“Yes, fight, with his skinny arms and tiny fists,” said Wesley. “I must have four stone on him. I’d stormed his antiques shop, tried to bribe him and then threatened to turn him in to the police. But he got up in my face—well, my chin, I suppose—ready for battle, and do you know why?” Wesley leaned in. “Because he wants to be the man who makes you happy.”

Arthur felt a dizzying pulse of affection for Rory. “I—really?”

“Those were his words.” Wesley pointed with the cigar. “So why aren’t you willing to fight for him?”

“I would fight—”

“To protect him, yes. But not to keep him.”

Arthur opened his mouth—and then snapped it shut without saying anything.

“I mean, look at you,” Wesley said. “One tiny obstacle in your way and you’re throwing up the white flag and crying in your tea. For Christ’s sake, pull your head out of your arse. If Rory tells you to fuck off, then yes, fuck off and leave him alone. But don’t run away with your tail between your legs because you imagined some rival and decided you knew what Rory would want better than Rory himself. Honestly, Arthur, give up football and boxing, you’ve clearly taken too many blows to the head.”

Arthur should have been insulted, but his entire body was lightening. “When did you get smart about romance?” he said, with grudging admiration.

“When I made the same mistake.” Wesley took another pull. “I let you go. By the time I’d realized I should have fought to keep you, you’d found someone else. You’re on the same path now, and the only place it leads is waking up alone every morning because you reaped what you sowed. Do you want to be me?”

Arthur’s heart twisted. What was worse, letting Wesley keep believing he’d blown it, or giving him the harsh truth? “It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d fought,” Arthur said quietly, choosing truth, because it’s what he himself would have wanted. “There was nothing you could have said or done to make me stay. I wasn’t in love with you.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Wesley blew out the smoke in a long, hard stream. “You’re being cruel to be kind,” he murmured, knowingly and tightly. “But I suppose in a way that is a comfort to hear.” He leaned against the rail. “I didn’t love you either. I hoped maybe I could. Most days I don’t believe I’ll ever love anyone in this life besides my mother, God rest her soul.”

Ouch. Arthur should have remembered he had no harsh truths half as sharp as what Wesley hurt himself with.

“So.” Wesley put the cigar between his lips. “Are you in love with Rory?”

Arthur hesitated.