“Christ.”
“Er, sorry,” Jason said, lurching to a stop in front of Owen. “Were you not on a break?”
“Just came from a noise complaint.”
Jason looked around. “I don’t hear anything.”
Owen leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m good at my job.”
“Mm. Probably why you figured me out quick.”
“Cop or not, I’d have figured you out.”
A laugh bubbled up Jason’s throat, cleaving through his anxiety, and the shoulders he’d been tensing all morning relaxed. “What gave me away?”
“What didn’t?”
“No, I mean, what was it exactly?”
“Two things, actually.”
Jason made a nebulous hand gesture. “Well?”
Dark eyes twinkled, and Jason stepped closer, prepared for a whispered answer—
“Carl! Finally,” came a cheeky voice from behind. “Thought you’d dropped off the planet.”
Jason whipped around, recognising the tall figure with his auburn hair and freckled nose immediately. There’d been so many pictures of this guy on Carl’s phone. At the beach, in the bush, piggybacking one another. Kissing.
The ex.
He needed to act cool. Totally at ease about the wedding. Moved on and everything.
Pete acknowledged Sergeant Owen Stirling Sir with a friendly nod.
Finally, Jason found his footing. “Pete. How ya doin’, mate?”
Owen shifted behind him, clearing his throat. Jason made a mental note to correct his footing.
“Good. You’ve been quiet, yeah? Here I am trying to track you down about the party.”
“What party?”
Pete laughed. “Yeah, yeah, it’s my last big night out as an unmarried man. I know I go on about it.”
A stag night? So soon? Jason scrambled to recall what Carl had said about it, and remembered only a downcast expression. He pinched his fingers apart and threw up a laugh. “Just a bit.”
Owen moved again, and a breeze that had been chilling Jason’s back disappeared.
Pete gazed over the road, where he’d left another familiar face. Nick, juggling two pups on leads. Softness filled Pete’s eyes. Hell, if Carl was still half in love, watching that had to be torture. No wonder he’d begged Jason for this.
Pete turned back to him. “Bet you’re looking forward to Angus.”
Angus?
Jason gave a double thumbs up. “I am so looking forward to Angus.” Owen made a low sound like a suppressed chuckle behind him.
Pete beamed. “Fab. Hey, I assume no plus one?” Before Jason could reply in the affirmative, Pete waved it off. “Of course not. So much on my mind—guests and table settings—not thinking clearly.”
Pete laughed at his own nonsense and . . .
It hit a nerve.
Caroline with her fiancé. His empty home, the many nights he’d spent awake, familiarising himself with each groan and creak of timber. Audiences applauding his renditions of Mozart and Chopin, coming up to him after concerts, but never speaking of anything beyond the music.
Pete’s assumption he had no one reminded him he, in fact, had no one.
And yes, Pete was Carl’s wound, but the root of it was the same wound. It stung. He wanted it not to be true, and he . . . he was here, in this small Australian town, given a chance to have something new. He was taking it.
Jason’s smile ached. “I will need a plus one, actually.”
Pete laughed.
“Something funny?”
Pete choked on that same laugh. It felt so good. The look of shock, so satisfying.
“You will? But . . .”
“I don’t tell you everything anymore.”
“Carl . . .” Pete suddenly cracked a grin. “You’re having me on. Look, there’ll be a couple of single guys at the wedding.”
Another sting. Being called out making up a lie—even though it was a lie, especially because it was a lie—hurt. It hurt his pride, and the hot unfairness of it burned.
Pete continued, oblivious. “I’ll introduce you.”
Jason doubled down. Chucked out another laugh, like they were having a wee misunderstanding. “No-no. It’s no joke. We’ve just been keeping things quiet.”
Bewilderment. “Why?”
“Because . . .” Here Jason floundered a second, but only a second. “We didn’t want to announce anything until we were serious.”
“You’re . . . serious?”
He clapped a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Ask yourself where I’ve been these last few days.”
Pete opened his mouth and snapped it shut. It dropped open again.
“So if it’s possible, I’d appreciate that plus one.”
Pete stared at him, puzzled, like this possibility was so far from possible it was boggling his mind. “S-sure?”
Hold it in, Jason, hold it in—“He’ll be coming to everything. The party. The wedding. All of it.”
There’d been a steadily growing flurry of movement behind him and Jason could only imagine Owen internally groaning at this improvisation, folding his arms and dropping them on repeat. Maybe in an effort to resist knocking on Jason’s noggin and asking what on Earth he was doing.
That would come later, no doubt.
“Who?” Pete asked.
For all Jason’s impassioned outburst, he hadn’t anticipated this very simple question. He faltered, stepped back on Owen’s foot hoping he might provide a distraction to bail him out of this particular problem.
A soft oof fanned through the top of his hair and steadying hands gripped his hips.