Page 85 of Second Song

This action replay ending with his mouth against my shoulder again does. Each kiss north sums up a physical connection that’s only strengthened since the school year ended and he practically moved in with me.

Maybe today is the day we take this role reversal even further, a switch I’m on board with as long as he is. Not by moving the last of his stuff into my van—there isn’t room.

Even now, his guitar takes up space I need for my sledgehammers. There definitely isn’t room for even a single one of the drums his dad had shipped to Glynn Harber along with his collection of keyboards and fiddles. I barely have room for his flute and that old whistle, let alone the Pringles tubes he’s saving to make shakers for next year’s students.

For next year’s students? School starts again in a week, after the fastest summer ever, which is the real reason for this early wake-up. I reach back and confirm that us switching it up in bed isn’t likely this morning, and this rasp comes out even lower. “You’re already dressed. Charles is waiting for you?”

“Yes. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

I roll over to see that pink and gold light streaking him, and fuck me, he’s so pretty. He’s also worried.

No shit, Sherlock. Today’s the day he’ll give an interview that will blow the lid off everything that happened.

Brave fucker.

Before I can reply, he answers his own question, and here’s a moment I should photograph, only not in secret to cause him pain. Rowan models trusting himself so clearly. “I am doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, you are. But you know it doesn’t matter what I think, Row.” I touch his chest and feel his heart pound. This beat isn’t steady, but I know that kind of anticipatory tippy-tapping, don’t I? Felt it before so many detonations. It’s natural—his body telling him to take cover.

Him breathing through that impulse to run?

It’s like watching my own slow healing progress, so it’s as natural as breathing for me to ask this. “You feel it’s the right thing to do here?” I rub the centre of his chest.

He nods slowly at first, then faster.

I lower my hand to his stomach. “And you feel it here?”

He nods again, and I’m never gonna get over my myopic hero throwing himself into a situation that others might run or hide from. And this is why my circling days are well and truly over.

Not because he needs my protection.

I’m staying put because Rowan also models how to listen to more than self-blame or static. He has done so all summer break with Reece, hurling himself headfirst into counselling sessions. Now he does that listening thing again, only to his gut, to his heart, and to that magical part of him that kids respond to.

“Yes.” He nods more firmly. “Yes, I do feel it there.” He also dips his head, his kiss a soft brush of lips I’d chase for more if he didn’t need something else from me right now.

Clear objectives.

That’s what the workbook suggests helps people who’ve been where Row has.

Straightforward now-and-next expectations.

Those straight lines keep him steady. Like staves, I guess, even if I’m no musician, but who better than a soldier to know that clear direction is what keeps armies advancing, so I go ahead and give him a beat to march to.

“Right now you’re going with Charles while I’m on a site visit. You’ll both get ready for the opening before the kids get there.” He opens his mouth, closing it just as quickly when I say, “Yes. I’ll be back in time for the opening ceremony.” And man, I’ve seen some bright explosions, but this?

Rowan’s brilliant smile?

Wow.

That’s all I’ve got until I can clear my throat and keep going. “Next, when it’s time for the interview, I’ll do whatever you need, Row. Stay or go, all you have to do is tell me. And at this evening’s fundraising concert? You do whatever feels right to you in here. Sing on your own or play the drums for Ed and Pasha, it doesn’t matter.” I skim his belly and chest with one finger. If I allow myself any more contact, I’ll roll him under me and pull the covers over both of our heads, but he nods again and that urge to shield him settles.

So does something in Row. I see it in honeyed eyes that meet mine, clear and steady. Feel it too in a final kiss and in fingertips I bet he isn’t even aware tap out a rhythm on my shoulder as our tongues touch in a quick and slick promise for later when this long day is over.

Those tapping fingertips, though? He can’t ever help playing.

But I can’t ever help wanting to listen, so I guess we’re even.

A lamb nearly makes me late for the first part of Rowan’s jam-packed agenda. Not because this woolly menace needs saving from another cliffside tumble. She’s too busy grazing to repeat that near disaster. I still pause during my site visit to check that she’s doing okay. I wouldn’t have met Rowan without her, so I take a moment out of this busy morning to shield my eyes against late August sunshine.

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