Rhys held the soup to Angelo’s lips and helped him drink some, grateful that Jevon hadn’t made it too hot, then he set it aside and took a deep breath. “Yeah. About that whole stranger thing.”
Angelo accepted the mug of tea. “What about it? Harry’s a good bloke. If he was shitty, it would only be because—”
Rhys held up his hand. “He wasn’t shitty—at least no more than I probably deserve—and that’s because he’s my brother, man.”
“What?”
“You heard. Harry Foster. Physiotherapist. Spinach freak. New-found horse fanatic. He’s my little brother.”
Angelo opened his mouth. Shut it again. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t know how we were all connected until this morning, and I still have no fucking idea how this happened.”
“Harry was my physio before he moved away.”
“I know.”
“He was my mentor when I trained as an exercise therapist.”
“I know that too.”
“Rhys, he’s like the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Yup.”
Angelo took a bite of toast, life returning to his hooded eyes with every rotation of his jaw. When he looked up, Rhys finally saw something he recognised. “Does he know we’re fuck buddies?”
“Uh—” Rhys winced and died a little inside. “I reckon so. He already knew we were connected when he called and put together with shit I’ve told him about my weekends and stuff...”
“Fuck. Me too. I never used your name, but we’ve definitely talked about you in front of him.”
“I’m probably gonna kill him, just so you know. Once I’ve told him you’re not dead.”
“That’s not fair.” Jevon spoke for the first time since coming back in the room.
Rhys studied his face for horror, for any sign that he was about to leave Rhys to the soap opera his life apparently was, but found nothing beyond amused kindness. “How do you figure that?”
“Angelo was his patient,” Jevon said. “Harry couldn’t tell you anything about him without breaking confidentiality. And whatever freaky shit you kids have going on at that sex club probably falls under that too. Don’t those places have some mafia code?”
Angelo started to laugh, but it turned into a cough, reminding Rhys of the real reason they were all there.
“Fuck. I need to call my darling brother and let him know you’re okay. Has your phone come back on yet? You should call Dylan.”
Rhys stepped out of the room, leaving Jevon to help Angelo with his phone, and went to the kitchen.
Harry answered on the first ring.
“He’s all right,” Rhys said quickly. “Fucked, but okay. I’ve checked him out, and I don’t think he needs to go to hospital if he can get to his GP in the next couple of days.”
“What happened? Relapse?”
“I think so. He’s pretty confused.”
“Yeah. He gets that way when his energy levels tank. It hasn’t happened for a while though.”
“How do you know that all the way from Cornwall?”
“Because we’re friends,” Harry said. “He picked up some of my London patients when he qualified as an exercise therapist, and he’s been down here to work with me on the farm.”