Jevon dropped the towel and slid his fingers up Rhys’s neck and into his damp hair. “How about now? Can you feel this?”
“What? Your fingers setting me on fire? Of course I can.”
Relief flooded Jevon’s veins, and he persisted in his journey over every part of Rhys he could reach, retracing steps his hands had last made more than a month ago. Damn... was that all? It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d last put his hands on Rhys. Last felt his heated skin glide beneath his palms. Last heard his soft intake of breath as Jevon’s fingers grazed a sensitive spot.
A spot that was marred by bruises from where Rhys had hit the pavement.
Jevon’s fingers stilled. Adrenaline and relief that Rhys had made it through the horrible events in London relatively unscathed had carried him this far, but the reality that things could’ve turned out vastly different hit Jevon hard and fast. The attackers had been gunned down by police twenty feet from where Rhys had fallen. What a difference ten seconds either way could’ve made.
“Jevon?” Rhys had turned around and was staring right at him. “What’s the matter?”
“I—uh, nothing. I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
There was no accusation in Rhys’s tone. Only fact. In spite of himself, Jevon smiled and cupped Rhys’s face, absently thumbing the dark smudges beneath his eyes. “I’m okay. Just struggling to believe we’re both really here.”
It was a vague version of the truth, and Rhys seemed to know it. He sighed and pulled Jevon into a tight hug. “I’m sorry it had to be this way too. I was supposed to meet my boss whenever Monday is to discuss if he could let me out of my secondment to join the NGO. He’s a good bloke... I was hoping he’d say yes.”
Jevon closed his eyes. Three days ago, getting Rhys to Lesbos had been everything. Now counting the thud of his heart against his own was more. So much more. “Don’t think about that right now. You’re going to be off your feet for a while.”
“Foot.”
“What?”
“Foot. My other one is fine.”
“Dick.”
“But you love me?”
“I do.” Jevon leaned down and kissed Rhys deeply, reconnecting the wires that had been flailing in the wind for four long weeks. “Do you love me?”
“More than you know.”
“Show me.”
* * *
An hour of shifting awkwardly on Joe’s sister’s bed, kissing the hell out of each other, wore Rhys out. After hustling Jevon under the flowery duvet, he knocked out. Jevon held him for a while, watching him sleep, like a creeper, while he poked around on his phone, but restlessness and a craving for Newquay’s fresh air eventually drove him outside to take a walk.
It was dark and cold on the farm. Wind whipped up the lane and swirled around the yard Jevon meandered to. Close to midnight, he didn’t expect to see anyone, but Joe was sitting on the doorstep of the main house, drinking whisky and smoking a cigarette. “Everything okay?”
“Think so.” Jevon leaned on the cold stone wall. “Rhys is knackered.”
“Harry too. He hasn’t slept since it kicked off on the news.”
Neither had Jevon, but fatigue seemed far away. He accepted the whisky bottle Joe held out and took a deep swig. The amber liquid burned wonderfully, scraping away some of the terror still scratching his soul. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” Joe took the bottle back. “You okay? Must’ve been a hell of a day for you too.”
Jevon shrugged. “I’ve had better.”
“Not much for complaining, eh?”
“What’s the point?”
“Truth.” Joe looked as though he wanted to say something else, but Harry opened the front door, looking every inch Rhys’s brother, though he was broader and his eyes softer.