Jevon rolled his eyes. “Not today. I’m supposed to be leading a juggling session, but I cried off to climb up this rock and catch a phone signal because I couldn’t handle another day without hearing your voice, even though we’ve got some local engineers coming out this afternoon to install some Wi-Fi.”
“And you think that takes away from all the work you’ve done already? Jevon, you’re human, and you miss the people who love you. That doesn’t make you less of who you are.”
“Why are you never this nice to yourself?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
Jevon chuckled, and some of the tension in the air broke. “Maybe we should. My phone just pinged with a bunch of messages from Angelo. He says you’re giving Harry the run around again.”
“Fucking Angelo.” It was Rhys’s turn to roll his eyes. “He was never this up in my business when he was screwing me in the club.”
A month ago, insecurity would’ve clouded any humour in Jevon’s eyes, but not now. His grin widened to a smirk. “Well, perhaps you should’ve spent more time getting to know him than screwing him. Then you’d know that he cares about your brother enough to call you out for being a dick.”
“I already know that. And I’m not being a dick to Harry. He knows I love him.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
Jevon frowned, apparently unconvinced, but let it go. “What are you doing today?”
“Sleeping until four, then I’m on shift all night from seven.”
“So you’ll be awake around five then?”
“That’s the plan. Why?”
“Because the Wi-Fi will be working by then, and I’m running a circus session, and I was wondering if you’d like to come?”
“Come?”
“Yeah. As in watch. I can prop my phone up on something and you can see what we do. I know you’ve seen videos and stuff, but knowing you’re watching would do wonders for my motivation right now.”
“Then I’ll be there. And Jevon?”
“Yeah?”
Rhys tried for a smile. “I’ll always be here. I meant it when I said I loved you... ’cause I really fucking do.”
“I love you too, man.”
Seventeen
Jevon walked upside down around the makeshift arena, his gloved hands squelching in the mud. The dirt smearing his arms smelt awful and so did he after four days of no running water, but the laughter around him masked the grime.
He flipped over, landing on his feet, then fell into a deliberately clumsy cartwheel, falling in a heap by a clutch of young boys. “Come,” he said, beckoning with a muddy hand. “You try.”
The boys scrambled to their collective feet and joined Jevon in his makeshift circus ring... and successively put Jevon to shame as they hurled their nimble young bodies around with an ease he barely remembered.
He watched them a moment, head tilted to one side, then turned in a slow circle, studying each cluster of children as they worked with different members of the FFP troop. The acrobatic boys, the girls spinning flawless pirouettes, the opera-singing teenager. Jevon was used to children surprising him, but the group of Syrians who’d arrived overnight were something else. Most of them spoke better English than he did.
Jevon left them to it and retreated to the phone he’d left propped up on a stack of crates. Rhys was there, like he had been every morning for the past week, eating what looked suspiciously like Coco Pops while he lounged in bed after a long night shift.
Grinning, Jevon jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Are you seeing this?”
“Syria’s Got Talent?” Rhys nodded. “Yeah. Weird that they’re all so fly. Where did they come from?”
“Originally? I’m not sure. I know they sailed in from Turkey, but I don’t know which part of Syria they came from.”