The pounding stops, so I bury my head under the covers. I get about two minutes of respite before someone knocks on my door.
“Who is it?”
“Me,” Hendrix says. “Someone’s here for you.”
I groan. Of course. Callan was meant to be arriving today. I wasn’t expecting him until mid-afternoon, though. It’s only—I grab my phone to check the time—past one. Fuck. I’m still in the shirt and trousers I wore yesterday. I must have taken my jacket, tie, and socks off, although I have no memory of doing so. I must stink. My mouth feels dry, and my teeth feel like they’re covered in fur. I’m not sure Callan will be impressed if I leave him waiting half an hour while I shower and get changed.
I go downstairs. Callan is standing just inside the front door, with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. I freeze halfway down the last set of stairs. I haven’t seen him since we were fourteen, but I still recognise him. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. I shouldn’t think like that, but I can’t help it. His short hair is as red as ever. He’s styled it in a side parting, with his hair swept away from his face. He’s got three-day stubble over his jaw and lip. I’m surprised by how much it suits him. He’s got bright green eyes that seem to stare right into my soul. He was an intense kid, but he’s even more so as a grown man.
“Callan.”
“Rory.”
“You look well.”
“So do you.”
I curse myself for the pathetic small talk, but I honestly don’t know what to say to him. Seeing Callan brings back a host of memories, both good and bad. It’s a shame the bad ones are the strongest, the ones that fight to swim to the surface of my mind.
“What brings you to London?” I didn’t ask on the phone. Is it really a month since we talked? I half expected him not to show up.
“Work.” He nods at me. “Good night?”
I tug at my creased shirt. “Two of my housemates got married. They’re away at a hotel right now and then going on holiday. I’m sorry you won’t get to meet them.”
It does mean that the house will be quieter.
Callan shrugs and looks around. “It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
“I like it.”
“Hi again,” Hendrix says from behind me. “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Callan, this is one of my housemates, Hendrix. Hendrix, this Callan, a—” I falter, not sure how to refer to him anymore.
“Old friend,” Callan says, saving me.
“You’re staying in Fraser’s walk-in wardrobe,” Hendrix says.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s a bedroom, really. If you prefer, you can stay in my room.”
Callan’s eyes widen.
My cheeks become hot. “Not with me. I’d sleep in the top room.”
“It’s fine. I’ll only be here for a few days.”
“You said a week.”
He nods. “About that.” He stares at me. “I was sorry to hear about your dad.”
My chest becomes tight and cold. “Thank you. How are your parents keeping?”
Callan looks at the floor. “Good.” He glances up at me. “How have you been?”
“Good.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see that Hendrix is watching us like we’re a tennis match, shifting his attention from me to Callan and back again as we talk.
