Bombora by Mal Peters Page B

“What’s going on? I’m sorry you got pulled into the middle of that, but even before you seemed—”
    “ What? ”
    My eyebrows lift at the sharpness of his voice. “You seemed to really dislike Nate. I never gave much thought to the two of you meeting, but I guess I didn’t expect you to actually hate the guy on sight.” Baffled and not afraid to show it, I give a shrug. “Is there a problem?” I can’t think of a single damn reason why Nate might have pissed Phelan off within seconds of meeting—if anything, he tends to charm his way past people’s defenses so fast it gives me whiplash. Not Phel, though, and I want to know why. I could leave it alone and hope it’ll change, but in my experience, Phel always responds best when given the chance to explain himself.
    Unnervingly, Phelan looks at me really hard for a moment, and I get this creepy sense he’s trying to decide whether or not to trust me. That stings a little bit, because I thought we were way past all that, but I can recognize the expression of someone who’s deliberating whether or not to rescind my security clearance. But just when I expect him to blow me off, Phel sighs, and his eyes flutter shut like the weight of the world has attached itself to his eyelashes.
    “I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I didn’t intend to be so rude, but Nate just… he reminds me of you-know-who.” I do know, though it’s vaguely ridiculous that Phel still refuses to refer to his ex-boyfriend by name around me. “My back went up a bit and I didn’t do a very good job of controlling the emotional response. Hence the pills. I’m sorry, Hugh.”
    His earnestness makes me laugh in surprise, then quiet when Phelan’s shoulders stiffen a little. “That’s kind of a relief,” I admit, astounded it’s so simple. In a way I pity Phelan for feeling haunted by his ex, to the point he’s even seeing flashes of memory in my painfully straight big brother. Nate probably never looked twice at a guy in his life.
    “Obviously there’s some stuff going on with Nate and his wife, but I don’t think you need to worry—he’s a decent person and pretty much the straightest guy on the planet, if you don’t count his weird obsession with Hugh Jackman.” The reference either escapes Phelan or he isn’t in the mood to joke around; an unimpressed muscle tics in his cheek. “Let me find out what’s going on with him today, alright? We’ll meet up for surfing tomorrow, promise. I hope you give Nate a chance, though, because he’ll probably want to hang out. I’d really like it if the two of you got along. It’d be shitty if my brother and my best friend wound up hating each other.”
    Those wide blue eyes blink up at me as Phel chews his bottom lip for a moment, worrying the plump flesh red. “I’m your best friend?” he asks. The surprise is clear in his voice. What the hell did he think we were doing this whole time, hanging out every day like we’re the only two people in Cardiff?
    “Well, yeah,” I retort. “You think I’d put up with your crazy otherwise?” This earns me a smile—I don’t swing that way either, but I have to admit that Phel’s smile is something special—and I can’t help grinning, sagging a little at the respite in Phel’s dark mood. “Go home, Phel. No way should you be trying to surf after all that Xanax you ate.”
    Reluctantly, Phel nods. For a brief second, his eyes flicker toward the kitchen, and seem to rest there as a single line of concern forms between his brows. Then it’s gone just as suddenly, and he’s sliding his feet into his sandals and pushing the front door open. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Hugh,” he says in farewell. “I hope… I hope everything works out with your brother.”
    “Me too.”
    With one last smile, I close the door behind his departing back and, sighing, have to lean against it for a moment to get my bearings. I’ve coached a few buddies through breakups before, not including