After getting Angelo comfortable, Jevon took Angelo’s phone outside and called Dylan. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, really. I just wanted to thank you without embarrassing Angelo. He hates people seeing him like this. It’s probably why he didn’t call anyone when he started to feel bad.”
“It’s no problem. To be honest, I haven’t done much. He’s been asleep most of the time while I’ve folded some washing and watched Peaky Blinders because I couldn’t work your telly out.”
“Peaky Blinders is awesome.”
“Heh.” Jevon remained unconvinced on that point. The main character was hot, but picking up midway through the second season had left him totally confused. “Either way, there’s no need to say thanks. If Rhys needs something, he’ll always get it from me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Why?”
“Because he deserves to have someone there for him.”
“You’re not there for him?”
“Of course I am, but it’s not me he wants, and it’s not the same. Look, it’s none of my business, but I reckon you’ve heard enough about everyone else’s lives this morning to handle a little bit more.”
“Go on,” Jevon said warily. “Unless you’re about to tell me he’s a sound bloke who deserves to be happy, because I know that shit already.”
“Then there’s nothing to say. Just don’t let him push you away. I don’t know what the fuck’s been going on with him and Harry, but I do know that Rhys’s bad habits tend to kick in when he’s convinced himself he was born to be lonely.”
Jevon wondered when the world had started kicking out men like Rhys and his so-called not friends, and where the hell they’d been his whole life. “Listen, I can’t promise what I don’t know, but when Rhys is with me, I’ll take care of him, okay? Just like he takes care of me.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said. “For looking after Angelo and letting me butt my nose in your business. Can we meet when Angelo’s well again? We’d love to get to know you better.”
Sex clubs and orgies filled Jevon’s mind, sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. And then refugee camps, aeroplanes, and a three-month stint thousands of miles away replaced it. “Sure,” he managed eventually. “I’ll put my number in Angelo’s phone. Call me anytime.”
Dylan said goodbye, and as luck would have it, a battered Transporter van pulled up outside a moment later.
Yet another dark-haired hottie got out. This one had high cheekbones, flawless skin, and startling blue eyes, and Jevon made a note to ask Rhys if he knew any men that weren’t ridiculously beautiful. And if he knew a way to slow the world down so their dwindling time together could last a bit longer.
Eleven
R: Sorry about Joe. No filter. Wasn’t too rude, was he?
Rhys flopped down on his bed while he waited for Jevon to answer and resisted the urge to sniff the sheets and see if the bed still smelled of their night together. The last twenty-four hours had been insane, and those precious few hours were all that made sense.
His phone buzzed.
J: Just blunt. Nothing I couldn’t handle. And he was good to Angelo.
R: He’s a good man.
J: So’s your brother by all accounts.
Rhys scowled, despite the tickle in his belly that flared every time Jevon’s name lit up his phone. After a lecture from Dylan and an earful from Joe—who usually stayed out of his business—he was sick of talking about Harry.
R: I know Harry’s good. He’s a fucking superhero.
J: You should probably talk to him then.
R: How do u know I haven’t?
J: Because you’re talking to me right now . . . and Angelo told me.
Angelo. News had filtered out of Cornwall that he was safely in Harry’s care, but while Rhys’s conscience told him that was all that truly mattered, imagining him in the hub of Joe’s cosy kitchen, more at home there than Rhys had ever been, still stung. Idiot. Did he seriously begrudge Angelo that? A cup of tea and a slice of Joe’s mum’s cake when his legs wouldn’t hold him up?
R: I’m sorry.
J: What for now?
R: For being an internalising wanker.
Jevon didn’t reply straight away. Rhys wondered if he’d fallen asleep and ventured off the bed to find some dinner. The bag of cupcakes was still on the kitchen counter—one chocolate, one lemon. Rhys ate them both in two bites and retreated to the shower.
When he got back, Jevon had replied with a photograph of a UNICEF camp who-the-hell-knew-where. There was no written message, but there didn’t need to be. Perspective, man.
It was Friday morning by the time Rhys’s brood wore off. He called Harry when he got in from his night shift and turned the coffee machine on while he waited for the call to connect.
“You’re not dead then?” Harry enquired when he answered.
Rhys sniffed the milk in the fridge. “Don’t be dramatic. I’ve only ignored you twice.”
“I guess that’s not so bad, considering it’s you.”
“Don’t start. You ignore me plenty when you’ve got your knickers in a twist.”
Harry laughed. “True that. Are you still freaking out about Angelo and Dylan?”
“I was never freaking out.”
“Liar.”
“Yup.” Rhys binned the milk. “And I’m sorry I ripped into you about it. You just—I dunno—caught me off guard. I’ve been trying to move on from all that stuff at the club.”
“Why? I mean, I get that you’ve maybe outgrown partying at the club, but Angelo and Dylan have always talked about you like you’re friends.”
Rhys didn’t feel like dissecting his non-relationship with Angelo for the millionth time. He sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“Why? So you can tell me I’m emotionally stunted?”
“I’ve never said that.”
Harry’s tone was mild, but Rhys caught the hurt. Always did. “I know. It’s me that thinks that. Or, at least, I did until I met them.”
“And you wanted more than just sex?”
“No. I just hated seeing them so happy. Before them, and you and Joe, I’d never seen blokes look at each other like that.”
“Why would you when your only social interactions are in sex clubs and hook-up joints?”
Rhys winced. “Brutal.”
“And true. But when it comes to Angelo and Dylan, I get it. I was so jealous when I first saw them together, lonely, too. I thought it was such a rare thing that it couldn’t possibly happen for me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Then you met Joe and lived happily ever after. I get it, bro. You don’t have to sing me a song.”
“And you don’t have to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. Do you know how much it hurt to hear Dylan telling Angelo how worried he’s been about you these last few months? To know you’ve been unhappy and I can’t do a damn thing about it because you just won’t talk to me? Jesus, Rhys, I—” Harry broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Look, I miss you, okay? Nothing else really matters anymore.”
Rhys dropped heavily onto the couch, his sleepless night catching up with him. “I miss you too.”
“What are you doing for Christmas? Do you have to work this year?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen December’s rota yet.”
“If you don’t . . . come down, please? Maybe you can bring your, uh, new friend with you?”
That woke Rhys up. Somehow he’d clean forgotten that even Angelo was bound to have remembered Jevon and mentioned him to Harry. Not to mention Joe.
Rhys’s brain swam with images of Jevon as he’d last seen him, smiling and waving from Angelo’s doorstep before he’d turned away to do a man he’d just met a fraternal solid. Then he pictured them together at Joe’s big table, enduring a rowdy Christmas. A real one. Right. ’Cause life’s just that kind. “I’ll let you know.”
“Do it. Oh, and Rhys?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, Joe gave me hell for not telling you about Angelo and Dylan, even though he knew I couldn’t. Reckons I could’ve told Angelo and let him deal with it, but there’s a reason I didn’t do that.”
“It’d better be a good one.”
“It is—it was because you’re my brother, and there’s no way you were going to hear that shit from anyone but me, even if it did take two years and a crisis to make it happen. I love you, man.”
“I know that.”
“Good.”
An awkward pause crackled between them, and for once Rhys felt compelled to fill it. “Listen, I’ve got to get some sleep before my eyes fall out, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad it happened this way. Angelo’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Fuck off, Rhys. I’m the one who’s lucky. No one else can call you their brother. Now get some sleep and take care of yourself.”
Saturday evening found Rhys wide awake, alone, and indulging in his new favourite hobby: staring at his phone and waiting for Jevon to call. He started at home, but eventually the walls closed in on him and he decamped to the pub where they’d first met.
The bar was busy—packed with men looking for a good time. Few were alone, and if they were, it didn’t stay that way for long.
Rhys kept his head down as he pushed through the crowds, hardly noticing the swathes of bare skin and the distinct smell of any establishment stuffed with this much testosterone. He got a pint and settled in a corner, head down, thumbing through his phone, ignoring any fool who interrupted him.
The message thread between him and Jevon kept him occupied for a while. Jevon had been busy most days since they’d parted ways in Romford, but the evenings were a different story. Wherever Jevon was and whatever he was doing, the rum seemed to be flowing, and rum, apparently, made Jevon . . . chatty.
J: Wish you were here
R: Why?
J: ’Cause I miss you, and . . .
R: . . . ?
J: I wanna do stuff with you
R: Like what?
J: I want you to fuck me
Heat crept up the back of Rhys’s neck. Getting Angelo safely to Harry, and the realisation that it would be more than a week before he would see Jevon again, had put a pretty heavy dampener on the amazing night they’d shared. But when Jevon sent messages like that, the thrill of simply being with him—even when he wasn’t there—returned full force.
Rhys licked his lips and carried on reading.
R: How do you want me to fuck you?
J: Slowly. Maybe . . . I don’t know.
J: How do you want to fuck me?
J: Assuming you do . . .
R: I want to fuck you. If u don’t know that by now, we’re doing it wrong
J: Doing what?
And just like that, the recycled thrill dancing through Rhys fell off a cliff. Talking to Harry, and multiple texts from Dylan, had put the nature of his relationship with Jevon at the front of his mind, but he was no closer to defining it. No closer to wanting to because every train of thought stopped at the same station—the one where Jevon left. Just like everyone else that Rhys had ever cared about.
He put his phone away and bought another drink, trying to push the maudlin thoughts out of his mind. Jevon had never promised him anything, and Rhys had never asked. And dear god, if he wasn’t tired of the wallowing loop playing in his brain.
Fuck this shit.
Downing his drink, he pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Jevon a message.
R: Call me when you’re free. I’ve got an idea.
Jevon called just after midnight. Rhys was in bed, awake and waiting. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Jevon said softly. “Sorry it took me a while. It’s been a mad day.”
“Where are you?”
“The Holiday Inn near Canal Street. It’s kinda noisy.”
“I can imagine. Is that where clowns go these days?”
“Nah, it was just the cheapest room FFP could find without dumping us at the worst B&B in the world. They like to look after us a bit when we’re back on home turf.”
Rhys sat up and reached for his well-nursed glass of vodka. “Do you have your own room?”
“Yes.”
“Are you there now?”
“Yes. Why? You gonna FaceTime me something freaky?”
“Do you want me to?”
Jevon chuckled dryly. “If I have to answer that question, then we’re still doing it wrong.”
“Right.” Rhys swallowed more vodka. “Hang on a sec.”
He swiped at his screen until the FaceTime option came up and made the switch. Jevon connected the call, and his sunshine smile filled the screen.
Rhys’s heart jumped. Missing Jevon was his normal these days, but he hadn’t realised how real it was until he saw Jevon’s face. Locked eyes with him. Heard his voice. Rhys touched the screen, like he could reach through the glass and feel Jevon’s warmth against his fingertips. “Hey.”
“Hello. How’re you doing over there?”
Rhys rolled onto his belly. “Lonely, naked, and a little bit drunk.”
“Me too.” Jevon chuckled softly and flipped a lamp on beside him, treating Rhys to a clearer view.
He was naked.
And hard.
And so fucking beautiful Rhys wanted to cry, among other things.
The other things were less embarrassing. He licked his lips, heat already pooling in his groin. “What have you been up to tonight? Have you been down Canal Street?”
“A bit. My mate Jean was trying to hook me up with a go-go dancer.”
“Oh yeah?” A flash of unearned possessiveness rippled through Rhys. “How did that go?”
Jevon tilted his head sideways. “It didn’t. Despite the spell you cast over me the night we met, random hook-ups aren’t my thing . . . even if I did have a clue what I was doing.”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“Do I?”
Jevon’s easy smile was clouded with insecurities that had no right to be there. The desperate need to touch him, to soothe him, caught in Rhys’s throat, but all he had was a vodka-loose tongue and the truth. “I’ve never been with anyone who makes me come like you do.”
They weren’t the words of wisdom he’d imagined himself saying, but the desired effect was the same. Jevon’s grin widened, chasing away shadowed doubt. “I love watching you come. I dream about it.”
“Yeah? What are we doing?”
“Fucking . . . sometimes, but mostly just stuff we’ve already done. I like looking back at it—looking back at you.”
“You could look back at me while I fuck you.” Rhys snaked a hand beneath himself and squeezed his dick.
Jevon smirked, but questions danced in his eyes.
Rhys propped his phone up on the pillow so he could see him better. “What is it?”
“What?”
“What is it? I can tell you want to ask me something.”
“How can you tell?”
“Psychic. Now spit it out.”
Jevon bit his lip and sighed. “Are you fucking anyone else? I mean, I know it’s not my business, but I feel like—I dunno—I need to know? Is that cool?”
“Of course it’s cool.” Rhys had never been so relieved he’d met Jevon when he had. “I’m not fucking anyone else, and I haven’t been since a month before I met you.”
“Seriously?” The surprise in Jevon’s face would’ve been funny if it hadn’t stung so much.
“Seriously. I told you when we met that I was trying to live a different life. I don’t regret anything—or anyone—I’ve done, but it wasn’t making me happy.”
“Not even with Angelo and Dylan?”
“Especially not with them. Jesus, I’ve already had this conversation with Harry this week, but if you must know, fucking them was the worst. They’re so happy and secure with each other that nothing else matters to them. They can go to the club and play around and no one gets hurt. But—”
“Yes. Jealousy is an evil thing.”
“It’s not jealousy to want happiness.”
“Maybe not, but it felt that way at the time, so I stopped playing with them. Then I found I couldn’t face being with anyone until I met you. There’s no one else, Jevon. I swear.”
“I believe you,” Jevon whispered. “I just don’t know if we can do this without one of us getting hurt.”
Rhys had nothing because it was too late to save himself. Saying goodbye to Jevon would tear him apart whether he did it now or when he left the country. “I don’t know either. I’m trying not to think too far ahead.”
“Is that a plan?”
“An ill-advised one, I’d imagine.”
“Uh-huh.” Jevon lay back on a wide bed, his hair fanning out on the pristine white sheets. “It could work, though. I legit called you up with the intention of having some fuck-hot phone sex, but here we are angsting round in circles again. If I wasn’t half lashed, I’d maybe think we should read something into that, but right now, I just want to be with you.”
“I want that too.” Rhys had spent most of his life practising the art of shutting down his emotions. At work, he still reached for that switch, but he’d never quite managed it with Jevon. Had never found a safe place to hide.
There was no safe place now, but they couldn’t talk their way past the inevitable, so why bother?
Fuck it. The determination that had carried Rhys home from the bar returned with a couple of mates. He rose up on his knees and closed his hand around his hard length. His phone was propped just high enough to fit his whole body in shot, and he tipped Jevon a wink. “I wish I could fuck you right now, but as that’s not going to happen, perhaps I can show you something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know . . . you said you like watching me come. How about I show you how hard I can nut around my favourite dildo?”
Jevon swallowed. Even on the tiny phone screen, his throat worked convulsively. “You have no idea how much I want to see that. Um, out of interest? How versatile are you?”
“Very. I know you’re nervous about topping, but if it’s something you ever want to try, it’s on the table. Everything’s on the table.”
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