Harry

Joe recovered, slowly, and the farm went back to my perception of normal, but nothing felt quite the same. For starters, I was sharing a bed with him every night, but it was more than that. Despite him returning to most of his duties sooner than anyone thought possible, an ominous cloud settled over my soul, and I couldn’t shake it.

One late afternoon, I found Emma at Shadow’s gate, feeding him Polo mints. “Don’t tell Joe. He doesn’t like them having sugar.”

Keeping a wary eye on Shadow, I stole one from her half-empty pack. “He’s probably got a point.”

“A few won’t hurt.”

“Fair enough. What are you doing out here? Sal said dinner was nearly ready.”

“That explains why you’re out here then. You haven’t had dinner with us in days.”

“I’m weaning myself off,” I said. “I’ll be back in London in a few weeks.”

“Bless.”

Emma fed Shadow another mint and apparently lost interest, and I was glad of it. My appetite disappeared with every day that passed, and it was only Joe’s watchful gaze that kept me from bringing out the meal replacement shakes I’d stashed in my car. The hypocrisy was mind-blowing, but that was the way of it—knowing it was so, so wrong, but seemingly unable to stop. Maybe I really was my father’s son.

“Do you think I could ride him?”

“Hmm?” I glanced at Emma and then followed her gaze to Shadow as he pranced away. “Damn. I don’t know. If Joe can, I don’t see why you couldn’t. He says you’re a better rider than him.”

“Technically, maybe, but Joe hates rules, and he has no fear. If he did, he wouldn’t have been close enough to get kicked in the first place.”

“There’s nothing wrong with fear when it serves its purpose.”

“And what’s that?”

“To protect us,” I said, though it sounded hollow even to my own ears. “It becomes a problem when we lose sight of what it’s protecting us from.”

“So . . . if I’m too afraid to go out because I’m afraid of being hurt, and then I become scared of being afraid instead, that fear is limiting me instead of protecting me?”

“Something like that.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m not the oracle,” I said. “If I was, I’d be indoors eating my dinner.”

Emma’s gaze sharpened. “Do you have an eating disorder?”

“Yes.”

“Does Joe know?”

“What difference does that make?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I didn’t know either. And it didn’t seem to matter when Shadow came back to us and rested his chin on Emma’s head. It was the first time I’d ever seen him be overtly affectionate, and the quiet joy in Emma’s eyes was a balm to the scratchy sensations in my brain.

When he’d wandered off again, Emma took my hand and tugged me gently towards the house. “Come and sit with your friends, Harry. It doesn’t matter if you eat or not. No one will say anything.”

“I’m all right, Em. Honest. I’ll come in later.”

“Joe’s gonna come looking for you if you don’t show up.”

“I know.”

“Please?”

“No.” I reclaimed my hand. “I’ve never dragged you out of the house kicking and screaming, so don’t do it to me, okay?”

Her face fell, and I felt bad, but not bad enough. I turned back to Shadow’s field and listened to her footsteps as they faded away.

* * *

“It’s green, so you have to eat it.” Joe set a plate on my desk, eyeing the sandwich like it was an unexploded bomb. “And I used that weird protein bread you stashed in your cupboard.”

“Um . . . thanks, I think?” I drew the plate towards me. Sandwiched between the keto bread was a sliced hardboiled egg, what looked like houmous, and some raw kale—stalks and all. “What are you bringing me sandwiches for at this time of night?”

Joe shrugged. “Why not? I just ate a packet of Haribo, so . . .”

“You’re a sugar fiend.”

“Only because I’ve cut the fags down. I’d rather have a smoke than a bag of Tangfastics, but what you gonna do?”

Both vices were a mystery to me, but I held my tongue. Joe’s days had been crazy as he’d caught up with work on the farm, and I’d got away with dodging meals. But it was late now, and he was in for the night, which meant that it had only been a matter of time before he’d come looking for me.

Not that I was complaining. The sandwich looked . . . interesting, and beyond that, I was pleased to see him. We slept together every night, but he was gone at dawn most mornings, and chasing my deadline had started to keep me busy well into most evenings.

I missed him.

And with his dry grin finally soaking into my soul, eating the strangest sandwich I’d ever seen didn’t seem so bad.

Joe perched on the edge of my desk but didn’t watch me eat. Instead he peered at my work, frowning as he read my words under his breath. “I don’t get you.”

“You don’t get me? What’s that got to do with mindfulness in the city?”

“Everything. You’re talking about how people should be kind to themselves, but that doesn’t fit with how you treat yourself.”

“It’s my job, mate. Not an autobiography.”

“Yeah, but you don’t say stuff you don’t mean. That’s why I don’t get it.”

With anyone else, the food in my belly would’ve turned to dust, but Joe had a way of saying things that made me think beyond my own harmful behaviours. “If it had been George who’d been kicked by Shadow, telling him to stay home and rest would’ve been much easier for you than trying to take care of yourself has been.”

“George isn’t responsible for the farm.”

“No, but he’s responsible for himself.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

He had a point. I mentally crossed the words out and searched for replacements, but after twelve hours of typing, none came to mind. Besides, I knew exactly what Joe was saying—I just didn’t want to hear it.

I shut my laptop and ran my gaze over him. He’d ditched my clothes since he’d returned to work and was back in his weathered jeans, but he’d claimed one of my hoodies as his own and rarely took it off now the summer heat had gone. I wound the cords around my fingers and tugged him closer. Kissing him was effortless and made the itch in my bones easier to ignore.

We found our way to the bed like we did most nights when we caught each other awake. Joe lay beneath me, submissive in a way he never was outside of this room, and I made short work of stripping him. His body was glorious—long and lean and hard in all the right places. His hands were rough from farm graft, but the rest of him was hypnotically smooth, and I lost myself tracing every inch of him with my tongue.

Beneath me, he gasped and arched up. A week ago, the movement would’ve made him wince, but not now. Now, his eyes were bright with arousal, not pain, and I wanted to fuck him so much my cock hurt.

I shed my own clothes and tossed them somewhere over my shoulder. Then I fell forwards, dropping my palms either side of his head, and grazed his lips with mine. “I’ve been looking forward to getting naked all day.”

Joe smirked. “Me too. I had to think of my grandma when I was riding Mani, or I’d have hurt myself.”

“You’ve been riding?”

That was new to me, and my heart warred between concern that he was pushing himself too soon and relief that he was back where he belonged.

Relief won out. He’d once told me that fucking wasn’t that different to riding a horse, and if the scenes flashing through my mind played out, I had nothing to worry about. I dipped my head for another ruining kiss, then evaded his hands to slide back down his body. Joe had become an instant master at driving me insane with his mouth on my dick, but somehow, I’d yet to return the favour.

That was about to change. I bit his hip to distract him and then swallowed him whole, holding him to the bed as he reared up, digging my fingers into his lean thighs. His groans sent shivers down my spine as I slid his cock down my throat, and I stared up at him, revelling in his reddened cheeks and blown pupils. This was the Joe I craved when my mind was filled with nothing but him. When the memory of him shirtless and riding wasn’t enough. In his unique way, he was as guarded as me, but not when we were like this.

Not when his dick straining and pulsing in my mouth was all there was.

Over and over, I took him to the brink while he thrashed and moaned beneath me. I gripped his thighs and opened his legs, pushing them wider as I deep-throated him. My fingers gripped the base of his cock, and I looked up at him again, and if I could’ve frozen the world in that moment, I’d have done it in a heartbeat.

But as the world kept turning, a soul-deep desire for him spurred me on. I slid a wet finger into him. His ragged cry pierced the air and his whole body trembled. That it was me turning him inside out sent my blood roaring in my ears, and the urge to add another finger and curl them, to make him come, was so strong I almost gave into it. But there was another urge coursing through me. I withdrew my finger.

“Harry.” Joe tangled his fingers in my hair. His eyes were clenched shut. “Fuck—”

A wailing siren shattered the heady air. Blue lights flashed through the window, and Joe leapt from the bed, launching himself over my head and to the floor to snatch his clothes.

He was gone from the room before I could comprehend it, and I staggered to the window just in time to see four police cars and a van pull up in the yard.