“I’m not planning to,” he lied.
“You never are.”
The line went dead.
Warren stared at the phone for a beat longer, hovering his thumb, the weight of the call lingering. Then he tucked it back into the glovebox, slammed it shut where his warrant card and cuffs were. Rain hammered the windscreen in violent bursts, flung sideways by a storm sweeping in off the sea. He killed the wipers and let the glass blur, water streaking into distortions and smearing the world beyond. Maybe if he obscured his vision enough, he might muddle his thoughts too.
Then something moved.
A figure by the school gates.
Hunched. Thin. No umbrella. No coat.
Jude.
He cradled a stack of papers tight to his chest, trying and failing, to shield them from the downpour. Rain soaked his sleeves, darkening the fabric, flattening his hair to his forehead. Only a teacher who gave a shit would carry all that without a bag. He wasn’t heading to the car park, either. No keys in hand. No lift. Trudging towards the footpath, pushing into the storm as if he meant to fight it.
Warren leaned forward, breath misting the glass.
What the hell are you doing?
He didn’t know if the question was for Jude. Or himself.
But whatever… he muttered a curse under his breath, switched the MG into gear, and rolled forward until he waslevel with Jude at the gate. He hit the window switch, the glass lowering. “Hey, Jude.”
He made a point not to sing it, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Jude flinched at the voice, startled, half a ream of paper nearly slipping from his grip.
“Jesus.” Warren eyed the chaos in his arms. “What are you doing, building a paper raft?” He reached across, popped the passenger door. “Get in.”
Jude blinked through the rainwater running off his nose. “Uh…”
“There’ll be an arc rowing past in a minute. Come on.” Warren unclicked his seatbelt, stepped out into the downpour, and jogged round the front of the car. “Why are you holding a shit ton of papers in this weather?”
Jude let him take half the folders, reluctantly. “Printer jammed. Had to photocopy everything twice. Then the caretaker locked the side entrance before I could get back in to dump it all.”
“Couldn’t you leave it in reception?”
“It’s Year Ten consent forms.” Jude tried to wipe his rain-slicked glasses on a sleeve which only made things worse. “Can’t leave them unattended.”
“Then you better get in.” Warren guided him towards the open door. “All that ink’s about to melt into papier-mâché.”
He dumped the stack into the backseat and jogged round to the driver’s side. The moment he slid into his seat, the heater kicked on full blast. The air filled quickly with the sharp scent of wet paper, damp fabric, and something faint underneath. Jude’s cologne. Clean. Woodsy. Subtle.
Nice.
Warren glanced over.
Jude was soaked through. His shirt clung under the blazer, sleeves plastered to his forearms, jaw tight from the cold and the fight of holding it all together. He shivered. So Warren leaned down beside Jude’s feet, rummaged through his gym bag, and came up with a clean towel.
“It’s unused.” He held it out. “Promise.”
Jude’s smile flickered. Tired, grateful, soft enough to hurt. “Thanks.”
He then pulled off his fogged glasses and set them on the dash, using the towel to wipe his face, his hair, tousling the soaked curls until they stuck up unevenly. Messy, human, beautiful in a way Warren hadn’t realised he’d been starving for until then.
“You might want to lose the jacket too.” Warren kept his voice gentle. Tone light. Careful. He didn’t want the wrong word or pitch to send Jude bolting into the storm. And if Jude could hear his thoughts right then, he would. Honestly, he probably should. “You can hang it on the hook. It’ll dry faster.”
