“Hey.”
Nero leaned over the bed. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”
“All the better for seeing your pretty face.”
“Very funny. Wanna humour me a moment?”
Lenny poked his tongue out. “I’m fine, if you must know. Hungover and stoned on codeine, but other than that, I’m fine. Can we go home now?”
“Nope.” Nero helped Lenny sit up. “Tom says we have to wait for the doctor to clear that bump to your head.”
“Since when do you listen to Tom?”
“Since I realised him doing his big-boss-manager-thang was the only reason I knew that something had happened to you. Without him, you could’ve been killed and I’d have been the last to know.”
Lenny’s playful belligerence faded. “Is that why you look like you’re about to shit a brick?”
That was one way of putting it. Nero had barely held it together since the moment Cass had banged on his door, and now Lenny was right in front of him, apparently well enough to take the piss out of him . . . Fuck. Nero’s relief made his legs feel like they belonged to someone else.
He sat down abruptly, still clutching Lenny’s hand. “Don’t laugh at me. Being civilised about this shit is sending me fucking insane.”
Lenny said nothing, just slid silently from the bed and into Nero’s lap. He wrapped his arms around Nero’s neck and pressed his face to his chest. Nero buried his face in Lenny’s shoulder. His T-shirt smelled of Cass. Nero pulled back, frowning, until he focused on the faded Judas Priest logo that was actually more likely to be Jake’s. “That’s not yours.”
“I know. I was in such a hurry to come home this morning that I stole Jake’s clothes.”
“Fucking Hampstead.” Nero’s hands curled into fists.
Lenny flinched and reclaimed the hand Nero had wrenched from his. “Am I missing something?”
The irrational rage darkening Nero’s vision evaporated as abruptly as it had arrived. He knocked his forehead against Lenny’s shoulder and then raised his head. “No, just remind me to twat Cass for buying that stupid bloody flat, will you?”
Lenny left eyebrow twitched, like it always did when Nero’s best efforts at communication fell short.
“They used to rent the place,” Nero said. “For Tom, when Cass lived at Pippa’s and they treated the house like some kind of mecca instead of their home. They were supposed to get rid of it, but they ended up buying it instead, ’cause they can never leave shit alone—”
“Whoa.” Lenny cut Nero off. “Come on. Please don’t be angry, Nero . . . not with them, or me, and not with yourself, okay? There’s nothing you could’ve done. He would’ve got to me eventually.”
Nero would never get over how startling it was to love someone who read his thoughts so absolutely, but Lenny was wrong about one thing. “I’m not angry.”
“Liar.”
Nero shook his head. “I feel guilty, not angry . . . guilty that I wasn’t with you, that I couldn’t protect you, but I’m not angry—at least, not how I used to be. Years gone by, I wouldn’t be at your bedside right now. I’d be out on the street, tearing up anyone who crossed my path until I found the bastard who hurt you, like the rage in me mattered more than anything else.”
“How you feel does matter.”
“I know, but I don’t have it in me to be so angry anymore.”
Lenny dragged his thumb over Nero’s cheekbone. “You’re different, even since I last saw you.”
“I’m different because you saw me, Lenny.”
This time, Lenny’s silence was loaded with the understanding and empathy that had saved Nero’s soul more than Lenny would ever know, and his gentle sigh felt like a dying summer breeze. “You know, I’ve been lying here trying to figure out if today actually happened? It blew up so fast, it doesn’t seem real.”
“I thought you were dead. Turns out I’m a bit of a drama queen.”
“Not really.” Lenny shook his head. “He said he was going to kill me, he was shouting it—screaming—all this weird shit about chosen ones. He had a knife, an old one, like an antique. I thought he was going to stab me, so I punched him in the face.”
“And broke your finger.” Nero brushed his palm gently over Lenny’s taped-up fingers. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
