Joe

I kept missing him. It was like my body knew exactly when he was coming and sent me to sleep on purpose. Two days in a row, I woke up to food parcels and a note on my pillow, and by the third day, I was feeling human enough to be pissed off about it.

A doctor came to see me as I was studying the latest Post-it I’d found stuck to a tub of something that looked suspiciously like lentils. I reluctantly set it aside and let myself be prodded and pressed, glad that I could now get through it without chundering.

“Your latest scans are encouraging,” the doctor said. “How’s your pain?”

“Better.” Understatement. I hadn’t realised how much moving around depended on an abdomen that wasn’t trying to kill you. “Can I go home?”

The doctor smiled, and I wondered if I’d asked him already that day. Tramadol had left big gaps in my head. The only thing I could recall from the last few days with any clarity was gut-twisting pain and the fact that I was pretty sure my mother was hiding something from me.

“You can go home this afternoon,” the doctor said, “if I’m happy with your bloods from this morning and you commit to an aftercare plan.”

I squinted at him. “What kind of aftercare? I don’t have to take my own blood, do I?”

“No, but you will have to rest for a considerable amount of time. Your mum was telling me that you work on a farm?”

“I live on a farm. It’s not my job, it’s my life.”

“Well, it can’t be for the next month. I want you in bed for a week, and then only light exercise for a few weeks after. No horse-riding or heavy lifting. No stress if you can avoid it.”

I want you in bed for a week. I let my eyes fall closed and imagined it was Harry saying those words to me. Heat pooled in my groin—thank God. I’d worried that my dick was broken. “I can rest—probably—but I don’t actually have a bed.”

“Find one,” the doctor said. “Or I’ll have to keep you here until you do.”

He was joking, I was sure of it, so I didn’t bother relaying the message when I texted Sal to tell her I was being discharged. And it didn’t occur to me that anyone other than Harry would drive to set me free either, so I struggled to contain my disappointment when Emma rocked up later that afternoon.

She met my scowl with one of her own and then rushed to me for a hug. I evaded, knowing that even her slender frame was still too much for me, and settled for slipping an arm around her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“Idiot. I’ve come to drive you home.”

“Seriously? On your own.”

“Yep.” Emma hid her face in my T-shirt. “Harry’s been helping me loads this week. And I’m smashing it, Joe. I even went to the gym in town with him.”

“The what?”

“The gym. There’s a yoga group there I want to join. He came with me for my first session. He’s so flexible. You wouldn’t think it for someone that muscly—”

I silenced her nervous chatter with my hand over her mouth. Thinking about how flexible Harry might be was bad for my blood pressure—even if it had been dragging on the floor for the best part of a week. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Emma ducked away from me. “Liar. You probably wanted Mum to take you to KFC on the way home, and I’m not doing that, no matter how brave I’m feeling.”

If that was what she honestly thought, I let her have it. Sal seemed to know that something was cooking between Harry and me, but she was my mum—not much got by her. “Can we go now? I need to get home.”

“What for? We’ve managed just fine without you.”

“Yeah?”

Emma held my gaze fiercely for a few seconds, then caved and shook her head. “Harry’s been amazing, Dex too, but no one knows the farm like you do. We’ve missed you so much.”

It was nice to hear. Sometimes it seemed like the years rolled by and no one noticed that I was still drowning. That we all were.

I started to get down from the bed. Emma giggled. I glared at her. “What?”

“You’ve got no shoes. The paramedics lost your boots.”

“So?”

“Oh right . . . you’re going to walk to the van in the rain in your socks, are you?”

The thought of walking anywhere was almost enough to make me faint, but I didn’t care if I crawled home on my knees, I was getting out of this shithole.

Thankfully, Emma had thought of everything. She retrieved a pair of gym bunny trainers from her bag and slipped them onto my feet. “They’re Harry’s,” she supplied like I didn’t already know. “You’re the same size. He left you some joggers and stuff on the bed too.”

“The bed?”

“Yes. He’s going to take the couch while you recover.”

“Em, we can’t let him do that. He’s paid for that room.” I didn’t add that there was no way on earth I was sleeping in Grandpa’s bed, because I didn’t have to . . . right?

Wrong. Emma shook her head and took my weight as I eased myself onto my feet. “It was Harry’s idea. We went shopping and got new sheets and stuff, and he got cross when me and Mum offered him our beds.”

“You didn’t think of getting cross right back and telling him no?”

“Of course I did, but it wouldn’t have worked. Joe, he wants to be in the house with you, and it’s probably for the best. Do you really want Mum helping you up and down the stairs.”

I growled under my breath. Being the weak link wasn’t my style, and she knew it.

We said goodbye to the nurses, picked up a giant bag of medication, and made a shuffling getaway. I felt like shit, but the wind and rain in my face when we got outside was magic.

“Wait here,” Emma said. “I’ll bring the van around.”

I propped myself against a wet wall and waited. A thought occurred to me while she was gone, and I put it to her when she got back to distract myself from how difficult it was to climb into the van. “If I’m in the bedroom, and Harry’s in the living room, where the fuck did you put all the tack?”

“In the trailer.”

“What?”

“The trailer,” Emma repeated like I was a moron. “It’s been cleaned out and secured.”

“By who?”

Emma pulled out of the hospital grounds, paying more attention to the road than strictly necessary.

“Please tell me you didn’t let Harry do it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then who? Most of that old junk is too heavy for Toby and George, and you’re scared of spiders.”

“I’m scared of everything. Doesn’t stop me pulling my weight on the farm.”

“Never said it did. I—” I caught myself before the conversation descended into the type of sibling bickering that went round in circles. “Who did it?”

Emma shot me a worried glance. “You’re not allowed to get cross.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Joe. Mum had a long conversation with that doctor this morning and he said you’re not allowed any stress.”

“Then stop pissing me about and answer the question.”

Emma eased the van onto the main road, taking care to avoid the bumps and holes, which I appreciated. “Dad’s been helping on the farm.”

“He’s been what?”

“Helping, Joe. Fuck’s sake. Don’t make me say everything twice. You didn’t bang your head that hard.”

The bang to my head had been the least of my worries. Concussion was a breeze compared to the disaster in my stomach. I took a deep breath and forced myself to at least try and sound reasonable. “What’s Jonah been doing on the farm? He can’t stay there.”

“I know,” Emma said. “The night you got hurt, Shadow was too much for us, so I called the Legion looking for him, and he was sober enough to come and help. He’s stuck around since then, helping George nurse those ponies and working with Shadow. He cleaned the trailer out too, but he’s gone now, I swear. He knew you wouldn’t want him around.”

I absorbed it all and sat back in my seat, closing my eyes as my overloaded brain processed it. Weird emotions ran through me, but confusion was loudest. I’d been angry at my father for most of my life, but I could deal with him. Emma was the one who’d ignored him all these years, seemingly content to pretend that he was pretty much dead. How could she call on him for help and then explain it to me like it was fucking normal?

It was a while before I felt steady enough to continue the conversation, and by then I was too tired to be pissed off. “You do realise that we told Dicky that Jonah was never on the farm? If he finds out he has been, he might come back and have another go at Mum.”

Emma snorted. “I doubt it. George was in the Legion last week, and apparently Harry scared the shit out of Dicky. He hasn’t been around for ages.”

Nothing was ever that simple, and Dicky McGee wasn’t the kind of man to leave his pride in the mud of my yard. I started to argue with Emma but ran out of steam before I’d managed a coherent sentence.

She frowned at me.

I shook my head. “I’m tired.”

“I know, big brother. We’re almost home.”

I couldn’t wait.

At least, I thought I couldn’t until the bumpy lane to the farm almost killed me.

“Sorry.” Emma winced on my behalf. “Perhaps I should’ve let Harry fetch you in the car after all.”

“It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Thank you for coming to get me. I know how shitty it must’ve been for you.”

“Actually, I enjoyed it.”

“Which part? The driving or seeing me lose my shit over a pothole?”

Emma grinned. “Both. Now stop your whining. We’re home.”

And we were. Emma edged the van as close to the house as possible and turned the engine off. She gave me a look, which I ignored, and then poked me in the side just hard enough to make my eyes water. “Mum’s mucking out the donkeys, but she said you’re to go straight upstairs and stay there. No funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“Don’t be a dick, basically. I know it’s hard, but try, eh? For her sake, if not your own. She’s been so worried about you. It’s only fussing over Harry that’s kept her sane.”

I couldn’t help a smile. If there was one fella who appreciated my mum almost as much as me, it was Harry, even if he didn’t roll over for her pie and mash. “I’ll try, Em. I swear.”

Emma snorted and got out of the van. She opened my door and jumped up to ruffle my hair. “Whatever. Are you going to be okay getting in? I was sweating all the way to Truro so I need a shower.”

“Thought your boiler was on the blink?”

“It was. Harry got a new thermocouple when we were in town and fixed it. Got all the hot water we need now. Shame we can’t afford to use it.”

Guilt squeezed my heart. In the rare moments I’d been with it enough to let my mind wander, I’d pictured Emma and Mum traipsing across the yard with wet hair and wellies, and it had driven me half mad. Add-in the sick ponies I was damn-well checking on before I went inside, and I’d been pretty much beside myself.

Emma pinched my cheek and disappeared, apparently deciding that if I needed her help, I’d have said so. But as I shifted in my seat and stared at the ground, the prospect of getting out of the van was overwhelming. I wrapped an arm around my battered torso and willed my legs to hold me up. White spots danced in front of my eyes, and the energy that had propelled me from my hospital bed ran out.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders. “Don’t go falling over on me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you awake all day.”

Harry. A switch flipped inside me. I raised my head and met his gaze, and it seemed like the world had changed since I’d last seen him. Maybe it had. “Define awake.”

“Anything more conscious than I’ve seen you the last four days.”

Four days? Shit. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost twenty-four hours. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

I shrugged. “Everything? I’m too tired to list it all.”

Harry smiled. “No need—for the thanks or the list. Let’s get you inside.”

“I can manage,” I lied.

“I know,” Harry lied right back. “Let me help you anyway. It’s good for my soul.”

He didn’t need any help with his soul as far as I could see, but I let him slip an arm under my shoulders anyway and support me as I shuffled inside.

At the stairs, he followed behind me, his hand on my back, and seemed to sense when the sight of Grandpa’s bed made me pause. “New sheets,” he said. “The others were covered in dust.”

“They were new a week before you got here,” I said absently, because it wasn’t the sheets that got under my skin—it was everything else. The curtains, the window, the pictures on the walls. Perhaps I should’ve stripped it all when we’d cleared it out for Harry, but would that erase the memories? The good and the bad?

Probably not.

Harry nudged me towards the bed. “Sit down, mate. Sooner you rest, the sooner you can stop.”

“Right.” I loved that he knew how much I hated this. That I didn’t have to explain myself. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

I followed Harry’s direction and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He handed me the stack of clothes Emma had promised. “Why are you giving me a pile of sweatpants?”

“To rest in,” he said. “I’ve only ever seen you wearing jeans, and you seem to sleep in your clothes.”

He had me there. What was the point in pyjamas when I didn’t have a bedroom? And even in the summer, the draughty old house was too cold most nights for sleeping in my birthday suit. Besides, I’d take softly worn joggers that smelled of Harry over a hospital gown any day of the week.

“Anyway.” Harry had drifted to the door while I’d stared at his clean laundry. “I’ll leave you to it. Your mum’s around, but drop me a text if you need anything.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

Harry jerked his chin at the bedside table. “It’s over there. My number is on the pad.”

“Did I need to get kicked by a horse to get your number?” I said it to myself as much as him, but the flush that coloured Harry’s cheeks did something to me. The way he held my gaze—silent, but so intense I wanted to throw myself at him. Would’ve thrown myself at him, if I hadn’t been sinking into the bed like a sloth in quicksand.

Harry took pity on me and came back to the bed. He crouched in front of me, his hands on my knees. “You didn’t need to get kicked by a horse. But you do need to rest. I know things got a bit heavy between us before you got hurt, but don’t worry about that right now. Just get better, okay? Everything else can wait.”

I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to pull him down for a kiss and then tumble him onto the bed so I could feel his skin beneath my palms again. When I finally let him up, we’d wander around the farm together, checking in on horses that hadn’t been to hell and back before they’d wound up on my shithole farm, and plan a future that didn’t involve red-topped bills and pisshead relatives.

But reality kicked in with a flash of cramp in my healing gut. The pain had lessened with each passing day, but it still hurt like a bitch when I least expected it. I inhaled sharply and Harry took my hands. His thumb dug into my wrist. I gasped again, but not because of the pain. He’d done that before—I was sure of it.

Harry smiled wryly, like he heard my thoughts. “You remember?”

“Remember what?”

“How to focus beyond what’s going on in your body.”

“Um . . . sure?”

Harry chuckled. “You do remember, on some level, at least. We absorb much more than we consciously hear.”

I leaned forward, intending to kick Harry’s trainers off my feet, but somehow ended up with my head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a bad place to be, so I stayed there. He pressed harder with his magic thumb and rubbed my back, and the corkscrew in my belly faded a bit.

The fatigue remained, though. And when Harry disentangled himself from me a little while later, I could tell he meant business this time. “You need to rest,” he said. “Get your head down for a bit.”

I couldn’t deny that taking a nap sounded like heaven, even if it did mean the loss of Harry’s arms around me. “What are you going to do?”

“Work,” he said. “Or try to. I’ve been a bit shit the last few days. My laptop is in the kitchen, but I haven’t touched it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

There was more to it, I could tell, but nothing that he seemed to want to share, so I let it go. He gifted me one more smile and then shut the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room I’d done my best to avoid since I’d found Grandpa dead in his bed three years ago. Cleaning it out had been easier than I’d expected—with Sal’s nagging and Emma’s heckling, I’d been too irritated to feel much else—but it was different now. I changed into Harry’s sweatpants and lay down on the bed. The afternoon sun streamed through the window and hit my bare chest, reminding me of how I’d snuck up here as a little boy and sunbathed until Sal called me down for tea.

The sun wasn’t as soothing as I remembered, but it put me to sleep all the same. And it kept me there long after dark until I woke with a jump, anxiety squeezing my chest. The horses. I hadn’t checked on any of them.

Bracing myself, I swung my legs off the bed. My feet hit the hardwood floor, and for the first time in days, I felt no pain. I was halfway down the stairs before the spleen god kicked me in the balls, but I pushed it away. I’d been on my arse long enough—I needed to see my horses with my own eyes.

I made it to the hallway by kitchen before Harry’s low chuckle stopped me in my tracks. He was behind me at the table, his work spread out in front of him, the only light in the room coming from his flashy MacBook. “Don’t start,” I said.

“Moi?” He spread his hands innocently. “I’m not your mother.”

“Where is my mother?”

“Asleep, I’d imagine. It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“What?”

Harry eyed me. “Joe, it’s the middle of the night.”

Damn. Despite my absolute certainty that I wouldn’t sleep a wink upstairs, I’d lost ten hours. I turned away from Harry and continued to the back door. Somehow, he got there before me.

“I know I just said I’m not your mother, but do you think you should maybe put some shoes on?”

Fucking shoes. It was in me to argue, to stomp outside barefoot and to hell with the damp ground, but the doctor had warned me that my immune system would be weaker while my spleen was healing, and I didn’t fancy a brush with pneumonia.

I found a random pair of boots by the door and stamped into them. “Happy?”

“Nearly.” Harry unzipped his hoodie and passed it to me. “Put this on and you’ll do.”

The hoodie was warm and smelled even more of him than the sweatpants I was already wearing. It was too big as well, obviously, but I wrapped it around myself anyway and put my hand on the door handle.

Harry’s was already there. I closed my fingers around his before I truly knew what I was doing, but it felt like something I’d done a thousand times over. Like the spark from the contact shooting through my arm would one day be ordinary. “I need to check the horses.”

“I know.”

But Harry didn’t move, and neither did I. The hallway was so dark I could hardly see his face, but his eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light, and for the millionth time, I tried to recall what my life had been like before him. How my chest had felt without the flutter that seemed to keep my heart beating.

Pulse skipping, I licked my lips. He was going to kiss me like he had before—kiss me, and leave me, and nothing would change. I wanted more than a kiss, more than his hands on my face, on my hips, holding me upright.

I wanted him to kiss me and mean it.

So I kissed him first.