Relief warred with disappointment as Calum followed Brix out of the cave and down the rocky cliff path. The promise of imminent warmth felt like Christmas come early, but he couldn’t deny the magic he’d felt holed up in the cave with Brix, like it was the two of them against the world. Brix had saved him, in more ways than one, and the sensation that he’d repaid a tiny fraction of his friendship was too good to leave behind.
Shame the vicious wind and driving rain had other ideas. For the first part of their descent, it was all Calum could do to keep his head up and follow Brix’s sure-footed lead, which left him to the mercy of his mind, replaying the tale Brix had told him in the cave—not good for his overactive imagination.
He caught up with Brix at the next bend and put his hand on Brix’s arm. “Is this what your brother went to prison for? The family business?”
Brix cast an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “Actually, no. Abel was even less involved in it than I am. Ironic, eh?”
“If you say so. Seems to me like you’re as uninvolved as you can be when stuff keeps getting dumped in your garden.”
“Yeah, well. Abel would’ve tossed it out on the street, left it for the old bill to find and do whatever they’d do with it. He didn’t give a fuck about family loyalty. He had his own life.”
“So what happened?” Calum pressed cautiously, raising his hand to the howling wind. Brix seemed in the mood to talk tonight, but they were clearly on dangerous ground. If Brix wanted him to know about Abel, he’d have told him years ago when they’d been far closer than they were now.
A theory proved as Brix held his silence, not looking Calum’s way, until they came to the halfway point of the cliff path ten minutes later. “Abel’s not like Dad and his brothers, or Peg and her cronies. We didn’t even know he had the Lusmoore temper until the coppers came to our door telling us he’d beat some bloke to death at the side of the M4.”
Calum’s breath caught in his throat. “He killed someone? Why?”
Brix shrugged, slowing so Calum could walk beside him now the path had widened. “Road rage? Who the fuck knows? His bird ran off with his best mate the day before, so it could’ve been that, or any of the Lusmoore shite he’d lived through, but I ain’t ever been convinced he meant to kill anyone. Just thumped the bloke a bit too hard.”
Calum couldn’t imagine it, and his expression must’ve said as much, as Brix hurried to elaborate.
“The bloke hit his head on the road when he fell over. They said in court that Abel was a bareknuckle boxer, so he would’ve known how much damage he could do with one punch. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in trouble since he was fifteen. They did him for twelve years.”
“Twelve years?” Calum whistled. “And he’s got two left?”
“Aye. He could’ve been out sooner, but he’s never applied for early release.”
“Why not?”
“Guess he doesn’t want to come home. Speaking of which, you can see the shop from here, look.”
Calum allowed Brix his clumsy subject change and followed his gaze inland to the seafront. Beyond the main promenade, he could just about make out the neon lights that lit up Blood Rush when the studio was closed. He tried to think of something sensible to say. Failed, and their companionable, if somewhat loaded, silence held until Brix let them into the cottage twenty minutes later.
Blowing his hands, Brix made straight for the fire, while Calum went to the kettle. His own trip up the cliffs had been bitter enough, but Brix had made the journey three times and must’ve been cold to the bone, a notion that Calum couldn’t quite live with.
A few minutes later, he took hot tea into the living room and set it on the coffee table. “Can I ask you something?”
Brix glanced up, his eyes hooded and weary. “Course. Can’t promise an answer if it’s pirate related, though. Don’t think there’s much left I can tell you without making you walk the plank.”
“It’s about what you told me when that girl, Fen, came in for her cover-up.”
“Oh.” Brix’s gaze morphed from exhausted to wary and back again, before he sat up and rubbed his face. “What do you want to know? What it’s like in the nut house?”
“Don’t call it that. Being an arsehole doesn’t suit you, and no, that’s not it.”
“I can be an arsehole, Cal. I’m a Lusmoore, remember? But the fact that you called me one makes me happy. I like it when you say what you think.”
Calum had no idea what that meant, but pushed it aside for now. “You said something the first time you took me up those cliffs . . . said you could go up there wanting to jump. Made me wonder if what happened when you were a kid had happened again.”
“You wanna know if I’ve tried to top myself since?”
Put like that it made Calum cringe. “I guess.”
Brix held Calum’s gaze for a long moment before he turned his eyes to the fire. “The simple answer is no. I’ve never done anything like that since that one time, but I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been times when I’d thought about it. It’s in me, you know? Life gets on top of me sometimes. Can’t deal with it without turning black. Besides, it’s in my blood.”
“Depression?”
“No . . . jumping off cliffs. My sister offed herself when I was nine.”
