Page 89

Harrison sat up, dragging his shirt back over his shoulders, fastening the buttons with tired fingers. “I’ll go.”

“No.” The word came out so sharply Jake startled himself. Then he turned, crossed back to him and caught the shirt Harrison had just buttoned, undoing the bloody thing again. “You’ll stay.”

Harrison held his gaze.

So Jake crouched and kissed him again. “I know this is all really fucking complicated between us right now, and I’d get more than three hours’ kip if you went home…but…fuck, I don’t care. I fucking want you here. Alright.”

Harrison inhaled deeply, then nodded. “Alright.”

Jake then tossed his ruined shirt aside and hauled himself upright properly, dragging his trousers back into place. He ached now the exhaustion had set in, and he yawned. “No way I’m waking up naturally on three hours, though. Might have to prod me.”

Harrison pushed himself to his feet. “Where’ve you been?”

There was no accusation in the question. Harrison was too fucking tired for that. But Jake heard what sat underneath it anyway.

Where have you been all night?

And suddenly telling him seemed considerably harder.

Because Jake had driven to Hull chasing a tattoo and a dead woman after Harrison had explicitly told him to stay out of it. He’d stuck his nose into exactly the places Harrison had warned him away from, and Jake had the uncomfortable feeling that admitting that while Harrison was half naked on his bedsit floor might put a fairly abrupt end to whatever fragile peace they’d just found.

Harrison could handle Jake being a pain in the arse.

Actively interfering in his murder investigation might be pushing it.

So Jake shrugged. “About.”

Harrison held his gaze with detective eyes. Sharp, even through the exhaustion. Jake could practically feel him turning the answer over in his head, fitting it carefully beside everything else Jake hadn’t said tonight. The dead phone. The missing hours. The tension creeping into him the moment Harrison mentioned Hull.

In the end, Harrison nodded.

That should have been a relief.

Somehow it wasn’t.

Because some stupid, ugly part of Jake had wanted him to push. Ask again. Get annoyed. Demand to know where he’d been all bloody night. Anything that proved him disappearing mattered enough to get beneath Harrison’s skin.

The way one sleepy mistake had got beneath Jake’s.

Jake swallowed. There it was again. That horrible little twist beneath his ribs. Stupid. Harrison had been asleep. Jake knew that. Apparently knowing that didn’t make hearing another man’s name while Harrison touched him hurt any fucking less.

So he stripped and climbed into bed, springs complaining beneath his weight, then lifted the sheet. Harrison joined him and Jake turned away, expecting him to settle beside him. Instead, Harrison wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him back against his warm chest, pressing a tired kiss to his shoulder.

Jake closed his eyes and wriggled back into him.

Fuck. That was better.

That was the problem.

Harrison’s arm stayed firm around him, breath gradually evening against Jake’s neck until sleep finally took him. And Jake lay there listening to the rain and the slow rise and fall of Harrison’s breathing, warm and held and exactly where he’d wanted to be.

Still that stupid ache beneath his ribs wouldn’t go away.

Because Harrison was here. Jake had asked him to stay, and he had. That mattered. Apparently it mattered far too fucking much.

So he closed his eyes and slipped his hand over Harrison’s where it rested against his stomach, sliding his fingers in between his and gripped.

Then lay awake wondering when comfort had started hurting this fucking much.