I open each of the containers, mix rice in with the curry, and load up my fork. Bringing it to my mouth with one hand, I use the other to hit play on the remote.Sun, Sea and Murder,the show I chose earlier starts up, the camera jumping to a panoramic view of some unknown coastline.
I eat a few more forkfuls, my attention rapt, as the case is explained by a long since retired detective. Next to me, Oliver is silent and when I chance a quick glance at him – expecting him to be just as focused on the show – I am surprised to find that he’s watching me, a playful smile on his lips.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You told me to. You invited me in to watch you, and I quote,” he lifts his fingers in the air to emphasise his point, “‘eat the best butter curry this side of the Thames’, remember?” He shrugs. “And you make some seriously cute little noises when you eat.”
My hand pauses, fork hovering in the air. “Fuck off. I do not, and I didn’t mean it literally. Watch the television,” I huff.
“Okay,” Oliver smirks, head facing the screen.
I keep my eyes on him and make sure that he is no longer watching me. But now I’m too focused on any noises I might make when I’m eating to actually eat. I push the food away and lean back on the sofa with an annoyed grunt.
“I know that place,” Oliver says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s pointing at the screen on which the camera is panning across a desolate beach. Pebbly rocks washed upon by a choppy sea that leaves behind stripes of white foam. “Grew up near there. Caiden did too.”
From the little Caiden has told me about his life, I know he grew up in Devon before he left after the death of his twin. I didn’t realise Oliver knew him back then.
“You knew Caiden when he lived there?” I ask, settling my back against the arm of the sofa.
Oliver nods. “Since we were six. Same schools all the way to the end.”
"Were you friends with his brother?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. Cooper was…” Oliver looks at the ceiling, then at his hands. “He was too good. Smart.” He leans his head on the back of the sofa, turning his neck sideways. “Hated me. I think he thought I pulled his brother into too much trouble.”
I shuffle in my seat, my foot brushing his thigh.
“Were you?”
Oliver scoffs. “Trouble? Maybe. Troubled? Sure.” His voice is thick, and I want to ask him what he means by that, but he shifts, turning away from me. “Eat up, Thorne-Sutton. Your food’s getting cold,” he says, clearly done with the conversation.
I ignore my meal but turn back to the television. Next to me, he lets out a heavy sigh, and we spend the next half hour in silence.
When I chance a look at Oliver again, my breath catches. His eyes are on the screen, his hands gripping the fabric of his gym shorts so tightly they’ve bunched up. He’s taking shallow breaths in and out through his nose, his lips clamped shut. But it’s the silent tears trailing down his cheeks that punch at my heart.
I want to reach out to him, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe this is what he needed. What he came for. For someone to sit with him in his sadness. So I leave him to cry, hit play on another episode of the documentary, and move myself an inch closer. My leg brushes his, and I hope he knows that he’s not alone.
Chapter 3
Oliver
How fucking embarrassing. Not only did I show up at Caiden’s door, tail between my legs, ready to beg for…something. To talk? To fuck? I don’t honestly know what I’d hoped to accomplish by going there last night. I just went. And not only was I greeted by a complete stranger, who took pity on me and let me sit with him in silence, but then I went and fucking cried in front of him too.
Let the years of pain and hurt pour from my eyes. Let my heart split into pieces, right there for him to see.
How fucking embarrassing.
And yet, I have never felt less alone than I did when Darius silently rubbed his leg against mine. He didn’t question me. Or offer fake sympathies. He put on documentary after documentary until his eyes were heavy and his breathing deep. Once he’d fallen asleep, I covered him with a throw from the back of the sofa and stood there like a creep, drinking him in.
Messy blond hair, lush pink lips parted in a soft O, his hand tucked beneath his cheek, his eyelids fluttering as if lost in a sweet dream. So different to Caiden. So different to me.
Enticing.
Beautiful.
I wish I had met him in another lifetime. One where I wasn’t an angry, closed off mess who struggles with emotions. One where the thought of letting someone in didn’t scare the shit out of me. But we don’t get the things we wish for. I learned that a very long time ago. Somewhere between the first time my bedroom door opened, letting in a monster, and the last time, when that monster took my family from me.
A hand appears in front of my face, and I blink once, twice, three times while reality rushes back in. Removing my protective goggles, I turn and meet my boss’s concerned gaze.
