Page 125 of In Too Deep

Teddy unpacked his exercise books and calculator, finding a corner of the rehearsal room to plonk himself in. The kid had spent most of his life surrounded by grief people didn’t know how to touch. Silence that sat too heavily in rooms. Adults lowering their voices whenever Robyn’s name came up, as if Teddy wasn’t standing right there hearing every unfinished sentence. Yet somehow, he’d always settled easiest here.

Around Jake. The band.

Noise.

Maybe because noise filled the gaps before thoughts could crawl in.

Deacon noticed Jake watching him. Deacon noticed every fucking thing.

“You alright?” He slapped a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

Jake shrugged off his jacket. “Fine. Just busy. Been full on over at the industrial estate.”

Raff, tuning his bass near the amp stack, snorted. “You finally doing proper jobs instead of clearing gutters for old women?”

Jake flipped him off, earning a grin in return, but the truth still sat there under his ribs anyway. Sour and uncomfortable. Because everyone else in this room had grown up a bit. Had proper jobs. Wives and girlfriends. Something waiting for them once rehearsal ended. All Jake had was a damp flat above an off license, knees wrecked from roofing jobs, and a Detective Inspector who’d gone silent on him.

“He’s pining over a bloke.” Oh, and Teddy. With his big bloody mouth. “Who still ain’t called him after he spent the night at his gaff.”

Jake pointed a drumstick at him. “Oi. Shut your pie hole.”

Teddy glanced up from his calculator. “You keep checking your phone every five bloody minutes.”

“I check my phone every five bloody minutes because it barely qualifies as technology.” He held up the battered handset. “I smashed the last one and can’t afford a new one. This thing’s about three updates away from being displayed in a museum. Half the time it says I’ve got signal, half the time it doesn’t. Sometimes it charges. Sometimes it just gets warm and gives up.”

Raff chuckled. “Like half the blokes you go with.”

Jake held up his middle finger from around his drumstick. “Absolutely nowt to do with waiting for a text.”

Raff burst out laughing.

Deacon nearly choked on his beer before barking out a laugh and slapping Jake hard between the shoulders. “Has the great Hartswick playboy caught feelings? Letting a bloke stay at your palace? That’s practically marriage for you, right?”

“Fuck off,” Jake muttered, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Teddy looked up. “You gonna tell them his name?”

Deacon cocked his head. “Does he even know it?”

Jake threw a drumstick at him.

He could tell them. That Harrison had gone quiet, and Jake couldn’t stop wondering if he’d fucked up the first genuinely good thing to happen to him since Neon Arcade imploded around his ears. But saying any of that aloud opened too many doors. Too many questions Jake didn’t even want to ask himself yet.

So he didn’t.

“It’s gotta be serious though, right?” Raff cocked his head. “If he stayed the night.”

Jake looked down at the floor, hair covering his face. “Or maybe it were just convenient.”

Deacon snorted. “Your flat’s not even convenient for you.”

Jake flipped them both off, which only made them laugh harder. “Are we here to make music, or what?”

“Sounds like you’re already making music. Sweet, sweet music.”

“Jesus Christ. You two are like teenagers.”

“Oi!” Teddy piped up. “Don’t insult my lot.”