Page 23 of Rescue

I swipe to answer. “Tom,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” he replies, warm and casual. “Thought I’d check in, see how my little brother’s doing. You alright?”

“Fine,” I say, settling back against the tree trunk. “Just out walking.”

“Walking?” Tom chuckles. “You’ve gone full country lad, haven’t you?”

“Not quite,” I reply dryly, though I can’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips.

“Well, when you’re not busy pretending to be one with nature, you should come by. Mum’s already talking about putting you to work in the garden if you visit. Says it’s been too long.”

“I’m sure she does,” I reply, my tone guarded. “But I’m fine here. I’ll visit soon.”

“Right, right,” Tom says, his voice light but probing. “You know, it’s only two hours up to Hexham. She’s doing a roast this weekend, all the trimmings. I can even come pick you up if you can’t face the long drive.”

I glance out at the hills, rolling endlessly toward St Claire. “Thanks, but I’m good. Maybe another time.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Tom speaks again, his voice softening. “Jon… the incident.”

My chest tightens, and I grip the phone a little tighter. “What about it?”

“Remember, I’m always here if you want to talk,” Tom says, his voice steady but with that undertone of brotherly concern.

“I know,” I reply, trying to sound casual, but it feels forced, even to my own ears. “There’s just… not much to say.”

Tom sighs on the other end. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I get it—you’re good at keeping things bottled up, but you’re not alone in this, Jon.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, diverting as usual. “It’s just… it’s a lot. I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to figure it out by yourself,” he presses gently. “We’re family, Jon. That means you’ve got me, and Mum, and Dad—even if they show it in their own weird ways.”

As Tom keeps talking, his words fade into the background of my mind, replaced by another voice, softer but just as persistent.

Abigail.

Her face rises in my memory—the way she’d looked at me with unflinching understanding during our heart-to-heart. Her words, calm but perceptive, cutting through my guilt without judgement. The warmth in her gaze as she told me I wasn’t the villain I’d painted myself to be.

And then, after dinner, that moment in the kitchen. The way her laughter had filled the space between us, easing a tension I hadn’t even realised I was carrying. The feel of her hand on my arm, the heat of her skin against mine. The tentative, electric pull that had led us closer, step by hesitant step, until—

“Jon?” Tom’s voice pulls me back to the present.

“Yeah,” I say, blinking and shaking the thoughts away. “I’m here.”

“You sure?” he asks suspiciously. “You went quiet.”

“Just got distracted,” I say, my voice more clipped than I intend. I take a deep breath. There is one thing I want totell him. Tom and I have always been close, or as close as you can be if you live at different ends of the country.

“You know what?” I say before I can second-guess myself. “There’s… something that I’d like your advice on.”

Tom’s silent for a beat, and then his tone shifts, lighter, more curious. “Alright, now we’re talking. What is it?”

“It’s nothing big,” I begin, though the slight flutter in my chest says otherwise. “There’s, uh, this woman at the B&B I’m staying at. Abigail.”

“Abigail,” Tom repeats, dragging out the name like he’s testing it. “Go on.”

I lean my head against the rough bark of the tree trunk, staring up at the clouds drifting slowly overhead. “She’s… different. Bright. Warm. Like she just..lights up a room, you know?”

“Sounds like the exact opposite of you,” Tom teases, but there’s no malice in it.

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