Page 84 of Second Story

Joe rumbles, “Thisisn’tthe end.”

It sure feels like it.

I still roll over and hold him like he holds me while streetlights wash us.

There’s no moon visible over London.

Not a single star.

There’s only Joe until tomorrow.

23

JOE

Isaac doesn’t sleep. I know because I don’t sleep either. I can’t when this could be our last night together.

Because of my brother.

A case of mistaken identity is more likely; a coincidence involving a tall, dark, and unrelated stranger. But as this endless yet too-short night grinds towards dawn when Isaac finally drops off, I rewind every conversation I’ve had lately with Josh and replay each of hiswhere are youphone calls.

I’m miles from Cornwall where seagulls spiral every clifftop. Me circling back to his recent nosing through my court calendar feels like balancing over a different kind of long drop—one I’m not sure we could climb again together.

The thin light of a city morning bleaches my bedroom ceiling as I replay a wasp buzzing in a Rectory bedroom, Josh confessing his motivator.

Wintergreen, innit?

That place shouldn’t be on his data-collecting radar.

So why was it?

I don’t hear a wasp buzzing right now. I don’t even hear passing sirens, although there must be plenty this close to a black hole that sucks in kids and spits out violence. I do hear waves crash, even though the last time I looked down on foaming water was when Lenny napped in a lay-by. It’s Isaac’s turn to sleep now. He’s out for the count, and so am I at the idea of what waits at the bottom of a cliff for us if Emma Webber wasn’t mistaken.

What I need right now is another option, so the sleeping beauty sharing my bed can meet the other half of me one day and not hate him. Because I’ve said it once already, Isaac is it for me. But Joshisme in ways that go beyond a single egg splitting in two.

That’s nature.

Nurture is on my mind this morning. Has been since finding out I was gonna be an uncle. Staying with those twin babies was another reminder that family matters, no matter how it’s made. So was every mention of additional support in that folder Meera gave me for a family new to a potential diagnosis. Mending Isaac’s van was another reason to look back. Dad raised us both to fix things, not to break them. This morning, the past won’t let up reminding me of long nights in a burns unit when Josh must have thought I was unconscious.

He guarded me then. Now I want to defend him. The jury is out on whether I can, and I wish to fuck Dad was here to show me how to prevent this car crash about to happen.

A wasp does buzz then—Josh finally returning my calls.

My phone vibrates, and I grab it before it can wake Isaac, who wrapped around me last night as if I’d stop him from drowning. Now the only thing keeping me afloat is the chance that Josh can clear his own name.

I whisper a quick instruction.

No.

I issue an abrupt Josh-like demand.

“Meet me outside court at eleven.” I don’t give him a chance to argue. I end the call, but I wasn’t quiet enough—Isaac watches with eyes I know are big-cat amber. Today, they’re hollow and look as sore as mine feel.

“How long have we got?”

I want forever to be an option. I have to settle for taking today minute by minute. “I’m meeting Kwasi before court opens.” I don’t add that I’ll meet Josh after I’m done reassuring my client. I can’t say his name and risk seeing more pain. “I’ll need to leave soon. You don’t have to. Stay here until your visit, yeah?”

I want to take care of him to the very last second. Want Isaac in my home for so much longer than we have left. Need to make his life easier, not harder, only he won’t let me.

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