Page 54

A.J. let out a breath that seeped out of his entire body.

“Is there something non-caffeinated in one of those?”

Bren pulled himself up and grabbed the closest thermos.

“Not my first day, Arlo.”

A.J. took the cup of mystery liquid, said thanks, and brought it to his nose. Sleepytime tea with honey. Bren had taken some serious psychic damage just to make this for him.

He didn’t need to see what was in Bren’s cup. The Irish relationship with black tea was something he’d long since accepted and would never understand.

They took scalding sips, Bren’s hair a shade closer to its usual as the fan blew chilly air at them. A.J. was halfway through his cup when Bren poured himself a second.

He glanced at A.J. from the corner of his eye as he leaned back into the pillow. “No music and all.” He set his cup on the bedside table and placed a tea-warmed hand on A.J.’s arm.

A.J. brought his hand to his ear. Bren’s warmth had taken its place so thoroughly that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I had some, right until you jump-scared me.”

Bren got up from the bed and scooped the wires off the floor, tugging the jack out of the keyboard. “Wicked?” he asked as he plugged them back into the discman.

A.J. shook his head. “Chill the Feck Out Playlist. Already in there.”

Bren’s face turned equal parts smug and soft as he handed over an earphone, the other already in his ear. They went back to track one with Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams, and this time the notes reached A.J.’s core.

They listened to three songs, Bren’s free arm only leaving him once to refill his tea.

When the fourth track started, the words slipped out on their own. “I was back in the woods. I think.” Bren tensed beside him and the urge to apologize bubbled up. It would only make Bren feel worse if he did, though, so he pushed past it. “I was feeling fine when I went to bed, but then I woke up and . . .” He frowned. He’d had these episodes back in Ireland, and he’d never been able to explain it to Bren in a way that felt like it captured the feeling. “It was like—there was something outside my window, but it wasn’t really a thing—or really outside my window—because it was kind of in my chest too and . . .”

Talking about it added fuel to the fire that Bren’s presence was burning away. He took another sip of herbal tea like it might drown the embers.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Bren took A.J.’s cup and set it on the bedside table next to his own before he slipped his arm between A.J.’s back and the pillow, pulling him closer.

“When my man calls, I come runnin’. Always.”

“Bren, that’s—” A.J. shook his head. “Thank you.”

They sat like that for another two songs, A.J.’s eyes heavy with the presence of the boy beside him.

“I just—it’s so stupid. It happened, like, a year ago. I came out of it OK, and—” A.J.’s hand clenched without meaning to. “He’s on the other side of the ocean. This shouldn’t be happening.”

Bren made the sound he always made whenever Cian was mentioned. “I wish you didn’t have to think about that fucker ever again.”

A.J. sighed. “Me too.”

Bren ran his thumb along the back of A.J.’s hand for a while, and he had almost drifted off when Bren said, “How much of this is the Morgan thing do you think?”

“More than it should be.” A.J. sighed as he leaned his head against Bren’s chest. “I don’t care what she thinks of me, but it’s, like—how many people like her are we going to have to deal with?”

“All of them.”

“And you wouldn’t even have to deal with this crap if it wasn’t for me.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, bringing guilt and relief in equal measure as they hung in the air.

Nearly losing Mickie, the whole Cian thing, turning his life upside down to come to Canada, and now this whole Morgan mess. He didn’t know how Bren couldn’t connect the dots back to their first kiss.

“You know, nothin’ you say is dumb to me. But that one’s pushing it,” Bren said, brushing a kiss against his temple.