Brain buzzing, he cobbled breakfast together for Jevon and Rhys and braved the mud to deliver it.
At the bungalow, he found Jevon in the shower and Rhys still in bed. “You okay?”
Rhys yawned. “Just letting the last few weeks catch up with me. Apparently falling on my arse during a terrorist attack is more traumatic when you sink all that booze.”
“I did wonder if it might be. You haven’t talked about it at all, and you’re usually good at that with me.”
“I’m good at most things with you. You’re a positive influence.” Rhys held up the covers and nodded for Dylan to slide in beside him. “But yeah... I hadn’t really talked about it enough, and because me and Jevon were both twatted, it took all night to hash out.”
“But you did, though? Hash it out? Because I’ve got some numbers somewhere for stuff like this, and I’d imagine your employers do too.”
“I know all that, mate. I’m not some rookie, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen horrible crap.”
“It is the first time you’ve come close to getting stabbed by a marauding terrorist, though.”
“You don’t say.” Rhys shifted awkwardly onto his side. “But I’m okay, honest. I flipped my shit when I first got here, but I guess I wasn’t done—that I needed to let off some more steam—and I reckon being around you and Angie helped me out with that.”
“I hope so. How’s Jevon this morning? Not hiding in the bathroom, is he?”
Rhys snorted. “Doubt it. I don’t think he’d be up for the club anytime soon, but fucking around in front of you was his dynamite.”
“He’s beautiful, Rhys.”
“I know that too.”
Of course he did. The bathroom door opened and Jevon stepped into the bedroom, dark braids bundled at the nape of his neck, a towel wrapped around his trim waist. He grinned at Dylan like the long-lost pal perhaps he’d always been. “Morning, gorgeous.”
Dylan smiled too; so comfortable in their bed he could’ve happily stayed all day if not for the mind-map exploding in his brain. “Says yourself. Don’t worry. I’m not staying. Just brought you some fuel so you can hole up for the day.”
“You don’t need help in the kitchen?”
“Unless you can save me from Angelo’s best Carluccio impression, nah, we’re all right. Stay here and be naked.”
“Fine by me,” Rhys said.
Like a moth to a flame, Jevon’s gaze left Dylan for Rhys and stayed there, transfixed. Dylan took his cue and crawled out of bed. He kissed them both on the cheek and left them to love each other.
Back in the kitchen, Angelo had returned, eyes bright with achievement.
Dylan kissed him too, but on the lips, devouring him like he’d been gone a week. “Good session?”
“Really good. Harry’s given me a couple of ME patients to work with who have the same symptoms as me.”
“Relapsing and remitting? I thought that was quite rare?”
“It is, but Harry has a few because he’s the best. The ones I saw today are a girl about our age and her grandmother. Weird, huh?”
Nothing about Angelo’s vicious condition surprised Dylan anymore, so he nodded for Angelo to go on.
“Anyway,” Angelo said. “They both have random shitty days, like me, but we managed to ward one off today for the girl, and it reminded me what I can do for myself when things get tough.”
“You already work like a dog on your recovery.”
“I know, but I don’t always believe it’s worth the effort. It’s good to be reminded that it is. I think—um, I think I’d be okay if we went back to London. I’m scared of it because not having Harry around is daunting, you know? Because he’s such an amazing physio, but working with other people is good for me too, especially when I’m the one with the knowledge.”
Dylan nodded slowly. “You do have something that Harry doesn’t, though—a view from the inside—and I want to talk more about where we’re going with this, but there’s something I need to do first.”
“Something back home?”