Calum bolted upright, colliding with a bony mass. “Shit.”
Brix zipped up the washbag that lived on his bedside table, clearly unfazed by Calum’s abrupt awakening. In the dim lamp light, his gaze seemed empty as he tossed the bag aside, and the events that had led to them being holed up in Brix’s bed together hit Calum like a train.
Rob be fucking damned.
Calum found his equilibrium and grasped Brix’s forearm, wrapping his fingers around the slender bones to claim his place in the world. “Did Kim call?”
“A few times. They ain’t capsized yet.”
“That’s good, right?”
Brix brought his hand briefly to his mouth and swallowed hard, like he had something stuck in his throat. “They’re still pulling crew from the tanker, and it’s still storming like Mother Nature’s bitchy aunt, so you tell me.”
Calum regarded Brix cautiously; he seemed more irritated that distressed. “You okay?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Wanna try?” Calum opened his arms. “I can listen for the phone.”
Brix shrugged. “This isn’t how I dreamed of falling asleep on you.”
Calum put his hands on Brix’s shoulders and gently tugged him close, then lowered them both to the mattress, his arms closing around Brix, like he could cage him, shelter him, heal him. “We can dream tomorrow when everyone’s safe. Just rest for now, mate, even if you can’t sleep.”
For a brief moment, Calum thought he’d convinced Brix to close his eyes, if only for a little while, then Brix’s heavy sigh broke the storm-punctuated silence, and Brix sat up on his elbows, staring out of the window.
“I can’t fuck you, Calum.”
“What?”
Brix tore his gaze from the beating rain and stared at Calum in the darkness. “I meant it when I said I’d wanted you for years—still want you, so fucking much—but I can’t have sex with you.”
“Why not?” It wasn’t what Calum meant to say, or what he was consciously thinking, but as he uttered the words and Brix’s features hardened, the answer was suddenly more important than anything Calum had ever known.
Or not known . . . and seemed destined to live in ignorance of forever as Brix pressed his lips into a thin line. He made no move to disentangle himself from Calum, but all at once the distance between them felt like a fucking abyss. “Brix?”
Brix shook his head. “I . . . I just can’t, Cal. Please. I can’t do that shit anymore . . . not with you, not with anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Calum.” Brix whispered his name, but the fragility lacing every syllable was deafening. Calum’s heart skipped a beat, absorbing the fear and defeat that screamed from every facet of Brix—his slumped shoulders and hung head, his clenched fists and screwed-up eyes.
“Brix, please. Talk to me.”
After what seemed like a lifetime, Brix opened his eyes. He stared at Calum, bottom lip caught mercilessly between his teeth, but anything he might’ve said was cut off by the Pugwash theme tune blaring out of his phone. He moved like a snake, diving across Calum to snatch it from the pillow beside them. “Dad? Where are you?”
Relief surged through Calum. Unless Brix’s father was calling to say good-bye from the upturned hull of a sinking lifeboat, they were about to get some good news.
He sat up, taking care not to jostle Brix, and stood, searching out his clothes that were scattered around the room as he surreptitiously listened in on Brix’s end of the conversation. Not much made sense as Brix’s contribution was limited, but the lightening of the burden on Brix’s shoulders was hard to miss. Whatever else was going on behind the storm in Brix’s eyes, the men at sea were safe.
Brix hung up. “The boat is in. Took the last crew from the tanker into Port Isaac and landed there.”
“Where’s your old man?”
“In the pub they opened up as a reception centre, drinking the Doom Bar pumps dry like nothing’s happened.”
Maybe to Brix’s father it hadn’t. After all, he hadn’t seen the torment marring Brix’s beautiful face, the pain still dancing around the wall that had sprung up between him and Calum.
“You’d better go find him, then,” Calum said. “Bring him home.”
