Rhys climaxed with a soundless cry, then he fell limp, his face buried in Jevon’s neck, his lungs empty, and nothing left in his heart but love.
* * *
Rhys woke to sunlight streaming through the gap in the flowery curtains, Jevon’s arm flung over his face, and gentle knocking at the bedroom door. He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his strapped ankle. “Yeah?”
“Breakfast at the house if you want it,” Harry called softly. “Plenty of stuff right here if you don’t.”
Light footsteps padded away without waiting for an answer, and the bungalow’s front door clicked shut. Rhys shook his head. Harry was a big guy, but he’d always moved like a ninja—all silence and grace. Rhys pictured him leaping across the shattered living room in the old family house, tackling their father to the floor, and keeping him there until Rhys could get away. It hadn’t felt right then, and it didn’t feel right now. Harry was a lover, not a fighter.
Jevon stirred. “What are you smirking about?”
“What do you think?” Rhys leaned down and kissed Jevon’s cheek. “I got lucky last night.”
Lucky didn’t begin to cover it, but it was all Rhys had. Jevon rolled his eyes and pulled a pillow over his head in response, and it was a few minutes before he deemed Rhys worthy of more conversation. By then, Rhys was hauling himself back from the bathroom on his crutches.
“You look better,” Jevon remarked.
“Better?”
“Yeah. You’ve lost that corpse-like white boy thang you had going on.”
“Nice.”
“Not really. You’re way hotter with some colour in your cheeks.”
Rhys made it back to the bed and deposited himself in a heap of crutches and limbs. “Must be the salty sea air. I always look like a cabbage patch kid when I’m down here.”
“Do you visit a lot?”
“Nope.”
“Why? It’s gorgeous.”
Rhys flopped onto his back and pulled Jevon with him, more addicted to touching him than ever, if such a thing was possible. “I don’t know, to be honest. When Harry asks, I tell him I’m busy, but I actually love it here when he’s not nagging me to live a better life.”
Jevon hummed. “I’d jump on that bandwagon, but I’m too hungry to think straight. Do you think we can rustle up some breakfast here?”
“Probably, but it’ll be better up at the house if you’re feeling sociable. Feeding time at the zoo goes on all day here.”
Jevon’s face brightened considerably. “Sounds like my kind of house. I’ve been living off stale pitta bread and dodgy chicken for weeks.”
“Really? Is it that bad in the camp?”
Jevon shrugged. “Yeah. And it’s getting worse with the weather, but it’s much tougher for the people living outside the staff quarters. We have heaters and cooking facilities. Hot water when the system works. They don’t.”
“When are you going back?”
Jevon sighed. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure.”
Rhys wasn’t complaining. Still riding high on the euphoria of Jevon turning him inside out, facing reality all over again wasn’t high on his Christmas list. Accepting that their time together was, as always, temporary, could wait.
They got dressed and ventured across the farm to the big old house Harry and Joe called home. In the cosy kitchen, they found Joe, Harry, and Emma—Joe’s sister—sitting at the table while Angelo dished out breakfast to them and a handful of faces Rhys didn’t recognise. Crispy fried eggs, sautéed polenta, and something with tomatoes and white beans.
Rhys smirked at Joe. “This ain’t your mum’s fry up.”
“Angie reckons we’re in Milan or some shit, but I’m not complaining. For all the mess he makes of the kitchen, the boy can cook.”