“Probably. I’m a city boy, but those summers on the farm were the happiest I’d ever been.”
“You’re not happy now?”
“Is anyone?”
Kim said nothing. I uncrossed my legs and my knee brushed his. He flinched and stared at me, his expression unreadable. Had he felt it too? The jolt of energy that seemed to grow in intensity every time we touched?
And what the hell was he seeing in my face as I gazed back at him, lost in his stubbled jaw, chiselled cheekbones, and depthless eyes? Could he tell how much I still wanted him? That I’d spent two weeks cursing myself for pushing him away, even though I knew it was the best thing for everyone?
“I could come with you,” he said suddenly. “To London, I mean. Moral support. Company. Whatever.”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Not today. Seeing Jack onto the train was the last thing on my list.”
Kim didn’t strike me as a lazy guy, and it was barely lunchtime. I dreaded to think how much he’d achieved in the time it had taken me to drag my arse out of bed and to the train station. “I can’t ask you to come with me. Apart from anything else, it will be boring as hell. I’m just going to the flat, and then the estate agents.”
“Won’t take long, then, eh?”
“I doubt it.”
“That’s settled, then, ’cause whatever’s put that cloud on your face, Jas, there ain’t no reason for you to face it alone.”
Kim bought a ticket on the train, and we settled into some seats towards the back, two seats, together, with no one around us. To my shame, I fell asleep almost immediately, worn out by a long night of putting the finishing touches to the images I’d shot of Red’s band, and then only a few snatched hours of restless sleep where my dreams had flitted between her, Kim, and the clusterfuck of heartbreak I’d left in London.
I woke with a jump somewhere near Bath, my cheek mushed against Kim’s shoulder.
“Shit.” I sat up and wiped my mouth. “Sorry. I’m a bugger for passing out on the train. I’ve ended up in Coventry before now.”
Kim chuckled, keeping his eyes trained on the iPad he was drawing on. “Lucky you. I got real bad travel sickness until a few years ago. Could barely ride a bike without chundering.”
“Nice.”
“Not really. My dad is a fisherman. Drove him half mad that I was such a pansy out on the water.”
There was no malice in Kim’s tone, no bitterness. I wondered what his old-school Porthkennack family made of his sexuality, but didn’t ask, because it was none of my fucking business. Besides, Kim had proved himself willing to share anything that mattered. It was me who was dragging him all the way to London without telling him what it was about the trip that made me want to dig my eyeballs out with a teaspoon. “I’m bi too, you know.”
Kim looked up from his work. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you? Ever wish you were one or the other?”
“Not for a long time. I’ve been through phases of hating both sides of the coin, but I’m all right with it now. You?”
Kim shaded a petal on the rose sketch he was working on. “I’m cool with it, most of the time. It’s hard, though. I’ve felt guilty in the past for liking blokes when I’ve been with a woman, and the other way around, but then I met Lena, and it didn’t matter anymore. We both liked everything, so there were no boundaries.”
“Free love and all that jazz?”
“Something like that.” Kim sighed and turned his iPad off, tucking the stylus pen into the side of the case. “Look, I’m not incapable of being faithful because Lena and I chose to have an open relationship, if that’s what you’re thinking. And it didn’t make us love each other any less. It’s—itwasjustdifferent, and for a long time, I was as happy as I could be with all the other bullshit I was dealing with.”
“I don’t think you’re incapable of being faithful. And I come from a family of swingers, remember? It’s—” I stopped. Just what? What exactly was I trying to explain here? That Kim’s lingering relationship with Red was irrelevant? Because it wasmewho was emotionally broken?Mewho’d closed off my heart from the possibility of ever loving anyone ever again? Not that Kim was asking me to love him. Why the fuck would he?
“Jas.”
I blinked. “What?”
Kim tilted his head to one side. “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re usually so . . . I dunno, fucking poised, and together. What’s up? You don’t want to sell the flat?”
How he knew the sale of my flat and my ramblings on sexuality were connected, I’d never know. Perhaps I’d mumbled my inner woes to him while I’d dozed on his shoulder; it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d talked in my sleep.
It was my turn to sigh. I plucked his iPad from his hands and raised an eyebrow, silently asking his permission to swipe through his sketches—tattoo designs, I assumed.