Chapter Twenty
Mallon
Mallon pulled his jacket tight around his neck. He would never get used to the cold in this country. It leached upwards from the ground, penetrating his boots and seeping into his body, first through his toes before spreading its insidious chill through every part of him. He dragged on his cigarette, clutching at the scant warmth it afforded.
What have I done?
Tonight, he might have made the biggest mistake of his life. The wounded look on Roman’s handsome face had torn at his heart. Mallon had thought the truth would enable them to move on to the next stage of their relationship, but the pain he had witnessed in Roman’s eyes could trigger the exact opposite. He might have lost him.
The notion was unbearable.
Mallon hadn’t been ready to play his hand so soon. When he’d returned from France at the weekend, he’d thought the best thing to do was to maintain the status quo. They could continue as they were, seeing each other a couple of times a week. On his most recent trip home, he had missed Roman more than he’d ever thought possible. Betrice had taken the children on a skiing trip two days after he’d arrived, and he’d spent most of the time alone in the house. Previously, he would have enjoyed the peace and privacy. He would have hooked up with one of his fuck-buddies and thought no more of it. Only he had no interest in the local men now. His heart had remained in England, in Blyham, infatuated with the young man who had come into this life just weeks before.
Mallon had realised the strength of his feelings for Roman as he moped around the family home alone. On his return to Blyham, he’d vowed to cool things down between them, to leave a few days before making contact with Roman. It had taken every reserve of strength he had to keep from texting him at the weekend. Mallon had exerted himself with work and at the gym, running. He’d even taken a boxing class at the local leisure centre. None of it worked. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get Roman out of his mind. He had eventually submitted on Monday evening and had picked up his phone.
Roman hadn’t been as excited to hear from him as he’d expected. He’d been cold and indifferent. When Mallon discovered what Roman had been through the day before, how he’d come into the orbit of the Blyham Strangler, Mallon had panicked. He’d realised then that he might have returned to find there was no Roman at all, and the thought of anything happening to him had filled him with dread.
Despite being married for thirteen years, Mallon had a lot of experience with men, but he had never known emotions as strong as what he had for Roman. He’d never felt like this about anyone before.
He was in love with him…desperate, all-consuming love.
Had he blown it apart by confessing his secret?
Uncertainty chilled him as thoroughly as the cold evening.
Shit! What made him think Roman would understand? Why should he? He was free and single. What cares should he have for the emotional complications of an older, married man?
He’ll run. And he’ll be right to. He doesn’t need your bullshit, you stupid old man.
Mallon stubbed out the cigarette in a waste bin. His hands were too cold to light another. He shoved them deep in his pockets and kept walking. He should have called for a taxi, but some masochistic instinct made him continue. He deserved this discomfort. He quickened his pace. He was already on the downward road to the river. Not too far now .
Roman didn’t understand what made him stay with Betrice despite the loveless years of their marriage. They did it for the children. Betrice respected that as much as he did. Carole and Mathis would not grow up in the chaos he had suffered as a child. They knew nothing of their parent’s troubles and never would. He and Betrice put on a convincing show. They had not had a single wrong word or argument in front of the kids, ever. He intended to keep it that way. He’d made a pact with his wife that they would stay together until the kids were both in college, and Mallon intended to honour it.
His children deserved the very best, and they would have it.
Mallon was born in the resort town of Villefranche-Sur-Mer, the second of four brothers. His parents had run a restaurant on the harbour, working long hours, and the boys were left to care for themselves. When he told people of his childhood, they assumed it had been idyllic. How could it not be? Growing up on the Riviera in a beautiful town, close to Monaco and Monte Carlo.
No one knew the reality, because neither Mallon nor his brothers talked about it. Despite being married and business partners, his parents had an abusive relationship. They were both drinkers and often fought well into the night after they’d finished their shift at the restaurant. His father was a mean-spirited man with a combustible temper. Mallon and his siblings had felt the hard lash of his belt when he was in one of his moods. His temper had a hair-trigger, and it took nothing to set it off.
His mother was only slightly better. She did little to protect her sons from her husband’s wrath and wasn’t above taking her hand to them herself. Both were guilty of using the boys as weapons against the other during one of their heated fights. One of his worst memories was of being stuck in the middle while they tore at him from either side. He’d thought his arms were going to be ripped from the sockets. He had been eight years old.
He would never allow anything like that to happen to his children. Any parent who would was no parent at all.
When Mallon was fourteen, he had witnessed the death of his best friend Emanuel. The boys had been playing in a cove close to home, swimming offshore and fooling around. The beach had always been his escape. Neither of his parents showed any interest in entertaining their children, and they often left them in the care of neighbours or their friends’ parents. Those were the childhood days and memories he truly cherished, until the day he and Emanuel challenged each other to a race. There was a marker a mile from shore, and they bet twenty francs that they could make it there and back before the other. The boys were strong swimmers with no fear of the ocean.
Mallon had reached the marker ahead of his friend and was on the return mile to the beach. His muscles screamed from the exertion, each breath seemed harder than the last to catch, but he would not give in. He had been so immersed in the challenge that he failed to hear the roar of an engine until it was almost upon him. A tourist who had hired a jet-ski had lost control of the vehicle. It had whizzed past Mallon, sending him tumbling in its wake. Despite the screams of the tourist and of horrified observers on a nearby boat, Emanuel was not so lucky. He raised his head and seemed only to notice the ski at the last second. The moment of impact had haunted Mallon for the rest of his life.
That evening, his father had refused to close the restaurant. He had hollered at Mallon about being a reckless shit whose actions had resulted in the death of his best friend. The next morning, oblivious to his tears and the distress he was in, his mother had driven him to school and forced him through the gates. At the height of the summer season, neither parent was prepared to take a day off to comfort their son. It was a kind teacher who took pity and arranged for him to spend the day in the care of his own parents rather than endure the morbid curiosity of his classmates.
Besides the love he felt for his brothers, there were few signs of affection in the family home.
Mallon had been at university, studying in Lyon, when he had received a call from home, from one of the waiters in the restaurant. His mother had stabbed his father eleven times during an argument in the kitchen. Despite the best efforts of the staff and emergency services, they had not been able to save him. His mother had been sentenced to life imprisonment when he was twenty-three years old. Mallon had made his own way in life ever since and had vowed that his children would never experience anything like the disorder and pain of his own upbringing.
His mother had been released from jail the past summer, after serving fourteen years of her sentence. The parole board had deemed she was no risk to the public. Mallon had visited her three time since, in a small village far from where they used to live. He saw little evidence that she had changed. She was mean-mouthed, sullen and ungrateful. She might not pose a danger to members of the public, but there was no way he would ever allow her to meet his children…not ever.
Mallon continued his walk along the Blyham waterfront. Most of the restaurants were busy this evening, their customers huddled inside, out of the cold. Not much farther to the apartment . His hands were warm enough to light another cigarette. It was a filthy habit, and he wanted to quit. The children hated it, and though Roman tried not to reveal his distaste, Mallon had noticed the way he turned his head away while he smoked, avoiding the polluted air. Mallon looked after himself in every other way, keeping fit, eating healthily most of the time. Surely he owed it to the people he loved to kick this one remaining vice.
Apart from his children, his life had been an unsatisfying ride for most of the time, as he avoided his parents and had formed a series of unsatisfying relationships.
Roman was the best thing to happen to him in over a decade. He was the perhaps the only meaningful and serious connection he’d made in his adult life.
Mallon couldn’t throw that away.
He had no idea how Roman would deal with the bombshell news he’d delivered this evening. It was selfish to expect he would want to, but Mallon would not give up on him easily. He wouldn’t take rejection without a fight. Roman cared for him, he was sure of it—maybe not as strongly as Mallon felt for him, but enough to make it work, enough to invest in some kind of future together.
In the beginning it had always been about sex. How could it not be when Roman was the hottest man he’d ever encountered? That face, that body, that ass. Oh, God, that ass . Mallon could not get enough of it, especially in those early days. As important as the sexual heat between them remained, something had overtaken it. Mallon looked forward to getting to know Roman. He wanted to take him out, to spend time with him, just to sit beside him and feel his closeness. He loved the deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing while he slept, the gentle murmurs he elicited in his dreams. He adored the sleepy look in his eyes first thing on a morning. Like most younger people, Roman was not at his brightest when he woke up. It only made Mallon love him more.
I can’t do without him.
I won’t do without him .
Mallon reached the outer door of his apartment building. The security guard was not on duty. He let himself into the lobby and bypassed the elevator in favour of the stairs. Despite the lengthy walk back in the cold, he felt a restless energy coursing through his body. He took the stairs two at time, arriving at his apartment door sightly out of breath.
He had left in a hurry earlier, changing out of his suit after work to rush to Roman’s place, wanting to get there before he came home. Mallon’s cleaning service had been in that day and the apartment was immaculate, though it smelled strongly of air freshener and polish. How different it would be to return here at the end of a busy day to find Roman waiting for him.
Mallon grabbed a tumbler and opened a fresh bottle of Scotch. The whisky was smooth and oaky and soothed his throat as he swallowed. It warmed him from the inside and banished the cold of the January evening. He drained the glass and poured another.
He crossed to the window, unlocked and opened the sliding door onto the large balcony. He stepped out and gazed over the side, half hoping he would see Roman making his way along the waterfront towards him, that he would have wasted no time following him from the café.
The pavements were empty.
Mallon deflated further. Of course he isn’t there . He wondered again whether he had made a terrible mistake? He couldn’t stop wondering what was going through Roman’s mind. Would he eventually accept the secrets Mallon had revealed? Or was it over between them for good?
He questioned if he should text? Nothing serious. He could keep it casual. Let Roman know he had made it home safely and ask if he’d done the same. No, don’t make things worse than they already are. You’ve already overloaded the poor boy. Give him space and let him get in touch with you.
The wait would be interminable.
Better to wait than fuck it up for good.
Mallon stood on the balcony, gazing at the inky black water of the river and finished the whisky. He loathed this feeling of utter helplessness. With a sigh, he wandered back inside, leaving the door open a few inches to air out the smell from the cleaning products. He refreshed his glass for the third time and went into the bedroom, checking his phone. There were no messages. Resisting the urge to call, he put down the phone and undressed. It had been a long day. He’d gone into the office at six that morning to ensure he got away in good time. He would take a shower, have something light to eat and try to get an early night. It was wishful thinking. He knew it would be impossible to sleep until he had heard from Roman.
He ran the shower as hot as he could take it and stood under the faucet. He shampooed his hair and lathered his body, washing away the sweat and oils of the day and a little of the stress, though he suspected the whisky had done more to relax him than the water. After ten minutes beneath the scorching jets, he turned it off and stepped out. His body tingled with the heat.
He grabbed a towel from the rail and dried himself from head to toe, enjoying the softness and freshly laundered scent of the towel.
It had done him good. He felt better than when he’d gone into the shower. With another whisky and some food inside him, maybe he could unwind enough to sleep that night.
The bathroom resembled a sauna with its swirling wraiths of steam.
Mallon wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door to the bedroom.
As he stepped towards the bed, lost in his thoughts of Roman, he became aware of a change in the atmosphere.
Mallon realised he was not alone a fraction too late.
A blow to the back of the head with a heavy object sent him sprawling to the floor, and his entire world spun in a cruel vortex.
And after that…darkness.