Page 4 of The Light Within

“No. We don’t know who we can trust.”

“But—” Darcy cut herself off with a shake of her head, then sighed. There was resignation on her face as she ushered the three of them out of her cottage into the dark winter night.

Elliot hopped on his motorcycle and was halfway down Darcy’s road before Julien and Cinn reached Maz.

Soon, the gentle click of the car doors closing removed them from the rest of the world, the exhalation of Cinn’s gentle sigh sealing their bubble.

Julien inserted his key into the ignition, then paused.

He would only drive a couple of roads until he had to turn left for Cinn’s house, or right for his.

Please, please say you’re coming back to mine.

Cinn turned to him, cocking his head.

“Do you want…” Julien started, until his tongue turned to lead.

Words, Julien, words!What on earth was wrong with him? Where had his ability to throw up his usual calm, collected facade gone? That armour that protected him from situations exactly like this? Out the window with his vocabulary, apparently.

Cinn stared, arching a questioning eyebrow that almost disappeared into his olive-green beanie. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, mate.”

He practised the simple sentence in his mind over and over again as a hot flush prickled the back of his neck. Each time, the Cinn his brain conjured laughed hollowly in response, eyes narrowing.

Facing the windscreen while gripping the wheel so tightly his nails bit into the leather, Julien eventually managed the words: “Do you want to… comebacktomine?”

Cinn’s roaring laugh practically shook Maz.

Oh, why did Cinn have to have this infuriating effect on him? It was making his life even more complicated.

“Course I’m coming back to yours. No need to beg—unless you want to.”

The white flash of Cinn’s satisfied smirk had Julien inwardly groaning as he turned the key, grateful for the sound of his car’s engine filling the silence.

“It’s just that I’m aware that we still need to talk.” Julien kept his eyes firmly planted on the quiet road ahead.

“Yeah,” said Cinn quietly. “I know.”

Damn.

After Cinn had turned up on his doorstep in the middle of last night demanding Julien’s… attention… he’d half convinced himself he’d got away scot free without any awkward conversations.

Julien turned on Maz’s radio, tuning it into Cinn’s favourite channel, the one that played older British hits, then drove them home.

They didn’t say anything in the car.

They didn’t say anything in the underground garage.

They didn’t say anything in the elevator.

By the time they’d sat down on Julien’s sofa, nausea had made its home in his gut, and tendrils of panic seized his heart, squeezing painfully. Thiswas it. The moment Cinn shattered his heart by telling him there was no possible future for them.

“Look, Julien—”

“I want to—”

Julien snapped his mouth shut, waiting for Cinn to continue. But Cinn only sighed. Julien pulled a cushion onto his lap, squashing his tension into it. He softly asked, “Did you get that letter I sent? Did you read it?”

The light in the room was dim, the only source coming from the floor lamp behind Cinn. Yet his face visibly softened, gaze drifting to his rucksack on the floor. “Yeah, I got it. I was planning to talk to you, you know, that day at the lantern parade. I was just trying to work up the courage. I know I was being a stubborn git, ignoring you for so long.”

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