House of Cards

by Garrett Leigh

  Or what never crossed Calum’s mind. He hung his own damp T-shirt over the bannister and followed Brix upstairs. On the landing, he hovered briefly by Brix’s door, but Brix’s impatient sigh pulled him forward.

  “You look like you’re being lured into the lion’s den.” Brix flopped down on his neatly made bed. “It ain’t scary in here, I promise.”

  Calum glanced around the ordered room. “It doesn’t feel like you.”

  Brix shrugged. “I’m not in here much, eh?”

  That wasn’t it, but Calum let it go. What business was it of his? “Do you want another cuppa?”

  “Nah, but Cal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

  Yawning, Calum sat on the edge of the bed. Brix sat up and mirrored his pose, their shoulders touching. “I know it don’t make no sense to you, but this room is my perspective. Tidy space, tidy mind? It’s the only way I can cope sometimes.”

  Calum had barely come to terms with the knowledge that Brix found it hard to cope at all, but the theory made sense. Back in London, how many nights had he found himself counting stock that didn’t need to be counted? Organising shelves that no one gave a shit about? Too many, but Black Star Ink had been like that, a world away from the nuclear family of Blood Rush. A world away from Brix.

  Black Star. Calum’s stomach turned over. The name had been nothing but trouble and heartache for him. Was it too much to hope that he’d been the anomaly? He knew nothing of the men out on those boats, but he felt Brix’s anguish like it was his own.

  He reached for Brix almost absently, but Brix was already halfway into his arms. “I wish I could tell you it’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s all right that you can’t,” Brix said. “I don’t need you to fix things. It’s enough that you’re here.”

  “Why?”

  The question came out as a barely audible whisper. In answer, Brix grasped Calum’s face and kissed him deeper than they’d ever kissed before. Hotter. Harder. And with more purpose than Calum could stand if one of them pulled away.

  He closed his hands tightly around Brix’s, like he could hold Brix to him and never let go, and leaned closer, knocking Brix off-balance so they tumbled to the mattress.

  Brix pushed Calum onto his back and straddled him, his strong, slim thighs pinning Calum in place. He kissed Calum again and again, ploughing his tongue into Calum’s mouth until Calum fought his dominance and flipped them over, covering Brix with his heavier weight.

  Calum broke the kiss, gasping, and dropped his forehead to Brix’s, pressing them together like he could force his way into Brix’s mind. “What do you want? What do you need?”

  “I need to touch you.”

  “Do it, then.”

  “I don’t want to do it for me. I need you to want me, Cal, even if it’s just for now. I need you to want—”

  Calum placed his hand over Brix’s mouth and unbuckled his own belt, rising up on his knees to shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. His cock sprang free inches from Brix’s face. “Brix, I want you. I’ve always wanted you. How can you not know that?”

  “You never told me.”

  “You never asked.”

  “That’s because I wanted you too . . . I wanted you so badly I was afraid of it.”

  Calum didn’t believe that. How could it be true when they’d inked side by side in Camden for years, working hard and playing harder, and Calum hadn’t noticed a thing? Besides, Brix wasn’t afraid of anything—

  The thought imploded as it crossed Calum’s mind. Back in the day, he’d have sworn blind that Brix was the toughest bloke he’d ever met, but he’d learned over the past month that Brix Lusmoore was as fragile as any man, perhaps more so. “Don’t be afraid of it, Brix. Just touch me. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

  It was the only reassurance Calum could give, and the uncertainty that remained in Brix’s gaze hurt his heart. He grasped Brix’s hands and placed them on his cock, holding them still a moment so Brix could absorb how much Calum wanted—craved—this. It had been a while since anyone had touched him this way, and as Brix’s fingers traced a shaky path along his shaft, he wondered how long it had been for Brix. Brix of old had jumped from bed to bed around Camden, with and without his sometime-lover, Jordan, but he was a different man now, and Calum couldn’t believe the tremor in his hands was all about him.

  As if. But Calum gritted his teeth and silenced the devil on his shoulder. Brix’s tentative touch was enthralling, consuming, and as it grew in confidence, Calum couldn’t look away. Brix’s fist closed around his cock, squeezing, gently at first, but then tighter, and twisting, and fuck, grazing his balls with the other hand.

  Calum dropped his chin to his chest with a low groan. Orgasm rushed up on him, but he couldn’t find the willpower to fight it, or care enough to try.

  Brix gripped him harder, abandoning Calum’s balls to dig his nails into Calum’s hip. “You’re so fucking hot.”

  You should see yourself. But he didn’t have the coherency to voice it. Release smashed into him, and he came on Brix’s chest with a guttural cry.

  “Fuck.” Calum fell forward into Brix’s waiting arms. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “They’d better be good fucks.” Brix wrapped his arms around Calum, apparently unconcerned with the sticky mess between them.

  “They’re good fucks,” Calum croaked. “Lemme touch you too.”

  He reached for Brix’s dick, which was rigid and digging into his thigh, but Brix pushed his hands away. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Calum grumbled, but lethargy washed over him like a bellyful of Valium. He rolled off Brix and pressed into his side, hooking a leg over his abdomen. “I’m supposed to be looking after you,” he murmured, sleep dragging him under as Brix’s rough fingertips brushed back his sweat-dampened hair.

  “You are,” Brix whispered. “More than you know.”

  It was still dark when Calum woke sometime later. He opened his eyes, and for a moment the unfamiliar mattress beneath him felt like his old bed back in London. “Running off to Cornwall like a jilted bride? Fuck’s sake, Cal. You might as well have joined the bloody circus. Where the fuck are you working, anyway? Some backstreet bumpkin scratcher’s?”

  Calum bolted upright, colliding with a bony mass. “Shit.”

  Brix zipped up the washbag that lived on his bedside table, clearly unfazed by Calum’s abrupt awakening. In the dim lamp light, his gaze seemed empty as he tossed the bag aside, and the events that had led to them being holed up in Brix’s bed together hit Calum like a train.

  Rob be fucking damned.

  Calum found his equilibrium and grasped Brix’s forearm, wrapping his fingers around the slender bones to claim his place in the world. “Did Kim call?”

  “A few times. They ain’t capsized yet.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  Brix brought his hand briefly to his mouth and swallowed hard, like he had something stuck in his throat. “They’re still pulling crew from the tanker, and it’s still storming like Mother Nature’s bitchy aunt, so you tell me.”

  Calum regarded Brix cautiously; he seemed more irritated that distressed. “You okay?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Wanna try?” Calum opened his arms. “I can listen for the phone.”

  Brix shrugged. “This isn’t how I dreamed of falling asleep on you.”

  Calum put his hands on Brix’s shoulders and gently tugged him close, then lowered them both to the mattress, his arms closing around Brix, like he could cage him, shelter him, heal him. “We can dream tomorrow when everyone’s safe. Just rest for now, mate, even if you can’t sleep.”

  For a brief moment, Calum thought he’d convinced Brix to close his eyes, if only for a little while, then Brix’s heavy sigh broke the storm-punctuated silence, and Brix sat up on his elbows, staring out of the window.

  “I can’t fuck you, Calum.”

  “What?”


  Brix tore his gaze from the beating rain and stared at Calum in the darkness. “I meant it when I said I’d wanted you for years—still want you, so fucking much—but I can’t have sex with you.”

  “Why not?” It wasn’t what Calum meant to say, or what he was consciously thinking, but as he uttered the words and Brix’s features hardened, the answer was suddenly more important than anything Calum had ever known.

  Or not known . . . and seemed destined to live in ignorance of forever as Brix pressed his lips into a thin line. He made no move to disentangle himself from Calum, but all at once the distance between them felt like a fucking abyss. “Brix?”

  Brix shook his head. “I . . . I just can’t, Cal. Please. I can’t do that shit anymore . . . not with you, not with anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Calum.” Brix whispered his name, but the fragility lacing every syllable was deafening. Calum’s heart skipped a beat, absorbing the fear and defeat that screamed from every facet of Brix—his slumped shoulders and hung head, his clenched fists and screwed-up eyes.

  “Brix, please. Talk to me.”

  After what seemed like a lifetime, Brix opened his eyes. He stared at Calum, bottom lip caught mercilessly between his teeth, but anything he might’ve said was cut off by the Pugwash theme tune blaring out of his phone. He moved like a snake, diving across Calum to snatch it from the pillow beside them. “Dad? Where are you?”

  Relief surged through Calum. Unless Brix’s father was calling to say good-bye from the upturned hull of a sinking lifeboat, they were about to get some good news.

  He sat up, taking care not to jostle Brix, and stood, searching out his clothes that were scattered around the room as he surreptitiously listened in on Brix’s end of the conversation. Not much made sense as Brix’s contribution was limited, but the lightening of the burden on Brix’s shoulders was hard to miss. Whatever else was going on behind the storm in Brix’s eyes, the men at sea were safe.

  Brix hung up. “The boat is in. Took the last crew from the tanker into Port Isaac and landed there.”

  “Where’s your old man?”

  “In the pub they opened up as a reception centre, drinking the Doom Bar pumps dry like nothing’s happened.”

  Maybe to Brix’s father it hadn’t. After all, he hadn’t seen the torment marring Brix’s beautiful face, the pain still dancing around the wall that had sprung up between him and Calum.

  “You’d better go find him, then,” Calum said. “Bring him home.”

  Brix nodded slowly, looking like he had so much more to say, but he said nothing, and silence reigned as Calum retrieved his clothes from the floor and pulled them on.

  Dressed, he lingered a moment, hoping for something—anything—from Brix to let him know that the limbo of the last few hours had been real, but there was only silence until he admitted defeat and left Brix alone.

  He was in the shower when he heard the front door slam and the van rumble to life a few minutes later. Both sounds seemed so final that Calum’s blood ran cold, despite the steaming spray battering him, washing all traces of Brix from his skin. He laid his head on the tiles, searching for some perspective in the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

  None was forthcoming. Rob’s phone call had driven him to the foot of Brix’s cliff, but the moment his voice had turned Calum’s lunch into roiling acid seemed so far away now, as though Calum had become someone else since then. Someone who got their dick out for their best mate? Nice. But Calum felt no shame. He could find no sense in the time he’d spent with Brix tonight, but he’d meant every kiss, every touch, and his heart told him Brix had too.

  It didn’t tell him what to do next, though. Calum had believed Brix when he’d said he wanted Calum—still believed him—but the defeat in Brix when he’d said they could never fuck had cut Calum to the bone.

  Damn it. Calum banged his head on the tiles a final time before he shut off the shower and got out, padding naked across the landing. His phone rang as he was drying off. Lee. Calum grabbed it and swiped the screen. “What time do you call this?”

  “Half seven. Why? Forgotten how clocks work?”

  “Half seven?” Calum ignored Lee’s trademark sass and briefly pulled his phone from his ear to check the time. “Jesus. It bloody is as well. Thought it was still the middle of the night.”

  “Looks like it too with those storm clouds lurking.”

  Calum glanced out of his bedroom window to see he had indeed missed dawn breaking, but there wasn’t much light to speak of yet. “What are you doing up anyway? Are you okay?”

  Lee laughed gently. “That’s you all over, Calum. You’ve been up all night with Brix while the boat was out, and you’re asking me if I’m okay? Dude, I slept like a short-arse, blue-haired baby.”

  “So did I, to be honest.” Calum dropped his towel and snagged a T-shirt from the pile on the dresser. “Brix didn’t get a wink, though.”

  “I’m not going to ask how you know that.”

  Mischief laced Lee’s tone. Calum ignored it in favour of yanking some jeans up his legs. “Perhaps he told me, eh? Ever thought about that?”

  “Nope. Sue me. How is he, anyway? Kim was a bit frazzled when I saw him.”

  “When did you see Kim?”

  “When I was getting out of my taxi.”

  “Your taxi?”

  Lee sighed. “Yeah, numbnuts, my taxi. I stayed at my sister’s last night, so I had to scarper before her kids woke up.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? So they don’t start asking where Uncle Liam went.”

  Calum sank onto his bed. “Your sister makes you leave before her kids wake up so they won’t find out you transitioned?”

  “Actually, no. My sister’s a stuck-up bitch, but she’s not that bad. It’s me who can’t handle it. My therapist reckons I’m scared they’ll be disappointed by the new me.”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe. Can’t be arsed to figure it out just yet, though, and anyway, I didn’t call you to talk about my shit, so stop asking me Jeremy Kyle questions.”

  Calum chuckled. “Okay, okay . . . Brix’s dad is fine, if that’s what you wanted to know. Brix has gone to round him up from a pub in Port Isaac.”

  “Sounds about right. You sure you’re okay? I can come over if you want? Keep you company till Brix gets back?”

  Calum frowned. “Why are you being nice?”

  “I’m allowed.”

  “Not if there’s some weird subtext you’re not telling me about.”

  “Subtext? Whatever. I called ’cause Brix gets stressed about family shit and I wanted to check you weren’t rocking in a corner, blaming yourself for any Lusmoore lunacy.”

  Lusmoore lunacy? That was a new one. Calum rubbed his eyes. “Brix isn’t the crazy one in this house. He was worried, but who wouldn’t be?”

  “Me. I couldn’t give two fucks if my dad drowned at sea.”

  “Understandable. We’re not all the same, though, squirt.”

  “I know. You don’t have to go big brother on me. I’m the one trying to be nice here, remember?”

  “Fair enough.” Calum suppressed a sigh. He appreciated the sentiment lurking beneath the chip on Lee’s shoulder, but wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted him to say.

  Perhaps sensing his bemusement, Lee let loose a sigh of her own. “Look, I’m just saying that Brix is weird, man. He’s the nicest guy in the world, but I guess sometimes he needs space to figure out his own bullshit. Get away from all of ours.”

  And there it was. Lee’s words hit home, bombarding Calum with the unpleasant image of Brix shivering at the foot of the cliff the night before, listening with more patience than anyone deserved to Calum’s half-arsed explanation to why he’d run away from a simple phone call. “You think I should give him some space?”

  “Me?” Lee snorted. “What the fuck do I know? Say what I see, and I’m usually wrong.”

  That might have been true, but the first stirrin
gs of a daft idea sprung to life in Calum’s fragmented mind nonetheless. “Can you do me a favour?”

  “Providing it ain’t sexual.”

  Calum rolled his eyes. “Twat. Can you get Lena to cancel my appointments today? I’ve got to go somewhere.”

  “‘Somewhere’? Sounds mysterious.”

  “Not really, but if I tell you where I’m going, I won’t be able to change my mind.”

  “Is that likely?”

  “Not sure yet. I’ll let you know?”

  Lee grunted. “Good enough for me. I’ll sort your shit. Don’t worry about anything, just keep in touch, yeah?”

  “Will do. Thanks, squirt. I owe you.”

  “It doesn’t work like that in Porthkennack, Calum. Nice people are real, and you don’t owe me jack.”

  Lee hung up, leaving Calum with a lump in his throat he couldn’t quite explain, but he didn’t dwell on it long. He pocketed his phone and keys, and went downstairs. The cats greeted him in the kitchen. Zelda took a swipe at his face, reminding him that he wasn’t going anywhere until she’d been fed.

  He filled the cat bowls and ventured outside to check on the hens. Most were still in the nest box, laying or dozing, but Bongo was pecking around the run. Calum lifted the hatch and scooped her up with his good hand, folding her legs carefully beneath her so she didn’t kick mud all over him. Before Porthkennack, he’d had no idea that holding a chicken could be so soothing, but as he stood in the damp early morning, counting Bongo’s heartbeat and absorbing her quiet clucks, he reckoned holding Brix would be the only other thing better.

  Brix. The purpose of Calum’s mission today returned full force. He set Bongo down and went back inside, patting his jacket pocket for his wallet. It wasn’t there, or in the bowl of crap in the kitchen table. Fuck’s sake. Calum jogged upstairs and checked his bedroom—grabbing his bag and a set of long-forgotten keys—and the bathroom, but he came up blank, which left only one place.

  Venturing into Brix’s room felt like returning to the scene of a well-meant crime. Calum tried not to pay too much attention, but as he retrieved his wallet from the floor by the bedside table, the clear space caught his attention. Something was missing. The washbag—it had gone—and in the silence of the empty cottage, its absence seemed more significant than anything else.