Page 90 of Kit
Mini’s tail swished and he brushed his tail against Trevor’s leg, encouraging him out of the room.
Kit held on to Nick with his tail, not meeting his eyes until Trevor was out of the building, and then he did so with a slightly guilty air.
“I was already planning on staying the night,” Nick told him.
Kit’s guilty look slid away, a pleased one replacing it.
“I am sorry I took so long. Bed?”
Kit watched patiently when Nick double-checked the lock of the door, then glued himself to Nick, nearly head-butting him with his pushiness to curl up against him. It was warm in the house, but Nick didn’t object to Kit’s body heat against him. He carefully adjusted his position so his injured arm rested in the crook of Kit’s neck. Kit pressed his mouth to Nick’s throat, lapping with his tongue, lightly scent-marking.
Nick hummed, enjoying the feeling.
“Tell me your training plan,” Kit asked.
Nick chuckled. “Kit.”
“We may be able to shorten it,” Kit insisted. “The other aspects of the timeline are set; this one may vary.”
“Fine. I’ll talk you through it.” And Nick did, though Kit became far more interested in learning all about the coffee machine, how it worked and what exactly it did rather than finessing Nick’s training techniques. Nick happily segued into discussing everything he knew about coffee—from growing to brewing, falling asleep mid-sentence with his face nestled into Kit’s hair.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The journey home matched exactly what Connor had predicted. One day down the river, seven across the ocean and then The Tear, shrouded behind its personal, never-ending storm, was on the horizon. Miles beneath it, sunken to the bottom of the ocean, lay Nick’s heart. With every mile, the feeling that he was making a colossal mistake worsened. He kept reminding himself that this time apart was as much for Kit as it was for him, but the image of Kit pacing the dock as they’d pulled away argued persuasively otherwise. Mini had been there, Nick reminded himself. Waiting patiently.
As Kit paced, upset.
Kit’s whine as Nick boarded the yacht came to him now, a gut punch.
Trevor joined him against the front railing, thankfully drawing him out of his head. “Connor said it looks good, so we’re going to pass through. Let’s go below deck and strap in.” The last time they crossed through The Tear, they’d all been above deck, perched next to Connor at the steering wheel, watching as one world became another. This time, everyone was on edge, being overly cautious about Nick as if he might somehow vanishfrom the deck if they turned their backs for even a second. He understood now why Laurence always got so mad at Nick’s worried hovering—it was annoying.
“I want one of those boats with a glass bottom.” Laurence trotted down the steps ahead of them.
“That would be interesting,” Trevor agreed. “It’s hard to get a good look at the mermen swimming from above.”
Nick slid into the nearest seat, strapping himself in. When he was done, he realised that Trevor and Laurence were casting him worried looks.
“What is it?”
“I asked what you want for dinner,” Laurence repeated.
“I’ll be very happy with anything other than fish.”
As it turned out, none of them got to eat for a long while.
Their house in Ireland rested right on the coast; a private dock led to a two-storey work-in-progress that Nick had been helping Trevor get updated. Their driveway ran a mile through dense woodlands before meeting the main road, making the house a haven of privacy. Trevor had very intentionally searched until he found a house that Connor would easily be able to access with his boat and mer-boyfriend.
A heavy rain sheeted over the house, grey skies that Nick had sorely missed inviting them all to make a mad dash inside or get soaked.
They were only just closing the back door when a squad car pulled into their driveway and gardai were knocking on their door. Usually, Nick would be right at his dad’s side, hovering, needing to be aware of exactly what was going on. Today, he acknowledged that Trevor didn’t need him there to help. He was capable of explaining why their entire family had vanished for almost two months without a word. In fact, Nick was happy to slide that responsibility right off his own shoulders because he hadn’t a clue how he’d believably explain that.
Nick went upstairs. He showered, shaved, changed, and then collapsed onto his bed, trying to push aside the pit in his stomach. Seconds later, he was on his laptop, looking up books on crop rotation, farming, soil restoration and soil health. Kit had reassured Nick that with the council’s riches, they had enough resources to feed the population of Aridia for years, but he could still try to help with their land problems. He eyed his tattooed arms. By the time Nick was going back, he’d be over the tattoos’ six-month life span. He wouldn’t have a symbol translating for him anymore. He added books on learning languages and made a mental note to ask Laurence if he could join in his language lessons.
Downstairs, Laurence bustled around the kitchen. Nick couldn’t pin down why, but things had been oddly awkward with Laurence in a way they weren’t with Trevor and Connor. In fact, Nick could hardly believe how easy things were with Connor. Conversations flowed, sidelong looks were met with understanding, even bad jokes found warm receptions in, if not a laugh, an amused head shake. With Trevor, a pressure had lifted from Nick’s shoulders, and he’d relaxed into their bond. The low-level anxiety that hummed in the background, whispering that Nick wassomehowdisappointing his dad, remained absent the entire trip home.
Laurence, though.
As Laurence rinsed rice in the sink, Nick hugged him from behind, resting his chin on his head, rubbing, before he caught himself and realised he was doing something he’d learned soothed Kit. He stopped the motion but held Laurence close. Laurence set aside the rice and leaned into Nick.
