The notion took him back to the cliff-top adventure Brix had taken him on that morning. “You can come up here wanting to jump . . .” Brix had uttered the words like they meant nothing, but the flash of pain in his eyes had struck Calum like a lightning bolt. There were many things he couldn’t bring himself to tell Brix, and in that moment he’d suddenly been certain there was much Brix hadn’t told him either. He’d stepped closer, his arms outstretched, silently asking Brix to lean on him and let whatever shadows had brought him home to Porthkennack go, but Brix hadn’t seen him move. He’d closed his eyes to the wind and turned away, signalling that it was time to go home.
Home. Calum swallowed a bitter laugh. He hadn’t known where that was for a long time. Brix had taken the soul from London when he’d left four years ago, and Calum’s hometown of Reading held nothing for him except the dingy semi he’d grown up in. No lifelong friends or treasured memories. No ties, no bonds. Which left him hiding in Brix’s spare room, jumping out of his skin every time a burst of laughter reached his ears. Bellend.
He intended to skulk in his room all afternoon, but Brix apparently had other ideas when he woke Calum from a restless doze sometime later. “Hungry?”
Calum rubbed his bleary eyes. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. It’s five o’clock.”
Damn. It had been barely three the last time Calum had looked at the retro alarm clock on the bedside table. He sat up, helped upright by Brix’s strong hands. “Did your friends go?”
“No.” Brix eyed Calum steadily. “That doesn’t mean you can’t come downstairs and have some dinner, does it? Can’t stay up here forever.”
The miserable bastard in Calum wanted to do just that, but the gnawing hunger in his belly betrayed him . . . along with a pressing need to escape the scorching heat of Brix’s touch before he embarrassed himself. “What’s cooking?”
“Paella.”
“Paella?” That got Calum’s attention, and explained the smoky scent of paprika and garlic wafting through his open bedroom door. “Didn’t fancy a Sunday roast?”
Brix smirked. “Oh, I did, but Kim and Lena had other ideas.”
Lena. Brilliant. Calum had done his best to avoid her since she’d dropped her bomb about the fate of Black Star Ink. He’d tried not to care that the shop he’d poured his soul into had evaporated overnight, but had heeded the first part of her advice and taken the afternoon off when his abandoned client had come in to see Brix. Shame he hadn’t had the balls to take the rest of it and come clean to Brix before she’d ratted him out.
“What are you thinking so hard about? Don’t you like fish?”
“Hmm?” Calum returned to reality and realised that Brix had leaned closer while he’d been fretting—too close if he’d been anyone else—so their faces were mere inches apart. “What are you talking about fish for?”
Brix stared down at Calum for a protracted moment before he blinked and pulled back. “Erm, I wondered if you didn’t like it. There’s chicken in the paella if you don’t, and chorizo. You can pick out the squid and prawns.”
Calum rolled his eyes. Despite the context, conversations like this were nothing new. The Brix he’d known before had eaten like a damned horse, and if the past few days were anything to go by, little had changed. The only meal Brix was less than obsessed with was breakfast, though Calum had yet to see him skip it. “I like fish. Love it, in fact. Just not sure I’m in the mood for company.”
“It’s not company. It’s Lena and Kim. You know Lena, and Kim wants to meet you.”
“Can’t I meet her at work?”
Brix snorted. “Just come down. Have some food, say hello. Ten minutes, then I’ll leave you in peace, I promise.”
It seemed to be the best deal Calum was going to get. Grumbling, he dragged himself off the bed and peered in the nearby mirror at his wayward hair. Rob had insisted he keep it neatly styled, but since he’d invaded Brix’s life—a man who’d never even sniffed a hair-styling product—he’d let it succumb to the wild Porthkennack wind, leaving it a shaggy mess of dark curls that had a tendency to hang over one side of his face. Not his best look. Or was it? He’d always felt like a twat with a head full of hair wax.
“Stop preening. Dinner’s gettin’ cold, and my belly feels like its throat’s been cut.”
Brix slugged Calum’s arm and left the room. Lacking any better ideas, Calum let his wild hair be, found some socks, and followed him.
Downstairs, he expected to find yet another woman with fluorescent locks to add to Brix’s collection of friends and coworkers. Instead he found Lena talking the ear off a scruffy, slender dude who made Brix seem tidy and fat. Calum had been caught out again, as Kim, it seemed, was a bloke.
A friendly bloke, if his wide grin and outstretched hand were anything to go by. “All right, mate?”
Calum shook Kim’s hand, forcing what he hoped was a genial smile. Meeting Rob’s friends had never panned out. Apparently, Calum wasn’t good with people. “It’s the artist in you. Makes you hate the world. Can’t you handle a bit of adult conversation?”
Well sure, if adult conversation didn’t mean shouting over each other about how much money they had.
“Calum?” Brix was staring like it wasn’t the first time he’d called Calum’s name. “Do you want a drink?”
It was probably a bad idea, but something made him nod anyway. A moment later, Brix pressed a bottle of cold beer into his hand and pushed him gently towards the kitchen table, where Lena and Kim were sitting. “Park your arse. I’ll get the grub.”
The grub turned out to be a wide, shallow pan of chubby yellow rice laden with chicken, seafood, and spicy sausage. With all the bickering going on around him, Calum couldn’t work out who’d cooked it, but it was bloody good. He was on his third helping when he caught Brix watching him.
Calum shoved a prawn in his mouth and raised an eyebrow. Brix mirrored the gesture, his eyes twinkling with an emotion Calum couldn’t quite decipher. So he looked away, turning his attention to Kim, who seemed to be arguing good-naturedly with Lena in an incomprehensible dialect.
