Chapter 12 #4
“I think I’d be more screwed up if Jez had an actual hand in raising me. Put it this way—his methods probably wouldn’t have corresponded with those of my grandparents.”
I want to say more about Jez, to give him a clearer warning, but I make myself shut up. He’s not my boyfriend or even a friend really, despite the fact that I feel closer to him than anyone I’ve ever known. I should keep my advice to myself.
I hesitate. What I’m about to say next will make him sack me off pretty fucking quickly.
But I’ve always been truthful and gone for things I want.
I think I fear not trying more than I fear failure.
And this thing I have with Reuben has been more important to me than anything else.
I hate the idea that I’ll never see him again when we leave.
I think I’ll miss him, and that’s a terrifying thought.
I take a bolstering breath and ask, “Do you think we’ll see each other after this?” I’d managed a careless voice, but he immediately stiffens all over, and I grimace. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that.
“I’m just asking,” I say before he can say something I’m really going to regret hearing. “You’re not bad at shagging even though you’re an old bloke. Seems a shame to waste it.”
He huffs, his tension bleeding away a little. “Not bad? I’m sure I’ve got better testimonials somewhere.”
“They were probably written with a quill and ink.”
His tension relaxes completely, and he laughs. “You’re such a little shit.” He pauses. “Xavier,” he says in a careful tone. “I—”
I’ve abruptly had enough of this conversation. I already know what he’s going to say. “So, how did it feel taking pictures again?” I interrupt.
He turns on his side and comes up on his elbow, looking down at me.
His eyes search mine intently, so I keep my expression very light and unbothered.
It takes more work than usual. His finger traces down my chest slowly, and I see the moment he decides to go along with me.
“It felt incredible,” he finally says. “Thank you.”
I blink. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because you have a way of making things seem very simple. You make me see a way through the brambles because you’re so clear-sighted and practical.
” He presses his lips tight. “I’ve seen so many scenes of horror that sometimes I forget that there is a simple beauty to this world.
The same beauty that made me pick up a camera in the first place. ”
“Is it very bad?” I ask softly.
He eases onto his back, and I curl into him. His arms band around me and his hand holds mine on his flat belly. “Yes,” he says quietly. “It is the worst.”
“Tell me something. Tell me your worst memory.”
He looks horrified. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Please,” I say, cutting through his rough voice. “I need to know.”
“Why?”
Because I think I’m falling in love and I’m terrified that you’re going to break my little heart. “Because if you share it, it doesn’t stay with you so much,” I say instead.
“I could never give that to you.”
“Reuben, I want you to.” The truth is stark in my voice. If he can confide in me, it will mean that I’m more than a mistake in the book of his life—a silly little footnote he wants to forget. If he can tell me just one of his secrets, then I’ll know I’m an adult to him—an equal.
He hesitates for long enough that I think he’s going to, but then he breathes in long and slow, and I know he isn’t going to. Disappointment floods me, making my belly hurt, but I push it away because I don’t have the right to that feeling. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I know you can’t.”
“Not can’t. I won’t. Not to you. It would be the worst thing I’ve ever done, and my soul is tarnished enough.”
His breathing is rough, and my heart is hammering as if I’ve run a marathon without stopping.
I knew, objectively, what he does for a living and what he would have seen, and that’s bad enough.
Even more horrifying is the danger he faces.
I swallow hard, but panic is filling me that this brave, beautiful man will step into that danger with no protection.
His camera won’t save him from bullets. It can’t even stop his PTSD.
He can deny it all he wants but I know that’s what he’s got.
We did some lessons on it at school, and I bless the fact that it was a rare day that I paid attention in class.
Education may not be the pathway to a brilliant career as my grandparents are hoping, but it’s certainly given me the tools to understand a tiny part of this quiet photojournalist.
I run my hand over his chest. He’s obviously felt fragile about using his camera lately, like those awful images he’s photographed are haunting him somehow.
His shaky hands and the way his face gets stern and pale—there’s something going on there, and when I imagine those fragile moments happening to him in a war zone, all I can think about is what a target he could be. For danger, for accidents, or worse.
“I can’t bear the idea that you could get hurt.
” I freeze, wondering for a second if that passionate declaration just came from me.
Unfortunately, it did, and I sounded horribly young.
I swallow hard. “I mean—” I start to say, but he groans and rolls on top of me, kissing me and touching me frantically, and all my words fly away as I’m lost in the way he takes me apart and yet somehow puts me back together.
Reuben
I wake slowly. My arms are full of Xavier’s warm weight, and his hair is tickling my nose. I inhale and catch his warm scent and the smell of sex. I tighten my grip. “What time is it?” I mumble.
Xavier stirs, one long leg sliding between mine and brushing my cock, which is already hard. “Too early,” he croaks. “Go back to sleep.”
His body immediately goes lax against mine, but I can’t obey his urging.
Instead, I linger, unwilling to let go of him.
His earlier words echo in my head on a constant refrain.
The barely hidden eagerness behind the thought that we’d see each other again, and his passionate fear for me.
Shit. He’s so fucking young. Why couldn’t I have met him when he was older?
My lip quirks humourlessly. Or why couldn’t he be someone else’s son?
I have a brief vision of meeting him in a gallery somewhere.
He’d be older and ready for me, and I wouldn’t be such a complete fuck-up.
I rub my eyes with my spare hand. This is such a mess, and it’s only going to end badly.
I couldn’t outright reject the idea we’d see each other again.
Oh, I wanted to, but the words wouldn’t come, so I distracted him with sex, hoping my silence gave him the answer.
The only trouble is I’m not sure if my own brain or heart got the message.
The thought of not seeing him again should fill me with relief.
At last, this extremely combustible situation is going to end, and it will end before it has the chance to blow up in all our faces.
I’m not feeling relief, though, because I suspect I might be utterly devastated when I can’t see him anymore, when I can’t feel this horrible mess of laughter and fascination that I’ve only ever had for him.
I used to watch friends have affairs and break up marriages and relationships, and I’d wonder why they were compelled to make such huge messes of their lives.
Monique and her partner were a prime example of this.
A tiny part of me used to think they were weak, but now I know that all it takes is meeting the right, or incredibly wrong, person.
Now I know that it takes a huge act of courage to torpedo your life for another person.
I should have said no when he asked for more.
I should have let him down gently and left the hotel.
Instead, I fucked him again. And, of course, this is no longer just fucking.
It’s too tender, too rooted in wanting him because of who he is and not because he’s an available shag.
I tighten my grip on him, and he makes a sleepy sound of protest, but I don’t let go. I’m starting to wonder whether I can.
I reach out and hook my watch from the bedside table, bringing it close to my face and squinting to read the numbers. They finally come into focus, and I blink in horror.
“Shit,” I snap. “It’s morning.”
“What?” He grumbles as I leap out of bed. “What are you doing?” he asks plaintively.
I lean over, planting my fists on either side of him. “It’s morning. Jez will be knocking any minute. Come on. Get up.”
He rolls his eyes. “That man has many faults, but getting up early is the truly horrendous one.”
“He doesn’t have that many faults.”
He offers me what my godmother always called an “old-fashioned” look, then rolls out of bed.
He stands, stretches lazily, and I gulp.
He’s so beautiful, his body lean and golden-skinned, his hair a mess.
I can see stubble burn on his shoulders and back, and I push down the impulse to shove him back into bed.
He shoots me a sultry look, and I shake my head, nearly laughing. “Pack it in,” I say. “Get dressed.”
He floats around the room retrieving his clothes, which takes a while as they’re all over the place. I grin when he finds a sock in the wastebasket and does a herky-jerky dance of self-congratulation.
I slide into a pair of jeans and watch as he pulls on his Converse. When he stands up and heads to the door, I stop him, grabbing his wrist to stop his forward motion.
He looks up at me, his eyes bright in his beautiful face. “What?”
“Don’t go out that way. You might run into Jez.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, how dreadful that would be. How on earth will I cope with the fact that someone I only met this week doesn’t approve of me?” He puts his hands over his mouth, aping The Scream painting, and I groan.
“It’s been going smoothly so far, and you’re both getting on together. I don’t want to jinx it, and finding out his best friend is shagging his son is certainly high on the probability to give him a coronary.”
He stares at me. “You think it’s going well between me and Jez?”
I hesitate. “Well, yes. You seem to be getting on well. It’s nice. I wish I’d been able to meet my dad as an adult.”
His eyes are dark and mysterious, and he stares at me for a long moment. Then he seems to check himself and pats my cheek. “You’re a very good man, Reuben Langley.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do,” he says, the words plain and firm.
“Well, don’t tell anyone. I’ll never get my reputation back, and I’ve worked hard on it.”
He grins and turns back towards the patio doors. He opens them, and the scent of the lilac drifts into the room. It’s heady. The sky is dark, shot through with red and edged with black. “It’s going to be a stormy day,” I observe.
He smiles at me. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something. His eyes are full of a wild tenderness for a few seconds, and then he blinks, and it’s gone.
He steps onto the patio, and I shoot an uneasy glance next door, but someone would have to be actually standing on the patio to see us.
Xavier offers me a wry smile that’s potently laced with all that charm of his, and I can’t help my next move.
I grab his hand, spinning him back into me.
He comes with his usual grace, and I bend, fitting my mouth to his.
I take my time kissing him, and when I pull away, his lips are swollen and his eyes slumberous.
“You sure we can’t go back to bed?” he whispers.
“Positive. I’ll see you later.”
Unspoken is the knowledge that when I see him again, it will be to say goodbye.
This is it. The end of our road. Despite my caution, I pull him in for another kiss.
When we pull back, he looks up, his face suddenly mysterious in the stormy light.
Then he pats my cheek, and he’s gone, vanishing around the corner of the hotel.
I stare at the space where he was, my thoughts drifting between satisfaction at the night we had and a stomach-clenching pain that it was the last.
I won’t see him again. The knowledge that it’s the right thing doesn’t dull the stab of grief that I won’t hear his laugh again, the one that makes me feel dizzy and happy like I drank an entire bottle of champagne.
It doesn’t staunch the sadness that I won’t be able to talk to him and wait eagerly for his opinion, which is always so different from everyone else’s. He’s like a cool wind on a hot day.
I go still as I become aware of eyes on me.
It’s an instinct I’ve perfected over my years of work in war-torn countries.
My gaze carefully travels to Jez’s hotel room, but the window is empty, staring blindly back at me.
I look around uneasily, but there’s nothing.
Just the sound of a bird singing in the bushes and the low moan of the wind.
I rub my hand over my neck again and then slowly walk back into my room.