Chapter 9
Dan lit candles and pored through Jones’s collection for a mix that wasn’t too terrifying. Romance was hardly his forte, but he wanted to make an effort.
Jones walked through the door and smiled. Then he frowned.
“Are you moving out?” Jones asked. Dan stared at his shoes, because he couldn’t possibly look at Jones. He was a coward and he was weak. Jones could hardly be surprised.
“I got a job offer.”
“Is it far away?” Jones asked, his normally animated face oddly unreadable.
Dan nodded.
“Leeds?”
“New York City.”
“Is that in Leeds?”
Dan laughed in spite of himself. Jones was smiling his usual cheeky smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I can’t be here.” Dan had practiced what he’d say, but the words were gone. “There are so many reasons I can’t be here.”
Jones put his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I get that. I really do. What’s the job?”
Dan handed Jones the paperwork. It was a pretentious little magazine looking for some edge. Dan had bombed the phone interview, but had apparently redeemed himself with a follow up e-mail thanking the magazine for the chance to interview. Dan couldn’t talk to people, but he could write. It felt good to fuck something up and then make it right. It was a nice change from nearly everything else in his life.
“They want me to write about getting sober. It could be motivation to stay clean.”
Dan didn’t add that if he fell off the wagon, it would only make for a more interesting story arc. Ditto for the book he was trying to write.
“And new surroundings and all,” Jones added, looking thoughtful and non-judgmental. “Get away from all the enablers and shit.”
Dan chewed on his stubby nails, a new bad habit far less toxic than drinking, but more embarrassing.
“That why you don’t want me to come with you?”
Dan had been less startled by the job offer than Jones’s question.
“You want to come with me?”
It was Jones’s turn to stare at his feet. “It’s kind of the place to be for a DJ, and all. I would be starting from scratch, but…”
Dan wrapped his arms around Jones and held him tight. No matter how many times he had fantasized about his life being different, he had never wanted to remove Jones from the equation.
“It never occurred to me you’d want to come,” Dan admitted. If his mother were there, she would have beat him with her purse, but it was true. In all his planning and debating, he’d never once thought that Jones would leave Shoreditch.
“I want to be with you,” Jones whispered. “But only if it would be a good thing, you know? I don’t want to ruin things for you.”
Dan kissed Jones and tried to imagine them in New York. Jones could fit in anywhere. It wouldn’t matter if people couldn’t understand a word he said; his bright eyes and smile sucked people in. Even Dan hadn’t been immune.
“Come to New York,” Dan said, choking on the words. “Maybe I won’t fuck up as badly if you’re there.”
Based on Jones’s dazzling smile, he seemed to understand that “I love you and want to spend the rest of my life at your side” was implied.
Xxx
Dan prepared for the “drop”. When the room exploded with noise, the crowd went wild and Dan could spot a tiny, self-satisfied smile on Jones’s face. Dan knew he wouldn’t last long; being in a bar was too hard. He’d already had two “slips” since arriving in New York. He couldn’t stomach AA, so he’d spent one hour a day writing about sobriety instead. It was sort of working. It helped him to be ‘mindful.’
But being surrounded by people drinking and having fun was hard. He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t drink, pass out, and go back to his life. If he drank, drinking was his life. When he wasn’t drinking, it was still his life. It was Jones’s first high-profile gig and Dan was determined to be there and be something like a good boyfriend.
“Danny!”
Dan cringed at the nickname, but he didn’t run away. Craig was a cloying, annoying prick, but he was a good boss in a lot of ways. He gave Dan a lot of leeway in his articles and was supportive of his writers.
“I’ve been talking to an old mate of yours!” Craig yelled. “He’s moving to our side of the pond and I’m gonna bring him in as a columnist.
Dan didn’t have to ask.
“He could be the next Russell Brand, this kid. Very edgy. Just got out of rehab for heroin.”
Craig’s tendency to romanticize self-destructive behavior was why Dan had a job. He should have seen it coming a mile away.
“This kid is…” Craig scrunched his face in thought. He’d clearly had a few too many.
“Well Mexico?” Dan suggested.
Craig laughed and hugged Dan, sloshing his martini onto Dan’s shirt. He pictured Claire’s face, eternally young and full of promise. He tried to imagine what she’d say. Probably something like, “Quit being such a fucking baby, Dan. It’s a big city.”
Claire was a smart girl.
“Good luck with that!” Dan yelled over the music. Then he caught Jones’s eye, so he could give him a wave before leaving. Jones smiled and Dan smiled back. The city was already full of Nathan Barleys. What was one more?
In the meantime, Dan needed to change out of his alcohol-soaked shirt and get through one more day without drinking. When he’d tried AA, one of the many, many slogans thrown his way had actually stuck: “It isn’t the load that weighs us down, it’s how we carry it.”
Nathan Barley was a load and a half, but he wasn’t Dan’s to carry.
Jones walked through the door and smiled. Then he frowned.
“Are you moving out?” Jones asked. Dan stared at his shoes, because he couldn’t possibly look at Jones. He was a coward and he was weak. Jones could hardly be surprised.
“I got a job offer.”
“Is it far away?” Jones asked, his normally animated face oddly unreadable.
Dan nodded.
“Leeds?”
“New York City.”
“Is that in Leeds?”
Dan laughed in spite of himself. Jones was smiling his usual cheeky smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I can’t be here.” Dan had practiced what he’d say, but the words were gone. “There are so many reasons I can’t be here.”
Jones put his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I get that. I really do. What’s the job?”
Dan handed Jones the paperwork. It was a pretentious little magazine looking for some edge. Dan had bombed the phone interview, but had apparently redeemed himself with a follow up e-mail thanking the magazine for the chance to interview. Dan couldn’t talk to people, but he could write. It felt good to fuck something up and then make it right. It was a nice change from nearly everything else in his life.
“They want me to write about getting sober. It could be motivation to stay clean.”
Dan didn’t add that if he fell off the wagon, it would only make for a more interesting story arc. Ditto for the book he was trying to write.
“And new surroundings and all,” Jones added, looking thoughtful and non-judgmental. “Get away from all the enablers and shit.”
Dan chewed on his stubby nails, a new bad habit far less toxic than drinking, but more embarrassing.
“That why you don’t want me to come with you?”
Dan had been less startled by the job offer than Jones’s question.
“You want to come with me?”
It was Jones’s turn to stare at his feet. “It’s kind of the place to be for a DJ, and all. I would be starting from scratch, but…”
Dan wrapped his arms around Jones and held him tight. No matter how many times he had fantasized about his life being different, he had never wanted to remove Jones from the equation.
“It never occurred to me you’d want to come,” Dan admitted. If his mother were there, she would have beat him with her purse, but it was true. In all his planning and debating, he’d never once thought that Jones would leave Shoreditch.
“I want to be with you,” Jones whispered. “But only if it would be a good thing, you know? I don’t want to ruin things for you.”
Dan kissed Jones and tried to imagine them in New York. Jones could fit in anywhere. It wouldn’t matter if people couldn’t understand a word he said; his bright eyes and smile sucked people in. Even Dan hadn’t been immune.
“Come to New York,” Dan said, choking on the words. “Maybe I won’t fuck up as badly if you’re there.”
Based on Jones’s dazzling smile, he seemed to understand that “I love you and want to spend the rest of my life at your side” was implied.
Xxx
Dan prepared for the “drop”. When the room exploded with noise, the crowd went wild and Dan could spot a tiny, self-satisfied smile on Jones’s face. Dan knew he wouldn’t last long; being in a bar was too hard. He’d already had two “slips” since arriving in New York. He couldn’t stomach AA, so he’d spent one hour a day writing about sobriety instead. It was sort of working. It helped him to be ‘mindful.’
But being surrounded by people drinking and having fun was hard. He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t drink, pass out, and go back to his life. If he drank, drinking was his life. When he wasn’t drinking, it was still his life. It was Jones’s first high-profile gig and Dan was determined to be there and be something like a good boyfriend.
“Danny!”
Dan cringed at the nickname, but he didn’t run away. Craig was a cloying, annoying prick, but he was a good boss in a lot of ways. He gave Dan a lot of leeway in his articles and was supportive of his writers.
“I’ve been talking to an old mate of yours!” Craig yelled. “He’s moving to our side of the pond and I’m gonna bring him in as a columnist.
Dan didn’t have to ask.
“He could be the next Russell Brand, this kid. Very edgy. Just got out of rehab for heroin.”
Craig’s tendency to romanticize self-destructive behavior was why Dan had a job. He should have seen it coming a mile away.
“This kid is…” Craig scrunched his face in thought. He’d clearly had a few too many.
“Well Mexico?” Dan suggested.
Craig laughed and hugged Dan, sloshing his martini onto Dan’s shirt. He pictured Claire’s face, eternally young and full of promise. He tried to imagine what she’d say. Probably something like, “Quit being such a fucking baby, Dan. It’s a big city.”
Claire was a smart girl.
“Good luck with that!” Dan yelled over the music. Then he caught Jones’s eye, so he could give him a wave before leaving. Jones smiled and Dan smiled back. The city was already full of Nathan Barleys. What was one more?
In the meantime, Dan needed to change out of his alcohol-soaked shirt and get through one more day without drinking. When he’d tried AA, one of the many, many slogans thrown his way had actually stuck: “It isn’t the load that weighs us down, it’s how we carry it.”
Nathan Barley was a load and a half, but he wasn’t Dan’s to carry.