Page 83 of Second Story

Let me in.

Joe buzzes me up, and yeah, he’s dressed for bed in shorts and T-shirt, but I catch a glimpse of eyes that look as gritty as mine when he lets me into a night-dark hallway.

He closes the door to his flat behind me, and both of us stand in shadows.

“You been driving this whole time?”

I nod.

“Mate, you gotta rest. Want me to leave so you can? Give you some space?”

Never.

“Want me to stay?”

Always. But...

I didn’t come here to walk into the arms he opens. Or to grip the soft cotton of his T-shirt with no thought about what might be underneath my clutching fingers. All I know is that I’m drowning on dry land.

“What do you need?”

I have no clue where to start if winding the clock back isn’t an option. I’d turn that fucker to long before any of this happened if I could.

Joe makes different offers, caretaker mode activated.

“You need a drink? Something to eat?”

I can’t answer, let alone swallow, and he must see that despite these shadows. His hands find my face, and fuck, I’ll miss him, because if Mum is anything, she’s observant, especially when it comes to men like him. Heroes have always been on her radar. If she saw a photo of Joe and recognised him, she absolutely saw someone who mirrors his genetics.

Joe isn’t the reason for a calendar full of black-crayoned crosses. Isn’t the cause of two birthday cakes and a song I couldn’t sing without my voice cracking. It wasn’t him who made me a liar each and every time I told Lenny that Mum would be in his dreams. A different da Silva made her absence our reality, and Joe must have come to the same conclusion about what that means for us.

“If she does take the rap for everything and ends up serving time, I will always be a reminder, won’t I?” He clears his throat. Apparently, not only his eyes are gritty. “Every single time you see me, you’ll see the reason you don’t have her and the cause of Lenny growing up without his mother. And every single time I see Josh, I’ll think about what he cost me. Cost you and Len. Cost all of us, if...” I’ve never heard him this helpless. “He’s a civilian, not a cop. He tracks data, not drug deals. He wouldn’t have any reason to be on a raid, let alone set one up.”

I still can’t speak.

Joe does it for me.

“Come to bed.”

If I do, that will only prove I’m as soft to the core as a librarian once warned me against. As easily persuaded.

That’s all I want now—to be persuaded by someone who taught my brother that scars could heal and that soon could be a promise. I need to be convinced by someone who I’m equally convinced needs more of his own family in his life.

What will be the chances of that after tomorrow?

Joe leads me to the alcove of this studio apartment where street light through a gap in the curtains shows him pulling back bedcovers and plumping pillows.

He doesn’t extend that fussing to taking off my clothes. Instead, he models sharing by leaving space in his bed for me, and I kick off my shoes to take it.

For a last time, I lie beside him.

“This doesn’t have to be the end.”

I don’t see how it can’t be.

Weave a life with someone who showed me and a gang of teens how much he’s missed his blood relations? Watch Lenny grow up, all the while knowing who made sure cuffs bit into Mum’s wrists?

If I ever meet that da Silva, I’ll only want to stab him.

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