Chapter Nineteen No Procedure #2
“No. It hasn’t. It’s… shifted. And you don’t like that because you’ve spent a long time holding everything very, very still.
Chris was your constant. Your structure.
Your safe place. Losing him didn’t just take a person from you; it took the framework you understood yourself within.
So now something—or someone—comes along and makes you feel again, properly feel, and your brain panics. ”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“It’s the accurate way of putting it. You’re not betraying him by being alive, Harry. Or by wanting someone new. Or by responding when someone wants you back. And for the record, Chris loved you. But he also left you with this. With all of it. So you’re allowed to be angry about that too.”
Harrison’s chest tightened. “I am.” The admission came quietly. Then, before he could stop it, “I hate him sometimes.” Silence. Harrison closed his eyes. The guilt followed almost immediately. “Fuck. I don’t mean that.”
“Yes, you do.”
He swallowed.
“Sometimes,” Nigella added gently. “And so do I.”
Harrison said nothing.
“That doesn’t mean we stopped loving him. It means sometimes I’m furious with my brother for leaving us to live with what he did. And sometimes I remember how much pain he must have been in to believe that was his only way out. Both things can be true, Harry.”
Harrison pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “I should’ve known.”
“Maybe. Maybe I should’ve known too. Maybe everyone who loved him has spent three years finding things we think we should’ve noticed. But we didn’t know what was happening inside his head. Not all of it.”
Harrison glanced down at his ring. “Yeah.”
Nigella waited a beat, probably sorting through her own emotions about all that, then when she came back, she was softer, less clinical counsellor and more the best friend and sister-in-law he desperately needed right then. The only tether he had to the world he used to know.
“Alright… let’s try something else.” Her tone softened, but the warmth stayed. “You and me. Nell and Harry. Tell me about him. Ruggedly handsome? A bit wild? Impulsive?”
Harrison let out a quiet breath. “All of the above. And then some.”
“Typical.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “What does he do? Aside from getting himself tangled up in police investigations?”
“He’s a roofer.” A pause. “And a drummer in a local band.”
“Practical and artistic.” She hummed. “Very you. And convenient, given the state of your new cottage.”
“Hm.”
“How does he feel about you?”
Harrison drifted his gaze to the metal steps outside, up at the flat above. The small window flickered with light, then went dark.
How did Jake feel?
He knew enough to know Jake didn’t lack for options. Men came and went. Easy. Uncomplicated. Brodie had been one. The man from the night in question—another. Quick connections. No expectation of anything more.
That wasn’t how Harrison worked.
But then he thought about the way Jake had stopped. The way he’d backed off without hesitation. No frustration. No pressure. How he was… there. Steady. Careful. As if Harrison breaking apart in front of him was something to be handled, not avoided.
Something to be held.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. Then he scrubbed a hand over his jaw, grounding himself.
“But, Nell…” He glanced at his watch. “I’m slightly against the clock.
I’ve got a suspect in custody. And—” He did a quick mental calculation he should’ve made hours ago.
“—about eight hours to find enough to justify holding him.”
“Well, in that case, it’s good to hear your priorities are in order. Snogging a witness? Clearly an excellent use of police time.”
Despite himself, he smiled. “I needed to hear your voice, so I didn’t feel so…alone.”
The sarcasm softened immediately. “You’re not alone, Harry, You buggered off very far away, but I am always here for you. And we will talk. Properly. Not like this, squeezed in between you spiralling and running an investigation. When you’ve actually got the space to think.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll come up. Find a couple of days that align for us. You can show me this leaky cottage of yours, and I’ll judge all your life choices in person over a bottle of Chardonnay or three.”
Harrison’s chest eased a fraction as he reached for the ignition and turned the engine over. “Bring an umbrella. No one mentioned it rains here permanently.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t. It just feels like it when you first arrive.”
“Mm.”
“The sun’ll come out for you when it’s ready.”
Harrison smiled, small but real.
Typical Nigella.
Then he pulled away from the kerb, leaving Jake’s flat, and the absolute catastrophe of what he’d just done, behind him to head towards the high street.
By the time he reached the King’s Arms, he’d got his DI hat firmly back in place, pulled low, everything else shoved under it where it couldn’t interfere.
Work. Focus. Control. He parked, cut the engine, and stepped out into the damp chill before heading inside.
The difference from the other night was immediate.
Quiet. Almost dead.
One couple sat tucked into a corner, heads bent close.
Three bar staff behind the counter. And Brodie, behind the pumps, scrolling through his phone, shoulders loose, at ease in a way that didn’t quite sit right.
Funny that he had to be in when it was this quiet.
And when he’d looked as if he wanted in Jake’s flat earlier.
Harrison crossed the room, forcing his mind to stay where it needed to be. Not on the image of Brodie earlier, too close to Jake, hand on his face. Not on the sharp, unwelcome twist of something that had no business existing in his chest.
He was forty-three.
He didn’t have the time or the inclination to pick apart jealousy. Or whatever the hell that had been. Envy, maybe. At how uncomplicated Brodie was. At how easy it looked. At how someone like him could slot into Jake’s life without… all the rest of it.
Without the mess.
Harrison shut the thought down. “Brodie?”
Brodie straightened. “Detective.”
“I need to clarify a few things from the other night.” Harrison flipped open his notebook, scanning the hurried notes. “We’ve reviewed the CCTV from Wednesday. You’re seen serving Andy Mitchell. Multiple times.”
Brodie gave a small shrug. “It’s a pub.”
“Right.” Harrison’s tone stayed even. “There’s a period of about a minute where you’re talking to him. Do you recall what that conversation was about?”
“I talk to a lot of people, Detective. Can’t remember every conversation.”
Harrison nodded, as if that were reasonable. “He’s also stated you gave him his first pint on the house. Is that accurate?”
He looked as if he were genuinely thinking about that. “I… oh. Right, aye. I did.”
“Why?”
“As a thank you.” Brodie leaned back against the bar, settling into it. “He helped me with my car. Battery were dead. Gave me a jump start.”
“Yet you claimed not to know him when I showed you his picture.”
“I didn’t take a proper look.”
Harrison wrote that down. Didn’t believe a word of it either. “He also mentioned asking you about something. Do you recall that?”
Brodie shook his head.
“He said he asked you if you’d seen his phone. Did you look for it? Has anything been handed in?”
“No.” Brodie shook his head. “Nowt in lost property.”