Page 32 of Too Close To Home

And there he was again. DI Harrison Black. Controlled. Professional. Closed.

Jake had no fucking idea why he was disappointed.

Pete returned with a takeaway cup. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” As Harrison lifted the cup to his mouth, Jake clocked the wedding band around his ring finger.

Plain. Gold. Worn.

He pulled his gaze away.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He rubbed his hands down his roofing trousers. “Got work.”

Harrison looked up again. Held his eyes for a fraction. Then nodded.

Jake turned before he could overthink it, pushing through the back of the pub and out into the car park. The cold air hit him. As did the sight of Brodie by the delivery van, ticking off crates as a driver unloaded kegs. So Jake lingered near his van, waiting for the space to move and get away from him. From this. From everything that was getting way too far under his skin.

Then Brodie slapped the clipboard against his thigh. “You know who I saw chatting to Emily at closing?” he called across the yard.

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“Deacon.”

Jake drew a breath, eyes lifting to Brodie’s face. Irritation still simmered beneath, the jealousy he tried to disguise as sarcasm, but underneath that? There was something else. A hint of regret. Guilt, maybe?

Jake shouldn’t have snapped at him. Brodie hadn’t made the connection because he couldn’t. He hadn’t been there. That wasn’t his history to carry. And Jake forgot that sometimes. Not everyone walked around with it lodged under their ribs, shaping every thought, every reaction. Every. Single. Day.

“Thanks.” Jake raised his chin in gratitude.

Brodie nodded, dropping his gaze before returning to him. “And I’m sorry.”

Jake furrowed his brow. “For what?”

“Your sister.” Brodie tilted his neck. “I forgot. For a minute, I didn’t think.”

Jake’s gut sank. Heavy and familiar.

“Aye,” he said after a beat. “People forget. That’s the fucking problem.”

Because for Jake, he never could. There wasn’t a minute, a day, a version of this town where Robyn wasn’t threaded through it. So he turned before Brodie could answer, climbed into his van and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Because he needed away. Needed to do something. Anything.

Then he shoved the van into gear and pulled out of the car park too fast, tyres spitting gravel as the back end fishtailed before catching the road, ready to, this time, do what needed doing and do it right.

Chapter five

Persons Unknown

“He’s not always like that.”

Harrison hadn’t realised how long he’d been watching the back doors swing shut behind Jake Whitton’s exit until Pete’s voice broke through his thoughts.

He blinked, as if surfacing. The car park beyond the window sat empty now, gravel still faintly disturbed where Jake’s van had careened out. Harrison had spent enough years in the field to recognise the type. Men whose lives had been carved open by one investigation and felt the edges of another cutting too close. Protective. Combative. Half a step away from inserting themselves, whether invited or not.

Chris had been like that.

Too quick to step forward. Too certain he could shoulder what wasn’t his to carry. Heat first, reflection later. Harrison had always steadied him. Redirected the energy. Softened the edges before they cut too deep.

Until he hadn’t been able to anymore.