19
Harlow
Alock clicked. Hinges squeaked. An old floorboard groaned. Harlow, woken from his sleep, stared at the ceiling and listened. The noises were coming from inside the apartment.
They were heading down the hall toward Evie.
A moment later, so was Harlow.
Sleep had acclimatized his eyes to low light, and Harlow used it to his advantage as he traversed the unfamiliar hall. The intruder wobbled on his feet, braced a hand on the wall, then laughed under his breath and gave up his fight with gravity, sinking against the wall in full. It took Harlow a second to figure out who it was—Jayne.
“F-Fuck,” Jayne muttered to himself. As far as Harlow knew, he wasn’t aware he was being watched. “Mmph, f-fucking wall… not right now.”
The hairs on the back of Harlow’s neck stood on end. Jayne had left the house earlier that night, entrusting Parker to Simon, and hadn’t returned by the time Harlow had fallen asleep. He’d thought, perhaps naively, that Jayne worked nights, maybe as a bartender, based on how he was dressed. But now, seeing this…
Something wasn’t right.
Harlow took a step forward, hoping that closing some of the distance between himself and Jayne might help him assess what was going on. It was the wrong move. The floorboard creaked beneath his weight, and in response, Jayne turned. With his coordination impaired, he lost his footing and stumbled forward. Arms flailing, he latched onto the first thing he could find—Harlow.
Jayne’s fingers tightened in Harlow’s shirt. He looked up, startled, then let loose with a piercing shriek that rang in Harlow’s ears even after it was over. Fearful, Jayne launched himself back, staggering as he tried to keep his balance.
“Hey!” Harlow reached for him, but Jayne shrieked again and danced back, arms spinning, footfalls uncertain. It was like he didn’t remember Harlow at all. “Jayne, it’s Harlow! It’s okay!”
The living room light flicked on, partially illuminating the hall. Now that there was light to see by, some of Jayne’s terror faded, but it didn’t stop him from crowding the doorway leading to Evie’s bedroom, his hand on the doorknob. If Harlow took a step forward, he was sure Jayne would bolt in and secure the door behind him.
“Jayne,” Harlow tried, doing his best to sound nonthreatening, but it seemed no matter how much compassion he put into his voice, Jayne wouldn’t be soothed.
It was a lost cause.
Footsteps hurried from the living room. Simon, clumsy and stumbling, glasses missing and both eyes darkened by bruising from his broken nose, bypassed Harlow and went straight for his brother. His hair was pushed up on one side, and he wore only boxer-briefs and an oversized t-shirt. Messy. Frumpy. Adorable. The sight of him made Harlow’s breath catch in his throat.
It wasn’t that Simon’s ass looked fantastic when it wasn’t hidden by sweatpants—although that was the truth—and it wasn’t because with his legs exposed, Harlow was able to imagine what the rest of his slender frame would look like with his clothing stripped away. The reason his heart stood still and time seemed to slow had nothing to do with Simon’s body at all. When Simon moved, he did so with purpose—purpose well-masked behind his unsteady gait, but purpose nevertheless. The meek, cowering young man Harlow had met hours ago was gone, and in his place was someone else.
Someone Harlow had seen briefly when Simon had stood up for Shep, but whom he hadn’t expected to see again.
“Jayne,” Simon murmured as he came to stand by Jayne’s side. Gingerly, he laid a hand on Jayne’s arm. “I’m here. Why don’t we get you to bed? It’s late.”
“H-h-he—”
“He’s my friend.” Simon’s hand followed Jayne’s arm downward until he could weave their fingers together. Even though Harlow watched, Simon didn’t pay him any attention. “He’s not going to hurt anybody. He’s a good guy. That’s Harlow, remember? He came here with Evie today.”
“Parker?” Jayne uttered. “Is Parker…?”
“Parker is fine. He’s sleeping, just like you should be.” Simon lifted Jayne’s arm without tugging on it, seemingly to coax him out of the doorway. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? Don’t worry about anything. I’m looking after Parker, and I’ll help you take off your makeup, okay?”
The paternal inflection of Simon’s voice was both soothing and composed, even in the face of chaos—something Harlow knew it took strength to master. The kid he’d always assumed Simon to be was a far cry from the truth. What was his story? He’d heard snippets of it today, but seeing Jayne like this, and seeing the care with which Simon treated him, hinted that something deeper was going on.
But what?
“Can I help?” Harlow asked. He kept his distance, unwilling to cause Jayne any more stress.
Simon shook his head. “I’ve got it handled. I’m sorry that you were woken up. Go back to bed and get some more sleep—everything’s going to be fine.”
It didn’t feel like the truth, but Harlow accepted Simon’s words at face value. He’d barged into their home looking for his missing daughter—he wouldn’t complicate their lives further by barging into their problems, too.
“C’mon,” Simon murmured. He looped Jayne’s arm over his neck, then wrapped his arm around Jayne’s waist. “Your bedroom is at the end of the hall—Evie’s staying in my room now. You can’t come sleep here.”
“What if he’s here because Bastian sent him?” Jayne asked in a loud whisper as Simon led him down the hall. Harlow stood in place, watching them go. Sleep didn’t sound appealing. Not anymore. “What if he’s trying to hurt us?”
