I roll my eyes and chuckle. My appetite returns and I resume my meal. We talk about nothing for awhile, and once lunch is done, I do the dishes, against his protests of course. 

“I’m not letting you create a new mountain, Lee,” I mutter.

“Yeah, yeah,” he returns. He stands as he lights another cigarette and moves to lean backward against the counter. He glances at me suddenly, folding his arms. “When did you start calling me that?” he asks.

“What?”

“Lee.”

I return his glance as I run the water over my hand, testing the temperature before plugging the sink and squeezing in the dish soap. “Do you not like it? I won’t call you that if that’s the case.”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, it’s fine.” A pause as he takes a long drag. “That’s what Robin used to call me,” he finally says. “He was the only one.”

“Oh,” I say softly. I put in the dishes and begin the task. “I guess he owns the copyright on it.” I smile at him. “I’ll respect that.”

The look he gives me is almost unreadable, which isn’t unusual. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even me he sees. There have been a few times where I’ve been doing something, put my hands on my face a certain way, sigh or grumble or say something that makes him stop and I get this same look. This started the day our friendship began three months ago. I’ve asked him if anything is wrong, but he’ll snap out of it and just shake his head.

Like now.

“It’s fine,” he says again. “He’d be fine with it, too.” He taps his finger under the edge of the counter. “You’re a lot like him.”

I say nothing as I move the dishes to the other sink to rinse. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He chuckles softly. “He really would like you, Bug, and that’s saying something. He didn’t like a great deal many people. He didn’t even like me when we first met.”

I chuckle. “Gee, that does sound similar.”

“Not quite,” he grins, showing a little of his teeth. It really is a pretty smile if he’d just let it all the way out. “You didn’t like my response to your failed attempt at getting me home.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t unwarranted. Maybe a bit extreme, but,” I shrug. “You’re right, I did like you right away.” I pull the drain and shake my hands before reaching for the dish towel. “Why didn’t he like you?”

He folds his arms. “Because I was being a cocky bastard and showing off to a bunch of my friends while playing basketball. He was sitting on the metal benches with a few of his own friends watching us and talking. He was only there because one of the girls with him was dating someone I was playing with. Robin’s not a sports fan at all.” He swallows. “Wasn’t…” he corrected softly. 

He cleared his throat and finished his cigarette, stubbing it out in the nearby ashtray. “Anyway, when I saw him, I was instantly smitten. I thought he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen and I went up to talk to him.” He snorts, that grin back in place as he glances at me. “You know those scenes in movies when the guy leans on the chain link fence and tries to flirt with the girl?”

“That was you?”

“That was me,” he nods. “He was far from impressed. Told me he had no interest in cocky wankers who think they’re of greater status than the Queen.”

My eyebrows rose. “That’s harsh. And very British.”

“He was. He grew up in the north of England, Yorkshire. He didn’t have a major accent, though, but it was there. It only made me like him more.” He chuckles. “I have a thing for accents.”

“Did you pursue him?”

He shook his head. “Not at first. I didn’t see him again for several days. He still didn’t like me, but I tried talking to him anyway. It was weeks after that when he finally gave me his number. We started off as friends, hanging out in a group, until one day I took a chance and asked him out. Imagine my surprise when he told me no.”

I laughed. I didn’t expect that. 

“I tried again and again until he finally said yes. He told me later he just wanted to see if I was serious or just wanting to play around. I told him I’d never been more serious about someone in my life, and it was the truth. It was just after his twenty-first birthday when he finally accepted.” He glanced at his glass, full with his second round of rum. I could tell he was contemplating reaching for it. Talking about Robin wasn’t easy for him, but he’d been doing it more and more recently.

It was a long moment before I finally say, “We should do something for his birthday.”

He started to shake his head but I stop him. “You would have been together eight years, and yeah, married by now. It’s only fair you do this one thing for him. I know you avoid everything and everywhere that brings back memories, but would it really be so bad to do something small?”

He hesitantly pushes off the counter and picks up his glass. In one large gulp, he drains it before walking away. “Yeah, it would,” he says. “For me.” He heads for his bedroom and shuts the door. I sigh, frowning. 

I should have known better but I couldn’t help it. It kills me to see him so torn up like this. I can’t possibly imagine what he’s going through, the amount of pain he carries. He hasn’t told me what happened and he won’t. That part I can completely understand; I have my own secrets I hold close. 

I touch the side of my head, feeling the scar, and close my eyes when a flash of another pair of eyes crosses my vision. 

Green eyes. 

Evil eyes. 

I take a few deep ragged breaths, a small mantra going through my head as I try to calm down. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. I look down the hall to Harley’s bedroom door, wondering if he’ll come out. Sometimes he does, other times he stays there.

Sometimes I stay, sometimes I leave. This time, I decide to leave, figuring I pushed my luck in talking about Robin’s birthday. I’m reaching for my jacket when I hear his door open. I hear his slow tread across the floor, heavier now. When he appears, he’s wearing a hoodie and boots.

“Let’s go,” he mutters.

“Where?”

He grabs my keys and tosses them to me. “The basketball court.”