Page 8 of In Too Deep

Jake glanced across. “Stone Roses?”

“You’re just listing bands now.”

“Trying to establish what sort of youth you had.”

“One considerably less interesting than the one you’ve invented for me.”

Jake pouted. “Shame. Had this whole image of you off your tits in a field somewhere.”

Harrison gave a quiet laugh and turned to look out of the window. He went quiet again. Distracted. Not quite there. Looked rough around the edges, too.

“You and your mate have a good night, then?” Jake asked, aiming for casual as the van bumped through a dip in the road.

Harrison scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “You could say that.”

Jake glanced across. “Can smell it, mate.”

“Christ.” Harrison dropped his hand to his thigh. “That bad?”

“Wouldn’t stand too close to a naked flame.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile, but it disappeared almost immediately.

“I would’ve invited you,” Harrison said after a moment. “Introduced you. But I…”

“Didn’t know how?”

Harrison winced. “Something like that.”

Jake nodded, easing them around a bend, unsure how to feel about that. But it wasn’t like he’d introduced Harrison to his mates. They knew him, of course. But knew nothing of this…thing they were not doing.

“She’s Chris’s sister.”

Well. Shit. “Ah. Understandable then.”

“There’ll be other chances.”

“Will there?”

“I hope so.” Harrison drifted his gaze back out the window. “And thanks. For this.”

Jake risked another look. “S’nice to see you.”

That got him a smile. Small. Real. “You too.”

Jake felt that smile spread right through him.

Warm and stupid and a little too much.

The storage units were tucked into an industrial area not quite matching the rest of the idyllic rural Hartswick. Rows of metal doors, dull and uniform, and Jake backed the van into place where Harrison directed him. They got out, and Harrison tapped in his number on the keypad making the shutter rattle up to reveal the inside.

Jake let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell.”

It was full. Boxes upon boxes. Stacked high. Furniture wrapped in old sheets. Lamps, chairs, bits of a life packed away and forgotten long enough to gather dust along the edges.

“This your London life, then?” Jake stepped inside.

“Could say that,” Harrison sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Most of it could probably go. But… hasn’t.”