Chapter 30
JAMES
I deserved to feel like arse.
When I woke, I was thirsty and hungry and my mouth was the barrenest reaches of the Sahara, but I didn’t have a hangover, just the barest hint of a sore head.
I glanced around the living room, my gritty eyes grateful for just one dim lamp burning in the corner.
There was no sign of Edwin, but Trace was asleep in the armchair.
I got up, headed to the bathroom to pee and run my face under cold water, then pulled on some clothes, my brain a little fuzzy about why I was wearing only my boxers.
I pulled on the nearest jeans I found in a pile of clean laundry.
I made myself a cuppa after first extracting a note from my mug; Edwin telling me he was working on Trace’s carriage.
I sipped at my tea while fixing myself a fry-up: the vegetarian bacon I loved, eggs, beans, tomatoes, even fried bread, which was something I dared not eat too often as I found the taste addictive.
Trace appeared in the doorway. “That smells amazing.” He smiled, then yawned. “I could do with a drink. Have you got any—”
“Herbal tea? Of course. We bought some for you. That cupboard there.” I waved the spatula at the right place. “Want to share this lot? I cooked too much.”
We sat at the dining table, having split my feast between two plates. Trace was curious about the bacon, but declared it delicious after a hesitant bite. We ate in companionable silence, mopping up all the juices with crusty bread.
“So, d’you remember what happened yesterday?” Trace’s question came out of the blue as I was contemplating what to do next. I started guiltily.
“Er, some of it?” I squirmed. “I got shitfaced, didn’t I?”
“You could say that.”
I worked forwards from what I did recall, storming out of the house in a temper — the reason for which escaped me now — but I had a worrying number of blanks. “Did I get sick? I seem to remember I felt sick.”
Trace filled me in while I felt my face burn to the tips of my ears. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I offered when he finished. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He sighed, but it was gentle. “You need to speak to someone about Cormack, sweetheart.” He had to have seen my flinch but he ploughed on.
“Eddie thought you were dealing with what he did to you, but it’s obvious you’ve been suppressing it.
That’s not healthy.” He came nearer and took one of my hands in his, steering me to the sofa.
“You need to heal, James. You’re a wonderful man and we only want the best for you.
Cormack’s gone, never to return, but your subconscious hasn’t accepted that yet, or that you’re safe.
You said something about supernaturals being clingy and that you’re never alone but, and I hate to point this out, it’s you that’s been gradually drawing closer to us.
You’ve stopped going out at all unless it’s to pop to the corner shop.
You don’t go on your long walks anymore.
It’s like you’re attached to the property by bungee cords. ”
I raised my face from where I’d buried it in my hands and stared at him while his words sank in.
Eventually, when I levered my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I said, “We’ve had this conversation.
I can’t talk about…him and not mention he’s a vampire.
I just can’t. And it doesn’t make sense unless I do.
” I don’t want to talk to anyone, but I think I might need to.
“I spoke to Baxter. She had an idea.” Edwin came in and gave me a reassuring smile.
“Good to see you looking more yourself. Are you hungover?” I shook my head.
“Even better. Shadow life for the win, right? Anyway, Baxter’s calling someone.
I hope you don’t mind. I mentioned your worsening nightmares and darker moods to her.
It’s not like she hadn’t worked out something was worrying me, and she’s not a gossip.
She’ll be in touch.” He smirked at Trace.
“You want to make good on that forgiveness now you’re awake?
I’ve got to leave the paint to dry so I’m at a loose end. ”
I huffed a laugh at Edwin’s ability to make any subject smutty, unable to care much that Baxter had new confirmation of my crappy mental health. “What’s your penance, Trace, on your back or your knees? Neither’s going to be much of a hardship, is it?”
Both men looked at me wide-eyed. “What?” I said, bemused.
Edwin came and shoved me along the sofa so he could sit next to me.
“We’ve, that’s me and Trace, well, we’ve been aware that sexy times haven’t been what they were.
” He exhaled sharply down his nose. “Which I get, ’cause you’ve both been working your bollocks off with the gardening and you get physically tired. And obviously I don’t.”
“Yeah. And?” I wasn’t following this thread anywhere that made sense.
“What Eddie means is that you surprised us, making a reference to sex at all. We know you enjoyed what we’ve done, but it’s been missing lately.
I think the fact you seem okay with joking about it.
..” Trace tugged at his ponytail, snarling up the already tangled strands, and tailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.
Oh, right. “Guys, I know I’ve been a sodding misery lately. It doesn’t mean I want to drag you both down with me. Fuck yourselves bandy if you want.” I felt the faintest hint of a smirk touch my lips. “Not like Eddie’s gonna run out of energy if I get my mojo back, is it?”
Edwin gathered me into a hug. “That will never be an issue. I can one hundred per cent guarantee you. But,” his tone sobered, “don’t think a joke now is getting you out of talking to someone later. We’ve been worried about you for days.”
“Weeks,” Trace corrected him. “And we don’t function well if one of us isn’t happy.”
My gaze ricocheted in slow motion between the two of them. I got to my feet, too squirmy to stay seated when I was the focus of such intense attention. “We don’t?” I said when I realised I had nothing more intelligent to offer.
“We don’t,” Edwin echoed, also standing and mirroring my stance. I suspected it was unintentional. “I think…perhaps Trace and I haven’t been banging because we were picking up on you not being yourself, and this thing has snowballed. Not that sex is essential to a relationship—”
“Speak for yourself, Eddie, I’m finding it very essential now I’m used to it again.
” Trace’s warm glance my way took the sting out of any possible slight I could have dreamed up.
“But,” he continued, “all joking apart, we are concerned about you, James. Even if you don’t know what’s behind this particular bout of depression, you can’t really stick your head in the sand anymore.
” He came to stand behind me, something I’d not allowed him to do before, and placed a tentative hand on one shoulder. “Is this all right?”
No! I’m freaking out. You’re not Edwin. It feels…
What did it feel though? My default to anyone but Edwin coming at me from the rear was to regard it as a threat, but I knew Trace.
I knew his outdoors scent and his gentle hands.
I knew his body shape and the way he seemed to move through space without disturbing the air around him.
Huh, actually in some ways quite like Cormack, although with a much kinder touch.
And yeah, I wasn’t abbreviating that fucker’s name any more.
Perhaps I needed to say it a hundred times as some kind of exorcism, but I was done pretending I was coping by dressing him up with a shorthand.
I knew fuck all about therapy, but I had the feeling facing your shit and owning it was important.
Then you could ditch it overboard. Or something.
I inhaled, as slowly as I could. “Yeah, just hold me. Like, around my waist.”
His touch was assured; firm, capable, careful.
Edwin was near enough to touch, so I dropped my forehead onto where his neck met his shoulder, closed my eyes, and inhaled his cool familiar scent like I needed it to continue living.
Trace closed the gap so I could feel the heat of his torso against my back. “Is this all right?”
I nodded. “Mmm. You smell like home.” As I said it, I knew my unguarded words were the truth.
Trace, like Edwin, had come to signify more than just someone I knew that hadn’t so far let me down, unlike so many others in my past. I didn’t feel the same depth of emotion for him that Edwin had somehow inspired since he’d first offered me his blood to heal the worst of my physical abuse, but what I did feel was definitely more than affection towards a friend.
It was scary, but I was strangely okay with this level of fear.
Trace made a sound in the back of his throat, almost a purr. Then his breath, warm and light like sunshine, rippled over my right ear. “Like home, really?”
“Yeah,” I managed again, aware I was croaky.
“That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me, James.
Thank you.” I don’t know how he came across as so sincere.
From almost anyone else I could think of, the words would have sounded sarcastic, or at the very least forced.
Trace didn’t appear to have a gene for being false though.
To my knowledge, he was always truthful, even when the truth was something you didn’t want to hear.
He had a way of dressing it up not to feel like criticism.
I liked it. I knew, without being told, that he genuinely wanted good things for the people he cared about — and those apparently included Edwin, and me.
I should reply to him. “I meant it,” I said gruffly. “I’m glad you moved here.”
His answer was to press his lips to the bare skin of my shoulder where he’d just had his hand. “Not nearly as glad as I am,” he murmured.