Page 54 of Dream a Little Dream

Honey Whisky

“He’s… a character.”

Kenny shut the office door with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, he is.” He rubbed his temples, trying to calm his pounding headache. He needed to focus, to stabilise himself, before facing Jack. “Did you introduce yourself by your first name?”

Jack shrugged. “No idea. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. Why?”

“Just curious.” Kenny tried to play it off, but his tangled thoughts were spinning out of control. Did Jack say he was Jack? Or was that another trick of his mind, pushing him to see things that weren’t there? But above all, one question burned: how had Aaron known where he’d been Saturday night with Heather? What he’d eaten, what he’d drunk, and even that he hadn’t gone inside her house because he knew he wouldn’t have… performed.

“You look tired, Kenny.”

“I’m always tired.” Kenny ruffled back his hair. “You’re the one who just had a bag of shit case land on his desk.”

Jack studied him, and Kenny could feel the heaviness in that stare he’d once known so well. It jolted him back to when their relationship had soured from Jack’s constant questioning and Kenny tossing psychiatry at him. Six years as lovers, it was pointless to think Kenny could hide anything from him. Jack was a detective. Could sense when Kenny was holding back, evading the truth. And right now, Kenny was doing exactly that. He hated how easily Jack could see it.

Like he’d seen through his bullshit when he said he’d quit smoking.

Like when he’d said he’d stop going to the clubs.

Kenny had to bat it all away. “How long have you been back, anyway?”

“Couple of weeks. I had planned on telling you…”

Kenny tied his hair into a knot with the band he kept on his wrist. Jack might have been planning on telling him, but how and when was a factor Kenny knew would cause Jack anguish. And him, if he was honest. Too much had gone unresolved between them to consider it water under the bridge. They had a murky lake between them, with monsters lurking within.

“Where are you staying?” he asked to keep some normalcy about all this.

“We’re at my mum’s at the moment, but we put in an offer on a house yesterday. Accepted. No chain, so hopefully we’ll be in soon.”

Kenny dropped his arms from shoving his hair up. “We?”

“Yeah.” Jack bit his lip, masking the wince. “Me and Fraser. My fiancé.”

The gut-wrenching blow hitting Kenny was deep and crushing. Eight years. Longer, if he factored in the agonising decline of his and Jack’s tumultuous relationship, forcing Jack to leave his hometown, the constabulary that’d shaped him, his ageing mother and the childhood friends he’d grown up withto flee to Glasgow and escapehim. The weight of it tightened Kenny’s chest. But, he knew, once the sharp sting dulled, the pure, unshakable relief would creep in and take its place. It’d take time. Not long. But at least he could see some semblance of a reprieve in his future.

At least he hadn’t ruined Jack for good.

So for now, he played the role expected.

“Congratulations.” He shimmied around Jack to his desk, looking for something upon it he could pretend he needed. “When’s the big day?”

“Next summer. Sort of the other reason I’m back. So mum can get to know him.”

Kenny nodded, still searching for he didn’t know what amongst his paperwork.

“How are your folks?” Jack tried to get into his line of sight.

“Dad died five years ago.” Kenny stalled his faux searching to deliver that news. Whilst Kenny wouldn’t put their past relationship in the normal realms, Jack had stillknownhis parents. Had been part of his family for a while. Had had more than a couple of dinners with them. “Heart failure. Bit of a shock, as there were no underlining issues.”

“Oh, Kenny…”

“To be honest, I think he just gave up. Mum’s clinging on, though. In a home. But the dementia has taken over. She doesn’t remember anything.” Kenny scraped his nails, bowing his head.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Kind of envy her. Not knowing. Not remembering. Means shecanrest in peace. Sort of.” Kenny perched on the edge of his desk, folding his arms and peering down at the past sitting in his office chair. “But tell me about your man.”

Jack’s smile lit up his entire face. It was painful. “Fraser. Thirty-eight. Glaswegian to the point I have to ask him to repeat himself most of the time.”

---