Chapter Twenty-Three Containment #2
He knew that thought. Knew it in a way that sat too deep to ignore.
Though…he knew the other side of it. But he knew that split second, before reality caught up, before it became fixed and permanent, when the mind reached for anything else.
Anyone else. Because he’d had it too. When standing in the garage, the smell of oil and cold air, the world narrowing to that single, unbearable sight, and when, for one fractured, shameful moment, he’d hoped it was someone else hanging from the end of a rope.
Someone else’s husband.
Someone else’s everything.
That he hadn’t been lied to.
“I had to, baby. Had to.”
Harrison forced a breath through the most horrific memory of his life, bringing himself back to the present.
To Jake. The man standing in front of him, carrying a different version of the same impossible grief.
And the heart didn’t care how wrong it was.
It reached. Clawed for the version of the world where the person you loved was still there.
Still alive. And Harrison knew, as Jake would too, that letting go of that thought hurt more than holding onto it ever would.
Because while they could still remember them, it was as if they’d not really lost them at all.
Jake shuffled closer, as if he’d sensed where Harrison’s head had gone, and for a second, Harrison thought he might close that space between them. That he’d lean in, rest his forehead on his, kiss away those memories and give him new ones.
And God, he wanted him to.
More than he should.
More than was appropriate, or fair, standing there in the middle of a live scene, officers moving around them, the echo of sirens still hanging in the air. When Jake had his own demons. His own life to live, one that had been ripped from him more than once.
But Jake stopped short.
The moment caught, held, then fractured as he darted his gaze away, drawn back to the world around them. The movement, voices, the reality of where they were and what this was. He pulled himself back. But didn’t step away.
He… held the line.
Close. Too close.
But not close enough.
Then Jake tugged lightly on the lapel of Harrison’s coat. Not to pull him nearer, but to keep hold of something. Touch something that was his. An unconscious motion of saying that, yeah, he was feeling everything Harrison was, too.
However inappropriate. However ill-timed. However unwanted.
“Will you… check the house?” Jake’s breath brushed warm against Harrison’s cheek, close enough to unsettle, to distract. “Properly. In case…”
Harrison nodded. “Scenes of Crime will go through it top to bottom. We’ll find everything that’s been done.”
Jake looked up at him again, searching. As if he needed more than process. More than procedure. What he needed was certainty. Something he could believe in.
“You did your part.” Harrison dipped to catch his eye. “You got her out. But maybe next time…you could leave my job—”
“—to you. Aye, be happy to if this is your regular.”
Harrison breathed through a smile. “And I’ll leave your job to you. If this is your regular.”
Jake snorted.
Harrison peered over to the elderly woman deep in conversation with a uniformed officer, pressing mugs of tea into hands as if running a café instead of standing in the middle of a crime scene.
“Though I can see the recommendations will be on the rise.” He looked back at Jake.
“I should probably get you booked in before your diary fills up, eh? You might even get a tip for this one. Could up your call-out rates?”
For a moment, Jake said nothing. Then he finally let go of Harrison’s coat and leaned away. “She pays in brew.”
“Ah. Well, maybe a five-star review then?”
“Not online.”
“Maybe you should be.”
Jake snorted at that, but it didn’t quite hold. “Not worth it. People love a comment section. And to leave one-star reviews saying I left my dead sister hanging from a rope in their loft.”
That hit a bit too close to home.
And Harrison felt it catch somewhere deeper than he was ready for, that same sharp, familiar edge of grief had a way of finding him, no matter how well it was buried.
But it made sense then, why Jake kept his business simple.
No website. No profile. A number on a card and a reputation travelling by word of mouth, person to person, without scrutiny or comment boxes to tear it apart.
There were a lot of things about Jake Whitton that made Harrison want to pull him close and keep him there. Safe, steady, out of reach of everything that kept trying to take from him. An instinct he hadn’t been able to act on before. Not when it mattered.
Not for Chris.
Maybe that’s what this was. A second chance to save someone.
An approaching uniform tore the moment apart. “Sir?”
Harrison blinked. “Yes.”
“Scenes of Crime have arrived. They’re asking for authority to enter and want a quick briefing on access and preservation.”
Harrison nodded. “Right. Hold them at the door. I’ll come now.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer moved off again, lifting her radio.
Harrison turned back to Jake, the job settling over him again. Routine, structure, control. And he took a step back, trying to remove himself from Jake’s overwhelming warmth and unrelenting pull.
“You’ll need to make a proper statement.” He smoothed his coat back into place. “Timeline. Everything you saw.”
Jake nodded. “Aye. Course.”
“I’ll get a uniform to take you to the station. Sorry, protocol. After that, you’re free to go.”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“And… there are a few things I’ll need to update you on as well.”
“Okay.”
Harrison hesitated a fraction too long. Long enough to feel the line blur. Between what the job required… and what he wanted.
“I could come by,” he said, quiet enough not to travel anywhere but to Jake. “Your place. Once this has… settled.” He held Jake’s gaze, something unguarded slipping through. “Though I don’t know how long that’ll take.”
Jake’s mouth tipped into a small, knowing smile. “Aye, Detective. I’ll wait for you.”
Those words tore through Harrison’s chest, and Jake held his gaze through the rush of it all.
Letting the promise sit between them. Letting it mean something.
But Jake meant he’d wait for the updates.
Not for him. Not for some version of them that existed outside of statements and evidence bags and everything Harrison kept locked down tight. He couldn’t ask for that.
Wouldn’t.
Even if he wanted it more than he’d ever thought possible.
So he stepped back before the thought could take root, turning towards the house, letting the noise of the crime scene pull him back into place.