Everything about Joe seemed brand new—the way he glowered at me, said my name, and made me feel—but I could handle the sullen cynicism he was throwing my way now. Had expected it. “Have you thought about running a campsite on that field? Just tents to start with, maybe some trailers if you could get hold of any more. You could even convert the stud farm into a shower block.”
“How? Build it with my bare hands and magic beans to pay for the materials?”
“You could get a business loan if you had a viable plan.”
Joe snorted. “We’re up to our eyeballs in loans already, and there’s nothing viable about the way we do business here. That’s whyyou’rehere—because we needed your money.”
Inexplicably, the admission stung. Like my subconscious believed that it had been some romantic twist of fate that had brought me into Joe’s life. “Fair enough. I didn’t really think it through. It’s just you’ve got that spare land and it doesn’t make sense not to use it.”
“Nothing around here makes sense, Harry. If it did, we’d have gone down the swanny years ago.”
His pessimism was suffocating. And unfair. The farm survived because he, and his grandfather before him, had given their lives to make it so. Hard work, sacrifice, and dogged determination. They hadn’t folded because they refused to. “What about a riding school?”
“Nah.” Joe shook his head. “We had one for a while, but the insurance was a nightmare—all those kids coming and going. Besides, someone’s got to teach the little fuckers, and if Emma ain’t in the mood, I haven’t got time for that shit.”
I’d heard fragments of that explanation before and mulled the new additions over in my mind before I realised that Joe had pretty much become one with the doorframe and my pondering was keeping him there.
I got up and went to him, easing him upright and taking his weight. “You ready for bed?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A serious one. Total inactivity can be as bad for the body as doing too much, but you still need to rest.”
Joe stared at me. For a moment he looked like he wanted to punch me, kiss me, or both, but he did neither. Just sighed and pulled away. “Don’t come upstairs with me.”
I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest to stop myself from instinctively steadying him. I hadn’t consciously thought about following him upstairs, but now he’d asked me not to, it took everything I had to stay still.
Joe set one foot on the bottom step. I figured he was bracing himself, but then he turned back to me, his gaze fierce. “It’s not because I don’t want you to.”
“Want me to what?”
“Don’t do that!”
I flinched. Couldn’t help it.
Joe squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his hand on the wall. “Don’tdothat, Harry. You know what I’m talking about.”
I really didn’t, but seeing Joe distressed hurt more than I could say. I caught his hand before he could strike the wall again, covering his knuckles with my palm. “If you want to fight something, I’ve got a punchbag in the boot of my car. Give it a couple of weeks and it’s all yours.”
“I don’t want the fucking punchbag.”
“Okay.”
“Is it?” The fire in Joe’s eyes faded. “I want you to come upstairs with me, lie down with me, and kiss the shit out of me until I pass out on you, but I can’t let it happen because I know you’re going to play along and then leave me. How is that fucking fair, Harry?”
I opened my mouth. Shut it again.
Joe snorted in disgust and turned away, and the bedroom door upstairs banged a long time before I’d found my tongue again.
* * *
“...play along and then leave me.”Was that what he honestly thought? The idea was horrifying as I paced the kitchen. Joe had left me at the foot of the stairs more than an hour ago, but I still couldn’t make sense of his fury. Patient testimonials said my empathy made me a decent therapist, but I’d always been dense when it came to real life. Tomylife.
Dense. Oblivious. Incompetent. They all fit. It was why I’d never had a boyfriend—because beyond sex, I didn’t have a clue. Angelo and Dylan’s relationship was a balm to my soul, and I’d always wanted it for myself but never known how. Grindr got me laid when I felt so inclined, but I rarely saw the same bloke twice. Didn’t need to when the app was flooded with new faces by the hour.
But,fuck, I saw Joe every damn day. And I wanted to. I wanted to do all the things he’d said—apart from creeping away from him while he slept, so why had I done it? If I hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have gone to Shadow’s field that day. Perhaps he’d have stayed on the couch with me—kissing, touching...more. And maybe after I’d have stuck around to figure out what it all meant.
I stopped pacing and sank into the nearest chair. My laptop glowed accusingly—the only light in the room—and I pulled it towards me. The chapter I’d been working on was almost done, but I had another window open that I’d been plugging at when Joe had come in from the yard. It was a self-help plan for Emma, using the same theory that I’d applied to graded exercise programs for years. An inch at a time, little by little. Things that took a long time to put right took longer to break. And every step, however small, meant something. Meant everything.
