Joe flashed Angelo a wink, earning him an eye roll in response, as Angelo dropped into the seat beside Rhys. “You think you’d get this in Milan? This is peasant food, mate.”
“Suits me then.”
Joe returned his attention to his plate. Rhys fumbled with his crutches until Harry reached a long arm around Jevon and leaned them against a nearby dresser.
Angelo chuckled quietly.
Rhys shot him a dead-eyed stare. “What?”
“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“No more than usual. I didn’t need to fuck my ankle to know my brother is irritating.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant having to rely on other people to put one foot in front of the other. It’s not Harry’s fault you need help.”
He spoke too quietly for anyone around the table to hear, but Rhys’s glare intensified anyway before he caught himself and reined his petulant inner wanker in for good. “Yeah. I know. I’m just acclimatising to being on my arse. I’ll stop being a dick soon, I promise.”
Angelo chuckled again. “Let me know when it starts.”
Twat. But Rhys struggled to mean it. If it hadn’t been for Angelo keeping in touch with Jevon, Rhys would be sleeping in Emma’s bed by himself. And despite wasting so much time protesting otherwise, Rhysdidconsider Angelo a friend. He slung a lazy arm around Angelo’s slender shoulders and raised his voice to normal levels. “It’s good to see you looking more like the feisty Dom I know and love.”
Beside Rhys, Jevon snorted, and across the table, Harry cringed. “Seriously? We’re going to talk about that over breakfast?”
“If you want, bro. Wasn’t me who wasn’t ever talking about it.”
Harry gave Rhys the finger, and the conversation moved on. And life did too. Joe and Harry went back to work, leaving Angelo to clean up and shoo Jevon away when he offered to help. “I’m good. I like to make the most of my usefulness when it’s here. Makes up for all the times I’m surgically attached to the couch.”
“You sure?”
Angelo wrapped his arms around Jevon’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure. Take that grumpy arsehole back to bed.”
Going back to bed had its merits, but Rhys didn’t feel like retreating to the bungalow again straight away. Instead, they navigated across the frosty yard to a helpfully positioned bench and watched Joe and Emma work with the huge black stallion Rhys had always been warned not to touch.
“His name’s Shadow. Only Joe, Emma, and their father can handle him, and even then, he nearly killed Joe a while ago.”
“He’s huge,” Jevon said. “Does Joe’s father live in the bungalow too?”
“Nah. He’s in prison.”
“I feel peaceful here,” was all Jevon offered in return. “Like it’s where we’re meant to be right now.”
“How long for, though?”
The question was out before Rhys could catch it, tainting the easy air they’d ambled—hobbled, in Rhys’s case—around the farm with. Jevon kept his eyes on Joe and the fiery stallion and tightened his grip on Rhys’s hand. “I haven’t been in touch with anyone from FFP since I bailed on them, but I can’t stay much longer than Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“Yeah. There’s an early morning flight out of Newquay the day after Boxing Day. I booked it last night when you were asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
It was on the tip of Rhys’s tongue to point out he hadn’t given Jevon much chance for talking the night before, but he let it go. Christmas was a week away, and that gave them far longer together than he’d feared. “Harry will want us to stay here.”
“I know. He’s already asked me.”
“When?”
“Last night. After I’d booked the ticket, actually, but it all seemed to make sense when he did. I kind of assumed you’d want to stay... unless you want to go back to London?”
“What about your family?”