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?”