Endless, Forever (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Oliver was all-but trembling when he walked into the office the next morning.  It was more than obvious he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and while he would have loved to blame it on the fact that the book was so good—and it was—it went a little deeper than that.

Bursting into Jake’s office, he sank into one of the chairs near his desk and waited for his boss to finish up his phone call.  Jake gave Oliver a wary look, but hurried off the call, cradling the phone very carefully before leaning over the desk.

“Problem?”

Clearing his throat, Oliver said, “Big one.  Er, well…might be.  Might be a big one.  You know that book I nicked from Kristen?  From the new author?”

“Sanders, yeah.  What about it?  I read the thing and I know it’s good so—”

“It’s not that.”  Oliver cleared his throat.  “You know him in person?  You ever met him?”

“No, he was out of the country when we got the approval, so his agent came in to negotiate for him.  Is there a problem here?”

“Yeah I erm…”  Oliver cleared his throat.  “I have to give it back to Kristen.  I’ll take that fucking vampire book back.”

“Why?” Jake pressed.  “I thought someone like you would actually like Sanders’ book.”

Letting out a high-pitched laugh, Oliver sat back and covered his face.  That was
exactly
the problem with the book.  Someone like him.  Exactly him, to be specific.  It had only taken him three chapters to realize what he was reading.  Three chapters to know where the book was going to end, and what was going to happen to the characters.  Three chapters to know he was probably never supposed to read it.  At least not like this.

“There may be a conflict of interest,” Oliver said, speaking through his fingers.  He cleared his throat and attempted to sit up and look professional lest this get back to his father and he be dragged down to Ren’s office for a chat.

“Why?  You know the author?”

“I think so.  I think,” Oliver stopped, hesitating with his words because how did he possibly reveal that he was fairly sure G.S. Sanders was Gabriel Jabarin, and that the character by the name of Oscar was, in fact, Oliver.  “I think this book is about me.  Me and him, actually.  I think Sanders is my ex.”

Jake looked at him for a long time, then threw his head back and laughed.  “Really fucking funny, Sasaki.  But I’m too goddamn busy to…”

“Gabriel Jabarin,” Oliver said, and Jake’s laughter abruptly stopped.  Licking his lips, he sighed.  “I knew about thirty pages in where it was going.”  He scrubbed his hand down his face again.  “The whole thing is our story.”

Jake’s eyes widened.  “You’re serious?  You’re not shitting me right now?”

Oliver shook his head, feeling miserable and aching.  It had been a long time since he’d let himself think about Gabriel.  A long time since that hollow ache made itself known in his chest.  He had something of Gabriel’s now, close enough to touch him, but still so far away.  “I haven’t spoken to him in three years.  I don’t even think he knows whose publishing house this is.”

Jake licked his lips.  “Well fuck me, Sasaki.  Are you going to put up a fight about this?  About the content of the book?”

Oliver startled in his seat, sitting up straighter.  “Put up a…?”  He hadn’t even considered that, not even for a second.  It wasn’t just his own story being told, really.  It was Gabriel’s, and the ending showed at the very least, Gabriel had been able to move on.  “No, it’s not that.  I was just thinking that maybe I should talk to him,” his mouth blurted before his mind could catch up.  “To let him know that I’ve read the book.  Tell him who, exactly, he’s signed on to publish with.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jake said, shaking his head hard.  “No I don’t…”

“Professional only,” Oliver insisted.  “I’ve got his email on the marketing plan, so I could contact him that way, but I think it would be better if it came through a phone call.”

“
Oliver
,” Jake warned.

“He needs to know I had it.  Editing capacity or not, it’s only fair.  And he has a right to know who he’s publishing with in case he wants to pull out.  If he finds out after, you know he could sue.”

Jake’s face fell.  “I swear to God, you live to make my life difficult.”

“I’ve not done a thing,” Oliver protested, but any other words died in his throat as Jake began to scribble something down on a piece of paper.  He slid it across the desk, and Oliver looked down at a local number he didn’t recognize.

Gabriel lived here.  In this city.  So close and yet so far.  If the book was anything to go by, he’d moved on, gotten married, adopted a child, and was living the dream he had once with Oliver.

That was the best and worst part of it all, really.

Slipping the number into his pocket, Oliver pushed up to his feet and cleared his throat.  “I erm…think I’m going to take the day off.”

“Mm,” Jake muttered, waving his hand.  “You do that.  And don’t fuck this up for me, Sasaki.  This book will make good money.”

Oliver wanted to say something rude or snarky, maybe even push it far enough to see if Jake had the balls to fire him, but instead he turned on his heel and left.  Ignoring Kristen’s imploring gaze, he slipped into an elevator and rode down to the ground floor.

The air outside, the foggy, almost refreshing breeze, was the only thing keeping him together as he started off down the street.  The number in his pocket was almost burning, fierce and begging for him to do something.  To call.  To text.

Oliver found himself collapsing in a chair in the patio area of a café, the number in his hand, mumbling an order to the server.  He was staring between the piece of paper and his phone, and eventually he entered the number into his contacts.

He wasn’t sure how to go forward, and suddenly he was hitting Leo’s number and saying a prayer he was catching his brother between lectures.  When it rang and rang, he nearly cried until a rushed voice picked up.

“Someone had better be dead.”

“I found Gabriel.”

After a long pause, Leo let out a heavy groan.  “How?  Where?”

He took five minutes to explain the entire story, and by the end, he was almost sobbing.  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this, Leo?”

“Obviously fucking call him,” Leo said sternly.  “The Universe is sending you clear signs.  You have not been over him since the moment you met him.”

“He’s moved on though,” Oliver groaned, dropping his head so low, it made contact with the chilled, metal table.  “In his book he…”

“That’s fiction, you absolute twat,” Leo barked.  “You think he wrote an autobiography?”

“He practically did,” Oliver said with a sigh.  “I mean, cleverly hidden, but to the person who lived it, it’s obvious.”

“You have to tell him,” Leo said.

“I know that,” Oliver snapped.  “But what the ruddy
hell
do I actually say?  Ring him up like, Oh hi there, Gabriel.  Remember that day I tore both our hearts out because I was a piece of shit, and left you stood on the side of the road without even a proper goodbye?  Well I’m an editor now, and your book just came into my queue.”

“That actually works, you know,” Leo said.

“Fuck off, it does not,” Oliver hissed.  He lifted his head when the server returned with his latte, and he drank down half like it was full of liquor.  Wincing at the violent burn on his tongue, he sat back and put one hand over his face.  “I’m willing to bet he won’t come anywhere near me if he knows I’m editing this.”

“
Are
you editing it?” Leo challenged.

“Well no, actually.  I’m returning it to the woman I took it from, but that’s not the point.”

“So tell him you’re the editor.  Use your little penname or whatever it is, and tell him you want to have an in-person chat.”

“Isn’t that kind of awful?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t think there’s any way you can be less awful in this situation,” Leo pointed out.  “At least it will get him there.  Then you can say you’re sorry or whatever the bloody hell you want to say to him.  You can tell him you don’t plan on halting the book, and you’ll be having someone who doesn’t know anything about the two of you handling it, so none of the content will be compromised. 
Then
apologize for being a twat and confess you thought he deserved to hear that to his face and you’re sorry for misleading him with the fake name.”

Oliver froze, staring down at the fading foam in his latte.  “When the hell did you become my voice of reason?”

“I’ve had that role since forever,” Leo said impatiently.  “And you know it.  Anyway I’m missing one my most important lectures for the day so if there’s nothing else…”

“Alright, go on.  I hate you though.”

“You
really
don’t.  Text me and tell me how it goes.”

With that, the line went dead, and Oliver dropped his phone on the table.  He stared at it like it might explode, or melt, or turn into a machine-version of Gabriel intent on taking revenge for everything he’d done.

But in the end he finished his drink, took the number, and went home.

Chapter Thirty

He knew it was a bad idea to have the number in his possession and be drinking at the same time.  But to his credit, Oliver was mostly sober when he sent off the text message.

Hi, this is your editor with RS Publishing.  I’ve just started the preliminary work on your book and was hoping you and I could have a quick meeting about the content.  I’m in the city, and was told you are as well, so is there a good time we could meet up?

He added his work email address to ensure Gabriel would know he was actually employed with RS Publishing, and not some crazed murderer who was out to get him.  Though Oliver wondered if maybe he was the only person who would have strange thoughts like that.

Either way, he was halfway through his third drink when the second text came through.  The idea that Gabe had contacted him—though Gabe might not have known it just yet—was enough to make him feel like his stomach was trying to crawl out of his throat.

It was similar to the moment Oliver realized he was irrevocably in love with that adorable man, and probably always would be.

Taking a heaving breath, he grabbed his phone and opened up his folder to read.

Sure.  I hope it’s nothing too terrible.  I’ve got early lectures at the University tomorrow, so we could meet after?  There’s a restaurant right off of Powell that serves vegetarian which I’m partial to.  Does that sound alright?

After that text came the address and Oliver felt his eyes go very hot.  His throat constricted at the thought that this was still
his
Gabriel.  His curly-haired, ridiculous vegetarian who was now a big-named professor and probably absurdly happy with a man who worshiped the ground he walked on.

Like he had always deserved.

Oliver sent the affirmative text back, feeling subdued.  This was so wrong of him.  Wrong to spring himself on Gabe like this.  But maybe the book was a sign Gabriel was over it Oliver.  That it no longer hurt to talk about, so he could use those old feelings to bring something inspiring to the masses.

The characters in the book didn’t end up together, and maybe that’s how it should have been always.  Oliver hadn’t done anything in life to earn Gabriel back.  He’d shut himself away, and although he was no longer plagued by the demons of his early childhood, he hadn’t ever been able to move on.

Not completely.

It was no surprise Oliver didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, nor was it a surprise he didn’t go into work the next morning.  Leo texted, but didn’t bother him, and Oliver held off sending the book back to Kristin until after the meeting.

The only thing he had to do was cancel with Will, but his new friend was amiable about it.  “You wanna meet up later this week and talk about it?  Because you sound really bummed.”

“I am,” Oliver admitted, staring at himself in the mirror and wishing he didn’t look so exhausted.  “That book I traded Kristin for ended up being written by my ex.”

“Like the Big Ex?”

“The one who left me with a gaping hole where my heart should be?” Oliver asked with a bitter laugh.  “Yeah, that one.  I had no idea, either.  How fucked up is that?”

“That sounds too crazy to be a coincidence, my friend,” Will said.  “You’re going to meet him, right?”

“I’m the one who invited him out, so yeah.  I just need him to know that I’m not actually going to be anywhere near the content of the book so nothing will be compromised.  And I dunno…that I’m sorry I fucked up so badly he had to make a book about it.”

Will chuckled.  “It’ll be alright, man.  Just breathe a lot, and if all else fails, stay after he takes off and get stupid drunk.”

“Sound advice,” Oliver said with a laugh.  “I’ll ring you later, yeah?  Or text.  We’ll reschedule.”

“Sounds good, man.  Be safe.”

Oliver hung up and quickly got in the shower, praying the hot water would wash away a little of the violent emotions raging through him.  He had to do this.  He could do this.  He was a grown man with a job, a degree, and a life now that was all his.  He was no longer responsible for anyone but himself, and that was something.

He at least had something to show Gabe.  Assuming Gabriel didn’t take one look at him and run the other way.

Taking his time getting dressed, he went with business casual.  Black trousers and white shirtsleeves fit him well, and he carefully tied his hair up into a bun near at the back of his head.  The shower helped him feel better, but the dark circles under his eyes were as prominent as ever.  Not that it mattered.  Perhaps it was his penance that he should wear them to the dinner, knowing that Gabriel would probably be looking his best.

With a deep breath he left his apartment, phone and keys in his pockets, jacket tugged tight around his waist.  He considered a cab, but it was less than a ten-minute walk and honestly, he needed to keep himself moving or he knew he’d start to lose his nerve.  He tapped his fingers in a staccato pattern along his leg as he counted his steps to the restaurant.

He was early, at least thirty minutes when he arrived at the doors, and he quickly gave his name at the desk.  “Andrew Jones,” he said, using his editing pseudonym.

The hostess checked her computer, then gave him a winning smile.  “Your table should be ready in a few.  Is it still for two?”

“It is,” he confirmed, “but he’ll probably be later than I am.”

“You’re welcome to wait at the bar if you’d like, and as soon as it’s ready, I’ll take you over.”

Oliver gave her a short nod, then walked over and was greeted by an attractive man with wavy brown hair and soft eyes.  He looked Oliver up and down, and it was impossible to miss the glint in his eyes.  “You look like you’re in need of a stiff drink.”

Oliver gave a rough laugh, scrubbing his hands down his face.  “Am I really that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said with a chuckle.  “It looks like an, I need an extra half shot in my drink on the house, kind of night.”

Oliver almost laughed.  The thought of being hit on by the bartender as he was about to reunite with the only person he had ever loved was a bit absurd.  But he took it for what it was.  “That would be fantastic er…”  He glanced at the bartender’s nametag.  “Derek.  How about a gin martini, best you’ve got, extra dirty, two olives.”

“Rocks or up?”

“Up tonight.  I don’t need anything cutting my liquor besides the olive juice.”

“You got it.”  Derek immediately got to work, mixing the drink fluidly.  It was almost to the brim of the martini glass, and Oliver took a huge gulp of it, letting out a careful sigh.  “You want to talk about it?  I’m not exactly overwhelmed with business at the moment, so I can offer a friendly ear.”

Oliver sighed.  “You won’t like it.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I think if I offered you my number, you’d take it.  And that’s tempting because you’re incredibly fit.”

Derek’s cheeks went faintly pink.  “Guess you’re not the only one obvious around here.”

“Ah no, and it’s flattering.  But the thing is, I’m about to have a very awkward, possibly very painful dinner with the erm…how does the phrase go?  The One that Got Away?”

Derek’s eyes widened.  “Oh yeah?”

Taking a drink, Oliver waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.  “Mm, it’s all terribly complicated, involving me being a complete fucking mess, then having to leave the country, and I never gave him a proper goodbye.  Or well, the goodbye I did give him involved a lot of ripping out hearts and stomping on them.”

“His or yours?” Derek asked, leaning on the bar.

“Fair bit of both, I think,” Oliver admitted.  “Let’s just say I pined, and the pining has destroyed any potential for relationships since then.  So as I said, no good for you.  Sorry, mate.”

“Not even for one night?”

“Tempting,” Oliver said with a grin, then took another, long drink.  “
Believe
me, it’s very tempting.  But I just can’t bring myself to do it.  Not even for casual shags.”

Derek snickered.  “You know, I’ve been working this job for a while and it never stops being adorable how you English dudes use the word shag.”

Oliver rolled his eyes a little, but grinned as he bit into an olive.  “Ah well, we are all a bit adorable, aren’t we?  It’s the accent.  Distracts from everything else that’s complete and total rubbish.”

Derek laughed loudly this time, then grabbed a napkin and scribbled his number on it.  “In case you change your mind.  Really.”

Oliver slipped it into his pocket, but shook his head.  “I won’t, but it’s given me at least a little bit of an ego tonight should I have to endure my ex talking about his happily ever after.”

“Mr. Jones?”

Oliver turned to see the peppy hostess waiting with two menus in her hand.  “Ah.  Table ready, then?”

“Good luck,” Derek called as Oliver hopped off the stool and took his martini in hand.  “If you want me to spit in his drink, just rub your nose like this,” he swiped his index finger over the tip of his nose.  “Just in case he’s got it too good.”

Oliver laughed and winked over at Derek.  “You’re a real treasure.  I hope you find someone tonight.”  He didn’t look back as he followed the hostess to the table.  She set out the menus and then promised the server would be by within a few moments to see if he needed anything.

Sitting at the table now, his nerves started to get the best of him.  His hands were on his thighs, but his fingers were trembling and quaking, and he was fighting off the very real urge to down the martini.  Instead, he took another slow drink, and prepared himself for Gabe’s inevitable shock and fury.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen.  The time for the reservation had come and gone by twenty.  Oliver was on his second drink and getting pity looks from Derek across the restaurant.

He was about to call it quits when he heard a too-familiar voice asking for his name at the front.  His stomach jumped into this throat and he forced himself to take several, calming breaths.  He was buzzing from the gin a little, which he wasn’t sure now if that was a good or bad thing, and he closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them, there was Gabe.  He looked so much the same and yet so different, and Oliver physically
ached
.  Gabriel’s hair was shorter now, tamed a bit with product, though still a nest of curls just above his ears.  His brows were dipped low, mouth in a thin line, and he was wearing trousers and a shirt similar to his own.  It was strange seeing him like that, out of his patchwork jeans and threadbare t-shirts.

But it was still him.  It was still the Gabe he’d walked away from three years ago, and his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

By some miracle, Gabe merely gave him a nod and took his seat.  He didn’t shout, he didn’t even seem surprised which was the most startling part until Oliver realized what was happening.

“Jake told you?”

One of Gabe’s eyebrows lifted, and then a very careful, very slow smile crept across his mouth.  It showed one of his dimples, and Oliver was certain he might go into cardiac arrest.  “Yeah.  He sold you out.”

“Probably for the best,” Oliver muttered.  “I’m a complete arse, but I wasn’t sure you’d meet me if you knew who it was.”

Licking his lips, Gabe turned his face up as the server approached.  “I would very much like a pint of whatever your best lager is.”

“We’ve got…”

“I don’t care,” Gabe said a little sharply.  “Whatever’s most expensive.”  He turned his gaze back to Oliver.  “This is all on the company, right?”

Giving a startled laugh, Oliver nodded.  “It is, yeah.”

The server looked less than impressed, but turned and walked off to give the order.  Oliver looked up to see Derek watching, and he smiled, giving his head the barest shake.

“I almost didn’t come, you know.  I think I walked up to the restaurant, then turned back around forty times before I finally gave up and walked in.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.  Did erm…did Jake explain the whole thing?”

“No,” Gabe said, and sat back, crossing his arms.  He cleared his throat, then sighed.  “He only said you thought I should know about you getting the book and being alright with everything.”

“I had traded for it,” Oliver said, wishing he had something other than gin to combat the sudden dryness in his mouth.  “One of my co-workers was trying to set me up on this ridiculous blind date.  I told her I’d go if she’d take my shite book for the decent one she’d just got.  I didn’t…I had no idea it was yours.”

“Penname,” Gabe said quietly.  His eyes were calculating, but they were soft, and Oliver swore his heart stopped beating for just a second because it had been so long since he’d been able to see Gabe’s face.  His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch him, so he curled them in his lap.

“I got a couple chapters in and it started to become fairly obvious.  By the end, I knew it was you.  It was cleverly done, don’t get me wrong, and very good.  I’m impressed.”

Gabe gave him a little smile.  “Thanks.”

“Jake all but threatened my life if I did anything to make you pull the book and run.  Which I hope you’re not going to do.  The book is going back to my co-worker who is an incredibly brilliant editor.  You won’t have any trouble with her.”