Page 73 of Second Story

For now, I make the most of the sunlight painting Isaac’s first smile of the day golden.

I’d keep it if I knew how. Trap him and me and all of Glynn Harber in an amber bubble, even if I’d need to pop it sooner than I want to. For now, I soak up the sight of his sleepy smile and the warmth of the hand that spreads like a starfish on my chest.

His hand slides lower, and I could get used to this kind of start to the morning, to his closed-mouthed kiss when I turn to him. He buries his face against my neck, breathing me in as my own breath catches at his fingers trailing south, and my dick heads north to meet them.

He gets me off, slow and sleepy, then faster and more awake when I begin to return the favour. His dick was made for my hand, his mouth for the side of my neck, where nerves fire for more welcome reasons. And so what if his teeth are sharp when he comes. Like I told him the first night I shared his bed, hecouldn’t hurt me, even if my heart clenches at what I witness on my way out of the stables early enough that no students see me leaving.

I need to go pack a case I shouldn’t have left at the Rectory, I’ve spent so little time there. I turn first to see Isaac in the doorway of a home where I promised to shield both him and his little brother if his mother does plead guilty.

Right now, with the early morning sun kissing Isaac so gold that he glows, I have to face facts.

I’d want to do all that regardless.

I want to be here for every hard time as well as these recent good ones, and I don’t need a reason beyond this fact.

He’s it for me.

Has been for over a year.

Maybe I could be it for him too. The impulse Isaac acts on suggests so, and where we come from, him blowing a kiss like this would make him a target. I’m the sap who raises a hand to snatch it, so I guess we’re equal.

I shove that kiss into my pocket, holding it tight on my way through a courtyard where mist curls around the site of a time capsule full of children’s hopes and wishes. I’d bury that kiss here for a future black sheep to uncover if I wasn’t in a hurry. Instead, I only slow down when I reach the car park, and I come to a decision.

I’ll be there for his visit.Even if I can’t go with him, I’ll do the next best thing by waiting outside the prison gates. Just as long as he knows I’m there. That I haven’t walked away again, like I always regretted.

I’ll stand guard this time.

There’s a lump in my throat when I pull out my phone to text my brother with only a willow tree as witness.

Joe:Meera mentioned us maybe painting this weekend. Go ahead without me.

Joe:I’ll be busy.

Someone else is busy when I reach the Rectory—Charles has his arms full with a pair of rowdy early risers, both of them batting at his face with toast and sticky fingers.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” he yodels.

I kinda love his cut-glass welcomes despite the fact they always come with teasing, like now. He scrutinises me and jumps to an entirely accurate conclusion. “Well.” He purses prim lips. “Someone got a head start on sinning this morning.” He eyes the open collar of my shirt, where I guess Isaac’s mouth has left proof, but then ruins his piousness by grinning.

Charles is always happy, but the same golden light streaming through the kitchen window highlights something far from usual. This smile is brittle instead of his usual sunny. He does his best to mask it. “I remember those kind of wake-ups extremely fondly. Happy to go to hell for having so many of them, just as long as all my exes are there with me. Such a fun bunch to spend more time with.”

“You wouldn’t miss Hugo?”

“I wouldn’t need to. He’d be right there saving all of our souls. I’m sure death won’t part us. Goodness, this is the opposite of jolly breakfast conversation. Are you all ready for your last day?”

He grins again, but I’m a master at plastering on a brave face. I can tell he’s nowhere close to happy.

“Is…” I take one twin from him. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no, no. Everything is perfectly fine.” His gaze lands on a pair of bags on the kitchen counter. On two sets of bottles. On identical stacks of neatly folded onesies. “Actually, no. I’m not fine at all.” The baby he holds continues to bat at his face. Charles catches hold of one little palm and lands a kiss that leaves crumbs in his beard instead of glitter. “Because I thought about what you told me. About how being apart fromyour brother felt? That’s why these little wrigglers have been spending a bit longer with Mum each day since.”

Ah.

“And it hasn’t been going well?”

Charles confesses the real reason for his smile wobbling. “The opposite. And their social worker confirmed it last night.” He swallows. “They’ve all been doing so well that we think it’s almost time to say goodbye.” He swallows even harder. “For good.”

I didn’t have consoling a vicar’s husband on my list of things to do before seven in the morning, but that’s how Hugo finds us.

---