Chapter Nine Storm in a Teacup #2
“You never are.”
The line went dead.
Warren stared at the phone for a beat longer, hovering his thumb, the weight of the call lingering.
Then he tucked it back into the glovebox, slammed it shut where his warrant card and cuffs were.
Rain hammered the windscreen in violent bursts, flung sideways by a storm sweeping in off the sea.
He killed the wipers and let the glass blur, water streaking into distortions and smearing the world beyond.
Maybe if he obscured his vision enough, he might muddle his thoughts too.
Then something moved.
A figure by the school gates.
Hunched. Thin. No umbrella. No coat.
Jude.
He cradled a stack of papers tight to his chest, trying and failing, to shield them from the downpour.
Rain soaked his sleeves, darkening the fabric, flattening his hair to his forehead.
Only a teacher who gave a shit would carry all that without a bag.
He wasn’t heading to the car park, either.
No keys in hand. No lift. Trudging towards the footpath, pushing into the storm as if he meant to fight it.
Warren leaned forward, breath misting the glass.
What the hell are you doing?
He didn’t know if the question was for Jude. Or himself.
But whatever… he muttered a curse under his breath, switched the MG into gear, and rolled forward until he was level with Jude at the gate. He hit the window switch, the glass lowering. “Hey, Jude.”
He made a point not to sing it, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Jude flinched at the voice, startled, half a ream of paper nearly slipping from his grip.
“Jesus.” Warren eyed the chaos in his arms. “What are you doing, building a paper raft?” He reached across, popped the passenger door. “Get in.”
Jude blinked through the rainwater running off his nose. “Uh…”
“There’ll be an arc rowing past in a minute. Come on.” Warren unclicked his seatbelt, stepped out into the downpour, and jogged round the front of the car. “Why are you holding a shit ton of papers in this weather?”
Jude let him take half the folders, reluctantly. “Printer jammed. Had to photocopy everything twice. Then the caretaker locked the side entrance before I could get back in to dump it all.”
“Couldn’t you leave it in reception?”
“It’s Year Ten consent forms.” Jude tried to wipe his rain-slicked glasses on a sleeve which only made things worse. “Can’t leave them unattended.”
“Then you better get in.” Warren guided him towards the open door. “All that ink’s about to melt into papier-maché.”
He dumped the stack into the backseat and jogged round to the driver’s side. The moment he slid into his seat, the heater kicked on full blast. The air filled quickly with the sharp scent of wet paper, damp fabric, and something faint underneath. Jude’s cologne. Clean. Woodsy. Subtle.
Nice.
Warren glanced over.
Jude was soaked through. His shirt clung under the blazer, sleeves plastered to his forearms, jaw tight from the cold and the fight of holding it all together. He shivered. So Warren leaned down beside Jude’s feet, rummaged through his gym bag, and came up with a clean towel.
“It’s unused.” He held it out. “Promise.”
Jude’s smile flickered. Tired, grateful, soft enough to hurt. “Thanks.”
He then pulled off his fogged glasses and set them on the dash, using the towel to wipe his face, his hair, tousling the soaked curls until they stuck up unevenly. Messy, human, beautiful in a way Warren hadn’t realised he’d been starving for until then.
“You might want to lose the jacket too.” Warren kept his voice gentle.
Tone light. Careful. He didn’t want the wrong word or pitch to send Jude bolting into the storm.
And if Jude could hear his thoughts right then, he would.
Honestly, he probably should. “You can hang it on the hook. It’ll dry faster. ”
Jude slipped his blazer from his shoulders and the plain white shirt beneath stuck to him, rain-soaked and transparent in places, outlining the lean lines of his chest. His collarbones cut sharp beneath the fabric, white skin pale and flushed from the cold.
Warren dragged his gaze up in time to catch a bead of water tracing the line of his clean-shaven throat, sliding down like an invitation he shouldn’t want.
Warren looked away. Fast.
Eyes on the windscreen. Hands on the wheel. Wipers clicking. Rain hammering.
What the fuck is this?
He’d been embedded on high-risk ops before. Sat in rooms with killers, liars, traffickers. Spent months pretending to be someone else. And never, not once, had his pulse kicked up over someone like this. Someone quiet. Kind. Decent.
Jude was supposed to be a person of interest.
Not a person he couldn’t stop noticing.
Warren cleared his throat. “You warm enough?”
Jude nodded, towel still pressed to his curls. “Getting there. Thanks.”
Warren kept his hands on the wheel. Eyes forward.
“Alright.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Where’s home?”
Jude glanced over in a flash, and Christ, without his glasses, his eyes were something else.
Deep brown, wide and unguarded, framed by lashes that didn’t belong on someone who looked that tired.
There was something soft in them. Honest. Nervous.
As if he wasn’t sure whether to trust the moment or run from it.
“Uh… I can walk,” he said quietly. “Maybe wait until the rain eases off.”
Warren arched a brow. “You want to sit in my car for the next two hours while we wait for a coastal storm to take pity on you?”
Jude gave a sheepish laugh. “I’ve had worse Friday nights.”
“You trying to offend my hospitality?”
“No.” Jude shook his head. “… I don’t want to be a hassle.”
“You’re already soaked, your forms are literal mush, and I’m parked illegally. Go on. Let me do my good deed for the day.”
Jude chewed on his lip. “Actually, could you swing past Carter Cars? They’ve had mine for weeks. I could check if it’s ready.”
Warren glanced at the dash clock. “It’s gone seven, Jude. They’ll be closed.”
Jude went quiet.
Almost silent.
Warren clocked the shift immediately. The way his shoulders crept up. How he turned his face away. A tell. A subtle one, but there all the same.
Jude’s reluctance to go home, or for Warren to take him there, caused alarm bells to ring in Warren’s gut.
Jude reached for his glasses, wiping the condensation off with a corner of the towel before slipping them back on. “Okay. Yeah. Home’s fine. Thanks.”
Warren tapped the Sat Nav. “Postcode?”
“Take me to the end of the Ashworth Lane. It’s awkward to turn around.”
That was bullshit, and Warren knew it. He’d been there multiple times. Wide access. Plenty of turning space.
But he didn’t call it out.
He nodded. “Sure.”
The engine purred to life, tyres whispering as Warren pulled out of the school grounds. For a while, neither of them spoke. Rain drummed onto the windscreen, the wipers working in rhythm. Streetlamps cutting golden streaks across the car interior, flashing over Jude’s face in soft pulses.
Then Jude cleared his throat. “So… how come you were still at school? Most of the staff are usually halfway through a pint by now.”
Warren glanced sideways, lips twitching. “Truth?”
“Preferably.”
“I got lost.”
Jude frowned, turning to face him more fully. “Lost?”
Warren winced, playing it casual. “Yeah. My cousin, the one I live with, she’s, uh… entertaining tonight.”
“Entertaining?”
“Loudly.” Warren grimaced. “Didn’t fancy walking in on something that’d scar me for life. So I figured I’d take a drive. Get to know Worthbridge a bit. Take in the sights.”
“And the storm scuppered your grand tour?”
“Exactly. So I circled back to the only place I know how to get home from without Google Maps.” He glanced over, testing how the lie was landing. He smiled to offset the treachery. “Then I saw you. Wrestling a stack of soggy paper like your life depended on them.”
Jude huffed a laugh, breath fogging the window. “They sort of do.”
“Good job I swung by then.”
“Although, sounds more like I was your hero tonight.”
“You are.” Warren winked. “Though I’d say less knight in shining armour, more teacher in a tragically soaked blazer.”
Jude snorted. “Rude.”
“True.”
A smile lingered between them for a moment, and Warren couldn’t help it. He looked again. At Jude. Rain-slicked, tired, still laughing despite whatever weight he was dragging behind him. Still trying to play it light.
This is not the job I signed up for.
He wasn’t used to making nice with… nice.
Jude pointed out the window. “Take the next left. Ashworth Lane. I can walk the rest.”
Warren arched a brow. “Jude, it’s pissing down. Let me drop you at the door.”
“I don’t want to drag you out of your way.”
“You’re not. Like I said, I’m actively avoiding home. And I swear down, I won’t tell Year Ten where you live so they can egg your windows over that generous B-minus on their World War Two coursework.”
“Year Ten don’t do coursework.”
“No?” Warren blinked. “Shit. Why didn’t I take History?”
“Because you’re clearly an idiot.”
“Ah, but an idiot who knows a cracking rock formation when he sees one.”
Jude snorted, laughter breaking through, and Warren turned them onto Ashworth Lane.
He already knew exactly which house was Jude’s.
The end cottage. And he knew exactly where the CCTV cameras pointed.
And where they didn’t. But he slowed anyway, playing dumb, waiting for Jude to give it up himself.
But as they crept closer, Jude’s body language shifted.
Subtle, but Warren clocked it immediately.
The way he straightened. How his eyes locked onto the front room. Lights on. Curtains drawn.
“Which one?” Warren tapped his thumbs on the wheel, slowing to a crawl.
Jude blinked, as if he’d forgotten Warren was there. “Uh… the end one. Just stop here.”
Warren pulled in and eased the handbrake up, but Jude didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the door or even his seatbelt. He stared at the house as if it might bite.
“You live with someone?” Warren kept his tone light. “That why you’re weird about the drop-off?”
“No.” Jude snapped his gaze towards him. “I’m not weird. I just…”
“Don’t want me going out of my way.”
“Right.”
“Thing is, I’ve got no way to go out of.”
Jude glanced back at the house. Still didn’t move. Warren tracked the tightness in his jaw. The wringing of his hands.
“So,” Warren tried again, “if you don’t live with anyone… did you forget to turn the light off this morning?”
Jude hung his head. “Looks like it.”
Warren paused. Calculated. Then gambled.
“Actually.” He stretched as if it the thought had only just occurred to him, “I’m at a bit of a loose end tonight.
Was gonna hit the gym, but you’ve wrecked my towel, so that’s off the table.
Figured I should try the local fish and chips.
Can’t live by the sea and not have cod in batter on the beachfront, right? Know any good takeaways?”
Jude turned to him, brows raised. “It’s torrential rain.”
“Yeah…” Warren bit back a grin. “Solid point. Alright, any recommendations for places we don’t have to eat soaking wet? Maybe one with tables and we can sit in?”
Jude blinked at him. “We?”
Warren shrugged. “Sure. Beats eating alone. Or hiding in my bedroom waiting for the… noises to stop.”
Jude gave a quiet laugh. A real one. And glanced down at his hands, towel bunched in his lap, then back up. “I know a couple of places.”
Warren grinned. Genuine, not tactical.
Not because he’d got his target to agree to something.
But because he was about to spend the evening with Jude Ellison. And, for a moment, it felt like the assignment had nothing to do with it.
Still, the job was the job.
He nodded towards the house. “Shall we pop in? Switch the light off?”
Jude looked back at the cottage, face shuttered. Then shook his head.
“Nah. Let it stay on. Keeps burglars away. And…” He hesitated a beat. “It’ll help when I get home later.”
Warren’s brow ticked up. “You planning on stumbling back pissed on vinegar?”
Jude smiled. Shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Oh, Mr Ellison, sir, you have a dark side.”
Jude turned to look out of his passenger window, hiding his face, but Warren heard his muttered reply of, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”