“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered, squeezing his hand even tighter. “Is that something you’d want to do?”
Jag stared at Lauren’s neatly organised desk. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to trust a doctor or a psychiatrist. He also wasn’t sure that he’d come across as completely rational to anyone. His mind was a mess, thanks to the ‘therapy’, and clearly, he’d behaved in a paranoid manner for the last few years. At the very least, he’d been acting on fears born out of ignorance, running when he might not have needed to. Except, without knowing his rights, they probably would have been able to take him back. Now that he was armed with the truth, he should have felt safe.
“Think about it,” Lauren said. “And decide if you want me as your solicitor.” She picked the pen up again and tapped it against her lips.
“I do—” Jag cut himself off. He’d certainly feel better knowing he had a solicitor at the end of the phone, just in case, but he couldn’t afford her services.
“We’ll figure out the money,” Michael said.
“There won’t be any fees unless you need to use my services,” Lauren assured him. “This consultation is free.” She paused, during which time Jag’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “But if I am going to represent you, I’ll need to know your legal name.”
Jag breathed in sharply.
“I’ll wait outside,” Michael said.
“No.” Jag clutched Michael’s hand tightly. “It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “Jeremy August Gale.” The name was unfamiliar on his tongue. He hadn’t used it in so long that it didn’t feel as if it belonged to him anymore.
Lauren’s eyebrows rose slowly. “Gale?” she repeated. “And you said your mother is a doctor?”
Jag nodded.
“Evelyn Gale?”
Michael stared between them. “The TV doctor?”
Jag nodded again. He felt wretched and wanted to sink into the floor.
“Have you ever considered going public with your story?” Lauren asked.
“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “I couldn’t do that to her. To them.”
“But they put you through hell,” Michael said.
Jag knew that. “They genuinely believed they were helping me,” he said miserably. At least, he hoped that was the case. “I know they were wrong. I know they did much more harm than good, but they didn’t do it maliciously.”
“You’re a better man than I am,” Michael muttered.
“No,” Jag whispered. “I just want to be left alone. Going to the press won’t just hurt them, it would hurt me, too. And it won’t change anything, either. It’ll just create a media shit storm that I’ll be at the centre of. But it won’t stop those places from existing or parents sending their kids to them. My story won’t stop the hate.”
Michael stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. He looked to Lauren once Jag had calmed down. “Are we done here?”
She took a business card out of a holder on her desk and handed it to Jag. “Call me if you need to.” She waited until Jag had taken the card, and then said, “I sincerely hope you’ll have no further need of my services.” She smiled. “But if you want me to arrange for a psychiatrist to assess you and write a report to attest to your sound state of mind, I’ll happily arrange it.”
“Thanks,” Jag mumbled, not looking at her. “I’ll think about it.”
Still holding Michael’s hand, he fled out of her office and the building as fast as he could. He needed to stop, breathe, and think, and he couldn’t do any of that there.
26Michael
After the club had closed and Michael had done all the end-of-night jobs, he crept back into his flat, expecting Jag to be asleep. Jag had offered to dance, but he’d been so quiet after speaking to the solicitor that Michael doubted it would have done him any good. He’d told Jag to rest and kissed him goodbye, wishing he could have stayed. He’d made a mental note to talk to Mac about taking on more responsibility so that he could take the odd night off if he wanted or needed to.
The flat was dark. Michael took off his jacket and threw it over the back of one of the sofas and toed off his shoes by the door. He slipped into the bedroom, standing still so he could stare at Jag. The young man was lying on his back, fully clothed, and on top of the quilt. At first, Michael thought he was asleep, but as he watched, he realised Jag’s eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling. His hands were loosely folded over his abdomen, his breathing slow and even. Michael slipped onto the bed beside him and laid a hand over Jag’s.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said softly before placing a kiss on Jag’s cheek.
“I have been, on and off.”
