Chapter Seventeen Lose Control
Chapter seventeen
Lose Control
Kenny didn’t want to be here.
That was becoming a recurring problem in his more recent life. He was aware he was the problem, though. And he wasn’t sure if he would have been like this had he met Heather, say, last year. Or at least before all this mess had started.
This mess being Aaron Jones.
But he was here. In a cordoned off section in the back of a pub in the centre of town with Heather and her colleagues, where glittering banners wishing whomever a wonderful retirement adorned the walls along with a bunch of presents stacked up on the reserved table. Apparently, it was Janice who was leaving. A sixty-four-year-old teacher of year three, a kind and portly woman who’d dedicated her life to teaching young children at the local Catholic primary school. Well loved. Would be missed. Not just for the regular bakes she brought in for the staff room, but she was also the only teacher among the relatively small cohort who played the piano for those all-important hymns during assembly.
The mention of the piano had Kenny’s pulse elevating.
But he nodded, gripping a bottle of beer in one hand, other hand tucked in his suit trousers, and smiled occasionally as Heather, clutching his arm, laughed through anecdotes with her colleagues that, if Kenny were honest, he had to have been there to fully appreciate. He hadn’t been. And he wasn’t sure he was even really here, either. His mind was certainly elsewhere.
To Heather, he blamed it on the case. The poor young man, in his prime, who’d gone missing and turned up in the river. Word hadn’t got around about the roses. The potential of this not being an accidental death. And he hadn’t confided in Heather about being brought in to aid with the investigation as yet. Because as soon as that got out, foul play would instantly be suspected. Who hires a criminal psychologist for an accidental drowning? But it meant when that subject came up, as it inevitably would, considering this was a small town where news spread, he had to keep up the official line.
Heather squeezed his arm, oblivious to the internal struggle raging inside him, and she pointed a finger at a man in the corner. “That’s Ralph. Who we were talking about.”
Kenny glanced over to a man he’d bet his right arm was the caretaker of the school. He didn’t look like an average primary school teacher and not just because of the statistical anomaly that men were few and far between in those roles. But he looked a salt of the earth type of bloke. And he might have already been told who he was from the anecdote he’d clearly zoned out on. Kenny nodded, though, smiling, and felt the knot in his chest tighten. This wasn’t fair to her. She deserved someone present, someone who could be there for her. Not a man torn between two worlds. The one he wanted versus the one he craved.
“I’m going to get another drink,” Kenny said, pulling his arm free from her clutches, but with enough finality that Heather looked at him, smile faltering. He then pointed at the glasses in the group he was in a circle with. “Can I get anyone anything?” And that would help appease her fear. Who bought a round of drinks for the colleagues of a date he wasn’t interested in?
He did.
There were murmurs of gratitude, and a multitude of drinks fired at him. He’d remember them as he made his escape to the bar, holding up his hand to the server. When he came over, Kenny reeled off the drinks order but added one more, “And a neat whisky.”
Thankfully, the whisky came first, and he knocked it back in one fell swoop before the drinks all gathered on the bar and he paid.
“Thought you could use some help,” Heather said as she sidled up next to him.
“Thanks. I can’t remember who ordered what.”
Heather smiled. Really smiled. Bright and eager and really quite stunning.
God, he wished he’d met her first. Wished he’d conjured up feelings for her before someone else drowned them out.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she gathered up three pint glasses.
“Yeah.” Kenny shook his head, counteracting the lie. “I’m just tired. Sorry. I know I’m not all here.”
“Is it about the boy at your university?”
Kenny inhaled. “Yeah. It’s shocked us all. Tighter restrictions on campus. Puts a strain on teaching at the moment. What first year wants to come to class anymore?”
“I can imagine.” She rested her head on his shoulder in what he assumed was her way of comforting him when she had her hands full. “Thank you for coming, though. They’ve all been asking about you. Think they thought I was making you up.”
Kenny breathed out a laugh. “You have a good bunch of colleagues.”
“I do, don’t I?” She glanced back to the bunch chatting in a circle ranging from those just out of their PGCE to veteran teachers like Janice. “Do I get to meet your lot next?”
“Stuffy academics? Not sure you’ll want to.”
“ You’re not stuffy.” She leaned in, her wine breath trickling into his ear. “You’re a sexy academic.” She then winked and scurried off over to her team.
Kenny watched her sashay her hips, her floaty skirt swishing as she handed out the pints and the conversation went back to whatever it was teachers talked about. The state of the SATS, the dwindling budgets, the lack of teaching assistants and the cost of SEND provision. Kenny rejoined her, once again on her arm, and once again desperate to make himself want this. Enjoy this.
After a couple more drinks, where the party looked in no way ready to finish, he leaned down to Heather’s ear. “Would you hate me if I left?”
Heather peered up at him, slightly tipsy, wide green eyes filled with disappointment. “We could both go?”
Kenny shook his head. “You’re having fun and I’m barely keeping my eyes open. Stay.” He gave her a soft peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you.”
After saying his farewells and ‘nice-to-meet-yous’, he meandered away from the party, not before hearing the low rumbles of Heather’s colleagues talking about him with all their ooos and ahhs . He opened the pub door to leave, then shot a look over his shoulder in time to witness her glowing cheeks and bashful smile. Despite his lack of conversation and premature departure, it hadn’t dampened her and her colleagues’ view of him. But then, he’d heard enough about her ex-husband to know it took little to hold the trophy of her affections.
He hated himself a little more on stepping out into the cool October night. He should be honest with her. Tell her he wasn’t ready. That any other time and place, she’d have been perfect. He would do that. He would. But not via text. He wasn’t that much of an arsehole.
The air was damp, a fine mist hanging in the air as he walked, steps leading him instinctively toward the woodland bordering the town. It was his usual route to walk home, and he wouldn’t allow the past to stop him from taking it. The noise of the roads, the bars, the shops, faded into the background as he entered the pathway leading into Ryston woods beside the river, the canopy overhead blocking out the last remnants of light. Wet leaves squelched beneath his dress shoes, and the scent of decaying wood filled his lungs. It was eerie, a stillness making every snap of a twig echo in the silence.
As he wandered deeper, his thoughts clouded, internally retracing the steps of Rahul Mishra. Had he taken this route? Had he known where he was going? What had his motivation been for being here? Had he been called here? Lured here? Or had he just wanted some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of his new life and stumbled upon his brutal end? He’d never know the true answers to those questions. But he could paint a picture in his head using the knowledge he’d gained from the information collected along with his expertise in behavioural science. What he deduced was a grim picture of a young man just wanting, so desperately, to try something new. And through that, he felt an instant connection to him.
Kenny had been a young man like Rahul before. Confused and unsure about himself. He’d taken a path just like the one Rahul had. Albeit metaphorically. When he’d been in his late teens, he’d felt different and wanted to know if it was more than curiosity. He, too, had dived in to find out. It had taken a few more years to really understand himself after that. It had taken Jack for him to realise he didn’t need to choose a side. That it was the person drawing him in, not the sex. And it was Jack who’d helped him realise he could be whole again, despite him always feeling as if one half of himself had died when Jessica had.
He wanted to feel like that again.
Wanted. Needed. Whole .
The woodland grew darker, more oppressive, and the ground was slick with fallen leaves and mud, moisture clinging to his skin and making his hair frizz. The trees loomed tall and silent, their bark glistening with the remnants of an earlier rain. This could be such a tranquil place. A beautiful spot.
Then he stopped, holding in the trail of condensation he’d release into the darkness at what he saw in front of him. The makeshift memorial of wilted flowers scattered around the area where Rahul had been recovered was now drenched by the October rain, and the memory of the crime scene tugged at him. But it wasn’t that causing him to hold his breath. It wasn’t some thing . It was some one .
Aaron .
Sitting by the riverbank, slumped on the damp ground, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s clutched in his hand, he hadn’t noticed him and Kenny took the time to evaluate his presence. Here. Now. And how he looked lost, eyes vacant as he took a swig from the bottle, the amber liquid catching the moonlight before disappearing into his throat. Kenny should be wary. After the report he’d delivered to the investigative team earlier that day, right now he should be concerned. Because if he were plotting those lines on a board, trailing photo to photo, evidence to evidence, it may well lead to that person sitting right there.
Kenny refused to believe it.
Because in the moonlight, Aaron was beautiful.
Kenny’s heart clenched. There was an aching fragility in the way Aaron held the bottle. The way his shoulders slumped as though the world rested on them alone. And how his sniffles echoed through the stillness as he wiped under his nose with his sleeve. Was he crying? If he was, what was it over? The urge to go to him, to scoop him up and rescue him from whatever misery he was drowning in, was overwhelming. But he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to draw the line again. He’d lose himself to Aaron. Lose any semblance of control.
A twig cracking beneath Kenny’s feet had Aaron’s head snapping up, eyes bloodshot and glassy, wide and startled. He didn’t move. No attempt to launch anything at him. Or run. As if whatever horror he thought might be behind him, he welcomed. Then their gazes locked, and Kenny felt the pull, the undeniable connection, stronger than ever.
Aaron twisted back to face the river, laughter rolling off his shoulders in both amusement and relief, sharp and bitter, tears trailing down his face. “What the fuck are you doing here, doc?”
Kenny edged closer, cautiously, hands deep in his pockets. “Could ask you the same thing.” He stepped up to him, trouser leg brushing Aaron’s arm.
Aaron lifted the bottle in a mock toast. “I’m in mourning.”
“For Rahul?”
“Sure.” Aaron looked up at Kenny, eyes glinting with a reckless, dark edge. “And you?”
Kenny took a step closer to the memorial. “Was at a party. Wasn’t feeling it. Took my leave and somehow ended up here.”
Aaron bowed his head. “Same.”
Kenny glanced down at him. “You shouldn’t be out here alone at night.”
Aaron laughed again, louder this time, the sound almost hysterical. “You concerned for my safety?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t be.”
“Thought you wanted me to care.” Kenny stepped closer, his silhouette enveloping Aaron, protecting and probing.
Kenny feared Aaron. Was absolutely terrified of him.
Because he was so damn fucking drawn to him, he couldn’t think straight.
Aaron snorted, taking another glug from the bottle then dumped it down between his legs. “Not in that superficial, pastoral way.”
“What other way is there?”
He peered up, meeting Kenny’s gaze, and Kenny held his breath in wait. God, he was mesmerising. Hypnotising. And the wrenching vulnerability he displayed cut right through to Kenny’s dormant soul.
Without another word, Aaron reached out, hand unsteady but determined, and Kenny took it, helping him to his feet. Aaron stumbled forward, crashing into Kenny’s chest, and Kenny gripped Aaron’s arms, keeping him upright. In the dark, with their breaths mixing in the cool air between them, Aaron let Kenny look. Really look. As he had done back at his house. And Kenny dug deep, attempting to peel away the layers Aaron used to protect himself. And for the first time, Aaron didn’t fight it.
Kenny parted his lips, fingers digging into Aaron’s arms, the air crackling with unspoken tension. There was a wildness in his eyes, an emotion Kenny couldn’t quite name, because he hadn’t been sure until right then Aaron possessed the ability to feel . And it lured him in to find out more. To find out what made him tick. Aaron might not respond to words, questions, or conversation. His flippant remarks, casual barbs, were a shield, protecting himself from a lifetime of empty promises and hollow lies. Words had lost their power to Aaron.
Touch, though…
Touch was undeniable.
But Kenny shouldn’t be touching him.
“Go on,” Aaron slurred, challenging him, pushing him.
“Go on, what?”
“Ask me how this makes me feel.” Aaron trembled beneath Kenny’s fingers. Maybe it was the cold. The alcohol. The place.
Or maybe it was Kenny.
“How does this make you feel?” he asked, barely a whisper on fractured breaths.
Aaron’s lips twisted into a smirk, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. There was too much sadness there. Too much feeling. “I don’t feel a fucking thing. Nothing. Numb. Dead .”
Kenny loosened his grip, and Aaron stumbled back, the full power of his lie gripping Kenny where it hurt. His heart .
Then, in a sudden and wild burst of anger, Aaron hurled the nearly empty bottle of JD into the river, watching it vanish beneath the dark water. “I don’t give a fuck !” he yelled, voice reverberating through the trees. “I don’t give a fuck about that .” He pointed at the makeshift memorial as tears, probably long held back, flooded his face and he shook. “And I don’t give a fuck about some old man hanging himself in a fucking cell. I’m glad. Fucking glad he’s gone.” He wiped his nose with the back of his arm, trembling uncontrollably. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care !”
Aaron stumbled back, but Kenny was on him in an instant, grabbing him before he could escape. Oh God, how much he hurt for him. The confliction. The torture. Kenny took it all for himself, wanting to take it away from him. Wanting to give him something that wasn’t pain and sadness.
But Aaron shoved him away, fists clenching. “And I don’t care about you , Dr Kenneth Lyons . I don’t give a fuck about you . I don’t feel a damn thing when you look at me. Don’t burn for you to touch me. Don’t think about you. Barely remember your kiss setting me on fire. I don’t want you.”
His words were a mess of lies, dripping with alcohol and pain, and his breath hitched as he turned to walk away, but Kenny grabbed him again, this time pressing him up against the rough bark of a tree and letting that confession wash over him. Fuel him. Set him free. Make him whole . His head swam, the pull of desire tightening around his throat and weakening his restraint. Aaron, the elusive, infuriating, intoxicating man, was everything Kenny craved. Like the nicotine he couldn’t ever shake. His obsession with the why . His need to fix the broken. It all had Kenny hooked and needy. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t already known all of that when Aaron had provocatively danced for him.
On a nightclub dancefloor.
In his own damn house.
He locked his gaze onto Aaron’s, full of unhinged desperation. “Cain?”
Aaron’s breath was too shaky to respond, and nor did he show any trace of recognition. A brief dilation of his pupils was the only thing telling Kenny he’d even heard him. Then, brimming with defiance, Aaron growled through gritted teeth, “And I never want you to kiss me again.”
Kenny crushed Aaron against the tree, loosening his hand around his arm to trail it up behind his neck, and lost control. “Liar.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” Kenny dug his fingers into Aaron’s neck and he freed his other hand from around Aaron’s arm. If Aaron wanted to leave, he could. He could push him off and run. But he didn’t.
“Prove it.”
Unable to stop himself any more now than he ever could have before, Kenny crashed his lips onto Aaron’s, hard and desperate, pulling every emotion he’d fought to hide to the surface. Aaron fisted Kenny’s shirt, pulling him closer, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. The kiss was wild, brutal, fuelled by everything they couldn’t say and as Aaron demanded access to Kenny’s mouth with his tongue, something broke inside him. Even more so when Aaron wrapped his arms around his neck, hoisted himself up, and clasped his legs around Kenny’s waist.
Kenny had to hold him against the tree to keep them both from falling to the ground, cutting Aaron’s back on the rough bark. But the need for him, for Aaron , was overwhelming. Uncontrollable . Because Aaron returned that want, that need , with his legs clamped around him, clinging onto him with every desperate kiss, probing tongue, forcing them deeper together than the last.
All Kenny had left was lust. And he roamed his hand beneath Aaron’s top, trailing his fingers over the lines of his ribs, his chest, up to his piercing, grazing the metal he now knew was there and wanted his mouth on. Then when Aaron gasped, a guttural, primal sound, he became an unrelenting mess of depravity, groans wild and uncontrolled as Aaron tightened his legs around his waist so Kenny could feel the hardness within his jeans.
There was no return from this. No moral ground to sink into. And he pulled back, both of them panting, breath clouding the air between them, and Aaron’s eyes were dark, intense, filled with something making Kenny’s pulse stutter. “There you are,” Kenny rasped, voice heavy with desire.
Aaron’s response was immediate, reckless. “Here I fucking am,” he panted, licking his sore lips with his enticing tongue. “And you fucking want me too.”
Kenny could feel Aaron’s excitement hard against him. It was undeniable. Everything Aaron felt was there, laid bare, and Kenny smashed his mouth back on his to prove him right. To give him that, at least. And Aaron couldn’t get enough, clinging onto him like a desperate, deprived limpet, stealing more. And more. And more .
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Kenny rasped between heated kisses.
“Probably.”
Then, just as before, his phone rang, piercing through their haze.
Lips hovering just inches away, his breath ragged, Kenny yet again pulled away. Heart thudding and panicked, but Aaron grabbed his neck, mashing their bodies together. “Don’t answer it,” he growled, fierce and frantic, before kissing him again, hard.
For a moment, Kenny gave in, lips moving against Aaron’s, matching his urgency. But the phone kept ringing, relentless, and finally, Kenny stepped away, head bowed, and Aaron scrambled to set his feet back on the ground.
Kenny took out his phone, checked the number, silenced the call. “Shit.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket, chest heaving, then met Aaron’s insufferable gaze. “We need to talk.”
Aaron wiped his mouth. “I’m not allowed to talk.”
“And I’m not allowed to do this.” Kenny ruffled back his hair and stepped further away. “Yet here we fucking are.”
* * * *
“Drink that.” Kenny pushed a full pint of water across the breakfast bar.
Not his wisest move. Bringing Aaron back to his house for the second time. It hadn’t been wise to kiss him either. Aaron was a mix of raw vulnerability and quiet danger, and Kenny had fallen right into that trap. And now knowing who Aaron really was deepened the pull, solidifying the guilt and tugging Kenny into realms he knew better than to touch. But he couldn’t let Aaron go back to his room alone, not after hearing the news of his father’s death. Even if Frank Howell was a convicted rapist and serial murderer. He was still someone’s father.
Aaron’s father.
Kenny shuddered.
Aaron ripped off his hoodie to the T-shirt beneath, slumping onto the stool. There was no seductive playfulness this time. No teasing or testing boundaries. His shoulders sagged, and he drank slowly, eyes locking onto Kenny’s, searching for something neither of them knew how to express.
“Who called you?” Aaron asked, breaking the tepid silence.
Kenny hadn’t answered the call that had forced him away from Aaron’s kiss, from the heady feeling of Aaron’s legs wrapped around him, clinging onto him as though Kenny was his last lifeline. He’d left it to go unanswered. Like a lot of things.
“My mum’s care home.” Kenny swallowed back his shame as he filled another glass with water, taking a long gulp to shake the feeling Aaron had left on his skin, the taste of him still lingering.
Despite everything—despite knowing —he still wanted him.
Broken. Damaged. However he came.
Because he was all of that, too.
“She okay?” Aaron’s question could be mistaken for concern.
Kenny leaned against the opposite counter. “Dementia. The call was probably about her falling again. Or attacking a nurse.”
“Shit.” Aaron twisted the glass between his palms. “Shouldn’t you be there? Check on her?”
Kenny shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do right now. I’ve had too much to drink. They’re trained to look after her. She’s in a better place than here. It’s probably a courtesy call.” He’d tell himself that until he believed it.
“No siblings to help?”
A heavy silence settled over the room. Kenny bowed his head, his secrets closing in. “No.” When he looked back up, there were more pressing concerns weighing on his mind than the mother teetering at the end of her borrowed time. “Does anyone else know?”
Aaron swallowed the water, wiping his mouth with his wrist. For a moment, Kenny thought he might deny it. Ingrained to have to, it would be hard for him to speak the truth now. He’d probably toss out another question— know what?
Instead, though, he put the glass down, fingers shaking. “No.”
Kenny leaned back, watching Aaron closely, waiting for the blockades to break.
“I have a liaison officer. Same one I’ve had since I was eight. She’s the one who called me tonight to tell me about Frank.”
Kenny inhaled sharply. It was strange. To hear that name tossed around so flippantly. Frank was just a person. A man. Someone who had once had a family. And his family sat opposite Kenny now, sullen and seductive, and had him walking a tightrope between desire and suspicion.
“Take it you know about Frank?” Aaron inclined back on the stool, tucking his hands between his legs.
“Yes.”
Aaron nodded, as if he already knew why Kenny would have been alerted to that, and he reached for the glass, taking another gulp of water. He was still drunk. Because he swayed. And his eyes were bloodshot, courtesy of alcohol and tears. But the effects were wearing off, and the ability to speak the truth after so long of not being able to must be sobering enough.
“So you did know who I was.” Kenny didn’t phrase it as a question. It was a confirmation. A painful realisation.
Aaron dumped the empty glass on the surface. “I knew of Dr Kenneth Lyons, yeah. The criminal psychologist who helped lead the police to my parents. Who detailed them so fucking spectacularly well, he might as well have been in their heads. Did I know that was you in Inferno? No. Had no idea what you looked like. They kept everything locked down while I was a kid. Restricted access. Every foster carer was told not to allow me the internet. For my safety and mental health. What kid wants to hear the parents they adored are monsters?”
Kenny felt those words like a physical blow, crashing over him in tumultuous waves of regret. He had detailed the Howell murders. Had drawn conclusions about their methods, their psychopathy. But now, here he was, face-to-face with their son. And it made him shake off the gnawing doubt creeping into his thoughts. The nagging suspicion clawing its way to the surface at how unlikely it was Aaron hadn’t known who he was that night. That and his expertise in lie detection.
Aaron was lying.
“So, how did you find out?” he asked instead. “About me? Your parents? The case?”
“Was in a halfway house at sixteen when my last foster placement broke down. A lot of my paperwork went mysteriously missing after then.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “Restrictions lifted. Another name change and from there, things got tied up in bureaucracy and no one knew who was handling my protected person’s case. Found out more stuff. One of those things was you.”
“Why did you change your name?”
Aaron snorted, a dark, humourless laugh escaping. “I was…fucking some bloke. Told him who I was. He freaked. I got…battered. Then shipped off, name changed again, ‘for safety.’” He threw up air quotes with a bitter smirk. “Sent to London because there’s a place already full of crazy cases like mine. I could blend in, as long as I talked and looked like someone else.”
Aaron faltered for a moment, and he looked directly at Kenny, eyes darker, deeper. “So, yeah, I set my path to meeting you from there. Had to apply to your course on the down low. Pretty sure if the authorities knew it was me, a Howell , they’d shove me somewhere deep underground. But I’m an adult now. Technically, no longer theirs to worry about.”
“Why did you want to be on my course?”
“To find out.”
Kenny waited. Then, “To find out what?”
“If I’m like them.”
Kenny couldn’t answer that. Not yet, anyhow.
So he allowed Aaron to fill in the blanks.
“What happened at Inferno, though? That’s just fate, right? Surely you have some psycho theories on how that encounter happened?”
“Wouldn’t call it fate.” Kenny scratched his chin. “Maybe there’s something in two broken souls needing the same thing, at the same time, then searching for it in the same place. No matter how statistically unlikely it is.”
“Two broken souls finding each other, huh?” Aaron breathed out a soft chuckle. “How poetic.” He titled his head. “What broke you, doc?”
Kenny didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. His past felt like something he had to keep buried, too personal to give up. But Aaron was laying everything out, unmasked. How could he do any less?
“My twin sister was raped and killed when she was fourteen. Here. In Ryston.”
Aaron froze, eyes widening. Then, stoic and pitiless, he said, “Was it Frank?”
“Unconfirmed.”
A heavy silence fell between them, overflowing with grief and shared pain, until Aaron broke it with a single word. Sincere, soft, and entirely unexpected, “Sorry.”
Kenny had to wait a moment to compose himself. The apology felt real. As though Aaron took full responsibility. It wasn’t his fault. Obviously. He wouldn’t have even been born when Kenny’s sister met her gruesome end. And despite his theories and consistent searching for the truth, for her killer, no concrete evidence pointed to the Howells. It was more a hunch and the improbable coincidence that more than one psychopathic sexual deviant had been in Jessica’s vicinity at the same time as the Howells were prolific with their crimes.
Still, it felt validating.
“How much do you know about what happened in that house?” Kenny redirected the focus, as always, away from himself. Away from the vulnerability he wasn’t ready to confront.
Aaron shrugged, but there was something in the way his shoulders moved, like he was dodging more than the question itself. “Nothing.”
Kenny waited for the dam to overflow.
“Seriously,” Aaron chuckled, calling Kenny out on his techniques, “I’ve had a lot of people poking inside this head and they found nada.”
“You haven’t had me .”
A slow smirk curved on Aaron’s lips. “Something I’ve been trying to rectify.”
Kenny’s breath hitched, the unspoken desire tightening. But he had to break that. Tear it apart. Before it tore them both, limb from limb. “In your head ,” he clarified, trying to rein in the attraction pulsing beneath his skin.
“Also not entirely true.” That playful defiance threading through his voice was heavy with unacknowledged conviction. “Look, I know nothing. As far as I knew, I had the most perfect childhood. Treated like a prince. Yeah, so I was occasionally locked in a cupboard and medicated to sleep, but even that isn’t a bad memory. Mum used to sing to me. Taught me the piano. I was her…precious.”
Kenny’s stomach churned at the casual way Aaron described his trauma. “Would you be willing to let me dive deeper?”
“What do you mean?”
“A cognitive interview. A technique to make you recall things you might have forgotten. Buried.”
“You won’t find anything but a lost little boy crying for his mum to stop the punishments he got for being hers.”
Kenny inhaled sharply. The vulnerability hanging in Aaron’s words tugged at him, broke down his professional walls, crumbling them bit by bit.
“Told you,” Aaron said with a bitter laugh. “I’m broken. Fucked up. Bruised and battered into being… this .” He gestured to himself. “A tough, untouchable piece of shit. And a total fabrication.”
“ Were you beaten?” Kenny already knew the answer to that. Harry had told him. But he wanted to hear it firsthand. To know how bad it had been for him. How badly the authorities had let him down.
Aaron shrugged, though it wasn’t in flippancy. It was heavy. “You learn to be quiet or fight back.”
“By foster carers?”
“One, yes. Then if anyone found out.”
Kenny had to glance away. Regain his composure. “Did you have therapy?”
“Tons of it.” Aaron waved it off like it didn’t matter, but Kenny could see it in his eyes. The cracks therapy hadn’t healed.
Kenny dragged a hand down his face. He wasn’t in the right headspace for this. Too much whisky. Too much Aaron . Too much of everything. The push and pull between them like a riptide, dragging them both into dangerous waters.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Kenny said, forcing his voice to stay level.
“All right.” Aaron swung off the stool and stood, grabbing his hoodie to shove it on over his T-shirt.
“You’re staying here.” Kenny’s voice came out rougher than he’d intended. There was no hiding the command in it. The desperation to keep Aaron with him.
Aaron popped his head through his jumper, blowing back his hair. “What?”
“Spare room.”
“Seriously, doc, you think that’s wise?”
“It’s the middle of the night.” Kenny crossed the kitchen in two strides, grabbing the empty pint glass in front of Aaron, refilling it with water to regain some control. “You’re in no state to be wandering around. You stay here. Upstairs.”
Aaron shrunk inside his hoodie, his boldness fading. He looked…grateful. For all the flippant remarks, the casual bravado, it was clear he wasn’t used to someone insisting on his safety. The realisation hit Kenny like a punch to the gut. For a long time, Aaron had been alone. No one to care for him. Ripped from his idyllic bubble, then discarded and cast aside. Been frightened of. Rejection dug deep, made him used to being unwanted.
His clinging to Kenny earlier made sense now. It was the physical manifestation of how much he craved love and affection, yet unsure how to ask for it. Kenny couldn’t add to that burden. Aaron was fragile. And Kenny wanted to protect him. Nurture him. Lay over him like a protective shield. He was tugging out the ever deeper yearning Kenny had to dominate and soothe. Control and care.
But it differed from how he’d been with Jack. Aaron wasn’t something he could fix. Or help replace. Aaron was dangerous. A live wire wrapped around Kenny’s already damaged heart. One wrong move, and everything would explode. Aaron was a ticking bomb, or something far more precious. An organ in transit, ready to be reused and renewed.
Maybe for Kenny.
Would he reach his destination?
Kenny wasn’t sure if he could let him.
“Go on.” Kenny jutted his chin. “Upstairs. The bedroom is to the left of the bathroom. Wash up. Use the spare toothbrush.”
Aaron stared at him, his vulnerability now impossible to hide. But, wordlessly, he turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Kenny standing alone in the kitchen, heart hammering as he realised how far they’d already fallen into this dark, twisted thing between them. He sipped on his water, the silence of the house broken by Aaron’s muffled movements beyond the ceiling. The shuffle of his feet. The bathroom door opening and closing. Footsteps echoing above, pounding in sync with Kenny’s heartbeat. The desire to go up, to finish what they’d inadvertently started in a club, against a jukebox, in the woods, hit harder than Kenny had expected. Especially knowing all he did.
But desire was desire.
Eventually, Kenny climbed the stairs, cleaned up in the bathroom, yet when he turned off the light, shrouding the house in darkness, soft weeping through the crack in the spare room door held him captive. He froze, eyes closing, breath caught in his throat. He knew better than to walk through that door. Knew it was a terrible idea.
But knowing didn’t stop him.
He pushed open the door as quietly as he could, but still Aaron shot up from the covers, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, as if he’d been defending himself in the dark for years. The sight alone punched the air from Kenny’s lungs. But it was his voice, raw and defiant through the sniffles, that had Kenny making the biggest decision of his life.
“Fuck off, I’m not crying.”
The lie, sharp and brittle, shattered the last fragile thread of Kenny’s resolve. He said nothing as he stepped inside the room, unbuttoning his shirt and piece by piece with his eyes never leaving Aaron’s, he removed his clothes. His protective armour . Then, when down to his underwear, he slipped beneath the covers without asking permission and reached for him, dragging him to his chest, wrapping his arms around his trembling body. Aaron resisted for a second, remnants of pride still there and difficult to shed, but then, like a dam breaking, Aaron collapsed into him. The floodgates open.
And there, in Kenny’s arms, Aaron cried.
Kenny held him, taking every tear for himself. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, only that each second felt heavier than the last.
Then, soft and sweet, he settled his lips on Aaron’s temple. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Aaron didn’t respond with words. Kenny didn’t expect him to. But the way his body softened against his, he knew. Kenny was the only thing Aaron had to hold onto. The only thing stopping him from falling off the world.
And in a way that terrified Kenny, Aaron was now his.