Chapter Eighteen Soft Collapse #3
Harrison didn’t look around. Nor did he take in his shitty bedsit, the only place he could afford on a salary of mostly cups of tea and banging out covers in a pub, where the paint peeled off the walls.
Nor did he look at the crappy mattress on the floor which was the only thing concealing the dirty patterned carpet. No, he looked at Jake.
And Jake felt that gaze slip right under his skin.
Because here he was again.
Being assessed. Stripped back. Picked apart.
So he braced for the moment Harrison did what they all had—filed him neatly into place. Suspect. Motive. Temper. A man with too much anger and nowhere to put it. And Jake waited for it to hit. For the familiar flare of temper to rise and meet it. To give him exactly what they expected.
Because they weren’t wrong.
He was angry.
Was bitter.
His life had been cut clean in half thirteen years ago and left to rot where it fell. But it wasn’t his fault. Nor was it Robyn’s. Or Teddy’s. Or his parents’. It was the fucker who took his sister from them and didn’t return her to give them closure.
“People say a lot of things when they’re trying to shift attention,” Harrison said.
Jake huffed out a breath. “Right. So why are you here asking me that?”
“Because I need to establish whether there’s any truth to what he’s claiming. And if there isn’t, I need to document that properly. Otherwise, it sits in the file. And if someone down the line decides it wasn’t explored, that weakens the case.”
Jake scrubbed a hand down his face. “None of it’s true.”
Harrison held his gaze. “Who is Teddy’s father?”
“Gavin Gold. Aye, real name. Parents probably thought they were being quirky or summat.” Jake pushed away from the counter and strode across the cramped space to the kitchenette.
He yanked open the junk drawer containing every loose object he’d ever owned and rummaged through it.
Pens. Receipts. Old guitar picks. Battered drumsticks.
A rusted screwdriver. “Where the fuck—” He found a pen, grabbed one of his business cards from the counter and scribbled on it.
The pen refused to work. Jake pressed harder.
The card tore. That’s what he got for ordering cheap shit from Temu. “Fuck.” He tossed it aside.
“What are you doing?”
Jake spun, and Harrison was suddenly right there.
Close enough for Jake to catch the subtle bite of aftershave beneath the coffee on his breath. To feel the chill still trapped in the wool of the man’s coat. Close enough that every sensible thought simply packed up and left.
Jake felt his pulse kick against his throat.
Christ.
He fancied him.
It didn’t seem to matter whether Harrison was twenty feet away or close enough to touch. If anything, proximity only made it worse.
“Giving you his address.” Jake swallowed.
“You can do a bloody DNA test if you want. My dad did nowt to Robyn. He adored her. Doted on her. Even gave Gavin a job when the bloke had pissed away every other chance he’d ever had.
And when you see him, you’ll understand why he’s not around Teddy.
And why we all think it’s better that way. ”
“Alright. I’ll speak to him.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Because you believe Andy?”
“I didn’t say that. But he’s put it on record in an interview.”
“He’s desperate.” Jake let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.
“He’ll say owt if it gets you looking somewhere else.
” He paced a step. “And he’s pointing the finger at me because I threatened him back then.
Cause I weren’t nice about it. But fuck…
I were eighteen, trying to stop some creep hanging around my house.
And aye, I put him through a wall when she went missing.
I paid for that. But now he’s spinning it into summat else.
Throwing shit around so you chase your tail while he sits there knowing summat.
And fuck—I hoped you’d be different.” He scrubbed his face hard, then dropped his hand in remorse.
“Didn’t think those stupid village rumours would make it as far as you.
Just because my sister got pregnant young don’t mean we’re what he’s saying we are. ”
“Hey.” Harrison stepped in, catching Jake’s arm. “It’s okay. Calm down.”
Jake stilled, more from the contact than the words.
“I’m not here because I believe him.” Harrison tightened his grip. “But I do have to account for it. Anything raised in interview has to be explored or ruled out. If I ignore it and it turns out to be relevant later, the defence tears the case apart.”
“So that’s why you’re here? Covering your arse.”
“I’m building a case that stands up in court.”
Jake tipped his head, studying him. “You could’ve looked all this up. Did you really need to come all the way here to make me feel like shit? To see this?” He gestured at the flat. “This version of me ain’t for you.”
Harrison let go of Jake’s arm and wiped a hand across his forehead. “Perhaps I should have.”
“Should have what?”
“Handled this from the office.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Harrison met his gaze for barely a second before glancing away. “It helps to speak to people face-to-face.”
Jake snorted softly. “That’s a good detective answer.”
“I’m a good detective.”
Jake cocked his head. “But that’s not all you are, is it?”
Jake could almost hear the argument going on behind his eyes. Professional. Personal. One pushing against the other. And he looked down at the shitty floor again, as if he might leave it there.
Jake weren’t having that. “Look at me.”
Slowly, Harrison did.
Christ…there was nothing in those eyes Jake had braced for. No judgement. No quiet assessment of the mess, the narrowness of his life. Just a look that had no business being in a detective’s eyes.
Jake swallowed, then held his ground. “What do you see, then, Detective?”
“You want the honest answer?”
“You spend your life looking for the truth.” Jake tilted his neck. “Only fair you give it.”
“I see a man who’s angry. Who’s been angry for a very long time.”
Jake didn’t move. “What else?”
A beat passed.
“I see someone who’s spent years trying to convince people of the truth...” Harrison’s eyes searched his. “...and wondering why nobody believes him.”
Jake’s chest squeezed. “And?”
Harrison’s jaw flexed. Then he closed his eyes for the briefest moment, as though the next answer was the one he couldn’t afford to give.
When they opened again, he eased backwards without seeming to realise he was doing it until his shoulders met the wall with a muted thud. Behind him, one of the cymbals quivered on its stand, the soft metallic hum settling between them.
“Jake...”
Jake took the last step anyway.
Because this had been building since the woods.
And Harrison was looking at him like that.
And, for the first time in years, Jake wanted something more than somewhere to put his anger.
He wanted him.
So he closed the distance and kissed him.
Softly.
Tentatively.
Nothing like the bruising, thoughtless kisses he’d shared with men before. Nothing like the way he’d used to use sex to drown out whatever was eating at him. This was slower. Careful. An unspoken promise that Harrison had nothing to fear from him.
For a heartbeat, Harrison didn’t respond.
Then, the same as he had in the woods, he kissed him back. Jake felt the tension in him instantly. The restraint. The conflict. He looked almost pained, as if arguing with himself even as he pulled Jake closer.
So Jake broke the kiss long enough to breathe. To check. Because he wasn’t a taker. He didn’t force. “You want me to stop?”
Harrison gave a minuscule shake of his head, as if regretting it the second he gave it.
So Jake kissed him again to make sure. And fuck.
That one wasn’t careful. It was hard, hungry, and inevitable.
And Harrison met it, desperation breaking loose as whatever restraint he’d been clinging to finally gave way.
He kissed Jake as if it’d been building for far longer than a week.
As if it had been waiting.
So Jake slid his hands slowly over the thick wool of Harrison’s coat. Too many layers. Too much between them. “Christ...”
He then stopped to tug his hoodie over his head, letting it drop where it landed, cold air biting across his skin, raising goosebumps.
The chain around his neck shifted as the swallow pendant snapped back to his bare chest. Then, topless, he was back on Harrison again, wanting him the same way.
And he pushed the coat from his shoulders, not roughly, but enough to strip away another barrier.
His fingers caught on lapels before finding the crisp shirt beneath.
God.
He wanted this man.
And that was the part he couldn’t get his head around. Usually, it was easy. Too much noise in his head? Find someone. Forget it for half an hour. No names that mattered. No promises. Someone to drown everything out before getting on with life. That had always been enough.
Until him.
Because Harrison wasn’t someone Jake wanted to lose himself in. He was someone Jake wanted to know. Someone he wanted looking back at him afterwards.
It was bloody inconvenient.
Bloody terrifying.
Then Harrison slid his hands over Jake’s bare ribs, warm palms moving leisurely across each one before travelling around his sides, and Jake shivered.
Because Harrison was feeling him. Tracing his fingertips over muscle, brushing his thumbs over Jake’s ribs before his hands landed on Jake’s waist and tightened, creasing his skin. Holding on.
Fuck.
Jake’s body seemed to wake up everywhere Harrison touched.
There was something almost careful about the way he did it.
As if he wanted to know what Jake felt like beneath his hands but wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to do once he found out.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jake stopped thinking about what he wanted next and started thinking about Harrison instead. What he wanted. What he needed.
How far he was actually ready to go.