by Anne Barwell
He’d kept the flat after Duncan had moved out. He’d bought it before Duncan had moved in, and so far, Duncan hadn’t tried to claim a share of it. Either he wasn’t interested, or he was biding his time. He’d never liked the flat and had tried to convince Ethan to move several times, but Ethan loved the place. Not only that, but it was convenient and not far from the school where he taught.
“Thanks.” Donovan bit back a yawn. “I guess I am tired. Do you want to phone for the taxi while I go talk to Miles, or did you want to talk to him?”
“I can talk to him,” Ethan said. The last thing he needed was for word to spread that he had a hot bloke staying over, and if he told Miles to keep it to himself, he would. Miles was good that way, but if you didn’t spell it out, most of their small circle of friends would know by morning. Ethan had no intention in giving Vincent and—by extension—Mitchell any more ideas.
ETHAN’S FLAT was smaller than Donovan expected. But, although there wasn’t much space, everything was tidy. Nothing out of place, and a place for everything.
“I’ll make some tea before I make up the couch and change the sheets on the bed,” Ethan said, putting the milk he’d bought on the counter. “I have a spare room, but it’s small, and I use it as a study, so there’s no bed in it. You can have the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
A door-sized opening separated the kitchen from the living room, with another leading to a short hallway. Donovan noticed a large bookcase in the living room and wandered over to take a look while Ethan put the kettle on to boil.
“I don’t mind the couch,” Donovan said. He’d slept rough while in the Marines, so a couch would be heaven in comparison.
“Nonsense,” Ethan said briskly. “You’re my guest, and what sort of host would I be if I made you sleep on the couch? Tea or coffee? I have both.”
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee.” Donovan tilted his head to read the titles of the books.
“I keep some for visitors. Don’t worry, it’s decent stuff. I might not drink it, but I’ve had it made clear by those who do what I should be buying.”
Donovan chuckled. “You tried them on the cheap and nasty, then?”
“Yeah. It didn’t go well.”
Something in Ethan’s voice made Donovan look over, but the glimpse he got of Ethan’s pained expression was gone so quickly he wondered if he had imagined it.
“You’ve got a decent collection of books,” he said, changing the subject deliberately. It didn’t come close to the number in his own library, but he wasn’t about to tell Ethan that. “You like to read detective stories, right?”
“Amongst other things,” Ethan confirmed. “I’ve only just started on those, so I don’t own as many.” He brought over their drinks and handed a cup of coffee to Donovan. “I’m not going to read the books on the bottom shelf again, so if you want any of them, help yourself.”
“Thanks, I might do that.” Donovan never turned down the opportunity to try new books or authors. “Are there any you’d recommend I avoid?”
Ethan laughed. “Most of them are a decent read, but I found out a few books in that I’m not a huge fan of cozy mysteries, although I’m enjoying the one you borrowed from the library for me. Have you tried any of this new Scandinavian Noir genre? I can loan you one if you want to. They’re good and very gritty.”
“I might take you up on that.” Donovan followed Ethan over to the couch. “I really appreciate you inviting me to stay tonight.” He yawned and took a gulp of coffee. A couple of nights of not much sleep were catching up with him.
“I don’t mind taking my turn at driving tomorrow, if that helps,” Ethan said. “Would Heidi be okay with me driving her Land Rover?”
“Her pink precious?” Donovan shrugged. “I’ll phone and ask her in the morning if it comes to that. I’m sure she’ll be okay, though. You don’t strike me as the boy-racer type.”
“Thanks. I think.” Ethan put his cup on the coffee table, walked over to the kitchen, and muttered something.
“Problem?” Donovan asked.
“Stupid tap isn’t turning off properly,” Ethan said. “I could hear it dripping and couldn’t stand the noise any longer.”
“Any luck?” Donovan joined Ethan in the kitchen, then answered his own question. He’d heard it but quickly dismissed it, figuring Ethan hadn’t turned it off firmly enough. “Forget that. I can see it’s still dripping. Probably needs a new washer or something. If you have one and some tools, I can probably replace it for you.”
“I’ll get someone in after I get home from Oakwood. You’re my guest. I don’t expect you to fix leaking taps.”
“Do you have any tools?” Donovan asked. “And I don’t mind. It’s not as though it’s that dishwasher I’ve been battling for months. Be a piece of cake.”
“For you perhaps,” Ethan said. “Yes, I have tools.” He indicated a cupboard to the left of the sink. “I don’t use them. The last time I tried fixing something, it was a disaster. Almost flooded the kitchen. Dun—” He stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. “It didn’t go well.”
Duncan? As in the mysterious Duncan Kinsey Ethan seemed to have some sort of history with?
“Not everyone’s good at this stuff.” Donovan wasn’t about to try to broach the Duncan subject now. After Ethan’s reaction the last few times he’d attempted it, whoever this Duncan was, Donovan didn’t want him ruining what was left of their evening.
“Turns out I’m better at the abstract than the practical,” Ethan said. He reached over to give the tap another twist, and the teaspoon he’d left on the counter went flying onto the floor. “Damn.” Ethan bent over to pick it up. “I know the theory behind it, but it’s harder than it looks.”
“I bet it is,” Donovan murmured. He realized just how close he was standing to Ethan and took a step back quickly, hoping Ethan hadn’t noticed. The guy had a nice ass, especially when he bent over. “Umm, I mean you probably just need some practice. It took me a while to get the hang of it too.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “I need to organize the bedding for tonight. Why don’t you browse those books while I do that?”
“Sure you don’t need some help?”
“I’ll be fine.” Ethan hesitated at the doorway. “I suppose it would make it go faster. Thanks.” He looked apologetic. “Sorry, I keep turning down your offers to help. It just occurred to me that’s probably rude, which is the last thing I intended.”
“I wasn’t offended, but yeah, it would make it go faster. You can give me a tour of the place while you’re at it.”
“You’ve seen most of it,” Ethan said. “It’s very small, but it’s mine, and I figure that’s the important thing, right?”
“Right. Lead on, MacDuff.” Donovan hurried to catch up.
“Lay on, MacDuff, actually.” Ethan stopped by a small cupboard in the hallway and pulled out a set of sheets with matching pillowcases. “It’s from the Scottish play.”
“Yeah, I know, and that it’s a misquote. You’re the first person who’s corrected me on it. I thought you were into science not literature.”
“Dun…. I was with someone once who was really into the Bard. Or liked to think he was.” Ethan muttered something under his breath that sounded like “pretentious prat.”
“Plenty of those around.” Donovan didn’t expect a response from Ethan, so was surprised when he got one.
“I went to an art show once. It was full of them. A few genuine types, but it was the last one I went to.” Ethan shut the cupboard with a bang.
“Mitchell and Vincent seem like good guys.”
“I didn’t mean them. Mitchell has a real passion for art, although he’s no artist. He’s no musician either, but he loves listening to Vincent play the viola. That’s how they first met—at an orchestra concert Vincent was playing in.”
“Love at first sight?” Donovan followed Ethan into the bedroom. The room was tastefully decorated—the walls painted crème,
with a painting of the solar system hung where it could be seen from the bed. The double bed was solid wood, as were the nightstands on either side. A scotch chest stood in the corner, and an old rocking chair opposite it. A faded patchwork cushion sat on it. The chair with its cushion looked out of place with the rest of the room, something old among the new.
“Hell, no.” Ethan put the sheets down on one of the nightstands and began stripping the bed. “They didn’t see each other again until months later, and it took them a while to admit to each other how they felt. Vincent told me he wasn’t sure Mitchell was gay or how he’d react to a declaration of undying love, and he didn’t want to lose a friend.”
Donovan walked around to the other side of the bed and helped Ethan shake out the clean sheets. He tucked one end in, while Ethan tucked the other and straightened out the wrinkles. “Undying love?”
“His words, not mine.” Ethan shrugged. “Vincent’s a bit of a romantic at heart. I figure it’s because he’s a musician.”
“And you’re not?” Donovan asked. “A romantic at heart, I mean.”
A shadow crossed Ethan’s face. “No,” he said firmly. “Not anymore.” He reached for one of the pillows and knocked a photograph off the nightstand. “Damn,” he muttered, bending to pick it up.
Donovan finished tucking in the rest of his side of the bed, then leaned across to retrieve the second pillow. “Nice photo,” he said.
“It was taken a long time ago.” Ethan handed it to Donovan so he could get a better look.
A couple in their late twenties smiled at the camera, the woman holding a toddler on her knee. Donovan studied the photo, then glanced at Ethan. “Are these your parents?” he asked. The man looked the spitting image of Ethan, except his hair was a lighter shade of brown and he wore glasses.
“Yes, and that’s me with them. It’s the last one that was taken before they died.”
“I’m sorry.” Donovan returned the photo to Ethan, and he put it back on the nightstand, turning it so it faced the bed.
“Boating accident,” Ethan said, although Donovan hadn’t asked. “A friend asked them to go, and Mum had never been on one before, so they were really excited about it. They left me with my aunt and uncle for the day, or I probably wouldn’t be here either. I don’t remember much, mostly what Aunt Agatha told me.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he was repeating a story rather than something so personal.
“I’m sorry,” Donovan said again. “You look like your dad.”
“I’ve been told that.” Ethan cleared his throat. “Okay, that’s the bed made up. Do you need some pajamas? I have a spare pair, but they’d probably be too long, sorry.”
“Thanks, but it’s fine. I have a T-shirt and boxers on under what I’m wearing. They’ll do.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ll show you where the bathroom is, if you’d like a shower before bed too. I think I’ll get an early night. It’s been a long day.”
Chapter 11
SO MUCH for an early night. Ethan sat up and threw off the blankets. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable the couch was. Add to that the bloody tap, which was still dripping, and he’d managed to get next to no sleep. He glanced at his watch. Two in the morning. Great. Only another six hours left of looking at the ceiling.
He heard a noise from the bedroom—a muffled cry. Another nightmare. Donovan seemed to have a lot of them. Ethan sighed, torn between wanting to make sure Donovan was all right and risking another reminder that his nightmares were his business. Finally, he decided to ignore the sound. After the pleasant evening and enjoying Donovan’s company, Ethan wasn’t in a hurry to put a damper on their growing friendship. Better to pretend he hadn’t heard it and to give Donovan some privacy.
He shook out his pillow, then lay back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Knowing Donovan was in his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a T-shirt wasn’t helping either. Despite telling Vincent they were just friends, Ethan had to admit he could get used to having Donovan around. He was intelligent, had a good sense of humor, and didn’t spend most of his time telling Ethan what he was doing wrong.
Ethan groaned. The last thing he needed was to compare Donovan to Duncan. The two were nothing alike. But then he’d thought Duncan was a decent bloke too when they’d started their relationship. It had taken a while for the so-called honeymoon period to wear off, and then things had gone downhill from there. As soon as Ethan began disagreeing with Duncan and telling him he didn’t appreciate his opinion on everything, Duncan had turned into an obnoxious dickhead. According to Tomas, Duncan had been an obnoxious dickhead from the beginning, but hindsight was twenty-twenty, as the saying went. Not that Tomas knew about Ethan and Duncan’s real relationship, as they’d kept a bed in the spare room then. Tomas had presumed they were just flatmates, and Ethan had never told him the truth. The time they’d spent together hadn’t been complicated by Duncan’s presence, as Duncan and Tomas had shared a mutual dislike from the first time they’d met.
Duncan hadn’t been one for public displays of affection either, which suited Ethan just fine as he’d felt uncomfortable the few times Duncan had kissed him with people watching.
Maybe he had driven Duncan away into the arms of someone else?
Ethan shoved the blankets off again and this time swung his legs over the side of the couch. Nope, he wasn’t going there again. He’d been down that road already, and throwing Duncan out was something he should have done a long time ago.
The fact he was even asking the question proved he was sleep-deprived.
He stumbled to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. A hot chocolate with plenty of milk would do the trick. That and a few more chapters of the book he was reading. He was almost at the point where the teacher was about to find out who the murderer was, although it was damn frustrating he hadn’t figured it out sooner. He sounded cute, and he was supposed to be brilliant, yet Ethan found him rather dense. Why hadn’t he figured out that the chemical equation left on the board wasn’t quite right? The bad guy had slipped up by trying to make out his victim was still alive. No science teacher worth his salt would have made a simple mistake like that.
A loud bang from the bedroom made him jump. Ethan dumped the packet of hot chocolate on the counter and ran for the bedroom. “Donovan? You okay?”
“Tad, look out!” Donovan sat up in the bed, but his eyes were unfocused. He rubbed at them but seemed totally out of it. A book lay on the floor by the bed. It hitting the floor must have been the noise Ethan had heard.
“Donovan?” Ethan asked again. He sat down cautiously on the end of the bed, unsure what to do next. Who was Tad? Donovan’s boyfriend? Ex?
“What? Where?” Donovan grabbed for something that wasn’t there, then seemed to come back to himself with a jolt. “Oh. Ethan.” He looked mortified. “Sorry. I woke you, didn’t I?”
“I was already awake. That sounded like a really bad nightmare.” Ethan was careful not to ask for specifics. “I’m making hot chocolate. Do you want some?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Come get it when you’re ready. The kettle’s not boiled yet anyway.” Ethan left the room before Donovan could reply. Although he was concerned, he didn’t think Donovan would appreciate any awkward questions about his nightmare. Better to offer the hot drink and let him talk if he wanted to, although Ethan doubted he would.
Ethan had already taken a few sips of his hot chocolate before Donovan joined him in the kitchen. He hadn’t pulled any clothes on over what he’d been sleeping in, and he wouldn’t meet Ethan’s gaze.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” Donovan mumbled. He spooned some sugar into his cup and then reached over and turned the tap. “It’s still dripping.”
“Yes, I noticed,” Ethan said. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to it again until he got home from Oakwood. One night of the constant staccato was enough.
“It’s keeping you awake?”
“That and the couch.” Ethan regretted t
he words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
Donovan looked at him then. “You’re sleeping as well as I am.” He frowned. “How much did you—”
“I didn’t hear anything.” Ethan interrupted him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask any awkward questions. We agreed not to do that, remember?”
“Yeah.” Donovan sounded relieved. “Thanks.” He took a long sip of hot chocolate, wrapped his fingers around the cup, and stared out the window at the city lights. “That’s one thing I miss about the city. I love Oakwood, but it’s sleepy compared to this. The village has a real sense of night and day, where the city doesn’t. I used to walk at night when I couldn’t sleep, but now….” He shook his head.
“You still could,” Ethan said. “There’s this great invention called a torch, which people use when there are no streetlights.”
Donovan laughed. “I’ve heard of it. Tried it a couple of times, but I felt too alone. Not like here where there are still people around.”
“Have you ever thought about moving?”
“I’ve thought about it, but at the end of the day, it’s not what I need.” Donovan turned away from the window. “We all have to face our demons eventually. Mostly mine are okay, but it’s worse at certain times of the year.”
“I can understand that. Anniversaries are a pain in the arse.”
“They can be.” Donovan glanced at his watch. “How bad is the couch?” he asked.
“Pretty bad,” Ethan admitted, “but you’re not sleeping on it. I figured I’d pull the cushions off and try the floor. I’ve done it before.”
“We could share,” Donovan suggested.
“Share the floor?” Ethan looked at him blankly. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a perfectly good bed…. Oh.”
Surely Donovan didn’t mean….
“Exactly.” Donovan drained his cup. For someone who had seemed half-asleep when he’d started it, he appeared wide-awake now. “It’s silly for you to sleep on the couch or the floor when there’s a perfectly good double bed available. We could even shut the door to muffle the noise from the dripping tap.”