Page 25 of Killing Me Softly

Mel shifted closer, setting her glass on the floor. “Aaron, listen to me.” She waited until he glanced up. “You’ve been through some shit. Like,seriousshit. And part of that, correct me if I’m wrong, is this constant feeling that you’re not enough for people? Like, you have to prove you’re worth keeping around, yeah?”

Aaron gave a reluctant nod. Mel always had a way of cutting straight through his defences.

“That’s your brain lying to you. You don’t have to prove anything. You either matter to someone, or you don’t. And here’s the kicker: you can’t control that. Not by trying harder, not by being more, not by forcing yourself into whatever you think they want you to be. You don’t get to dictate how someone feels about you. And you sure as hell can’t read their mind to know what they’re thinking or feeling. You’ve got to let them show you. Or tell you.”

“So you think I’m just convenient for him? That’s why he doesn’t want me to see him at his worst? I’m just an easy fuck.”

“Aaron, babe, you’re about as convenient as a live grenade and if you’ve been with this bloke for longer than five minutes, he’s gonna know you’re far from an easy fuck and if he hasn’t chucked you away yet, then I’d bet another three-ninety-nine bottle of this piss that he’s holding on tight, not for convenience, but because he wants to stop you detonating your shit all over the place. Because hewantsyour shit. For himself.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment?”

“It’s backhanded, sure, but it’s the truth. Look, I don’t know him. You do. Only you can tell why he didn’t ask you to go with him. But it could be for a whole lot of things. Like, a) he doesn’t really like you, which honestly sounds like bullshit considering he just took you to Barcelona and ‘the most romantic place on earth’.” She made a sick face, sticking her finger in her mouth. “Or b) he thinks it’d be weird or boring for you to tag along, or c) he’s completely overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to ask you for that kind of support. Especially if you’ve never been the one someone’s leaned on before or he’s maybe been that for you and not the other way around.”

Aaron bit his lip, her words digging deeper than he wanted to admit. He stared at the rain streaking the window, mulling it over. “How the fuck do you always know what to say?”

“Because I’m brilliant.” She slapped his leg. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do: send him a text. Just a quick, ‘thinking of you.’ Then we’re opening your laptop and you’re going to be bowled the fuck over when you see what I did all summer. Became a fucking viral true crime psycho shit podcaster!”

Aaron couldn’t help the small laugh from escaping, a spark of relief breaking through his storm of thoughts. “You what?”

“I know right! I psychoanalyse the shit out of crims online. For fucking fun.” Mel reached for her glass again. “Now text him, then turn your brain off for a bit.”

“Mine’s a big fuck off brain.”

“That’s what you tell all the boys.” She winked. “I’m a girl. I know better. But go on, text him, then we can get into some seriously deranged people’s heads instead.”

“Who says mine ain’t deranged?”

“I know it is. That’s why I love ya.”

Aaron laughed, then settled back. Both Jayden and Mel were right, weren’t they? Kenny just didn’t know how to ask for help. From anyone. And he was probably protecting Aaron more than himself.

Still, the thought of Kenny alone right then had Aaron in bits.

Chapter seven

Lean on Me

“Kenny!”

Sat hunched on a rigid plastic chair outside his mother’s room in the nursing home, Kenny lifted his head from his hands to watch DI Jack Bentley striding through the reception area. Sluggish and weighed down by exhaustion and everything else, Kenny stood to greet him but before he could say a word, Jack reached for him, pulling him into a fierce hug. The grip was firm, grounding, and Jack squeezed the back of Kenny’s neck as if he was trying to hold him together.

Kenny wasn’t sure that was possible.

Not now.

“How you holding up?” Jack asked as he dipped away, searching Kenny’s face.

“As well as you’d expect.” Kenny sank back into the plastic chair, body slumping as though someone had cut his strings. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Jack sat beside him and rubbed Kenny’s back as if it was preposterous to think he wouldn’t be there for him in his hour of need.

Kenny felt hollow, thoughts spiralling between grief and despair. And anger. A lot of fuckinganger. He needed something to take him out of his mind. But right then, all he had to lean on was Jack. And he sat beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking more like a bloke off the street than a Detective Inspector. Rumpled jeans, scuffed trainers, shirt half-tucked and loose at the collar. The only thing sharper than his gaze was the history hanging between them. He’d half expected him to be on duty when he’d called, which would make going through this so much easier if Jack were in professional mode.

“What do you need?” Jack asked. “I can call the relatives for you? Or deal with the funeral home? Name it, I’ll take care of it.”

For a moment, Kenny just stared at him, a dawning realisation breaking through his haze of grief. Jack thought he was here because Kenny needed support. Friendship. The uncomplicated loyalty they used to share before everything fell apart. He thought the desperate phone call had been born from grief. Vulnerability. A call for help. Instead of Kenny using his direct line to the Ryston Police force to get all this moving far quicker than civilian channels.

“I don’t need you to handle the arrangements.”

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