Brix seemed to have no shortage of mates to keep him company, but despite the sanctuary of the cosy cottage, an impromptu trip to the pub was tempting. “Hang on a sec.”
Calum darted upstairs with Zelda hot on his heels and peeled off his white T-shirt, searching out a black one with faded skulls emblazoned across the back. A noise behind him sounded like Dennis. He turned, expecting to see the giant cat digging through his paltry collection of socks. Instead he found Brix in the doorway, eyes wide, clutching a stack of his own T-shirts.
“Jesus!” Calum wrapped his arms around his bare torso, wishing the floor would swallow him up.
“Sorry, mate.” Brix averted his gaze. “Thought you might need to borrow some stuff. Er . . . sorry, I’ll leave these here.”
He dumped the T-shirts on the bed and disappeared. Calum blinked and let his arms drop, abruptly back in London, clutching a soggy bag of chips outside Rob’s favourite cocktail bar. “Sure you wanna eat them? All those carbs are making you chubby.”
Embarrassment burned in Calum’s gut, even though Brix was gone. It had been a long time since they’d been half naked in each other’s presence, longer than Calum cared to remember. Or perhaps he did care to remember, and that was the problem, because even without the ink, Brix’s lean body was a work of art. If Calum closed his eyes, he could still picture it—Brix’s slender limbs and sinewy muscles. His strong, lean chest and perfectly flat stomach. Not that shit like that mattered. In the rare moments of peace Calum had ever had from Rob’s games, it hadn’t been Brix’s body he’d imagined. No. It had been his eyes . . . and his voice. Damn. Brix had the best voice.
Zelda appeared from nowhere, springing onto the bed and making a beeline for Brix’s T-shirts. Calum shook himself slightly and pushed her away. Brix’s clothes wouldn’t fit him in a million years, but that didn’t mean she could nest on them.
He pulled on his own T-shirt, then scooped up Brix’s pile, taking them across the landing to Brix’s bedroom. Remembering Brix of old, he expected to see a scene of chaos—piles of clothes, sketchbooks, and CDs. Instead, he found a bedroom so neat and tidy it was almost sterile. The only thing out of place was a washbag on the bedside table that looked like it belonged in the bathroom. Were it not for the artwork on the walls that was so Brix, Calum wouldn’t have known it was Brix’s room at all.
Downstairs, he found Brix with the chickens, turning over the earth in the runs. Calum leaned on the fence and watched, his new favourite pastime. Who knew chickens fighting over worms and grubs could be so entertaining? Not that Bongo often got any; she was too placid to fight—or too lazy. Calum hadn’t quite decided. He stopped Brix as he passed with the spade and snagged her a worm, then bent over the fence and scooped her up, dangling the worm into her beak.
“Jesus Christ,” Brix muttered.
“What?”
“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” Brix flung his spade down and stomped into the shed.
Calum stared after Brix, watching through the tiny window as he shifted sacks of animal feed around with more force than seemed necessary, and his stomach churned uncomfortably. The idea that he’d somehow annoyed Brix made him feel sick, because without Brix, he’d be fucked.
Maybe Brix had read whatever Rob had written about Calum on the internet. Maybe Lena had lied and shown him anyway, or he’d found it of his own accord. Trashing people online was one of Rob’s favourite things to do. “Come on, Calum. Don’t be soft. It’s only a joke . . .”
Swallowing bile, Calum recalled every hateful post he’d ever seen Rob leave on his blog, a page that had three thousand followers. The thought of Brix reading—
“Calum?”
“What?”
Brix folded his arms across his chest. “You look like someone just killed your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Your pops not got that golden retriever anymore?”
“Skye?” Calum pictured the time his parents had visited him in Camden, bringing with them his father’s hearing dog, who’d quite forgotten herself when they’d happened across Brix. “She died years ago. My dad’s got a Labrador now, a black one, I think. Barney.”
“You think?”
Calum shrugged. “I haven’t seen them in a while, and you know my ’rents don’t do technology.”
He didn’t add that Rob had had a tendency to bin any post that wasn’t of personal interest to him. What was the point? Besides, whatever had driven Brix into the shed seemed to have faded, and Calum wanted to keep it that way.
“Pub, then?” Brix said.
Calum nodded and darted back inside to grab his wallet, which was considerably slimmer now he’d cut up and dumped all the useless loyalty cards and receipts that had been stuffed in it before. Carrying just a few quid, a basic card, and his driving license was oddly liberating, though the knowledge that he’d have to deal with his banking situation soon was daunting. If he could pull regular sittings at Blood Rush for a while, he could make the payments on his loans and give Brix rent, but what would happen when his time at Blood Rush was up? Even if he found a studio to take him, where would he live? Brix was only letting him pay a hundred quid a month. His parents would charge him more than that.
“Calum. Shittin’ hell, mate. Are you coming or not?”
For the umpteenth time that day, Calum snapped out of his brooding and shot Brix an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Away with the fairies.”
“Are you fuck. Fairies are fun. You can tell me what’s really bothering you on the way.”
On the way turned out to be a windy walk inland to the Sea Bell, a dilapidated pub that was packed with ruddy-faced local men, all clutching jugs of ale and singing along with the band of fishermen holding court by the front bar.
