Aden stared at the bathroom door after Brody left, then locked it. The bathroom was spotless—and warm. Polished tiles, a gleaming glass shower and a deep bath. Aden’s bathroom… Yeah, well he didn’t have one anymore, did he? He rented bedsits, moved when he couldn’t pay the rent—which happened a lot—and when he didn’t pay this month’s rent, his stuff would be thrown out and someone else would move in. They were welcome to the tiny bathroom and the lumpy bed.

He hadn’t made a will. There was virtually nothing to leave: an acoustic guitar he’d stolen, a few books—also stolen, bedding, clothes and shoes, pieces of kitchen equipment. Nothing anyone would want even if there’d been someone to leave it to. He’d disappear from people’s lives and maybe a few friends would wonder where he’d gone before they eventually forgot him. Going to get out the violins?

But Aden did feel disappointment he wouldn’t be missed. It made him think about what he’d done with his life—which was not a lot. Though it wasn’t as if he’d ever been going to leave his mark by doing something amazing like inventing a cold fusion reactor or an easy and cheap way to store electricity. Since he hadn’t done anything worthwhile so far, why would that change inside a month?

Which raised the question of how Raphael and Dante would ensure his body wasn’t found for four weeks. Someone would miss him, though he’d gone to the concert alone and come to think of it, hadn’t told anyone he was going. Well, maybe that was the trick. He wasn’t linked to the concert so he could be found anywhere. Or maybe Raphael and Dante had taken a big risk in letting him come back. There were a lot of maybes.

He opened the bathroom cabinet and took out the razor, shaving foam, toothbrush and paste—all new. No wonder the bathroom looked clean. Brody used a different one. Aden cleaned his teeth. Considering the crap he’d eaten for much of his life, he was lucky he had good teeth. Visits to a dentist were few and far between. He’d once fucked a guy in exchange for a scale and polish.

For a long moment, Aden considered whether there might be a chance he could stay here forever, not necessarily on this farm with a kind-hearted guy, but just in the world, at least until he died properly—age ninety-nine—peacefully in his bed having had a stupendous fuck.

Wishful thinking. All he had was a month. Thirty days—well twenty-nine now—where he had to be good and learn what love was all about. Or maybe he could be as bad as he wanted. His mind slid to the dark-haired guy with sad grey eyes who’d brought him into his home. Being bad with him sounded good.

Aden had never had any interest in love. No real interest in being a nice guy. So why not be bad? It’s more fun. The argument restarted in his head and he tried to turn off the voices. He’d done a load of good things already, hadn’t he? Returned that woman’s purse? Asked for food and not stolen it? Fed the dog? Picked up litter? Helped that horse? It had made him happy and the horse happy. It was a start.

He’d had to lie. That didn’t count against him when he could hardly tell the truth. The idea of a recruitment exercise was a pretty good one. Except he didn’t much look like a guy any intelligence agency would have an interest in. If telling that lie didn’t count against him, fucking Brody to get a roof over his head would. Though Aden wanted him, imagined Brody writhing beneath him, begging him to fuck him harder, and he exhaled shakily.

Once he’d stripped, he stared at his bloodstained shirt. He couldn’t let Brody see that. He wrapped it into as tight a ball as he could. It could go in a bin later. He opened the door and picked up the clothes left there and put his coat, muddy jeans and black briefs outside. They were probably bloodstained too but the blood wasn’t obvious.

The bathroom mirror was a full length one and now Aden was naked, it drew him like a magnet. He stepped in front of it and stared at his reflection. Not actually what he wanted to look at, but he was building up to checking out his back.

He looked a mess. Hair stuck to his head. Blood on his face. Blood on his legs. Particularly the one he’d had to straighten after he’d been knocked down. If the bone had come through the skin, there was no sign of it now.

A lot of people thought he was good-looking. He’d been told often enough except never by those he’d wanted to hear it from. In his experience, telling him he was cute or stunning or fucking gorgeous had too often been followed by an invitation to sit on a guy’s knee or unzip a pair of trousers or take a cock in his mouth.

Aden had been put into care after his parents had died. What a misnomer that was. No one cared. Not even the guys who abused him. All they were bothered about was him keeping quiet about what they did to him. When Aden had his voice back and tried to speak out, no one believed him and he paid for his treachery with pain. It was a quick lesson that cooperation hurt less than rebellion. He did as he was told while inside he seethed. Eventually, he learned that not caring kept his head safe, his body less bruised. They touched but never really touched him. Using his looks to get what he needed became a habit, one he might have to continue even now.

Except Raphael wasn’t going to be fooled by anything less than the real thing. A month to fall in love when he’d managed twenty-seven years without it?

He tried to smile as he stared in the mirror. He looked unhealthy, though not dead. That brought a quiet chuckle to his lips. He had bits of straw in his still damp hair, he smelled of horse, and needed a shave. His eyes seemed darker than usual, his face paler. He was a bit skinny—years of too many drugs, too much alcohol, and irregular meals. He’d never let himself get addicted to either dope or booze. Or to sex, though he never went long without that. But he was always careful. No fucking without protection. Ever. No getting involved. Not that he’d ever been tempted.

He rubbed foam on his face, and started to shave.

Maybe he was lucky his willpower was strong enough to enable him to resist going too far with anything he wasn’t really into. The rigid control he’d had to adopt as a kid had been ingrained in his psyche. An unexpected by-product of a deprived, abusive childhood. He’d never had a problem stopping anything once he’d set his mind to it, had never been persuaded to have another drink when he didn’t want one, snort another line of coke when he knew he’d had enough.

Dante had said Aden didn’t know the meaning of temperance. He was wrong. It was just that at times, Aden chose to push his limits, chose oblivion. He had no problem getting what he wanted by any means at his disposal. He was a manipulative bastard and now he had a month to prove he could be something different when that was all he knew.

Impossible.

No it fucking isn’t.

He put down the razor, and taking a deep breath, he turned so his back was to the mirror. He looked over his shoulder to see his back was covered in dried blood. There were two areas of jagged, red and white scarring around his shoulder blades and maybe signs he’d done further damage when he hit the road.

The scarring was worse on the left than the right. That wanker Dante. Though Aden had expected his back to look a lot worse—rawer, considering the amount of blood on his shirt. His leg had healed abnormally fast so why were these marks still there? Maybe they’d stay as a reminder like the feathers. Shit. They’d be back in his pocket for Brody to find, though not as if he’d know what they meant.

Aden’s arse was covered in bruises and splodges of dried blood. If it wasn’t for the fact that his worst injuries obviously predated his collision with Brody’s car, he might have played the guilt card and let Brody see.

The shower was a delight but painful when the spray pounded his head and his sore back. He wished Brody was in there with him and his cock filled as he thought about taking Brody’s hand at the bathroom door, pulling him inside, undressing him, showering with him, persuading him to his knees to give him a blowjob. His usual MO, but these weren’t ordinary times. He wrapped his hand around his cock and took care of things himself, though it was Brody in his head as come spurted over the tiles and the ache remained in his gut when he’d done.

By the time Aden had dried off and dressed, he’d concocted a plan. What was the point wandering off again with no money and no destination in mind when this was the perfect opportunity to be the good guy he needed to be? He could try and make Brody think he was worth loving. It was a long shot, but faced with setting off into the cold unknown or persuading Brody to let him stay for a while, the choice was a no brainer. He’d offer to help on the farm, though he knew fuck all about animals or farming, but he could shovel shit with the best of them, and, it appeared, get on with belligerent horses.

He emerged from the bathroom barefoot wearing Brody’s soft gray jeans that hung low and loose on his hips, and a black T-shirt that felt new. His own shirt was balled in his fist. Music was playing quietly, jazzy blues, and he followed the sound to a kitchen where Brody stood with his back to him working at the counter. Nice arse. Small and tight. Long legs. Perfect. Aden’s cock perked up. Down boy.

Aden cleared his throat. “I was joking about the steak and chips.” Though he hadn’t been.

Brody spun round. “You’d better eat them now I’ve gone to all this trouble.” He looked Aden up and down. “They fit okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Aden had even found two feathers in the pocket of the jeans.

“So what’s your plan?” Brody asked.

“Plan?” Was the guy suspicious already?

“To survive the month. Are you being hunted? Is the game up when you’re caught? Last man standing gets the job?”

“Something like that.” He pushed the shirt into the bin and put a smile on his face before he turned back to Brody. “Could I stay here for a while? Do jobs on the farm? Or around the house. I could make myself useful. Any horses need plastic pulling from between their teeth, I’m your man. Obviously, I’d work for nothing, well—apart from food and a roof over my head.” And if Brody wanted him in his bed, Aden would be more than happy to oblige. Oh God, my cock.

A shuttered look appeared on Brody’s face. “It’s not my farm.”

“Your brother’s. Right. I’ve not impressed him so far, have I? It…er…didn’t sound as though he’s okay with you being gay.”

“That’s not his issue.” The tone of Brody’s voice warned Aden to drop it.

So what was the issue?

“I could lend you some money,” Brody said. “You could pay me back after the challenge is over.”

“You’d lend me money?” Aden gaped at him and his cock deflated. Brody wanted him gone.

Brody put cutlery on the table. A single knife and fork. “I assume you’re good for repaying it. If whoever you want to work for goes to this sort of trouble to select employees, it must be a decent job.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t got it, have I? Second day and I’m struggling.”

“You must have money in the bank you can access when this is done.”

“You’d trust me to pay you back?”

Brody frowned. “You’re making it sound like I shouldn’t.”

Oh fuck, you shouldn’t. “I…can’t borrow money. It’s against the rules.” What am I doing? Take the money and run.

“How are you supposed to survive? Steal? Break into people’s barns and sleep with their horses?”

Worm my way into your heart and make you love me. Aden felt his stomach sink. Even he knew you couldn’t make love happen. Maybe he should have gone straight to hell or now he hadn’t, follow Dante’s advice and enjoy what time remained.

Don’t give up so easily. The voice of Raphael, real or imagined, swung the balance the other way.

Brody scooped chips from the pan and shook off the oil before tipping them onto a plate. Aden’s mouth watered.

“The manager in Waitrose gave me food when I told him I had no money.”

“I wouldn’t count on that happening often. I suspect most supermarkets would say no otherwise people would be lining up for handouts.”

“I tried begging. That didn’t work. Nor did singing.”

“You can sing?”

Aden laughed. “Clearly not.” Though he could. “I’ll have a word with your brother. Offer my services. I can sleep in the barn with Captain. I’m not fussy.”

Brody sighed. “He’s not going to let you sleep in the barn. No ensuite facilities.” He smiled. “What are you going to wear? Your coat will take a while to dry. And your boots.”

Days, hopefully. A month would be good. I could get to know you and—

“Medium okay for your steak?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’ve got some old work boots and a jacket I don’t wear anymore. They’re not the designer gear you’re used to. I could give you some cash. I assume that would be allowed.”

Aden could feel opportunity slipping away. Brody really wanted him gone. He was surprised to be so disappointed. Maybe he should turn up the charm, but that was hardly being genuine. He wanted Brody to like him. The real him. Aden could do with finding the real him himself. Christ, dying has fucked me up. Introspection was not his thing. A psychoanalyst could fill a whole book with his issues.

“Coffee?” Brody asked. “There’s still some in the pot. Mugs are in that cupboard.”

“Would you like one?”

“Yeah. Black.”

Aden poured out two coffees, pushed a mug toward Brody, then sat at the table. He tried to think of something to say. It was unusual for him to be lost for words. Not quite true. He could think of plenty to say, but little of it was appropriate. He was good at pickup lines, but he used them to get into a guy’s pants, never into his life or his heart. Now he had to have a proper conversation, he was stuck.

“Aren’t you allowed to ask relatives for help either?” Brody glanced at him.

“I don’t have any.”

Brody turned again. “None?”

“My parents are dead. They had no siblings. I was an only child. But even if I had relatives, I couldn’t have approached them. Under the radar, remember? First place they’d think I’d go.” Shit. He hoped Raphael and Dante weren’t keeping score of his lies, though he didn’t have any relatives.

“My parents are dead too. Just one older brother—Des. He’s married with six year old twin boys. Little terrors.”

Aden swallowed his groan. Des wasn’t going to allow a stranger anywhere near his wife and kids, even if he had pegged him as gay. Maybe especially because he was gay. Aden knew how people thought. Their assumptions pissed him off, but he couldn’t blame a father for looking out for his family.

“Are you in a relationship?” Aden asked and his heart thumped hard.

“Married to my job.”

Aden had never felt any long-term allegiance to his work, mending cars he never had any hope of owning, pouring drinks for city boys whose bar bills were more than his weekly rent, serving food to people who ate in one meal more than he did over a couple of days.

“What do you do?” Aden asked.

“I’m a vet.”

“Shit. Clever and good-looking. I’m impressed.” He was.

Brody made a dismissive noise. Aden smiled. Usually he was believed when he was lying. Here he was telling the truth and Brody thought it was a line.

“You like being a vet?” Aden gave a quiet groan. “That was a stupid question. Of course you’d spend years studying hard for something you were only vaguely interested in. I guess you love animals more than people.”

“Sometimes.” He turned and smiled, his grey eyes lit up, his face brightening, and Aden’s stomach lurched. “I had a lady come in with her Doberman this week and the first thing she said was that he’d bite me if I wasn’t careful. Apparently he had a habit of trapping her in corners then going for her. You can imagine how much I was looking forward to examining her dog. I asked her how she handled him when he was aggressive and she said she kept treats in her pocket and gave them to him to get him to leave her alone.”

Aden grinned. “So every time he cornered her, she gave him a biscuit?”

“Yep.”

“What did you do?”

“Gave him a biscuit.”

They both laughed.

“And some advice. Trouble is it’s hard to break habits.”

That was true. Hard to be good when he was so used to being bad. Hard to be a giver when he was accustomed to being a taker. Hard to care when he never had. Hard to move the protective shield away from his heart. Was he capable of changing?

Yes.

No.

Shut the fuck up.

“It must give you a real buzz when you make an animal well.”

“Not so good when you have to end the life of one that’s suffering. Even if it’s for the best.”

Aden’s pulse rocketed and his mouth went dry. “You think we should do that with humans too? Euthanasia?”

“I’m on the fence about that. It’s open to abuse, but I know I’d want someone to finish me off if I was paralysed and unable to breathe on my own.”

“Me too. At least you can end an animal’s suffering.”

“You’d be shocked how many people want perfectly healthy pets put down,” Brody said.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they pee on the furniture, keep their owners awake yowling, they mess up the lawn. I’ve even had one couple bring in a dog with a bad case of fleas and tell me euthanizing her would be a kindness because the pet had no quality of life. Yeah, right. No quality of life with an owner who doesn’t give a shit about keeping flea treatment up to date. The practice I’m in wouldn’t put down a healthy animal, but people just keep looking until they find a vet that will or they dump the cat or dog or even snakes, miles away from their home.”

“And sometimes they find their way back.”

“Yeah. Not the snakes though.” He sighed. “I can’t fathom out why dogs would want to go back but they do. Cats tend to look for another home, but dogs are faithful even to cruel owners.” He turned the steak over and it sizzled.

“You’re not a vegetarian?” Aden mentally groaned after he’d asked. Dumb question.

“I don’t eat dogs or cats.” Brody winced. “Sorry. Part of me thinks I should be a vegetarian. I was in my teens, but I’m on the side of animal welfare not animal rights. I try to be sure the meat I buy comes from an ethical source, one where the animals don’t feel pain or discomfort during the slaughter process, but I know the lines are blurred. I’m not so fanatical I won’t eat out.”

Brody put the chips back into the hot oil.

“Did you and Des have pets when you were kids?”

“There were working dogs on the farm and a couple of cats to sort out the vermin. I had rabbits and guinea pigs and we both had a horse. Nelson’s been with Des forever. Have you ever had a pet?”

“No.”

“Never wanted one?”

“When I was a kid—yeah, desperately, but it wasn’t going to happen. My parents had no interest and when I was put in care, I couldn’t have one. After I left the local authority’s control, I had enough trouble looking after myself let alone an animal.” Aden looked around. “Using my legendary detective skills I spy no dog bowl, no cat litter. Don’t you have pets now?”

“No. I work long unpredictable hours. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“But the horse is yours? Captain.”

“He belonged to a friend who died.”

Aden bit his lip. So much for light-hearted conversation.

Brody put the steak and chips in front of him. “Mustard? Vinegar? Ketchup?”

Aden’s mouth watered at the aroma. “Salt, vinegar and mustard please.”

Once the condiments were on the table, Brody moved away and began to wash up. Aden hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started to eat. It was hard not to bolt the food. The steak and chips were delicious. Aden wasn’t a bad cook, when he could be bothered, when he could afford decent ingredients. There always seemed to be something else he’d rather be doing. Or someone.

When Brody left the kitchen, Aden sagged. This was just a nice guy who felt guilty about hitting him with his car. Yeah, Aden fancied him, got a buzz from being near him, but that was as far as it was going to go. Accepting his help and moving on was the smart thing to do.

Once he’d finished eating, he washed up and wiped the table. He started when Brody reappeared carrying a gym bag, boots and a jacket.

“Here you go. The jacket’s old, but I think it’s still waterproof.”

“Thanks.”

“Your jeans and shorts are in the bag. Washed, but not fully dry. What do you want me to do about your coat? It’s still saturated. If you give me your address, I could post it in a month.”

“I’ll take it with me. And my boots.”

“Okay. I’ll get them.”

Aden checked what was in the bag, picked out a pair of socks and a pale blue sweater, and put them on. He had the jacket on and was fastening the boots when Brody reappeared with a plastic bag. Aden shoved it in with his other stuff.

Brody took out his wallet. “I can give you a hundred quid.”

“No…thanks. I appreciate the clothes and the food, but I don’t want your money.” Idiot. He picked up the bags and walked away.

Aden was disappointed but not surprised Brody hadn’t wanted him to stay. The guy had been kind, and to expect more was unreasonable. The door closed behind Aden and he slumped. He needed a new plan. Saturday night. He could go to a club or a bar, persuade someone to take him back to their place. Help himself to a few quid from their wallet and live day to day.

He groaned. He’d turned down a hundred quid and was already thinking about stealing? Plus first of all, he’d have to walk back to Caterham, and it was a long fucking way. Then sneak onto a train and hope no one asked for his ticket. He’d have a problem exiting at London Bridge which would mean he’d have to jump the barrier and run. Still…that’s what he’d do. He stood a better chance in London than out in the middle of nowhere.

Pity Brody wasn’t interested in a fuck because Aden had really wanted to get him into bed. He kept thinking about what he looked like under his clothes and he’d so nearly pulled Brody into his arms. He slung the bag over his shoulder, winced at the stab of pain in his back, and tucked his hands into the pockets of the jacket. When his fingers touched feathers, he stumbled. As if he needed a reminder. Maybe he should keep taking them out of his pockets, save them up and stuff a pillow. The thought raised a grin.

Aden made his way across the farm yard, stepping around puddles. The boots were half a size too big, but they’d keep his feet warm and dry. When he heard a shrill cry, then a wail, he looked around, saw nothing and kept walking. Not his problem, whatever it was. But the second cry was louder, more desperate, definitely a child and he couldn’t ignore a child. The times he’d begged for help as a kid, and no one had come to his rescue. 

He followed the sound of crying and found a young boy standing at the foot of a ladder leaning against the side of a barn. He wasn’t the one crying, though he was white-faced with fear.

“What’s wrong?” Aden asked.

“Jamie’s gone up on the roof and he can’t get down.”

“Go and find your dad.”

The dark-eyed boy looked up at him. “He’s going to be mad.”

“Get him or get your uncle.”

As he ran off, Aden dropped everything and climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, he crawled onto the ridgeline of the corrugated iron roof and stood up. The boy was dangling, clinging by his fingertips. Shit.

“I’m coming. Don’t let go,” Aden called.

He wasn’t sure how sturdy the roof was. It was definitely slippery. Aden walked along the ridge as quickly as he could.

“I’m going to fall,” the boy shouted.

“No you’re not. Hang on.”

But even as Aden reached down to grab his arm, the boy’s fingers slid from their hold and he screamed. There was no time to think about it, Aden flung himself at the kid and caught him as they fell off the roof together.