Page 81 of Dream a Little Dream

Kenny’s stomach churned at the casual way Aaron described his trauma. “Would you be willing to let me dive deeper?”

“What do you mean?”

“A cognitive interview. A technique to make you recall things you might have forgotten. Buried.”

“You won’t find anything but a lost little boy crying for his mum to stop the punishments he got for being hers.”

Kenny inhaled sharply. The vulnerability hanging in Aaron’s words tugged at him, broke down his professional walls, crumbling them bit by bit.

“Told you,” Aaron said with a bitter laugh. “I’m broken. Fucked up. Bruised and battered into being…this.” He gestured to himself. “A tough, untouchable piece of shit. And a total fabrication.”

“Wereyou beaten?” Kenny already knew the answer to that. Harry had told him. But he wanted to hear it firsthand. To know how bad it had been for him. How badly the authorities had let him down.

Aaron shrugged, though it wasn’t in flippancy. It was heavy. “You learn to be quiet or fight back.”

“By foster carers?”

“One, yes. Then if anyone found out.”

Kenny had to glance away. Regain his composure. “Did you have therapy?”

“Tons of it.” Aaron waved it off like it didn’t matter, but Kenny could see it in his eyes. The cracks therapy hadn’t healed.

Kenny dragged a hand down his face. He wasn’t in the right headspace for this. Too much whisky. Too muchAaron. Too much of everything. The push and pull between them like a riptide, dragging them both into dangerous waters.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Kenny said, forcing his voice to stay level.

“All right.” Aaron swung off the stool and stood, grabbing his hoodie to shove it on over his T-shirt.

“You’re staying here.” Kenny’s voice came out rougher than he’d intended. There was no hiding the command in it. The desperation to keep Aaron with him.

Aaron popped his head through his jumper, blowing back his hair. “What?”

“Spare room.”

“Seriously, doc, you think that’s wise?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” Kenny crossed the kitchen in two strides, grabbing the empty pint glass in front of Aaron, refilling it with water to regain some control. “You’re in no state to be wandering around. You stay here. Upstairs.”

Aaron shrunk inside his hoodie, his boldness fading. He looked…grateful. For all the flippant remarks, the casual bravado, it was clear he wasn’t used to someone insisting on his safety. The realisation hit Kenny like a punch to the gut. For a long time, Aaron had been alone. No one to care for him. Ripped from his idyllic bubble, then discarded and cast aside. Been frightened of. Rejection dug deep, made him used to being unwanted.

His clinging to Kenny earlier made sense now. It was the physical manifestation of how much he craved love and affection, yet unsure how to ask for it. Kenny couldn’t add to that burden. Aaron was fragile. And Kenny wanted to protect him.Nurturehim. Lay over him like a protective shield. He was tugging out the ever deeper yearning Kenny had to dominate and soothe. Control and care.

But it differed from how he’d been with Jack. Aaron wasn’t something he could fix. Or help replace. Aaron was dangerous. A live wire wrapped around Kenny’s already damaged heart. One wrong move, and everything would explode. Aaron was a ticking bomb, or something far more precious. An organ in transit, ready to be reused and renewed.

Maybe for Kenny.

Would he reach his destination?

Kenny wasn’t sure if he could let him.

“Go on.” Kenny jutted his chin. “Upstairs. The bedroom is to the left of the bathroom. Wash up. Use the spare toothbrush.”

Aaron stared at him, his vulnerability now impossible to hide. But, wordlessly, he turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Kenny standing alone in the kitchen, heart hammering as he realised how far they’d already fallen into this dark, twisted thing between them. He sipped on his water, the silence of the house broken by Aaron’s muffled movements beyond the ceiling. The shuffle of his feet. The bathroom door opening and closing. Footsteps echoing above, pounding in sync with Kenny’s heartbeat. The desire to go up, to finish what they’d inadvertently started in a club, against a jukebox, in the woods, hit harder than Kenny had expected. Especially knowing all he did.

But desire was desire.

Eventually, Kenny climbed the stairs, cleaned up in the bathroom, yet when he turned off the light, shrouding the house in darkness, soft weeping through the crack in the spare room door held him captive. He froze, eyes closing, breath caught in his throat. He knew better than to walk through that door. Knew it was a terrible idea.

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