Change My Ticket, page 15
He means to make a joke of it, but can’t quite help the bitterness creeping into his tone. While Ray doesn’t respond, he reaches over to briefly touch Gabe’s hand on the wheel, fingertips light against Gabe’s skin. After a deep breath, Gabe sends him a grateful smile that Ray returns.
“Are we there yet?” Patrick pipes up from the backseat. It might be an indirect slight against Gabe given he’s the reason they’re driving when the train would have been faster, but the rearview mirror shows an impish gleam in Patrick’s eyes.
Ray appears to draw a similar conclusion because he twists around, voice careful. “You know it’ll be another three hours, so what’s your play here?”
“Can I have some ice cream?” Patrick volleys back. “I want ice cream! And I need to pee!”
Gabe bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. “How long,” he asks, directed at Ray, “do you think he can keep this up?”
“It’s Patrick,” Ray says. “Indefinitely would be a safe guess.”
“Hey!” Patrick leans into the gap between the two front seats. “I resent the implication. Just trying to hold up my part of the deal. If mummy and daddy are sitting upfront, the rowdy kid in the back needs to keep up a steady string of complaints.”
“Please don’t.” Ray’s tone holds little hope.
“I’m bored.” Patrick bounces in place, grinning. “Entertain me.”
“How about some jazzy Christmas tunes?” Ray asks the car at large. “If we turn it up real loud, it may drown Patrick out.”
“I want the Three Investigators.”
“I want a new best mate.”
“Harsh!” Patrick clasps a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t love me anymore. Have I been replaced? I know I don’t have luscious curls and soulful green eyes—”
“Soulful?” Gabe interrupts, amusement tickling the back of his throat. “Have you been hanging around the comment sections of my social media profiles?”
Patrick gives a grave nod. “The internet is a dark and scary place, mate.”
“Don’t I know it.” Unbidden, Gabe’s mind flashes to imagining his fans’ reactions to the news. Will they feel betrayed? His sexuality may not be as big a deal as it would have been ten or twenty years ago, but it also won’t be met with shoulder shrugs and smalltalk about the weather.
Some of his thoughts must show on his face because Ray taps his hand again. “Hey, I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“I hope so.” Gabe keeps his gaze fixed on the road. “Like, my career is kind of built on me being cute and theoretically available. I can handle a paycheck cut—might need to sell the Porsche—but what if I suddenly don’t get movie roles anymore?” Sparks of light flit through his vision, and he blinks to clear them away. “I don’t have a theatre voice.”
“Breathe,” Ray orders, quiet but firm. His fingers dig into Gabe’s elbow, the contact oddly grounding.
Gabe sucks in a harsh breath. “Sorry.” Another breath. He realises he’s gripping the wheel too tightly and forces himself to loosen his hold.
“Better?” Ray’s tone is devoid of judgment.
“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’ve got strategies for this, I swear.” Again, Gabe inhales and holds the air for a moment before letting it go on a controlled exhalation. He glances away from the road just long enough to find Ray watching him with calm eyes. “How did you notice before I did?”
“I used to get panic attacks sometimes—in the mornings, when I had to go to school.” Ray sighs. “Physical contact helped. And someone talking me through it, especially when it was right at the start.”
“You never told me that.” It’s Patrick, voice a near-whisper.
On the periphery of his vision, Gabe catches Ray turning his upper body to face Patrick in the backseat. “I figured you were worried enough about me.”
For a beat, Patrick is silent. When he speaks again, it’s with an iron edge. “Okay, here’s the deal: if I see Xander, I’m going to kill him. You two can be my alibi.”
“That’s the arsehole you dated in school, right?” Gabe shoots another glance at Ray, then at Patrick via the rearview mirror. “Because if yes? Deal.”
“Good. I like you.” Patrick nods, as if to himself.
“All right, stop.” Ray raises both hands, along with his voice. “Can we all just settle down, please, and lower the testosterone level in this car? And can we maybe also acknowledge that I’m a proper adult and don’t need you two wannabe warriors defending my honour and good name?”
“I know how to hit a moving target with an arrow,” Gabe informs Patrick, as though Ray hadn’t said a word.
“Excellent.” Patrick rubs his hands. “And I know the most vulnerable places in a person’s body. I think we’re set.”
Gabe throws a quick grin over his shoulder. “You know, if the acting thing doesn’t work out for me, maybe you and I could start a murder-for-hire business? We’ll only accept targets that deserve to be eliminated.”
“Sounds good. I’m getting kind of bored with physical therapy anyway.”
“Why me?” Ray asks no one in particular, but there’s a tinge of amusement to his tone. It fades when he continues, though. “And Gabe, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of roles waiting for you after this. Maybe not the lead in a hetero rom-com, but—”
“That’s a load of rubbish,” Patrick interjects. “Did anyone ask Heath Ledger and whatshisname—Jake something?—for their gay cred before casting them in Brokeback Mountain? Nope. So there.”
“I wish it was that simple,” Gabe tells him.
“Well, it should be. It’s called acting for a reason, isn’t it?” Patrick’s tone is matter-of-fact. “And at the risk of sounding like a fawning fan boy: you, my friend, actually have a talent for acting.”
The compliment is unexpected, especially from Patrick. Maybe all it took was a murder scheme for his caution to evaporate.
“Thank you.” Gabe lets the words sit for a moment before he sighs. “And I really do wish it was that simple, but see, the key difference is the target audience. Rightfully or not, the assumption is that any movie with a mainly romantic narrative will appeal to a female audience. And that female audience will want an attractive male lead they can pin their hopes and dreams to—which is a harder sell if he’s gay.”
“Sounds like you thought about this a bit.” Ray’s frown colours his tone. “But you’re not even in predominantly romantic roles, so why does it matter?”
“Because the assumption—again, rightfully or not—is that for action movies, it’s guys who want to watch them. Add some male eye candy, and they’ll have an easier time getting their girlfriends to come along.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Patrick’s chuckle carries a heavy note of sarcasm. “This sounds like a theory from the sixties, when the recommended treatment for female depression was a haircut and a make-up tutorial.”
Gabe shrugs. “Yeah, well. Welcome to traditional Hollywood, where clocks run a little more slowly. To be fair, things are changing. Just … not particularly quickly.”
“What about all the streaming services that are out there now? Like Netflix and Amazon and so on. They’re less traditional, right?” Ray sounds hopeful. “Because, you know, Patrick is right: you’re not just a pretty face. You’re talented, and surely that has to count for something.”
Coming from Patrick, it was a nice surprise; coming from Ray, it lights a warm glow in Gabe’s chest. “I thought you hadn’t seen the movies?”
“I watched them a few days ago.” Ray sounds distinctly vague.
In the backseat, Patrick chortles. “True, that. Andrew and I sacrificed a precious half-day to rewatch them with you, all just so you’d be prepared for the premiere if Gabe doubled down on his invitation. Which” —directed at Gabe— “you did not.”
“Because Ray’s message made it pretty clear he didn’t want to be there,” Gabe points out. “And I assumed from his tone that he wasn’t particularly keen to see me. I can take a hint.”
“Well, you know what they say about assuming,” Ray mutters, frowning.
“Assuming makes an ass out of you and Ming?” Gabe asks.
“Well played,” Patrick comments from the backseat. For some reason, he sounds delighted by this entire exchange.
“Look, Gabe—” Ray’s tone makes Gabe glance over long enough for their eyes to meet before Gabe has to return his attention to the road. “I didn’t want you to invite me just because you promised we’d meet again and you wanted to keep your word.”
This feels like a conversation they’ve had before.
“I didn’t feel obligated.” Orange lights flashing up ahead make Gabe slow down the car: two lanes merging into one. He indicates right and waits for someone to let him in before he shoots Ray another look. “Why do you find it so hard to believe that I” —like you— “enjoy spending time with you?”
“Because you’re you!” Ray makes it sound like the obvious answer to an obvious question, and two can play this game.
Gabe snaps his fingers. “Oh, I know this one! What is: a potentially out-of-work actor who, at twenty-one, may have already seen his best days?”
It earns him a glare, which is kind of fun. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Putting yourself down.”
Gabe smirks. “You first.”
“I want ice cream,” Patrick says from the backseat, sounding utterly pitiful.
They’re all silent for a couple of seconds.
Gabe is first to burst out laughing, and Ray and Patrick aren’t far behind. Maybe it’s a simple reaction to the tension that’s been heavy in Gabe’s bones since Walter’s call yesterday, like a pendulum swinging the other way, but whatever it is—in this very moment, Gabe feels ready to face the world head-on.
His confidence fades almost immediately, but he holds on to the memory as Ray finally finds a playlist he approves of. While Patrick belts out lyrics he seems to be making up on the fly, Ray chiming in occasionally, Gabe keeps his hands on the wheel and refuses to plan any further than the drive.
Mostly, it works.
Chapter Eleven
T hey drop Patrick off at his parents’ house, just a block from where Ray grew up until the age of eleven. After that, it’s just Ray and Gabe in the car, and Ray is aware of that in ways he isn’t sure he wants to be.
Fortunately, jazzy Christmas tunes bridge the momentary silence that descends in the wake of Patrick’s departure, and it’s only a minute before Gabe clears his throat. “So, any words of advice?”
Well, that’s delightfully generic.
“If you put a tea bag in your whiskey, no one will judge you for daytime drinking.”
“You got that from Patrick,” Gabe guesses, quite accurately. “And I meant advice about meeting your family. Any dos and don’ts?”
Gabe sounds nervous. Which, well… Which would be perfectly natural given he’s about to enter a house full of strangers after his waste-of-space parents sold him out to The Daily Mail, of all things. Surely they could have picked some ultra-Christian church bulletin if it was all about getting the truth out there—except that would have meant leaving a nice paycheck on the table. Seems like moral righteousness only gets you so far when it’s time to pay the bills.
Anyway, advice. Ray tries to take a mental step back and assess his family objectively. There’s too much love woven into his perception, though.
“Ignore anything that comes out of Allie’s and Jazmin’s mouths, as much as you possibly can. Fay—Farah—is the oldest, so she’s less likely to embarrass me, herself, or you. Also, she’s a mum, so she probably has to be a bit more mature.”
“Two kids, you said?”
“Jasper and Jess, yeah. Their father decided he’s not a family man after all, so he’s not in the picture.”
A frown wrinkles Gabe’s forehead. “Isn’t that the kind of thing one should decide before having kids?”
“Amen, brother. Take a right here.” Familiar rows of semi-detached red brick houses glide by outside the window. Home. “As for my mum, don’t insult the royal family where she can hear you. I honestly think she believes in the Queen Louise more than she believes in Jesus, at this point.”
Gabe chuckles. “Not a problem. I actually like the royal family.”
“You’ve met them?” Ray doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Maybe because, for minutes at a time, he keeps forgetting that Gabe isn’t just Gabe; that he’s Gabe Duke, the kind of guy to make headlines.
“Only in passing. The prince’s husband is funny.”
“Of course he is.” Ray shakes his head, more amused than annoyed by how nonchalantly Gabe talks about people that most Brits will only ever see on TV. “So, anyway, I think that just about covers the dos and don’ts.”
“I didn’t bring any presents.” Gabe sounds as though he only just realised a gross oversight on his part.
“No one expects you to. Stop worrying, please.” Ray flicks his hand at the last house along the road, a two-story detached home with patchwork renovations done to it over the years. It sits right next to the train line, open fields beyond. “Number two, over there. You can park on the road.”
Gabe obediently pulls over and turns off the engine before he looks up at the house. Briefly, Ray wonders what Gabe sees. The wooden window frames that haven’t seen a fresh coat of paint since Ray’s grandparents lived here? The patchy lawn or the mossy roof? It must be a far cry from the house Gabe owns in L.A.
“I love how close to the fields it is,” Gabe says, smiling. “We should go for a run later.”
“By ‘we,’ I assume you mean the royal we, correct?”
“‘We’ as in ‘you and I.’ Andrew told me you used to be a runner—no time like the present to start again.” Gabe’s grin shows off white, even teeth, and Ray shields his eyes with a hand.
“Stop that. I need another coffee before I can handle your movie star smile.”
Gabe leans closer, still grinning. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a ‘wait in the car while I prepare my mum and sister for who you are.’”
“That sounds suspiciously like a yes to me.”
“It’s a maybe.” Ray ignores Gabe’s triumphant cheer as he opens the passenger door and gets out of the car. “Be right back. Don’t talk to any strangers while I’m gone.”
“Yes, sir.” For good measure, Gabe adds a military salute before he unbuckles himself and relaxes into the driver’s seat. Ray takes one second to rake his gaze over him, then he turns to face the house and the music.
The door opens before Ray can ring the bell, and then his mum’s right there, pulling him into a tight hug that smells like vanilla and home, calling for Allie to get downstairs and say hello to her brother. Allie’s there a moment later, sticking out her tongue at him before she jumps into his arms and holds on for longer than she’d ever admit to.
“Why did your friend stay in the car?” Ray’s mum asks when they finally separate.
“Right, about that.” Best to get it over and done with—just like jumping into an ice-cold lake. Ray tilts his head at Allie. “Remember how I said I probably wouldn’t see Gabe Duke again?”
She narrows her eyes. “Yeah…?”
“Turns out I was wrong.”
“What…” Understanding flashes over her face. “That’s not funny.”
“It isn’t meant to be.” Well, maybe it’s a tiny bit funny—Allie likes to pretend she’s cool, so seeing her rattled like this is a rare treat. “You probably saw what broke this morning, right? He’s got nowhere else to go, so I invited him to spend Christmas with us.”
“You invited him…” Allie’s clever brain works through the implications even as she’s staring fixedly at him. “Wait, so you’re—”
“We’re not,” Ray interrupts. “Just friends. His hotel was surrounded, and he doesn’t really know people in London other than me.”
“Can someone fill me in, please?” Ray’s mum affects her patient nurse’s voice.
“Gabe Duke,” Allie says, like that explains it all.
“Is he that actor you had up on your wall?” Mum asks Allie, and oh, this is good. This is excellent. “The one who went with Ray to that football match?”
“You had his poster on the wall?” If Ray is smirking like a shark smelling blood, well, so what of it?
“I was sixteen,” Allie states, with all the dignity of her recently-turned-eighteen years. Ray bites down on the temptation to mock her—he needs her on her best behaviour, and tickling her combative reflexes won’t do him any good.
“Okay,” Ray says pleasantly. “So you’re well and truly over it, meaning you won’t mind if he spends Christmas with us. And you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Because that’s just how much of a grownup you are.”
“I can tell when you’re manipulating me, you know.” Yet she looks vaguely proud, so he’s pretty sure he hauled her in hook, line, and sinker. Next up: his mum.
Ray gives her his best sheepish smile. “Gabe is a bit famous, yeah, but mostly, he’s a nice guy with awful parents. They outed him in The Daily Mail this morning, and I just figured that in the spirit of Christmas, the least we can do is give him a place to hide for a few days.”
Also Charlie and possibly Gabe’s sister Deborah. But Ray will introduce those additional pieces of information when the time is right.
“Christ, that poor boy.” Mum glances past Ray towards the car. “Isn’t he nineteen or so? Far too young to be in the spotlight like that.”
Ray wonders if his mum just experienced a flashback to how much Ray struggled—and for him, it was only a few classmates harassing him, not professionals with cameras and microphones.
“He’s twenty-one,” Ray corrects. “But yeah.”
A huff suggests that Ray’s mum considers those two years to be perfectly irrelevant. “Well, of course he’s welcome. Don’t make him wait out there, will you? Does he have any dietary requirements I should be aware of?”
