Page 35 of Second Story

“I was angry with you all this time. Fucking raged for so long.” He rubs his chest. “Kept it all in here, burning, even though I knew…” His gaze is still averted, but this sounds honest. “I knew what you told me is actually what happened. Me wanting to stop thinking for an evening cost Lenny. And it cost me.”

He rubs his chest again, then stares up at a pink- and gold-streaked sky, still not making eye contact for long moments until I prompt, “What did it cost you?”

He finally meets my eyes. For a second time in two days, his are glossy. Or for a third if I count what a full moon showed me on a beach after Isaac swore that someone would miss me if I kept walking into the water. Tonight they shine with determination.

“You, Joe.”

Maybe time and a different perspective was all we both needed. I’m as gravelly as this car park. “I’d stick around for longer if I could.” The sunset paints our second goodbye with gold. With amber. With the same smouldering embers in the gaze that meets mine. “Believe that I’d want to, yeah? Stick around for both of you. I still could from a distance, if you wanted? Be on the end of the phone. If you called, I’d always pick up.”

I let go of his tie, setting him free with a final promise. “You can believe in me. Wish more people did.” I don’t only meanNoah Luxton, who still seems convinced I’m bad news for him instead of a shoulder to lean on. My phone pinging with anotherdon’t forgetmessage from my brother is another example of mistrust that means I’m gruffer than I intended. “Can’t make them want to. Can only keep turning up like you have for Len. Can only keep trying to do the right thing. I’ve seen what happens when people give up. You haven’t. That story you told? So fucking proud of what you made happen today.”

Who knows why that makes a difference. All I know is that Isaac is in my space, in my arms, which isn’t new. We’ve been chest-to-chest already.

This kiss feels like our first as equals. And when he slides the side door to his van and climbs in, I have a first of my own.

I mute my phone.

My brother can wait.

Right now I follow Isaac again and let him slide the van door closed behind us.

10

ISAAC

The last time I was somewhere this dark with Joe, I got too close to him in one of a long line of temporary addresses. Everything inside that place was borrowed, right down to the bed my brother slept in. Tonight, Lenny is in another borrowed bed, only with one big difference. He’s safe here. Can stay where nothing will scare him voiceless just as long as we’re both in Cornwall, and whether Joe believes it or not, he got that ball rolling.

The last few days have been one reminder after another. Or like wiping clean smudged lenses to see clearly for the first time in forever. Tonight, the only real similarity to our last evening together is that I’ll have to watch Joe leave again.

Not yet, though.

Not yet.

I focus on closing the van door, which clunks. So does something in my chest because yeah, I shut that door, but this time Joe’s on the right side of it.

Mine.

The darkness deepens. So does anticipation, my blood racing the same way as on the evening I thought I’d misread signals. There’s no misreading Joe, no rewriting history that his hand is on my jaw for any other reason than he wants to find my mouth and kiss it.

I get there first, landing one that misses. Stubble rasps, and that never felt electric before. It prickles my lips, tingling until I reposition to find softness, and I’ve never been more invested in reconnecting with the one and only person who gave a fuck. And who I told myself couldn’t have ever cared about us.

I can’t tell myself that lie anymore, can’t keep stoking that angry ember after seeing so many reminders of care in action. He’s shown me that over and over, from knotting my tie to vouching for me to promising not to upset my brother. Now, as my sight adjusts and a pink-streaked sunset is filtered by the roof light, I see more evidence of a skill set I’ve spent a whole year telling myself I imagined.

He takes care all over again.

Of me.

Joe sinks down onto one of the crates holding books for kids I never would have known needed them so much if he hadn’t pointed me in the right direction.

I’d tell him again that he was my signpost, my gateway leading to this fresh start, if I wasn’t busy straddling his lap, which is lucky timing—my knees weaken the moment Joe kisses me back, and not only the bunting outside flutters. Something in my empty chest does too when he runs a hand through my hair, then fists a good, thick handful to anchor me to him. I can’t make myself mind that his hold pulls a little too tight for comfort. It sets off the same sparks I saw under the willow tree that flecked him with similar bright, white flashes.

That’s what I see all over again, even with my eyes closed, and more sparks flare when he tilts my head exactly where he wants me, going all in on this kiss that will be our last.

I don’t kid myself that he’s doing this for any other reason.

Joe kisses me goodbye, and…

I’m not ready.

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