I woke to the sound of banging, and it took me a minute to realise it was someone knocking on my laundry door. At first it scared the shit outta me, but then there was only one person who would come to back door instead of the front. My first thought went to CJ, but I wasn’t awake enough to wonder why he was banging on my door at one o’clock in the morning.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” I called out, my voice croaking with sleep.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, just a crack. I’d expected as much, but it was still a shock to see him. CJ and a smaller figure, hunched over, covered in a coat, standing under the stoop trying to get out of the rain.

Then I heard the rattled breathing.

Pops.

“Jesus Christ. Quick, come in.” I opened the door wide and ushered them both inside. I hit the light switch and my heart sank. They were both dripping wet. Pops had CJ’s jacket on, CJ was shivering, and his shirt was soaked and clinging to his body. His eye was red and swollen; he had what looked like red, angry finger-gouge marks down one side of his face, and Pops . . . he had a red mark across one cheekbone.

“S-s-sorry,” CJ said, shivering. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Come in by the heater,” I said, pulling CJ by the arm. I cranked the heater up full bore, and taking a closer look at Pops, I knew it wouldn’t be enough. “Pops, how about you have a hot shower. It’ll warm you up good and proper, and I’ll find you some dry clothes.”

Still shivering and every breath raspy, he nodded. “Th-thanks.”

I grabbed a clean towel from the linen cupboard and an old pair of tracksuit pants and a sweater. “Here,” I said, handing them to him. “They’ll be miles too big, but at least they’re warm and dry.”

He gave me a nod. His wheezing was bad, but he looked so damn sad, it almost broke my heart. “Thanks, son.”

I left him to it and found CJ trying to get warm by the heater. I pulled him into my room. “Take your clothes off,” I said, pulling out a pair of jogger pants and a long-sleeve shirt. “Put these on, and tell me what happened.”

While he stripped, I went and grabbed another towel. He was pulling up the sweatpants when I walked back in. He looked at me and sagged. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I wiped the towel over his chest, gently patted his face, and dried his hair. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Must’ve lost my phone in the fight, sorry.”

“It’s okay. What happened?”

“Dad went off, like really bad. And maybe I should have backed down, but I stood up to him. I’m so sick of his shit.”

I scanned his face: the shiner, the red lines from the corner of his eye down his cheek. “He hit you.” It wasn’t a question.

He sighed and looked down between us. “I hit him back tonight. I ain’t ever hit anyone before, and I never wanted to be like him, but if I hadn’t defended myself, I dunno what he would’ve done.”

I put my fingers to his chin and lifted his face so he could see my eyes. “You’re nothing like him. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. You defended yourself.”

“He hit me so hard the room spun, and when I could see straight, he had Pops pinned to the wall.” CJ’s eyes welled with tears. “I hate him so much.”

“I know you do. And it’s justified, CJ. Just because you’re related to someone doesn’t mean you have to like them.”

“He told us to leave. Pops spat at him.” He snorted through his tears. “Told my old man he never deserved me.”

“Pops is a smart man.”

“He’s not breathing too well. We had to walk to the workshop. I’d left my bike at Mr Barese’s when I’d caught the bus to town yesterday. Then I rode us to town. And it was raining and freezing cold. I could feel him shaking behind me, but we couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to wake up Mr Barese, and that’s the first place Dad’ll look for me. At least here, like you said, he won’t know where we are.”

“I’m glad you did.”

We heard the water shut off, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until Pops came out. “I’ll go put the kettle on, and if his breathing isn’t any better, we’ll take him to hospital, okay?”

“He won’t go.”

“He will if I tell him.” I put my hand to his injured cheek and kissed him softly. “I’m sorry you had a horrible night, but I’m glad you’re here.”

He smiled sadly, and I went into the kitchen. I filled the kettle and got cups ready for tea. “You weren’t wrong when you said they’d be too big for me,” Pops said behind me. He pulled at the waistband of the sweatpants, smiling. “But thanks. Where’s CJ?”

CJ walked in behind him and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m here, Pops.”

The first thing I noticed about Pops was that he was breathing better. Maybe the steam helped with that or maybe now because he was warmer; I didn’t know.

“You feeling okay?” I asked him.

He nodded and I noticed the red hand mark on his neck. Jesus Christ. I had to swallow down my anger. “Want to go to the hospital and get checked over?”

“Nah. Cuppa tea’ll fix me right up.” He still wheezed but he seemed much brighter.

“I’ll make it,” CJ said, taking over. “You hungry, Pops? Want me to fix you a sandwich or something?”

Pops looked straight at me, as if CJ offering him food in my house was out of line. “It’s fine,” I said. “Anything you want.”

“Maybe some toast,” Pops said.

CJ took the bread from the breadbox and added two slices to the toaster, then he went to the fridge and collected the butter. It was then I realised what Pops found so strange; CJ knew his way around my kitchen.

“Come and sit in by the heater,” I suggested. “I’ll grab you a blanket.”

Pops gave me a tired smile. “Thanks, son. You’ve been real generous.”

“It’s no trouble.”

I pulled the doona off the spare bed and wrapped it around Pops’ shoulders, and before he could ask any questions about me and CJ I wasn’t ready to answer, CJ came in with a plate of toast and a cup of tea and sat down next to Pops on the sofa.

“I’ll grab ours,” I said, darting into the kitchen. I came back out with the two other cups of tea and handed one to CJ, and Pops was already eating his toast. “How about you, CJ? Hungry?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.” He was clearly worried but seemed happier now that Pops was eating. “Bit of a cold ride to town, huh?”

Pops nodded. “Been a while since I’ve been on a motorbike.” He sipped his tea and sighed with the first taste of the warm drink. “This is good tea. CJ, my bag . . .” He pointed to the black bag near the door.

CJ grabbed it. “Here you go.”

Pops opened it, pulled out an old Weet-Bix box, and handed it to CJ. “I saved it. When your dad had ransacked your room he didn’t find it, so when he went out to look in the shed, I took it and hid it in my room.”

CJ smiled sadly. “Thanks, Pops.” He opened the box and took out a small wad of money. He looked at me. “My life savings. He’d have thought he struck gold if he found it.”

Pops sipped his tea. “And he’d drink every cent in one night.”

CJ nodded in agreement and put the money back in the box. “But then maybe he would’ve left you alone.”

Pops frowned. “No, CJ. We both know that ain’t true.” Noah conceded a nod and Pops took out some pills and washed one down with his tea.

The elephant in the room was huge, almost overbearing. I had to say something. “You’re both welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

CJ’s eyes met mine and I stared right back at him, hoping he’d see my sincerity. “Um, thanks.”

“That’s mighty nice of you to offer,” Pops added.

“But we talked on the walk to the workshop,” CJ said. “We’ll just give my dad a few days to calm down.” He shrugged. “I don’t work till Tuesday, so if it’s okay with you that we maybe stay here until then . . .”

I gave him a smile. “Of course.”

“He’ll be so desperate for one of us to get him more booze and smokes by then, he’ll be happy to see us.”

I wanted to argue that they shouldn’t ever go back, but it wasn’t my place. They’d been through enough for one night.

Pops finished his toast and drained his tea. He was clearly exhausted. “Pops, you can have the spare room,” I said. “Get some sleep, I’ll make us a big breakfast when you wake up, and we’ll deal with tomorrow in the morning.”

He glanced at CJ before nodding. “Yeah,” he said with a groan as he got to his feet. “Better put this weary bag o’ bones to bed. Night, CJ.”

“Goodnight, Pops.” He swallowed hard. “And thanks for sticking up for me back at the house.”

Pops put his hand on CJ’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze as he walked past. I showed him to the spare room and put the doona back on the bed. “He’s a good boy,” Pops said quietly.

“He is.”

“Thank you for having us.”

“Anytime.”

I closed the door and found CJ on the sofa with his head in his hands. I sat side-on and pulled him into my arms, my fingers in his hair and rubbing his back. I kissed the side of his head. “My God, Clinton,” I whispered. “Tell me what to do.”

“Just this.” He sounded so tired, so defeated. “Just this, right here.”

I squeezed him and kissed his head again. My heart ached for him. I wanted to fix everything that was broken. I wanted to take away his pain. I ran my hand over his back and up to his neck, cupping his face and bringing his lips to mine. I wanted him to feel connected, to feel loved. I wanted him to know everything was going to be okay.

The kiss was soft and sweet to begin with, but he opened his mouth, deepening it, and his grip on me became desperate. He dug his fingers into my skin, frantic and clinging for human touch. Then he began to pull at my shirt, trying to take it off.

I pulled my mouth from his and the look of rejection flashed in his eyes. I squeezed his hand. “I think we should go to my bedroom.”

“Oh.” He exhaled in a rush. “Good idea.”

Still holding his hand, I led us to my room and closed the door behind him. “There’s no pressure here,” I whispered. “You’ve had an emotional day. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.”

He put one hand around my neck and pulled me in for a harsh kiss. Passion bloomed, desire sparked somewhere inside him, and he kissed me, held me, gripped me harder than I’d ever known.

I guess that answered that.

He wanted this.

I pulled the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head, quickly running my hands over his chest. Maybe it was the silver lighting of the night, but I noticed a small round scar on his bicep and on the inside of his forearm. It looked like a cigarette burn, and my heart twinged with an ache for everything he’d been through.

I knew then that I would show him what it means to love.

I kissed the scars, then kissed up his neck to his jaw, and his ear. “I want to take my time with you. Make this so good for you,” I whispered before sucking his earlobe between my lips. His fingers dug into my hips and he frantically tried to rip off my shirt. “Slow down,” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere, Clinton.”

His gaze struck mine, vulnerable, open, and raw.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeated. “There’s no rush.”

“I’ve never . . .”

I paused. “Never what?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean, I’ve had sex. I’m not a virgin.” He frowned. “I’ve just only ever done things in the backroom at HQ or in a park somewhere. Always fast and not much else, if you know what I mean. It was always for their pleasure.”

Oh, would my heart ever not hurt to hear his stories?

I put my hand to his face and searched his eyes. “I will take all the time you need. I will make this good for you. I want to adore every inch of your body.”

His nostrils flared and he kissed me again, though this time I could feel him trying to rein in his desire. I slid my fingers under the waistband of his pants and slid them down over his arse, and he stepped out of them.

“Lie down on your back for me,” I murmured.

He quickly complied and the sight of him naked on my bed took my breath away. I stripped out of my pyjamas and took the lube and condoms he’d selected at the supermarket out of the top drawer of my bedside table. I threw them on the bed next to him. “Best purchase, ever.”

He chuckled nervously. I could see his eyes scanning my body, lingering on my cock. I was already hard and so I gave myself a stroke for him. “Like what you see?”

He nodded. “God, yes.”

“You’re gorgeous, Clinton,” I said, kneeling on the bed. I crawled up his legs, between them, kissing as I went. His knees, his thigh, his hipbone. His cock lay up to his navel almost and I nuzzled him, breathing him in, then licked him from base to tip.

He gripped the bedcover. “Shit.”

I took him in my hand and licked his cockhead, feeling him pulse and jerk in response. He was so sensitive and I had to wonder if this could be added to his list of firsts. I fondled his balls and skimmed his perineum, making his whole body twitch. God, this wasn’t going to take either of us very long.

I grabbed the lube and slicked my fingers, rubbing over his hole. He sucked back a breath, then bit back a groan. I slid a fingertip inside him, in and out, a little further with each pass. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I whispered.

“Noah,” he said, his voice clipped and tight. He looked up at me. “What are you . . . what . . . ?”

“I’m getting you ready, stretching you so you’re ready for me. I want my cock inside you and I need it to be good for you.”

His head fell back on the bed and he whined, but he spread his legs and lifted his arse a little. Jesus.

I added another finger, marvelling at the beauty of his body accepting mine. He was freaking loving this and I had barely even got started. I curled my fingers, pushing in harder and searching, searching . . .

“Holy shit!”

I pulled back a little, not wanting to overwhelm him. I knew how intense a prostate orgasm could be. “You like that?”

“Fuck.” He panted. “Do it again.”

I chuckled and did as he asked. He bent his legs, feet flat on the bed, and raised his hips, giving me better access. Fuck, he wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to bottom. I found his prostate again and he gasped, so I rubbed, back and forth. “Fuck, Noah. Stop.”

I stopped, slowly pulling my fingers out. He was ready and I was far too turned on. “Can you open a condom for me?” I asked. With my slippery fingers, it would take too long.

He fumbled and fiddled, but eventually got one open. “Want me to . . . ?”

“No. If you touch my cock right now, it’ll be all over.”

He chuckled. “Good to know I’m not the only one.”

I rolled the condom on, giving myself a squeeze to try and quell the pleasure, and knelt between his thighs. I lifted his legs up toward his chest and he gripped the backs of his knees, keeping himself spread. I gripped the base of my cock at his hole and leaned over him so I could kiss him as I entered him.

He gasped, quick short breaths, and I pushed in as slow as I was able. He was tight and hot, and his swollen eye tightened when I was only halfway in. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Please, Noah. Please.”

I kissed him with smiling lips. “Told you you’d beg me.”

He groaned and arched his back, his neck corded as I pushed all the way in. He let go of his legs and gripped my shoulders, my back, digging blunt fingers into my skin. “Too slow,” he grunted.

I took his wrists and pinned them to the mattress near his head. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened as I thrust up into him. I kissed him, his mouth, his banged-up eye, his jaw, rocking slowly, tenderly. There was no mistaking this. There was no room for doubt. It was in every squeeze of our joined hands, in every kiss, in every moan.

We were making love.

Then he jerked underneath me and cried out into my mouth. “Fuck. I’m gonna come.”

Letting go of his hands, I leaned back and slid my fingers around his cock. I pumped him and he swelled and throbbed, his body pulsed around me, and with a strangled cry, he came.

I thrust into him, over and over, prolonging his orgasm as I succumbed to my own. Every nerve in my body caught alight, crashing pleasure and ecstasy through my veins, and I came, filling the condom deep inside him.

We rocked back and forth, kissing, always touching, until his body had had enough. He writhed and chuckled. “Bit sensitive,” he mumbled.

I slowly slid out of him and took care of the condom, then quickly pulled him into my arms, not caring about the mess between us. “You are amazing, Clinton.” I kissed the side of his head. “That was amazing.”

He hummed. “Yeah.”

“Was it too slow for you?”

He laughed. “Are we really gonna talk about it?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what boyfriends do. Talk about things.”

“I thought we were unofficial boyfriends.”

“Well, it’s after midnight. You’re no longer on probation. So, if you want, we can move to official boyfriends.”

He squeezed me. “Official sounds good.”

“Is your eye okay? Not too sore?”

“It’s fine. All of me is fine right now.”

“So, was it too slow?”

He chuckled again. “Ah, no. Kinda perfect, actually.”

“I can go slower.”

“I think slower could border on torture.”

I kissed the side of his head with smiling lips. “You must be exhausted. Let me grab a towel to get you cleaned up.”

I took care of him, with slow and soft hands, and we were soon back in bed in each other’s arms. “I could get used to this,” I murmured.

He mumbled sleepily, “Me too.”

* * *

I woke when CJ sat up in bed. I’d slept alone for so long, the movement startled me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Pops will be up soon.”

Oh, right.

I sat up as well. “I promised him a cooked breakfast.”

CJ pulled on the jogger pants left on the floor from last night, and without a word, he walked out of my room. His reaction confused me. Was he pushing me away, or was he just not a morning person. Was he sore? Did he not like what we’d done last night? Was he embarrassed?

I heard the toilet flush and got out of bed. I pulled on my sleep pants and went to the bathroom, took a piss, washed my hands and my face, and found CJ in the kitchen alone. He was at the sink filling the kettle with water.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure.” He flicked the kettle on but didn’t turn around.

“Did I do something wrong last night?” I asked quietly.

He spun then to look at me, and I saw his face. His black eye was almost swollen shut, puffy and purple, his cheekbone was pink, the scratch marks down the other side of his face were still there.

“Oh, God.” I went to him and put my hands to his face. How could I have forgotten? In bed last night it didn’t seem so bad, but it looked sore as hell in the morning light.

He pulled his head back a little, not wanting me to touch his injuries. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to admit it. Let me get you something for that.” I took a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and gently applied it to the corner of his eye. “I should’ve thought to do this last night, sorry.”

“’S okay. I’ve had worse.”

I frowned at him. “I’m sorry for that too. I wish it weren’t so.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter and closed his eyes. I guessed the weight of what happened last night with his father had finally settled in.

“If you want to go home and see him today, I’ll go with you,” I offered quietly.

He shook his head and put the bag of peas on the sink. “And you didn’t do anything wrong last night. Everything you did was perfect.” He gripped the kitchen countertop behind him. “I’m not used to . . . I’ve never had . . . What we did . . .”

He was struggling with the emotion of yesterday, such anger and violence with his father and such tenderness between us. Talk about extreme lows and highs.

I put my hand to his neck and caressed his jaw with my thumb. “What we did was perfect. What we have could be perfect, CJ. No matter what your old man said to you, you’re safe here with me. And you deserve to be happy.”

His eyes met mine, dark wells of insecurity. “It scares the hell outta me.”

I pulled us together and he did that holding-tight hug thing again, and I might have held him just as hard.

Then someone cleared their throat behind us.

CJ pushed me away, startled with jarring speed, and darted through the kitchen to the laundry, heading for the back door. I tried to grab for his arm, but he was too fast.

“CJ, wait,” Pops called out.

CJ was fumbling with the deadbolt on the back door, trying to escape. I dashed after him and put my hand on the door. “It’s okay,” I whispered.

He was agitated and scared to death; his shaking fingers couldn’t get the lock open.

“Clinton,” I murmured. “It’s okay.”

He shot me a look, and he was so close but somehow so distant.

“CJ,” Pops said from the kitchen doorway. “’S okay, son. I’ve always known. Since you were fourteen, anyways.” He took a few rattled breaths. “I’m sorry I never said nothing before now. I shouldn’t have let you carry the weight of it for so long.”

All the fight, the struggle, left CJ’s body like the air from a balloon, and he sagged. He leaned his head against the back door, his hands still on the lock, and swallowed hard, but when he tried to breathe, it came out as a sob.

Then Pops was there and CJ turned and fell into his arms, and Pops held him as he cried. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, over and over.

“No need to be sorry,” Pops reassured gently. He pulled back, his gnarled hands on CJ’s arms. “There’s no apologies, and there’s no shame. You like this boy, and I’m pretty sure he likes you, so you grab it with both hands and don’t let go, you hear me?”

CJ started to cry again, his banged-up face a crumpled mess. “Nobody can know.”

Pops frowned. “Come sit with me. Let’s talk.”

CJ went willingly and I stood there, my heart in my mouth. “I’ll make breakfast,” I said, to no one in particular, but making myself busy so they had some privacy seemed like a good idea.

I tried not to listen, and mostly all I could hear was the gentle murmur of their voices. It helped that I boiled the kettle a few times so it would whistle loudly and I couldn’t hear, and the bacon sizzled and the microwave helped in drowning out their conversation. By the time I’d plated up bacon, eggs, toast, and cups of tea, they must have talked for twenty minutes.

I carried the laden tray in and slid it on the dining table. They both sat on the sofa. CJ still looked sad but Pops gave me a reassuring smile. “Something smells good.”

“Breakfast, if you’re ready,” I said. “I’ll just grab the milk.”

I took the milk from the fridge, and when I went back to the table, CJ was standing near one of the dining chairs. He still looked ready to bolt or like he was about to collapse in a heap. Maybe both. I gave him a reassuring smile and put the milk in the middle of the table. “For your tea, Pops.” I put a cup of hot tea in front of him, and when I looked up, CJ was staring at me.

His words were choked up. “Thank you.”

I met his gaze, unwavering. “Anytime.”

We ate in silence, and I tried not to keep watching CJ. But with his banged-up face, and his so-sad expression, it was hard not to. But he was hungrier than he’d probably realised, because he cleaned up everything I cooked. “Want something else?” I asked. “I can make more toast.”

He leaned back and sighed. “Nah. I’m good, thanks.”

Pops sipped his tea and smiled. “It was very good, thank you, chef.”

I chuckled. “Dunno about chef. And breakfast is about all I’m good for cooking, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m very grateful,” Pops said. He then looked between CJ and me. “So, how long’ve you been seeing each other?”

CJ blanched. “Pops, I . . .”

“You’re not ready to talk about it, I get it,” Pops said. “Like I said, CJ, it don’t bother me none. But I seen the way you look at him, and you’d smile every time you talked of him, which was often.” Pops gave me a smile and CJ blushed. “You’d spent more time in town recently, then when you knew your way around his kitchen last night, I figured you’d been here a time or two.”

CJ let his head fall down. “I tried to keep it a secret.”

“So, it’s been a little while then?” Pops asked again.

CJ didn’t answer, so I did. “Unofficially, a few weeks. Officially, since last night. Clinton’s now no longer on probation, so . . .”

Pops looked to CJ. “You’re not?”

“Ended midnight last night,” he mumbled.

“Well, that is good news!” Pops smiled widely. “And Clinton? Didn’t think you liked being called Clinton?”

“I don’t,” he shot back quickly.

“Only from me,” I added, trying not to smile.

CJ shot to his feet, a mortified look on his face. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Leave breakfast and I’ll wash up after.” He made a quick escape to the bathroom.

A second later, we heard the shower start and Pops sighed and tried to smile but it was watery at best. “Did I push him too hard? I just want him to know it’s okay.”

“What you said was perfect. Just give him time. In twenty-four hours, he’s passed his rider course, got his rider’s licence, had a terrible fight with his father, got kicked out of his home, and came out of the closet to you.” I blew a breath out through puffed cheeks. “It’s no wonder he’s a bit lost right now. But he has you, and your support will mean everything to him. When he’s processed everything and gets his head around it all, he’ll appreciate you even more.”

Pops turned his empty teacup by the handle. “He’s a good boy. Always has been. He never was like the rest of ’em.”

“Because he was raised by you, not his father.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.” Then he looked at me. “I’m glad he has you.”

That made me smile. “I hope he is too. I mean, I hope he wants to be with me too. He has a lot going on right now and I don’t want him to feel pressured, you know? Because you’re more than welcome to stay here, even if he decides he doesn’t want to be with me. I don’t want him to think he’s obligated.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied kindly. “CJ never stood for anyone who did the wrong thing by him.”

“I won’t hurt him.”

He met my gaze. “No, I don’t think you would.”

It made me smile. “But he’d be really pissed if he knew we were talking about him.”

Pops chuckled, a throaty rasp. “Oh boy, would he ever.”

We were silent for a moment. I wondered how I could say this without showing my cards, but I needed him to know. “He really is kinda great,” I said, ignoring how my cheeks heated.

Pops knew exactly what I was saying without directly saying it. I was head over heels for CJ. I couldn’t deny it anymore. He smiled widely, patted my hand, and took his plate to the kitchen.

“Leave these, I’ll take care of them,” I said, loading up the tray. “How about we have another cup of tea, then we can get your clothes you wore last night into the washing machine and dryer. If those clothes you’re wearing were any bigger on you, we’d have to send out a search party for you.”

He gave me a warm, kind smile. “That sounds real good.”

I looked over his face. “How are you feeling? Anything hurt? Your neck looked a little red last night.”

He waved me off. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I actually breathe better without a wood fire. I mean, the warmth of our old fire was good, but the dust and smoke did me no favours.” But then he sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I was scared for CJ last night. They fought pretty hard. I mean, they’ve fought before, but not like that. It was scary as hell. I thought he was gonna kill him.”

I don’t know who he meant by he or him. I didn’t want to find out. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you both left.”

“Me too.”

I fixed us another cup of tea each and we’d just taken our first sips when CJ stood in the doorway. He was wearing the jogger pants I’d loaned him and the shirt he’d been wearing last night. He looked brighter, his hair neatly combed, but his eye was still swollen. He gave a bit of a smile. “What’s going on?”

“Tea. Want one?” I asked.

He nodded and walked in. “I can get it.” He poured himself another cup, turned to face us, and sipped it.

“How’s your eye?” I asked.

“Bit sore.”

“Want a Panadol?”

He made a face. “Maybe later.”

Pops took a long mouthful of his tea and swallowed it, then put his cup on the bench. “I’ll just use the bathroom,” he said, rushing out of the kitchen as fast as he could in a not-so-subtle move to leave us alone.

CJ sighed. “Not obvious at all, Pops,” he called out.

I smiled behind my tea. “He’s the sweetest man.”

“He is.” We stared at each other for a moment. “Noah⁠⁠⁠—⁠”

“CJ, look . . .” We spoke at the same time. “Please, let me say this first.”

He nodded for me to continue.

“I need you to know you and Pops are welcome to stay here, regardless of what happens between us.”

He opened his mouth but closed it again and put his cup down. He had that scared look about him again that, quite frankly, gutted me.

“Clinton,” I whispered, putting my hand to his face. “I want there to be an us, but if you feel overwhelmed right now and need some space, I’ll understand.”

He leaned into my palm, his eyes closed. “I am overwhelmed. Can’t lie. It’s been a shit twenty-four hours.” He looked at me then, and I could see the white of his eye was red under the swelling. “But it’s been pretty damn good too. Noah, I don’t think I can do this without you.”

My heart surged and I leaned in and kissed him softly. The touch of his lips against mine felt like heaven.

He smiled, though it was twinged with sadness. “And I know we can stay here for a day or two, no matter what happens between us, because you’ve told me ten times.”

I gently touched the red mark on his cheekbone. “I needed you to know.”

“I want there to be an us too,” he whispered. “Noah, last night was . . .” He bit his bottom lip and blushed.

“Last night was what?” I prompted.

His eyes shot to mine. “The best night of my life. What we did, what you did to me, I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

I leaned against him, pressing him against the sink, and slid my arms around his lower back. “Me either. Not with anyone but you.”

This seemed to please him; his smile was genuine. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he put his forehead on my shoulder and slowly but surely buried his face in my neck. He breathed in deep and tightened his arms around me. God, he just loved being held. It was as heart-wrenching as it was beautiful.

“Your Pops knows about us,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“And he still loves you.”

His hold on me tightened. “I know.” He let out a shuddered breath. “I never thought that’d happen. I never thought any of this could happen.”

I pulled back a little and kissed him softly on the lips, then on his swollen eye. “You deserve good things.”

Pops shuffled into the room and CJ froze and pushed me away, his instincts kicking in. “Here’s my clothes that⁠⁠⁠—⁠” He stopped. “Oh, sorry.” Then he looked at the distance now between CJ and me, tucked his laundry under one arm, and took CJ’s arm with his free hand and dragged CJ toward me until we were touching. “As you were, soldier.”

I barked out a laugh and slid my arm around CJ. He blushed a thousand shades of embarrassed and ducked his head, and I pulled him in for a proper hug, the kind he couldn’t resist. He mumbled something into my chest and Pops chuckled as he walked into the laundry. “Want me to set this going?” he asked. “Oh. Your machine’s a lot newer than ours.”

“I can do it. Just throw them in the machine and I’ll sort it out.” I kissed the side of CJ’s head. “Wanna grab your clothes and we’ll get ’em washed and dried.”

He pulled back, somewhat reluctantly. “It’s just my jeans and underclothes, really. Oh, and this shirt.”

“Take it off and I’ll wash it,” I suggested.

CJ shot a horrified look to Pops, who was walking back through the kitchen. “Oh, CJ,” Pops said. “I’m gonna presume it ain’t nothing he hasn’t seen before, since you didn’t sleep on the couch last night.”

CJ’s shoulders sagged. “Can we just go back to you not knowing?”

Pops just laughed and continued walking through, back to the lounge room.

“It’ll be okay,” I said softly. It might be fine to joke about it one day, but it was probably all still a bit too new and real. “You’ll get used to it.”

He grumbled and, lifting from the hem first, pulled his shirt off. He held it out for me, so I took it but not before I looked him over. I hadn’t seen him shirtless in the daylight before. I ran my hand over his chest up to his neck and sighed. “You’re really hot,” I whispered.

He snorted like it was a ridiculous notion.

Then I noticed those small circular scars on his arm. I traced one with my finger, and CJ frowned. “My dad . . .”

I nodded slowly. “I figured.”

“I was eight when he did this one,” he whispered, pointing to one scar. “Twelve when he did this one.”

My heart fell to my stomach, and I lifted his arm and pressed my lips to the scar, then another on his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

He looked at me, a dozen conflicting emotions in his eyes, but before he could disagree, I went to the laundry. “Grab me your jeans and I’ll set the wash going.”

We started the laundry and I tossed him a clean shirt and a hoodie from my wardrobe, then we cleaned up the kitchen while Pops watched some telly. Then I had an idea. “How about we head down to the supermarket. We’ll cook up a feast for dinner.”

“Yeah, I need to buy us a toothbrush each,” CJ said. “We literally left with nothing. Pops, do you need anything else?”

“Some decent daytime TV on a Sunday,” he replied.

I remembered CJ telling me Pops liked his soaps. “Do you watch Young and the Restless?”

Pops eyed me cautiously. “Yeah?”

I picked up the remote. “I have cable. And there are dedicated channels for American soap shows. Young and the Restless marathons, every weekend.”

Pops whole face lit up. “All day?”

I laughed and found the channel for him, then handed him the remote. “Oh God,” CJ mumbled. “You’ll never get control of your TV again.”

As it turned out, after CJ and I made a trip to the supermarket, we spent the afternoon lazing about watching episode after episode of Young and the Restless with Pops. CJ sat on the sofa next to him and I sat on the floor, resting between CJ’s legs, and we laughed and ate snacks, and the show was as addictive as it was silly. Later, we cooked a huge stew for dinner, and Pops went to bed early, claiming he was tired, but it was pretty obvious just a ruse to give us some alone time.

“I ain’t seen Pops smile so much,” CJ said quietly. “And he’s breathing a bit better. Must look at getting a gas heater when we go home.”

I pulled him against me so he was lying back on me while we watched Arnie’s Conan the Barbarian. I’d kiss his temple every so often, and he’d squeeze my hand in his. When I finally took him to bed, I kissed down every inch of his body, bringing him to climax with a pleasure he’d never known. Another first for his list of many. And when he settled into sleep, he held me so tight like he was scared I’d disappear.

I kissed him and told I wasn’t going anywhere. Not now, not ever.

* * *

The next morning, when I walked into the kitchen ready for work, I was met with a smiling Pops and CJ and a cup of tea and plate of toast. CJ was talking of helping out by mowing the lawn this morning and what we could have for dinner when I got home, and it was strangely domestic and equally wonderful, and I drove to work with a smile plastered on my face.

Until I walked into my office and was met with Terrell and two uniformed police officers, and everything came to a screeching halt. They didn’t even have to speak; somehow I already knew.

“They’re looking for Clinton Davis,” Terrell said.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. “Why?”

“There’s been an incident,” one of the officers said. “And we can’t find him.”

“What kind of incident?”

The other cop tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Do you know where Mr Davis is? He was one of your parolees up until this weekend, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct. His probation period ended midnight Saturday.” I swallowed hard. “And yes, I know where he is. And Pops⁠—I mean, Ronnie Davis. I know where they both are.” The three of them stared at me and I knew I couldn’t leave it at that. “If his father wants to know where they went, I’d rather he not find out. He has a long history of violence and abuse and⁠⁠⁠—⁠”

“Mr Huxley,” the first officer said. “Dwayne Davis is dead. His son, Clinton Davis, is a person of interest.”