guard.”
“Like you didn’t.”
“Ouch,” I reply, rubbing my chest again. “That was a low blow.”
He shrugs. “It’s the truth. I’m not sure why you’re looking so tragic. Youdidn’t want him, and now he’s gone from your life with no argument. What’s the problem? You can happily go back to shagging strangers and holding a torch for someone who will never return your feelings.”
“Jesus Christ, Zeb!”
“What?” he asks, leaning forward. “Too honest for you, Max? Felix was just a convenient hole for your dick. You and I both know it. You never cared about him. He can’t hold a candle to Ivo. He hasn’t got a fancy accent. He hasn’t bled with you. He’s not as good-looking as Ivo. They’re miles apart in class and beauty.”
“You shut the fuck up!” I shout, my temper snapping like an old elastic band and stunning me. “Just shut up,” I repeat and point my finger at him, noticing dimly that it’s shaking. “He’s a thousand times better than Ivo. He’s bright and so sharp and funny. And he’s not just an available hole, so you’d better shut your fucking mouth before I make you.”
He leans back in his chair, completely unconcerned by my outburst, and I stand over him panting and watching in disbelief as he flicks a piece of lint off his sleeve.
