“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.”