Chapter 2 #6
“Not your responsibility.” Mo’s tone suggested it was a well-rehashed line of argumentation, but even so, Leo couldn’t help but comment.
“I beg to differ. Joshua should factor in how his decision might affect others, so yes, I’d say responsibility does play a role.”
If looks could kill, Leo would wither under Mo’s glare.
Fortunately, he was no fragile flower, so he stood his ground and met the disapproval radiating from Mo by raising his chin.
He was right, damn it. And sure, yes, he could appreciate that Joshua had indeed had a bit of a shit day, was probably in need of another holiday already, but now was no time to coddle him.
As Joshua’s fuckbuddy, Mo was understandably biased.
Mo is my friend, first and foremost. We also happen to get each other off sometimes.
Christ, what did Leo even care? He shouldn’t. He didn’t. It was all a fragment of his past.
“Is there,”—Joshua’s words were as hesitant as the steps of a night wanderer—“a way to get his license revoked? Like, there’s a bodyguard association, right? Just—for now, that’s the most important thing to me, I think. Is that all right?”
“Course it’s all right,” Tristan was quick to assure him.
He followed it up with a subtle, loaded glance at Leo.
Either way, it was none of Leo’s business.
He really needed to shut his trap; it bordered on a miracle James was even letting him anywhere near Joshua after the disaster that had been their first meeting this very morning.
Well, their first meeting as far as Joshua was aware.
There was also that one time they’d been on opposing teams in the Eton Wall Game.
Even now, Leo felt a little queasy just at the memory—the tight press of Prince Joshua’s body, shoved close together in the thick of the scrummage, and then Leo’s horrifying realisation that he’d popped a boner.
The experience had marked the beginning of a downward spiral.
Maybe, if it hadn’t been for that day, if it hadn’t been for Joshua…
Anyway. Revoking licenses.
“That’s definitely something we can do,” Leo said.
“We’ll get it sorted,” Nate promised, suddenly present again. Sometimes, Leo envied him for his ability to fade into the background. Leo himself only ever came on too strong.
“Thank you.” Joshua inhaled and lifted his head to look first at Nate, then at Leo. “Seriously, thank you all so very much. I owe you.”
Leo refused to be charmed. “I am partial to diamonds and holiday trips to Jamaica,” he declared—and promptly wanted to punch himself in the face. To his surprise, Joshua’s lips tugged up into a smile. While small, it was the most genuine one he’d shown all day.
Leo smiled back without thought.
Joshua tripped over his words of gratitude and shook everyone’s hand twice before he left with Mo and Tristan. Leo turned away before the lift doors had fully closed behind them.
So. That had been the late and incomplete fulfilment of a teenage fantasy. All right, then.
Half an hour later, Johnson was informed that his Close Protection License had been revoked. Leo watched the guy’s face crumble and didn’t feel so much as a hint of pity. Gambling problem or not he had got off lightly, and Leo rather hoped Joshua wouldn’t leave it at this.
When Leo hinted that further retribution was yet to come, Johnson blanched. As soon as he was allowed to leave, he scurried off like a dog with his tail between his legs.
Good riddance.
* * *
In the end, they didn’t get drunk. Just stumbled into Mo’s bedroom and talked about absolutely nothing of relevance, long gaps between sentences, everything quiet and slow. It was exactly what Joshua needed.
And yet, when first Mo and then Tristan drifted off to sleep, Joshua’s brain was still going fifty miles a minute.
The problem—the problem that wasn’t really a problem as such—was that Mo and Tristan would always and irrevocably be on his side. They would pick what was good for him, personally, and might fail to see the bigger picture because of it.
Rolling onto his back, Joshua listened to Mo’s deep, even breathing to his left and Tristan’s quietly snuffling snores to his right.
Distant brightness of a London city night filtered in through the curtains, light particles that sparked like glitter in Mo’s dark bedroom.
Joshua’s limbs felt heavy, as though weighed down by countless miniature anchors.
He trusted Tristan and Mo, trusted them beyond question. He just didn’t trust them to be impartial in their advice.