The Love Club

Gatsby wakes me, her paws digging into the skin just above my breasts. I slowly open one eye, then the other, frowning at her. She mews before rubbing her face against my cheek, and I’m thankful for her moral support. The alarm clock reads 10:39 and I know I need to force myself from my sheets if I’m hoping to make it to lunch with Duncan in time.

I set Gatsby lightly on the floor and rub a hand over my face while I shimmy toward the edge of my bed. Running a hand through my hair a few times, I glance at my reflection in the mirror and sigh. I’ll need a bit of make-up if I hope to disguise the heavy circles under my eyes and the constellation of stress-breakouts that has formed on my chin.

I carry my phone into the bathroom with me, though I know no one’s trying to get a hold of me anymore. Mitchie has long since given up trying to get me to answer, and Harry hasn’t called for a few days. Tinley must be satisfied with whatever Niall told her after our discussion, so she’s fallen quiet as well.

I get to work brushing my teeth. The next task is piling on enough make-up to cover my blemishes but not so much that my face looks completely caked over. It’s a difficult balance to find, but I finally manage to get it to my liking. Next, I throw on a casual dress from my closet and slip into my sandals. I pour Gatsby a bowl of cat food before I make it out the door.

The weather is nice; sunny again with a slight breeze. My dress flutters with the wind, but I don’t mind. I’m too distracted lighting up my phone screen every few minutes.

The last thing I need is a call or text from Harry, but I can’t deny that I wish he’d do one or the other. He’s probably angry at me, and I can’t say I blame him. I only wish I could think of a way to explain myself, but none come to mind.

O’Malley’s is a few blocks from my house, almost too far to walk, but I don’t mind the physical activity. It’s nice to be in the fresh air and out of my bed. I’d missed London while I was gone and I hadn’t noticed how much until just now as I wait at a crosswalk with a group of mismatched people heading in the same direction. I wonder vaguely where they’re going.

An arm brushes against me when the light changes from a stop to walk. My head turns to see who it is, a feeling of warmth spreading over me. It’s a girl with long blonde hair, maybe four or five years my elder. She apologizes quietly and tucks a strand of windstrewn locks behind one of her ears before turning back to the boy who is attatched to her at the hand.

Some people just have all the luck.

I take a deep breath and strut on, adjusting the strap of my crossbody self-consciously. I thought I had long ago accepted that this was how life was, that I’d never feel the way I made others feel toward one another, but now that I’ve had my first taste of it, I’m addicted. I feel like one of those street corner junkies, huddled on the ground and quivering as they crash down from their high. I wonder how long this low will last, if I’ll always have withdrawl symptoms.

O’Malley’s is a corner pub and grill. I’m scanning the outdoor tables but I don’t see Duncan yet. He might be inside, but just as I’m pulling open the door my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s pathetic how quickly I glance down at it.

“Shift is running over. Will be 20 mins late. Apologies.”

I sigh, running my left hand through my hair as I type out a reply and step into the restaurant. When the hostess asks where I’d like to be seated, I request an outdoor table.

I slump down into my seat, uncomfortably kneading away at my neck. I don’t like all this down time to sit alone and think. I’m desperate for a distraction and want nothing more than for Duncan to magically appear so we can talk this all through. Above all else, I need a mate, and Duncan has always been good at being that for me.

After ordering a water, I can’t help myself. I have to look at the week-old messages Harry’s left. My hand shakes as I unlock my phone, my thumb hovering over the messages icon.

“I wish you’d talk to me.”

It’s only the first message and it already feels like a slap in the face. I don’t know how I can sense the bitterness in a message, but I can.

“This is so stupid, Mina. Be an adult about this. Pick up the phone.”

I sigh as I scroll through the rest. Thankfully, there’s only a few more.

“Niall says he can’t get a hold of you either. I’m not sure whether it’s a compliment or an insult that I’m not the only one you’re pushing away.

That was harsh, I didn’t mean it. I’m just frustrated. Please call me.

Mina, if I did something you should at least tell me so I can fix it. I want to fix this.

Or if there’s nothing I can do, you could at least have the decency to tell me that, too. ”

I’m on the verge of tears, but I’ve reached the end of the missed texts. Above that is playful banter, which stings almost as much to look at. I set the phone down and take a large drag of the ice water that the waitress must have sat down while I was distracted.

“Mina?”

My posture straightens at the sound of the voice. I recognize it immediately and cringe, wondering how on earth somone like me could have such shit timing. When I turn around, Victoria leans against the iron gate that runs the perimeter of the patio.

“What are you doing back in London?” she asks, tilting her head to one side.

A better question would be what the hell is she doing in London when I ran into her last in Sunderland. In a pair of black trousers with a matching blazer over her cream colored blouse, she looks the epitome of perfection. Her dark hair is curled today, falling in waves on either side of her face and I can’t even compare myself to her anymore; there are no similarities and she’s already won.

My immediate response is to snap, but I can’t do that. She has no clue, and furthermore I can’t bring myself to hate her. There’s nothing Harry deserves more than happiness, and if this is the woman who will bring that to him, I can’t stand in the way of that. Better, I should take this as an opportunity to talk her into finding Harry if he’s too mad at me to do it himself.

“I finished up with Niall, so I thought it was time for me to come home,” I finally manage to answer. She furrows her brows together.

“What about Harry?”

The way his name falls from her mouth stings in my chest. I find myself reaching for my water again and taking a sip to wet my dry tongue. She must sense my lack of answer for that, because when I turn to face her again she’s unlatching the gate to let herself in. I watch with pursed lips as she strides up to my table and takes the empty seat across from me.

“What’s going on?” she asks, and I watch her with slight amusement; this girl I’ve handed the reigns over to who is concerned with my broken heart. The thing about Victoria is that she’s impossible to dislike.

“Nothing,” I answer her with a slight shake of my head. I chuckle a little and hope she can’t tell how forced it is. “I did all I could to get Harry to call you again, but he’s being a little stubborn right now. I figured if he was done listening to me, I should probably come back home and take on some new clients.”

Victoria frowns, shaking her head. When she moves, her curls bounce gracefully on her shoulders. I wonder if I should try to grow my hair back, but even then I’d never achieve the sort of effortless grace this woman has.

“Harry’s not interested in me,” she says slowly, her eyes connecting with mine. “He’s not interested in anyone except you.”

“What?” I deadpan.

Anything that had developed with Harry happened only after the date I’d set them up on. I wonder how she could possibly know about this when Harry had supposedly never spoken to her again.

“Mina, Harry likes you. He told me when we went to dinner.”

“No,” I immediately reject, sitting further back in my chair as I let this new information wash over me. “He thinks he likes me. He didn’t give you enough of a chance.”

“You don’t undersand,” she laughs, a musical sound that rings in my ears. “I can tell you exactly what he said when he sat down at the table, if you’d like.”

I’m incapable of making a response, so she goes ahead anyway.

“He looked at me and he said, ‘I’m sure you’re a fantastic girl. You’re beautiful and you’ve got everything in the world going for you, but I’ve made a colossal mistake with that girl over there and I’m not interested in dating anyone else’. Honest to God, I didn’t even get the chance to tell him my name.”

I swallow thickly. Niall had told me on the phone he’d asked me to set him up in order to buy more time with me. I thought then it was just a way to spin the story in his favor, but with Victoria’s admittance it sounds truthful. Had he really done it in the hopes of getting close enough to me that I’d give up on the matchmaking charade? It sounds a hopelessly flawed plan, but then again Harry isn’t the smartest of boy band members. In my silence, Victoria continues.

“Truthfully, he only stayed as long as he did because he felt bad for having me drive out to eat dinner alone. He skipped out early when he realized you’d left, he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Hearing this all kills me. Harry, so impossibly sure about the wrong girl. I wonder how long Harry’s known, how long he’s been waiting this out until the moment I felt comfortable enough to let him in. The moment I did, I shut him out again and I can’t blame him for how angry he feels now. I only wish hearing this changed things.

This thought has only just occurred to me when something takes place that does.

“Did you get so bored waiting that you replaced me?”

I turn to see Duncan leaning against the same fence Victoria had been behind a few minutes earlier. He’s dressed in a pressed white shirt and khaki’s, sans his green apron from the grocery store. He grins at me, and then his eyes shift and his pupils dilate. When I look back at Victoria, she’s shaking out her hair and smiling sheepishly.

“That’s my cue to leave,” she jokes, but Duncan reaches out a hand to stop her.

“No, stay. There’s room for three.”

I stare at them blankly, my mouth dry. Duncan turns to look at me, his brows furrowed together in confusion. When Victoria notices me, she reaches out a hand.

“Mina, are you okay?”

“There’s something I need to do,” I blurt out suddenly, knocking over my chair as I stand.

“Do you need help getting home? You look ill,” Duncan offers.

I shake my head, leaning down to push the chair back up. They both have concerned looks on their faces, but I’m in a panic as I mumble something about a phone call and practically sprint through the gate, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I go. It wasn’t the heartfelt friendship-rekindling I was going for, but Duncan can wait.

He’s just met his soulmate after all.

I’m a complete idiot.

I fumble for my phone in my bag, my shaking hands failing to grasp it. It falls to the ground with a thud and I wince, scared to pick it up in case I’ve just cracked it. I sigh in relief when it comes up clean. Dusting it off, I find Niall’s number in my contacts and dial. When he doesn’t pick up, I call again. I go through this process six more times before he finally answers.

“Jesus, Mina. Timezones,” he mutters sleepily into the reciever.

“I fucked up,” I blurt.

“Tell me about it,” he answers, and though I can’t see him, I imagine he’s rolling his eyes.

“I need your help.”

–
I’ve seen just about enough of airports in the last few weeks. I’m starting to build up an aversion, though I know if whatever it is I’m about to do works out, I’ll be seeing even more of them in the near future. I swallow my distaste and hold out hope.

When I arrive at the airport in Portugal, there’s a car waiting for me. The boys are mid-show and I know by the time I get there, it will be about over. The flight time wasn’t ideal, but it was the first one I could find. I slump into the back seat, Gatsby asleep in her carrier by my side, and wonder if this is worth it.

It’s the last show of the European leg of the tour. There’s a two week break before the boys get back to work in the U.S. and I should probably have just waited, but I’m not sure if Harry’s even coming home on the break or flying straight to his L.A. home. My mind has been a jumbled mess since I realized how very wrong I’d been about who was Victoria’s intended match. I’ve been running in circles trying to figure out how I could have gotten it so confused, what I could say to Harry to make it right when I see him.

We pull up to the arena and I thank the driver as I slip out of the back seat, Gatsby in one hand and my duffel bag in the other. A security guard I recognize smiles when he opens the door for me and I sheepishly grin back at him before disappearing into the depths of the stadium’s halls.

Even back here, the screaming is echoing through the tunnels. I can hear music still playing, a drumbeat and bass line easily recognizable. I barely make it with the weight of my luggage slowing me down, but I manage to sprint to the backstage area just as the music stops. The boys are making their way down a stairwell and I pause in my steps, lost in a crowd of security guards and other stage hands.

Niall is searching the chaos for me, and when his bright blue eyes find me he offers an encouraging smile. I return it somewhat hesitantly, my stomach tied in knots when I see Harry is right behind him. Even from here, I can sense something is off with him. It’s subtle enough that most people wouldn’t recognize it, but I can pick up on it from across the room. Normally buoyant and energized after a performance, he’s doing his best to fake it as he high fives crew members and shakes hands, but he looks exhausted. There’s less bounce in his step, duller light in his eyes. When his gaze falls on me accidentally, he stops in his tracks.

I bite down on my lip as he studies me warily, his eyes taking in everything from my luggage to the threading on my dress. I find myself suddenly wishing I’d worn something else, but there hadn’t been time between flinging things in my suitcase and booking the flight over. He’s silent for a long time, and for a fraction of a second I think he might want to smile. It’s gone just as quickly as I thought it was there, so fast that I wonder if I had seen it at all to begin with. Finally, he wets his lips to speak.

“What are you doing here?”

A valid question. Still, the sound of his voice hits me like a train, fast and hard. It’s worn out from the concert, gravelly and harsh, laced with doubt and hesitance. I hate being the one who put it there. And though I’d had this big speech planned on the train, I’m too caught up in him to remember a word.

He stands tall, his feet parted in a somewhat defensive stance. With his hands by his sides, he’s using his thumb to play with one of the rings on his fingers, a habit I can only describe as a nervous tick. There’s a scarf tied around his head, pulling the curls from his face so I can see the wrinkles drawn into his forehead. There’s a slight purse to his lips and a furrow between his brows and I wonder how the universe thought him up. Above all, I wonder how he could possibly be mine to have as my mind kicks into overdrive to think of something intelligent to say. The only words that come are the ones that have been looping in my head since I dialed Niall’s phone number.

“I messed up.”

He blinks, and I realize I should probably elaborate. This much he already knows, has been trying to tell me for the last week and a half, but I’ve been too idiotic and numb to listen. My heartbeat quickens and I stumble for something else to say.

“I shouldn’t have left. I especially shouldn’t have left without a proper explanation, and I don’t know what else to do besides say I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I am.”

It’s nowhere near as eloquent as I’d hoped, but it’s all I have. Harry’s gaze leaves me for a moment, as if he’s trying to process what I’ve just handed him. Gatsby mews in her cage impatiently and I share her inquiries, but shush her all the same.

“What do you want, Mina?”

The way he says my name, I want to cry. It’s soft and careful and I can’t help when my eyes flutter softly shut. I force them open and rack my brain for something to respond to that because he doesn’t know and I must tread lightly. He doesn’t know what I do, the burst of color he evokes when he walks into a room. There’s nothing else to hold my attention when he’s around, nothing I want more than to be near him and to hear his voice when he speaks to me. And above all else, I know for certain that this is it for me. I’ve found soulmates for countless other people, know the feeling the moment it stirs within me, and it’s never been so strong and sure as it is now, standing across from him.

He’s my one. But it’s not like I can say that to him, so I try something a little less terrifying.

“I want to be here.”

There’s the smallest hint of hope behind those green eyes of his, but he still hasn’t moved. I think he’s been angrier at me than I’ve originally anticipated, but he can’t help but hear me out. I think he might have a weakness for me, and the thought makes me want to blush but I hold out strong until he asks me something else.

“And your career?”

I want to scoff when he conjures up the weak excuse I’d thrown at him in Charles de Gaulle. Instead, I offer him a smile and answer, “I think I can afford to take a vacation.”

This time I’m sure I can see a smile tugging at his lips, but he’s doing his damndest to put it to rest. I wonder when he’ll finally cut me slack, not that I deserve it, but I can’t help but crave it. Standing this close but not feeling his touch is taking a toll on me. Behind him, someone calls his name, a warning that he needs to hit the showers and change. His eyes don’t waver from me as he speaks a final question.

“How long?”

I swallow thickly, though I know the answer.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

He can’t possibly know the weight that carries, but I do. My heart feels like it’ll beat out of my chest, and my pulse quickens even more when he finally, finally allows that grin to spread slowly over his face. He turns then and jogs toward wherever it is he’s needed, and I watch him go with a relieved sigh on my lips and a pounding in my head.

I want to follow, but I know better. Post-concert is almost as bad as pre-concert. There will be hordes of girls waiting outside just to catch a glimpse of him, and if he’s in one of his better moods he’ll take the time for photos. I hope he does.

I feel somewhat relieved now that I know I won’t be rejected outright. There’s more to discuss, but for now I move out of everyone’s way and slide down to the floor against one of the walls.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting there when Niall finally comes around. I know he’s usually one of the first to shower and get back to the hotel, but that usually takes him twenty-five minutes at his fastest. When he appears suddenly at my side, he takes Gatsby out of her carrier and runs his hand along her back affectionately. She’s glad to see him and snuggles up into his lap easily.

“So you wake up and you just know?” he says conversationally.

I can’t help but look over at him and smile. His gaze is still cast downward at my cat, but I sense his full attention is on me. I wonder how long it’s taken him to catch on.

“I just know,” I agree.

“So Tinley...”

“Tinley.”

He’s silent, pressing his lips together while he scratches behind Gatsby’s ear. A moment later he lets out a long breath.

“Shite.”

I laugh, throwing my head back. He finally looks over to me, grinning good-naturedly. I’d ask him how it felt to suddenly be handed over your soulmate on a gold platter, to look at someone and know that’s who you’ll be with for the rest of your life, but I don’t need to. I’m there myself.

“What does it feel like?” he asks. “How can you tell?”

I shrug, folding my hands before me. My legs are stretched out beside his, but they’re shorter. The ends of my toes pointed just barely reach where his feet are turned upright.

“It feels warm,” I say. “Like in the spring when it’s still a little cool outside, but the sun warms you up, and all you can think about is how calm you feel and happy? It feels like that, but with a lot more nerves.”

“So it feels like falling?”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“And with him?”

I sigh, trying to think of a way to word how it feels to look at Harry and be sure. It’s a new sensation and I struggle to properly describe it.

“It’s the same, but maybe with a magnifying glass placed over the sun.”

It makes Niall laugh, which makes me smile. I close my eyes and lean my head against his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind as he continues to play with my cat.

“We’re pathetic,” he finally states.

“The worst,” I agree.

We sit like that a while longer, two friends and a cat. The hubbub and commotion of the crowd has long since disappated and the crew is getting to work with cleaning up the wiring. My eyes follow the cords as they’re wound up, an endless mess of thick strings. I wonder how shit of a job that would be.

Gatsby mews suddenly, hopping from Niall’s lap. I start, sitting upright and preparing to grab her should she try to run away. Instead, she busies herself weaving between a pair of legs walking in our direction. Harry picks her up and holds her to his chest, giving her head a light kiss. His hair is damp from the shower, but he looks comfortable in a pair of joggers and a hoodie.

“It’s good to have you back, Mina,” Niall tells me earnestly, patting my leg before he stands to leave. I smile lazily back at him as he brushes by Harry and disappears down a hall, leaving the two of us alone. When Harry’s green eyes settle on me, I feel suddenly shy.

He rolls his lips as he walks over to me, slowly lowering himself down. His legs are even longer than Niall’s, reaching out a good few inches further than mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, but we’re not touching. Still, I relish in sitting beside him. It feels like taking my first gasp of air after holding my breath.

“What changed?” he asks quietly, so softly I wonder for a moment whether or not I imagined it. His gaze shifts to me and I know I haven’t.

“There was something I thought mattered, but then I realized it didn’t.”

“What was it?”

“Everything.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He doesn’t really have to, the way he leans subtly toward me, petting Gatsby and smiling to himself. I wonder how I’ll be able to pull this off, seeing him and acting like everything is normal. I’ll have to reign myself in, remember he doesn’t know what I do, that there are boundaries to new relationships. If he even wants that yet.

“Why didn’t you just wait until I came back to London?” he asks next.

“I don’t think I could have waited that long,” I shrug. He rolls his eyes, but the dimples stay imprinted in his cheeks. Gatsby purrs in his lap.

“I suppose,” he sighs suddenly, “that this means I’ll have to take you out on a proper date.”

I can’t hide the grin this elicits. Harry’s arm brushes against mine.

“I suppose,” I agree half-heartedly and he chuckles.

Sitting beside him with Gatsby happy in his arms, I remember the first time we found ourselves in this position, on a plane almost three months ago. He’d asked me then why if I was so far out of my comfort zone, I had agreed to go on the tour in the first place. I had responded that it felt right.

Back then, I couldn’t possibly comprehend what that meant. But when he absently lets his hand fall to my thigh, I know it’s not coincidence. It never is.