Page 79 of Dream a Little Dream

“And I’m not allowed to do this.” Kenny ruffled back his hair and stepped further away. “Yet here we fucking are.”

* * * *

“Drink that.” Kenny pushed a full pint of water across the breakfast bar.

Not his wisest move. Bringing Aaron back to his house for the second time. It hadn’t been wise to kiss him either. Aaron was a mix of raw vulnerability and quiet danger, and Kenny had fallen right into that trap. And now knowing who Aaron really was deepened the pull, solidifying the guilt and tugging Kenny into realms he knew better than to touch. But he couldn’t let Aaron go back to his room alone, not after hearing the news of his father’s death. Even if Frank Howell was a convicted rapist and serial murderer. He was still someone’s father.

Aaron’sfather.

Kenny shuddered.

Aaron ripped off his hoodie to the T-shirt beneath, slumping onto the stool. There was no seductive playfulness this time. No teasing or testing boundaries. His shoulders sagged, and he drank slowly, eyes locking onto Kenny’s, searching for something neither of them knew how to express.

“Who called you?” Aaron asked, breaking the tepid silence.

Kenny hadn’t answered the call that had forced him away from Aaron’s kiss, from the heady feeling of Aaron’s legs wrapped around him, clinging onto him as though Kenny was his last lifeline. He’d left it to go unanswered. Like a lot of things.

“My mum’s care home.” Kenny swallowed back his shame as he filled another glass with water, taking a long gulp to shake the feeling Aaron had left on his skin, the taste of him still lingering.

Despite everything—despiteknowing—he stillwantedhim.

Broken. Damaged. However he came.

Becausehewas all of that, too.

“She okay?” Aaron’s question could be mistaken for concern.

Kenny leaned against the opposite counter. “Dementia. The call was probably about her falling again. Or attacking a nurse.”

“Shit.” Aaron twisted the glass between his palms. “Shouldn’t you be there? Check on her?”

Kenny shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do right now. I’ve had too much to drink. They’re trained to look after her. She’s in a better place than here. It’s probably a courtesy call.” He’d tell himself that until he believed it.

“No siblings to help?”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Kenny bowed his head, his secrets closing in. “No.” When he looked back up, there were more pressing concerns weighing on his mind than the mother teetering at the end of her borrowed time. “Does anyone else know?”

Aaron swallowed the water, wiping his mouth with his wrist. For a moment, Kenny thought he might deny it. Ingrained to have to, it would be hard for him to speak the truth now. He’d probably toss out another question—know what?

Instead, though, he put the glass down, fingers shaking. “No.”

Kenny leaned back, watching Aaron closely, waiting for the blockades to break.

“I have a liaison officer. Same one I’ve had since I was eight. She’s the one who called me tonight to tell me about Frank.”

Kenny inhaled sharply. It was strange. To hear that name tossed around so flippantly. Frank was just a person. A man. Someone who had once had a family. And his family sat opposite Kenny now, sullen and seductive, and had him walking a tightrope between desire and suspicion.

“Take ityouknow about Frank?” Aaron inclined back on the stool, tucking his hands between his legs.

“Yes.”

Aaron nodded, as if he already knew why Kenny would have been alerted to that, and he reached for the glass, taking another gulp of water. He was still drunk. Because he swayed. And his eyes were bloodshot, courtesy of alcohol and tears. But the effects were wearing off, and the ability to speak the truth after so long of not being able to must be sobering enough.

“So youdidknow who I was.” Kenny didn’t phrase it as a question. It was a confirmation. A painful realisation.

Aaron dumped the empty glass on the surface. “I knew of Dr Kenneth Lyons, yeah. The criminal psychologist who helped lead the police to my parents. Who detailed them so fucking spectacularly well, he might as well have been in their heads. Did I know that wasyouin Inferno? No. Had no idea what you looked like. They kept everything locked down while I was a kid. Restricted access. Every foster carer was told not to allow me theinternet. For my safety and mental health. What kid wants to hear the parents they adored are monsters?”

Kenny felt those words like a physical blow, crashing over him in tumultuous waves of regret. He had detailed the Howell murders. Had drawn conclusions about their methods, their psychopathy. But now, here he was, face-to-face with their son. And it made him shake off the gnawing doubt creeping into his thoughts. The nagging suspicion clawing its way to the surface at how unlikely it was Aaronhadn’tknown who he was that night. That and his expertise in lie detection.

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