The Price of Absence
The safehouse where they’d first stashed Daniel and Nico rarely made it to the forefront of Jack’s mind. But having the two boys wrapped around him, and Daniel jerking awake with a strangled cry every time he managed to drop off to sleep? That brought back memories.
Despite the jetlag, Jack hadn’t minded acting as Daniel’s nightmare guard.
He’d dozed between quiet confessions and tales meant to distract, and they’d all finally succumbed to deeper sleep around four in the morning.
The only thing that had bothered him—and that had joined his jumbled sense of time and space in nagging him awake—was that Gareth hadn’t come to bed.
Were the police not done messing around downstairs?
He disentangled himself, grabbed a T-shirt and socks, and tiptoed from the room before dressing on the landing and heading downstairs to locate liquid sanity.
The first thing he found was Gareth, crumpled on the sofa as if he’d meant to just sit for a moment and hadn’t made it back up yet.
Well… that explained that.
Jack stared at his lover—the bruised knuckles, the lines around his eyes, and the frown that even sleep hadn’t eased.
Gareth wouldn’t dismiss a home invasion as trivial.
Neither would Jack, to be honest, but he hadn’t been here to mop up the mess.
Gareth had held their family together, not just in a crisis, but for the weeks Jack had been gone.
If Conrad wanted to send him on a job anytime soon, he could keep right on asking.
Jack slipped from the living room and closed the door, determined to let the other three sleep for as long as possible while he entertained himself with coffee.
The state of the kitchen stopped him short.
Every single mug they possessed was out on the counter, along with most of the plates and bowls, and all showed signs of use.
Empty pots filled the sink and overflowed onto the worktops…
and Jack now had a much better idea of Gareth’s level of exhaustion.
Gareth didn’t go to bed until the house was tidy.
Last night, he’d left his beloved kitchen in a state.
Jack started the coffeemaker, sure he’d need every drop of caffeine to get through the day.
Then he loaded the dishwasher, emptied the sink, and ran hot water.
He washed and dried everything that hadn’t fit into the machine, and once he’d wiped down all surfaces, the kitchen was approaching a state that suited his image of Gareth.
He was contemplating breakfast options when the door opened.
Pillow creases marked Gareth’s cheek and exhaustion darkened his eyes, but he lit up when he caught sight of Jack. And when Jack stepped close and twined his arms around Gareth’s neck, he wrapped him in a hug that was as welcome as it was desperate.
They kissed as they hadn’t been able to do the previous day, with the taste of coffee between them and no thought in Jack’s mind than that this moment was precious and not to be wasted. It was comfort with a capital C and something they both needed just then.
“Thanks for restoring order,” Gareth whispered a while later.
“I was grateful for the chance to move,” Jack said, determined to banish the guilt from Gareth’s tone. “When did you finally get rid of them all?” He moved to fill the kettle as he spoke, then pulled out the teapot and a dark green caddy with embossed vines, holding it up for approval.
“Earl Grey is fine, thank you.” Gareth scrubbed his hands over his face as if to dislodge the cobwebs. “They left just after two.”
“Any idea what took them so long?”
“Beats me. You haven’t looked yet?”
Jack shook his head, not surprised when Gareth grabbed his hand and towed him to the backdoor.
The backdoor no longer offered a view onto the garden, or let in any light.
As a result, the back hallway resembled a passage worthy of a horror film, complete with plywood, fingerprint powder, and plenty of scuffs, scratches, and dark stains on floor tiles and walls.
Sticky markers and chalked arrows added to the mess.
“Clean. Sand. Paint. Re-glaze,” Jack listed off jobs, when Gareth slid an arm around his waist.
“After breakfast, yeah? Let me sit and look at you for a little bit first.”
As if Jack would say no to that.
They tackled the morning in companionable silence.
Jack restarted the coffeemaker and laid the table, while Gareth let his first cup of tea lighten the exhaustion weighing on him.
Finding his kitchen restored when he’d dragged himself off the sofa had been a blessing.
Finding Jack awake and serene had been another.
“What do you fancy for breakfast?” Jack had griddle and saucepan on the counter and eyed both speculatively.
Gareth pushed himself upright. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ve been up all night and I’m on Tokyo time and wide awake,” Jack argued. “I can fry eggs and bacon.”
“Wasn’t debating that.” Gareth slid his arms around Jack’s waist and pulled him flush, Jack’s back to his chest. “I just… need to cook.”
“That bad, eh?” Jack rested his head against Gareth’s shoulder and gave him his weight.
Gareth soaked up Jack’s warmth and used his weight to ground himself.
The exhaustion became bearable. Anger and guilt didn’t leave, but they stung a little less.
Our family is safe. We’ll get through this, he reminded himself as he’d done all night.
And maybe now, with Jack beside him, he’d believe it a little more.
“It was exactly that bad,” he admitted. “Every fucking alarm on my phone and Conrad’s going off at once, and we were ten miles and traffic away.”
“You got here. And—I’m told—you broke Pavel’s nose.” Jack leaned a bit more.
“That was Conrad. I wanted to break their goddamned necks. And castrate them. Accidentally, of course.”
“And now you need to cook to relieve your feelings. I get it.” Jack turned his head, dropped a kiss on Gareth’s cheek, and then stepped out of his hold. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Gareth set to work making everyone’s favourites, regaining his equilibrium while he chopped, mixed, and stirred, and Jack talked about furutosando, shaved ice, and chilli senbei.
By the time the smell of pancakes and bacon brought Daniel and Nico downstairs, Gareth resembled—on the outside—his usual calm, supportive self.
Breakfast was a mostly silent affair. Nico and Daniel were preoccupied, and Jack was busy making lists on his phone, while Gareth made sure everyone ate.
“I’m off to the glazier,” Jack announced when the table was bare. “Anyone want to come with?”
Daniel immediately shook his head.
So did Gareth. “I need a day in the kitchen,” he said. “Green beans are ready to pick, and the tomatoes are desperate to be eaten. Apples, too.”
“I’ll come,” Nico said.
It seemed neither teen was comfortable on their own just yet, and Gareth waved off Jack and Nico on their errand.
On any other day, he’d have handed Daniel a bowl and delegated the task of picking tomatoes.
Only it seemed cruel beyond reason to force him to leave the house when getting him out of the corner he’d wedged himself into seemed impossible.
At least this time, he’d brought his tablet and swiped the screen as if he was reading.
Gareth considered it a win. He remembered the vacant, thousand-yard stare the boys had had after they’d rescued them, and he never wanted to see that again.
In need of a distraction himself, Gareth opened the fridge and pulled out the contents.
Thinking about snacks Jack might enjoy while he worked on the hallway had his brain clicking into cooking mode, easing his worries.
The boys had eaten breakfast—another positive—and maybe a kitchen filled with their favourite treats would pull them further from the previous day’s nightmare and towards normal.
He set milk to boil on the hob for custard, then creamed butter and sugar for strawberry custard tarts. And he’d just pushed the first tray into the oven when Daniel appeared by his side.
“What can I make?” he asked, as if for months now he hadn’t spent his waking hours in the kitchen, designing menus and choosing what to cook.
Gareth dithered over whether to give him a hug or give him space. “I’m in snack food mode,” he said, opting to stay back. “Tapas. Mexican. Skewers. Sausage rolls. Small bites we can pick up and enjoy while we’re busy doing other things.”
Daniel considered the ingredients. “Empanadas?”
“After all the time you spent experimenting with fillings? Definitely. Remember to split the mix and make one part extra spicy for Jack,” Gareth said and wanted to cheer when he got a glare for his efforts.
“I wouldn’t forget that.”
“Good.” He finished his custard tarts, then got started on making paté.
They worked in companionable silence, their kitchen roomy enough for two cooks.
Gareth would have liked to pull up one of Jack’s esoteric playlists and let Jack’s song choices surprise him, but Daniel jumped at every noise, from Gareth dropping a spoon to the beep of the oven timer. Music wouldn’t be helping.
Gareth couldn’t wait for Jack to come home. He needed his man as a sounding board since he was too worried to put a foot wrong to make sensible decisions. And Jack knew more about trauma than Gareth ever would.
Had his mother been right? Would it be better for Nico and Daniel if they moved house? The thought nagged, ripped through the contentment he’d found while cooking.
“Daniel,” he began, not reassured when the boy jumped.
“Sorry. Off in my head,” Daniel apologised immediately and turned to face Gareth. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Tell me how safe you and Nico feel in this house.”
Daniel’s face went blank. Gareth couldn’t tell if he’d shut down or was thinking things over, and the panic spiking through his chest was real.