“Uh-huh.”
Dylan stepped aside, and Angelo forced himself away from the wall. Turning his back on Dylan was torture, and each step toward the house lanced his heart with pain, but he didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Because one more look at Dylan would’ve crumbled his resolve todust.
Fuck. I lovehim.
Chapter Fourteen
Dylan scannedthe notes he’d typed up for his last client of the day. To his frazzled brain, they didn’t make much sense, but he was hoping that would change when he looked them overtomorrow.
With a weary sigh, he began the slow task of shutting down the ageing PC. It hummed and rattled like a dying helicopter, signalling that it would take a while to close all the open applications, so he turned his attention to his phone. Two messages from Angelo lit up the screen and his heart skipped abeat.
A:Are you nearlyfinished?
A:Fuck it. I’m gonna come meetyou
Joy roared in Dylan’s ears. He spoke to Angelo every day, but it had been nearly a week since they’d last seen each other. Dylan’s extended working hours meant he’d get home too late to catch Angelo awake, andGod, he missed him. His fingers flew across his screen as he tapped out areply.
D:You sure? I’ll be done in half anhour
A:Perfect. I’ll bethere
Dylan set his phone down, excitement battling an irritating rush of anxiety as he fought the urge to tell Angelo to stay put and wait for him.Trust him, remember? He wouldn’t come out if he didn’t feel up to it.Angelo seemed to have good and bad spells, but he’d been working hard with his physiotherapist and testing himself a little more each day. And even when his body wouldn’t play ball, the change in his personality was startling. His smile, his laugh?—even when he was tired?—were both so genuine that Dylan dreamed of them every night he wasn’t lucky enough to see Angelo inperson.
“You’re grinning like a maniacagain.”
Dylan jumped as Helen came up behind him and dumped a stack of files on his desk. “Huh?”
Helen laughed. “The grinning, Dylan. You’ve been at it allweek.”
“Have I?” Dylan cringed. “Sorry. Just in a good mood, Iguess.”
“That’s not something you need to apologise for. I take it you’re sleepingbetter?”
“A bit. I’m freaking out less about work too. We’ve cleared most of the backlog,right?”
“Most of it,” Helen agreed. “You know what it’s like, though. We’re bound toget?—?”
The office door opened, cutting Helen off. Tony, the volunteer who often manned the waiting room, poked his head in. “We’ve got anoverflow.”
“How many?” Helenasked.
“Three. Shall I tell them to come backtomorrow?”
Helen glanced pointedly between the three of them?—one for each still waiting client?—and Dylan’s heart sank. Another client meant an hour of extra work, at least... an hour that Angelo might not have left in him after a long day of physicaltherapy.
He felt like crying as he composed the message toAngelo.
D:Last minute client. Gonna be another hour at least. Go home. I’ll find youx
He didn’t have time to wait for areply.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed what he needed and trudged to the waiting room to retrieve a client. Tony had already taken one, so he nodded at the stocky man holding card number two. “If you’d like to come withme?”
He led the man to the room at the end of the corridor and waved him inside. “Take a seat. I’m Dylan, one of the advisors here. Can you tell me why you’re heretoday?”
The man sat down and unbuttoned his coat. He reached inside and withdrew a machete. “I’m here for my fucking money, mate. How aboutyou?”
* * *
