When the knock came on the door, Kyle’s first thought was that perhaps it was one of the Roscarrocks, here with ill-timed courtesy to apologise for the behaviour of their brothers, sons, or whatever to him earlier. Cursing, he put down his wooden spoon, turned the heat under the pans as low as it would go, and went to answer the door.
He blinked in surprise to see Dev standing there with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense. “Dev?” he said stupidly.
“Yeah. Uh. Came to apologise. Can I come in?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Kyle waved him in with an awkward gesture. “Um. I was cooking, so if you don’t mind coming through—”
“Shit, sorry. Should have guessed. I’ll come back another time.”
Alarm jumped unexpectedly in Kyle’s chest at the thought of him leaving so soon. “No. It’s fine. Have you eaten? You’re welcome to stay.”
“Yeah, but mate, I stole half your lunch. I can’t nick half your dinner as well.”
“I’ve only just put the penne on. I can easily throw in some more and cook it a little bit longer.” Kyle stifled a laugh. “Unless you’re a pasta pedant and are now outraged at me for even thinking of treating it this way.”
Jeffrey would have been horrified. One time when he’d seen Kyle throw pasta into a pan of cold water rather than getting it to boil first, he’d sulked all evening. Despite the fact he’d never noticed all the other times Kyle had cooked it like that.
Dev broke into a sunny grin. “You kidding? Anything up from spaggi hoops out of a can is dead posh in my book.” He stepped inside as he spoke and closed the door behind him.
God, where did Dev get that gift of defusing tension? Leading the way into the kitchen, Kyle relaxed—then tensed up again as he realised there was something he’d have to say. “I need to warn you—I sometimes have odd . . . episodes. Automatic behaviour, it’s called.” He didn’t look at Dev’s face. He could imagine the blank expression quite well enough.
“That’s where you sort of sleep standing up, right? Or, you know, carry on doing stuff like you’re awake, but you’re really asleep?”
He did look at Dev then, surprised. “You’ve heard of it?”
Dev half shrugged and stared at the floor. “Yeah, I, uh, I sort of looked it all up on my phone. Before I came here. Didn’t wanna, you know, set you off again. I mean, I only did a quick search. There’s a shit-load of stuff on the internet. Would’ve taken me all night to read it.”
Kyle wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Touched. Embarrassed. Irrationally annoyed. But mostly touched, he decided. “So you know I might do or say something . . . strange.”
“Yeah. I know it ain’t your fault.” Dev was still refusing to meet Kyle’s eye. As if Dev were the one with the humiliating condition.
Kyle swallowed. He had to ask. “Is that what happened just after lunch? Did I say something—”
“No. Shit, no.” Dev took a deep breath. “That was all on me. Sorry. See, I—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Kyle interrupted, a bit more sharply than he’d intended to. It was too much, too intense, and his blood sugar had plummeted. “Let’s get on with the cooking, and we can eat and talk afterwards, if you like.”
Dev sent him a relieved smile. “Good plan. What do you want me to do?”
Kyle bit back the instinctive response of Nothing, thank you. With Dev occupied, Kyle would be less on display. “There’s salad in the fridge, if you wouldn’t mind getting that out.”
Despite all his talk of canned food, by the time Kyle had added some more pasta to the pan, brought it back to the boil, and set the sauce to simmer, Dev had assembled two colourful bowls of salad, even going so far as to grate some carrot, which Kyle could seldom be bothered to do. “No radish flowers and cucumber curls?” he asked lightly.
“Nah, not unless you want me belching all night.” Dev stilled, his expression suddenly hunted. “Evening. I meant evening.”
“Of course you did,” Kyle agreed way too quickly.
Damn it. This was a different sort of tension, and Dev’s presence in his home, so close he could reach out and touch him, was doing nothing to defuse it.
He swallowed and grabbed a wooden spoon to give the pasta a stir, trying in vain to banish the image of smooth, tan skin; soft brown eyes; and a determined jawline. When he turned round again Dev was gone, and Kyle thought for an appalled moment he’d had another attack and missed Dev walking out on him.
Then Dev came back into the kitchen. “I took the salad out to the dining room,” he said carefully, his eyes on Kyle’s face all the time.
God. He was falling to pieces. Kyle forced a smile. “It won’t be much longer. I’m afraid there’s only water to drink.”
Apparently that was all it took for Dev to regain his relaxed, teasing manner. “Yeah? You know, mate, as an alcoholic you’re a real disappointment.”
Kyle gave a bitter laugh under his breath. “Just as an alcoholic?” His brief amusement fled, leaving only the bitterness behind, when he realised he’d said it aloud. Self-pity. How very attractive in a man.
Although why should he worry if Dev found him attractive or not? Sheer ego. Nothing was going to happen. He wouldn’t allow it to.
“Well, so far, anyhow,” Dev said easily. “Course, I ain’t tasted your cooking yet.”
Kyle had to fight down nervous laughter. It hadn’t been that funny, and if he collapsed now it was likely neither of them would get to taste the cooking. “Don’t worry. Even I can’t easily ruin pasta with sauce out of a jar.”
“You ain’t trying hard enough. My mate Mal tried heating a jar of sauce up in a microwave once, ’cept the stupid tosser didn’t take the lid off, did he? Think they heard the bang three streets away. We had the cops come round and everything.” Dev laughed, a low, pleasing sound. “Course, when they got there the kitchen looked like your actual crime scene. Red splattered all over the shop. I thought for a minute we was gonna get nicked.” He paused. “Anything else I can do?”
“Pour a couple of glasses of water?” Kyle nodded towards the cupboard with the glasses in. “I think it’s ready.”
He served out and carried their plates through to the dining table, where they sat down. Desperately in need of the calories by now, Kyle didn’t try to speak until he’d shovelled in a few forkfuls of pasta.
Then Dev beat him to it. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “this is good. See, I can never decide if I like pasta best when it’s soft or when it’s chewy, and here, I don’t have to.”
Kyle looked up in shock, and Dev burst out laughing. “Your face, mate. Sorry. Is it my fault I never got brought up right?”
“Wanker,” Kyle muttered, heartily relieved he’d been sitting down already. Dev laughed again. Probably because even in his own ears, Kyle sounded like a petulant child trying out the rudest word he knew. “I’m sure your upbringing was perfectly fine. You were just determined not to listen when they taught you about good manners.”
“Yeah, well. Six of one, maybe, like Mal’s Uncle Bob always says. Course, he’s always pissed off his face, so it’s probably bollocks. Nah, it’s all right, this. Seriously. Interesting texture.”
“Did I mention you’re washing up?” Kyle gestured sternly with his fork, and a piece of wild rocket fell off and onto the table between them.
“Sweeping up and all, by the looks of things,” Dev countered cheerily.
Kyle picked up the offending leaf with his fingers and ate it before it could cause any more trouble. “Did you have an enjoyable afternoon?”
“Yeah, it was well good. I went down the beach near here and had a swim. You’re so bloody lucky, mate, living here. If I had your house, I’d spend all summer in the water.” Dev’s face, alight with enthusiasm, darkened. “Uh, you are all right to swim, aren’t you?”
Kyle nodded, amused. “You’ve been in the water. Just how likely do you think anyone is to fall asleep in there? Trust me, the Celtic Sea is one of the few places I’m fairly safe from an attack.”
“Uh, yeah. I didn’t really think that one through, did I? Does it ever get any warmer?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s at its warmest right now. Let me guess—more used to swimming pools?” Kyle could just imagine him on a sun lounger in his swimming trunks, displaying that fit physique to general admiration.
“That or the Mediterranean. Go on, tell me I’m a wuss.”
“It’d make two of us, then. I have to confess, I need to work myself up to going in the water here.”
“It’s good when you’re in it, though.” Dev grinned. “Long as you keep swimming hard enough. Hey, maybe we should go sometime?”
Kyle looked at his plate. Was that a come on? Or was Dev just being friendly? “Maybe.”
There was no harm in being flattered if he was, was there? As long as nothing actually happened.
They ate in silence for a moment, until Dev spoke again. “Actually, I sorta wanted to ask your advice on something.” He stopped.
“Go on.” Was he about to bring up the Roscarrocks again?
Dev fiddled with his fork before speaking. “You remember I mentioned I’d met this girl, yeah? The one who works in the Square Peg. Ceri.”
Oh. That. Kyle nodded, and braced himself for a recital of Ceri’s many talents, most of them no doubt only visible to a man in the throes of a crush. Well, that’d teach him to assume Dev was into him.
“I dunno what’s going on with her, right? I mean, there’s something wrong, but I dunno what it is.”
“Why do you care?” Kyle made sure his tone was nonjudgemental.
Dev frowned. “You mean, ’cos I only just met her? Ah, I dunno.” He stared out of the window at the sea. “I got this sister,” he said finally, to Kyle’s surprise. “I mean, we ain’t related or nothing, but she was my foster sister, last family I was with. She’s younger than me. Tasha. I used to take her to kiddies’ parties and down the swings and stuff.” He fell silent, picking at the remains of his food.
“Is she still with the family?”
“Nah, aged out, didn’t she? When she turned eighteen just over a year back. She’s living in a shared house now. I mean, I said she could stay with me and Mal, but there ain’t a lot of room, you know? She wanted her own space. Don’t think she realised how hard it’d be.”
“And Ceri reminds you of her?” That was rather endearing.
Also somewhat chastening. Kyle was guiltily aware that, at Dev’s age, he’d spared very few thoughts for the welfare of his own sister in day-to-day life. Although Lauren was three years older than him, and had already been settled in her career by then, of course.
“S’pose. I mean, they don’t look nothing alike. Tasha’s dad was West Indian, and she got his hair.” Dev pulled his phone out of his pocket, and flicked through to show Kyle a picture of a girl who could have been any age from mid-to-late teens to early twenties, but must be on the younger end of the scale from what Dev had said. She had African hair and features, but her smooth, clear skin was no darker than Dev’s. Her fresh-faced prettiness was rather appealing.
Kyle was never quite sure what he was supposed to say in these situations. A comment on the subject’s looks didn’t really seem appropriate. “Nice photo,” he went with in the end.
“Yeah. She’s great.” Dev smiled softly, and Kyle was struck with the irrelevant thought that he’d no doubt be a wonderful father one day. It pained him, for reasons he didn’t want to examine.
“And Ceri?” he prompted after a pause.
“Like I said, I dunno what’s going on. There’s this other girl, see, she told me Ceri was trouble, like, into something illegal. Least, I think that’s what she meant.” He frowned. “I thought she was just stirring the shit, you know? But earlier this evening, we went for a drink—me and Ceri—and her dad turned up, and it was well weird.”
“Weird how?”
“She was . . . Well, she basically told him to piss off, but he was all friendly, like. Weird. I mean, I ain’t never had a dad, but if I spoke like that to my foster dad I’d have been well in the shit. But he just gave her a cuddle and took her home for tea.”
Kyle’s blood chilled. “You don’t think . . .?”
“Nah. Well, I did, but she said he ain’t doing nothing like that. And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t just saying that. I dunno, though. It was like he’d, well, failed her or something.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a lot. That she’d been having a rough time. Had some friends screw her over. He didn’t put it like that, but that’s what he meant.”
Kyle thought. “Maybe she got mixed up in something and is now regretting it? Drugs, perhaps?” It was the obvious answer.
“Fucked if I know.”
“So what did you want my advice about? Whether to . . .” Kyle shied away from saying get into a relationship with her, and finished weakly with, “continue your friendship?”
“What? Nah, I ain’t gonna drop her or nothing.” Dev looked affronted. “I just thought, did I oughtta try and get her to tell me about it? See if it’s something I can help her with? Or, you know, carry on minding me own business?”
How big was the age difference between Kyle and Dev? Less than ten years? More? Apparently it was enough for Dev to see him as some sort of father figure, suitable only for the dispensing of sage advice. Wonderful. “Well, you said she was being looked after by her father—she went with him willingly?”
“Yeah.”
“Then she’s probably getting all the help she needs. It still wouldn’t hurt if, next time you see her, you let her know you’ll be there for her if she wants to talk. But I wouldn’t pressure her into anything.” There. That should be sage enough for anyone.
Dev was nodding. “Yeah. Cheers, mate. That’d be best.”
Kyle sent him a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure you knew that already, though.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Dev stretched. Kyle resolutely didn’t stare at the way his T-shirt rode up to display a pleasingly hirsute midriff. “I ain’t always made the best decisions, you know? Sometimes you wanna check with someone who’s—”
“Older and therefore supposedly wiser?”
“I was gonna say smarter, ’cos you’ve probably got more letters after your name than I’ve got in mine, but hey, if the cap fits . . .” Dev grinned and put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “How old are you anyhow? Hit the big three-oh yet?”
“It’s pretty obvious you haven’t. I’m thirty-three.” Never mind that he felt more like sixty-three some days. Kyle stood up, fighting the tiredness that had suddenly assailed him. “Do you want a coffee?”
“Only if you’re having one.”
It wouldn’t be a good idea. Even decaffeinated coffee tended to disturb Kyle’s sleep pattern, such as it was.
Which was probably why the craving for the stuff was suddenly almost unbearable. “No,” Kyle said shortly, and picked up their plates in an attempt to distract Dev from how strange it must have sounded.
“I’ll get those,” Dev said, practically grabbing them out of his hands. “You go and sit down.”
Feeling uncomfortably like a guest in his own home, Kyle went through to the living room and settled himself on the sofa.
Kyle woke up to find Dev sprawled at the other end of the sofa, flicking through TV channels with one hand while texting with the other.
Great. Some host he was being. “Sorry,” he said, his mouth unpleasantly dry. “Have I been asleep long?”
Dev turned to give him a blinding smile. “Nah, just over an hour. Don’t worry. The sex was brilliant.”
Kyle froze, and Dev’s expression turned stricken.
“Shit. That wasn’t funny, was it? Sorry, mate. Wasn’t thinking.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “You want me to go?”
This was all moving way too fast for Kyle’s sleep-fogged brain. “No?” he managed.
“Nah, it’s okay. I should let you get to bed, whatever.” Dev stood up, looking unhappy.
“No.” Kyle said it more positively this time. “You don’t need to go. I should be alert for at least another couple of hours. Please stay.”
Dev wavered visibly—then sat down again. “Long as you’re sure. And I’ll try not to say anything so fucking stupid again.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Kyle attempted a smile, but was aware it probably came out a little twisted. “You’d be amazed how few people I know haven’t said something insensitive since I was diagnosed. It’s funny, really. If you lose a leg, everyone feels bad for you. If you lose your ability to sleep normally, it’s all a big joke.”
“Not though, is it?” Dev stared out of the window, and Kyle followed his gaze. The sky had turned inky blue, and the moon had risen, an almost perfect silvery disc. “Is it really shit, living with it?”
Absurdly, Kyle found he couldn’t say yes. It was . . . but there were so many worse things too. It wasn’t like it was actually going to kill him, was it? “I don’t think I’m dealing with it very well,” was what he said in the end.
“How long’s it been since you got ill?”
Kyle had a vivid memory of sitting in the chair at his doctor’s surgery, the window blinds half open to show a jet-black sky. He’d always insisted on early-morning appointments so they wouldn’t eat into his oh-so-important working day. Dr. Grey had been brusquely sympathetic in the face of his devastation—of course, she probably had to tell people far worse things every week. He’d listened halfheartedly to her list of available resources and walked outside in a daze to find the sun had still not risen.
It had been a dark month in more ways than one. “I was diagnosed in January this year.”
“This year? Seriously? And since then you’ve lost your job and moved halfway across the country, away from everyone you know. You honestly think anyone would be dealing well with all that?” Dev was silent a moment. “You oughtta give yourself a break, mate.”
It was just as well Kyle hadn’t mentioned the relationship breakup, or Dev would no doubt have thrown that in his face too. “And you’re the world’s expert on coping with narcolepsy, are you?”
“No, but you remember I told you about my sister?”
“She’s a narcoleptic?” Kyle didn’t even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
Dev flushed. “No. She’s got diabetes. But she went through some rough times in her teens, dealing with it, and the restrictions and all.”
“Great. So I’m coping as well as a teenager. Thanks for the compliment.”
“Christ . . . I just meant, everyone has problems, that’s all. And you shouldn’t call yourself a narcoleptic, all right? You’re a person with narcolepsy.”
“What the hell is supposed to be the difference?”
“The difference is, if you say you’re a narcoleptic, you’re saying that’s what defines you.”
Unable to sit there any longer, Kyle stood up and took a step back from the sofa. “So? In case you haven’t noticed, my condition does bloody well define me. It defines my whole life.”
“Yeah, well, you ever think maybe that’s ’cos you’re letting it?” Dev had got to his feet too. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them once more.
Kyle hated feeling trapped. “You . . . I can’t believe this. You’re standing here, in my home, telling me this is all my fault? What the hell do you even know? You’re young, you’re fit, you’re ridiculously attractive—do you even know what problems are?” Anger fizzed through his veins, a crescendo of heat, and for the first time in months Kyle felt alive.
Dev’s fists clenched by his sides. Good. He wanted a fight? Then he could bloody well bring it.
“You know fuck all about me, about my life, about anything,” Dev fairly spat at him. “So don’t you fucking dare tell me I don’t know shit. You think my life’s been easy? Christ. You ain’t got the first fucking idea.”
His face darkening with rage, Dev took a deep breath. Kyle’s skin tingled in anticipation of the punch that had to be coming—but then Dev let the breath out explosively, turned on his heel, and strode out of the house.
The comedown wasn’t pleasant. Kyle’s anger still burned—but without an outlet it turned rapidly sour and corrosive.
Walking into the kitchen to find Dev had, while Kyle was asleep, washed all the dishes and left them neatly stacked on the counter made it, somehow, even worse.