Whisper (Skins Book 2)

by Garrett Leigh

  Wrong. Emma shook her head and took my weight as I eased myself onto my feet. “It was Harry’s idea. We went shopping and got new sheets and stuff, and he got cross when me and Mum offered him our beds.”

  “You didn’t think of getting cross right back and telling him no?”

  “Of course I did, but it wouldn’t have worked. Joe, he wants to be in the house with you, and it’s probably for the best. Do you really want Mum helping you up and down the stairs.”

  I growled under my breath. Being the weak link wasn’t my style, and she knew it.

  We said goodbye to the nurses, picked up a giant bag of medication, and made a shuffling getaway. I felt like shit, but the wind and rain in my face when we got outside was magic.

  “Wait here,” Emma said. “I’ll bring the van around.”

  I propped myself against a wet wall and waited. A thought occurred to me while she was gone, and I put it to her when she got back to distract myself from how difficult it was to climb into the van. “If I’m in the bedroom, and Harry’s in the living room, where the fuck did you put all the tack?”

  “In the trailer.”

  “What?”

  “The trailer,” Emma repeated like I was a moron. “It’s been cleaned out and secured.”

  “By who?”

  Emma pulled out of the hospital grounds, paying more attention to the road than strictly necessary.

  “Please tell me you didn’t let Harry do it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then who? Most of that old junk is too heavy for Toby and George, and you’re scared of spiders.”

  “I’m scared of everything. Doesn’t stop me pulling my weight on the farm.”

  “Never said it did. I—” I caught myself before the conversation descended into the type of sibling bickering that went round in circles. “Who did it?”

  Emma shot me a worried glance. “You’re not allowed to get cross.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it, Joe. Mum had a long conversation with that doctor this morning and he said you’re not allowed any stress.”

  “Then stop pissing me about and answer the question.”

  Emma eased the van onto the main road, taking care to avoid the bumps and holes, which I appreciated. “Dad’s been helping on the farm.”

  “He’s been what?”

  “Helping, Joe. Fuck’s sake. Don’t make me say everything twice. You didn’t bang your head that hard.”

  The bang to my head had been the least of my worries. Concussion was a breeze compared to the disaster in my stomach. I took a deep breath and forced myself to at least try and sound reasonable. “What’s Jonah been doing on the farm? He can’t stay there.”

  “I know,” Emma said. “The night you got hurt, Shadow was too much for us, so I called the Legion looking for him, and he was sober enough to come and help. He’s stuck around since then, helping George nurse those ponies and working with Shadow. He cleaned the trailer out too, but he’s gone now, I swear. He knew you wouldn’t want him around.”

  I absorbed it all and sat back in my seat, closing my eyes as my overloaded brain processed it. Weird emotions ran through me, but confusion was loudest. I’d been angry at my father for most of my life, but I could deal with him. Emma was the one who’d ignored him all these years, seemingly content to pretend that he was pretty much dead. How could she call on him for help and then explain it to me like it was fucking normal?

  It was a while before I felt steady enough to continue the conversation, and by then I was too tired to be pissed off. “You do realise that we told Dicky that Jonah was never on the farm? If he finds out he has been, he might come back and have another go at Mum.”

  Emma snorted. “I doubt it. George was in the Legion last week, and apparently Harry scared the shit out of Dicky. He hasn’t been around for ages.”

  Nothing was ever that simple, and Dicky McGee wasn’t the kind of man to leave his pride in the mud of my yard. I started to argue with Emma but ran out of steam before I’d managed a coherent sentence.

  She frowned at me.

  I shook my head. “I’m tired.”

  “I know, big brother. We’re almost home.”

  I couldn’t wait.

  At least, I thought I couldn’t until the bumpy lane to the farm almost killed me.

  “Sorry.” Emma winced on my behalf. “Perhaps I should’ve let Harry fetch you in the car after all.”

  “It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Thank you for coming to get me. I know how shitty it must’ve been for you.”

  “Actually, I enjoyed it.”

  “Which part? The driving or seeing me lose my shit over a pothole?”

  Emma grinned. “Both. Now stop your whining. We’re home.”

  And we were. Emma edged the van as close to the house as possible and turned the engine off. She gave me a look, which I ignored, and then poked me in the side just hard enough to make my eyes water. “Mum’s mucking out the donkeys, but she said you’re to go straight upstairs and stay there. No funny business.”

  “Funny business?”

  “Don’t be a dick, basically. I know it’s hard, but try, eh? For her sake, if not your own. She’s been so worried about you. It’s only fussing over Harry that’s kept her sane.”

  I couldn’t help a smile. If there was one fella who appreciated my mum almost as much as me, it was Harry, even if he didn’t roll over for her pie and mash. “I’ll try, Em. I swear.”

  Emma snorted and got out of the van. She opened my door and jumped up to ruffle my hair. “Whatever. Are you going to be okay getting in? I was sweating all the way to Truro so I need a shower.”

  “Thought your boiler was on the blink?”

  “It was. Harry got a new thermocouple when we were in town and fixed it. Got all the hot water we need now. Shame we can’t afford to use it.”

  Guilt squeezed my heart. In the rare moments I’d been with it enough to let my mind wander, I’d pictured Emma and Mum traipsing across the yard with wet hair and wellies, and it had driven me half mad. Add-in the sick ponies I was damn-well checking on before I went inside, and I’d been pretty much beside myself.

  Emma pinched my cheek and disappeared, apparently deciding that if I needed her help, I’d have said so. But as I shifted in my seat and stared at the ground, the prospect of getting out of the van was overwhelming. I wrapped an arm around my battered torso and willed my legs to hold me up. White spots danced in front of my eyes, and the energy that had propelled me from my hospital bed ran out.

  Strong hands gripped my shoulders. “Don’t go falling over on me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you awake all day.”

  Harry. A switch flipped inside me. I raised my head and met his gaze, and it seemed like the world had changed since I’d last seen him. Maybe it had. “Define awake.”

  “Anything more conscious than I’ve seen you the last four days.”

  Four days? Shit. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost twenty-four hours. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  I shrugged. “Everything? I’m too tired to list it all.”

  Harry smiled. “No need—for the thanks or the list. Let’s get you inside.”

  “I can manage,” I lied.

  “I know,” Harry lied right back. “Let me help you anyway. It’s good for my soul.”

  He didn’t need any help with his soul as far as I could see, but I let him slip an arm under my shoulders anyway and support me as I shuffled inside.

  At the stairs, he followed behind me, his hand on my back, and seemed to sense when the sight of Grandpa’s bed made me pause. “New sheets,” he said. “The others were covered in dust.”

  “They were new a week before you got here,” I said absently, because it wasn’t the sheets that got under my skin—it was everything else. The curtains, the window, the pictures on the walls. Perhaps I should’ve stripped it all when we’d cleared it out for Harry, but would that erase the memories?
The good and the bad?

  Probably not.

  Harry nudged me towards the bed. “Sit down, mate. Sooner you rest, the sooner you can stop.”

  “Right.” I loved that he knew how much I hated this. That I didn’t have to explain myself. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

  I followed Harry’s direction and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He handed me the stack of clothes Emma had promised. “Why are you giving me a pile of sweatpants?”

  “To rest in,” he said. “I’ve only ever seen you wearing jeans, and you seem to sleep in your clothes.”

  He had me there. What was the point in pyjamas when I didn’t have a bedroom? And even in the summer, the draughty old house was too cold most nights for sleeping in my birthday suit. Besides, I’d take softly worn joggers that smelled of Harry over a hospital gown any day of the week.

  “Anyway.” Harry had drifted to the door while I’d stared at his clean laundry. “I’ll leave you to it. Your mum’s around, but drop me a text if you need anything.”

  “I don’t have my phone.”

  Harry jerked his chin at the bedside table. “It’s over there. My number is on the pad.”

  “Did I need to get kicked by a horse to get your number?” I said it to myself as much as him, but the flush that coloured Harry’s cheeks did something to me. The way he held my gaze—silent, but so intense I wanted to throw myself at him. Would’ve thrown myself at him, if I hadn’t been sinking into the bed like a sloth in quicksand.

  Harry took pity on me and came back to the bed. He crouched in front of me, his hands on my knees. “You didn’t need to get kicked by a horse. But you do need to rest. I know things got a bit heavy between us before you got hurt, but don’t worry about that right now. Just get better, okay? Everything else can wait.”

  I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to pull him down for a kiss and then tumble him onto the bed so I could feel his skin beneath my palms again. When I finally let him up, we’d wander around the farm together, checking in on horses that hadn’t been to hell and back before they’d wound up on my shithole farm, and plan a future that didn’t involve red-topped bills and pisshead relatives.

  But reality kicked in with a flash of cramp in my healing gut. The pain had lessened with each passing day, but it still hurt like a bitch when I least expected it. I inhaled sharply and Harry took my hands. His thumb dug into my wrist. I gasped again, but not because of the pain. He’d done that before—I was sure of it.

  Harry smiled wryly, like he heard my thoughts. “You remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “How to focus beyond what’s going on in your body.”

  “Um . . . sure?”

  Harry chuckled. “You do remember, on some level, at least. We absorb much more than we consciously hear.”

  I leaned forward, intending to kick Harry’s trainers off my feet, but somehow ended up with my head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a bad place to be, so I stayed there. He pressed harder with his magic thumb and rubbed my back, and the corkscrew in my belly faded a bit.

  The fatigue remained, though. And when Harry disentangled himself from me a little while later, I could tell he meant business this time. “You need to rest,” he said. “Get your head down for a bit.”

  I couldn’t deny that taking a nap sounded like heaven, even if it did mean the loss of Harry’s arms around me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Work,” he said. “Or try to. I’ve been a bit shit the last few days. My laptop is in the kitchen, but I haven’t touched it.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

  There was more to it, I could tell, but nothing that he seemed to want to share, so I let it go. He gifted me one more smile and then shut the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room I’d done my best to avoid since I’d found Grandpa dead in his bed three years ago. Cleaning it out had been easier than I’d expected—with Sal’s nagging and Emma’s heckling, I’d been too irritated to feel much else—but it was different now. I changed into Harry’s sweatpants and lay down on the bed. The afternoon sun streamed through the window and hit my bare chest, reminding me of how I’d snuck up here as a little boy and sunbathed until Sal called me down for tea.

  The sun wasn’t as soothing as I remembered, but it put me to sleep all the same. And it kept me there long after dark until I woke with a jump, anxiety squeezing my chest. The horses. I hadn’t checked on any of them.

  Bracing myself, I swung my legs off the bed. My feet hit the hardwood floor, and for the first time in days, I felt no pain. I was halfway down the stairs before the spleen god kicked me in the balls, but I pushed it away. I’d been on my arse long enough—I needed to see my horses with my own eyes.

  I made it to the hallway by kitchen before Harry’s low chuckle stopped me in my tracks. He was behind me at the table, his work spread out in front of him, the only light in the room coming from his flashy MacBook. “Don’t start,” I said.

  “Moi?” He spread his hands innocently. “I’m not your mother.”

  “Where is my mother?”

  “Asleep, I’d imagine. It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “What?”

  Harry eyed me. “Joe, it’s the middle of the night.”

  Damn. Despite my absolute certainty that I wouldn’t sleep a wink upstairs, I’d lost ten hours. I turned away from Harry and continued to the back door. Somehow, he got there before me.

  “I know I just said I’m not your mother, but do you think you should maybe put some shoes on?”

  Fucking shoes. It was in me to argue, to stomp outside barefoot and to hell with the damp ground, but the doctor had warned me that my immune system would be weaker while my spleen was healing, and I didn’t fancy a brush with pneumonia.

  I found a random pair of boots by the door and stamped into them. “Happy?”

  “Nearly.” Harry unzipped his hoodie and passed it to me. “Put this on and you’ll do.”

  The hoodie was warm and smelled even more of him than the sweatpants I was already wearing. It was too big as well, obviously, but I wrapped it around myself anyway and put my hand on the door handle.

  Harry’s was already there. I closed my fingers around his before I truly knew what I was doing, but it felt like something I’d done a thousand times over. Like the spark from the contact shooting through my arm would one day be ordinary. “I need to check the horses.”

  “I know.”

  But Harry didn’t move, and neither did I. The hallway was so dark I could hardly see his face, but his eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light, and for the millionth time, I tried to recall what my life had been like before him. How my chest had felt without the flutter that seemed to keep my heart beating.

  Pulse skipping, I licked my lips. He was going to kiss me like he had before—kiss me, and leave me, and nothing would change. I wanted more than a kiss, more than his hands on my face, on my hips, holding me upright.

  I wanted him to kiss me and mean it.

  So I kissed him first.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harry

  For the longest time, I’d fought to control how other people made me feel, but I stood no chance with Joe. He stormed through my hard-won defences and stole my breath away, kissing me like he didn’t have the remnants of the worst bruise I’d ever seen staining his torso.

  I gasped in a breath, letting him briefly dominate me before instinct took over and I lifted him clean off his feet, pressing him carefully against the wall behind him. He’d lost weight in recent days, but the lean, coiled planes of his body were still intoxicating as the kiss went on and on until he shuddered in my arms.

  Reluctantly, I eased him down and broke away with a nervous laugh. “How did that happen?”

  Joe shrugged, his expression guarded. “I’m not complaining.”

  Neither was I. But getting physical with him hadn’t been my intention when I’d come to the door. The
heat between us could wait. Joe’s beloved horses couldn’t. “Let’s go for a walk,” I whispered. “I heard Mani call out a while ago. I think he’s waiting for you.”

  Joe’s eyes stopped flashing. He let go of my hand and opened the door. It crossed my mind to let him go alone, but the thought of not being nearby if he needed help made me nauseous.

  We stepped out into the night. Joe walked slowly and I matched his pace, my hands itching to steady him. But I kept them to myself as we reached the tack room to check on the abandoned ponies. With the horses on his mind, Joe didn’t need my help.

  He opened the half-door and peered inside. A soft light was on in the corner, George’s radio playing Fleetwood Mac beside it. The man himself was asleep in the hay, and so was one of the ponies. The other staggered to its feet and came to the door, ignoring Joe and butting my arm with her wispy nose.

  I stroked her gently and fed her the softened ginger nuts I’d somehow begun carrying in my pockets. The mare and I had an understanding: I’d feed her all the biscuits she liked if she didn’t show me her teeth. It was working out well, so far.

  “She likes you,” Joe said.

  “I don’t know about that. I’m just glad to see her up. Your—uh—George thought she’d die.”

  The mare wandered off. Joe waited for her to lie down close to her stablemate and then shut the door on the cosy scene. “Who needs me, eh?”

  “Just about everyone, I reckon. It’s taken three people to keep up with your usual workload.”

  “Uh-huh.” Joe shot me a sideways glance. “I know Jonah was here, so there’s no need to cover for him.”

  “I wasn’t going to keep it from you.”

  “Didn’t tell me, though, did ya?” Joe started for the main stable block.

  I trailed him. “When should I have told you?”

  “Dunno. Just now? When you put me to bed? I—fuck. I don’t know. I’m just—” Joe stopped at the first stall and flicked some low lights on. “It feels weird knowing he’s been here. I’ve spent so long trying to pretend he never was.”

  “He didn’t come in the house, if that’s what you’re worried about. He used the hose to wash, ate outside, and slept in the tack room.”