“So? You know as well as I do that it won’t stop him doing a little bit more. It’s a hand up, not a handout, mate.”
Jamie grumbled under his breath and watched the desert as it whizzed by, but he couldn’t deny that Liam’s assistance had helped his great California escape come by even quicker than he’d hoped. After a long night of staring at a map, Jamie had stuck a pin in the East Midlands and randomly chosen a small town close to the Derbyshire Peak District. The very next day, an email with a Rightmove link to a list of flats in Matlock Bath had appeared in his inbox:Choose one. I’ll sort it. Come and see us when you’re ready.Jamie had ignored the last part with a painful twinge of guilt. One day Liam would realise that it was the one offer Jamie would always refuse.
“Are you going to get a car?” Marvin dragged Jamie back from the ledge. “You packed your license, right?”
Jamie patted the pocket with his wallet in. “It’s only valid for twelve months, though. I’ll have to take a UK test after that.”
“So do it.”
“I might not need to if I find a job in the town.”
“Jamie—”
“What?”
Marvin tapped his fingers faster. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t be afraid to explore the world around you because of your addiction. You’ll find gear anywhere if you want it enough. Living like a hermit in the arse-end of nowhere isn’t going to change that.”
“I’m not going to the arse-end of nowhere. I’m going to Matlock Bath. It’s got three fish and chip shops on one street, so it’s gotta be buzzing.” Jamie forced a grin to appease the concern that was fast marring Marvin’s handsome face. “I’ll be fine, honest. I just need a change—some wind and rain, a few grey, miserable days to remind me who I really am, you know? I can’t find that here.”
Marvin sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t stick around forever. I guess I hoped that we’d have you a little while longer.”
We. Marvin spoke like the true Sea Rave man he was, but Jamie didn’t miss the flicker in his dark gaze, and Jamie turned away from it for the last time. He’d miss Marvin like the brother he’d never had, but he had togo.
The airport loomed into view twenty minutes later. Marvin parked up and retrieved Jamie’s carry on and small case from the boot of the Jeep. “You could’ve taken the guitar. I can always get another one.”
Jamie shook his head. “Cory’s guitar belongs with you.”
“Does it? I never play the thing.”
“Neither did I. Just liked counting the strings. Besides, I can’t take your dead brother’s guitar. It ain’t right.”
“What if I wanted you to have it?”
“It would still be wrong.” Jamie shouldered his bag and thrust his hands into his pockets under the pretence of checking for his passport and his double set of plane tickets—one for the connecting flight to Chicago, and the other for the final leg across the Atlantic. He knew Marvin was going to hug him—hold him tight against his broad bulk and say with his embrace what Jamie had never let him say out loud, but Jamie wouldn’t hug him back. Couldn’t, because that would make leaving him real. Would makeeverythingreal.
And Jamie was forever learning to live with reality.
Two
“You sure you’re okay to travel?”
Marc glanced up at Glenn, who was hovering at the door of his hospital room with all the appearance of a stern matron that his swath of tattoos and lumberjack beard would allow. “I can get my prosthesis on without bawling and you signed me off yourself.”
“Only because you’d forge my signature if I didn’t.”
“Bullshit. I’m fine, and you know it. You just want me to stick around to keep you company while Carla’s gone.”
Glenn didn’t deny it, but the matron face remained. “Dude, seriously. You’re seventy-two hours postsurgery. I know the stump swelling has gone down in superhuman time, but at least stay a few more days to recover?”
“I’ve got extra padding, and I’ll use my crutches on the journey, okay?”
“You shouldn’t be wearing the pros at all right now.”
“It’s just for thejourney,” Marc repeated impatiently. “Bloody hell, man. It was a nerve repair graft, not an amputation.”
“Yeah, ’cause you need any more of those. Be sending you home in a wheelbarrow soon.”
The military gallows humour made Marc smile, even though both he and Glenn had been civvies for a good few years now. “I’m fine, mate. Honest. It’s only an eight-hour flight. I’ll be home in time for breakfast.”
