“I think you should tell him,” Noah said eventually. “But later. Once he’s worked through his own emotions on last night.”
“Of course.”
Zach got quietly to his feet and returned to his room. This . . . This was embarrassing. How short-sighted he’d been. How stupidly naïve. He’d practically flung himself at Jack, so confident this time he’d found The One.
And . . . he couldn’t be.
He pulled on jeans, the nearest t-shirt, grabbed his guitar. He needed fresh air, space. Clarity.
He sank his shoes on at the front door and left without a word. He couldn’t face them right now. He needed to think.
He walked along the coast, further than he ever had, the same route Brandy had driven the day he’d first met Jack. The beach was dark with wet sand and glittering shells.
He kept his shoes on this time.
The cave came into view just as the heavens slopped out all their tears. He jogged through the rain to the relative shelter inside. He should’ve brought a jacket. He sank against the rock, sheltered from the wind. The guitar was warm in his hands.
He played the songs he’d played the last time. He could see Brandy across from him, hands clasped between parted legs, foot tapping lightly to the beat. Those brilliant eyes, mesmerised by Zach’s hands, his lips as he sang.
How Jack had hauled him into his arms and he’d thought that, right there, was romance in a nutshell.
Jack’s face faded to Brandy’s, creased with concern as he fell to his knees on the sand. Something ached about that memory.
How long those seconds were, Brandy on his knees while Jack scooped Zach up.
His fingers stumbled on the strings.
Jack. Dammit. He should be all kinds of pissed at him. But . . .
He didn’t feel worth the energy.
The songs Zach played grew soft, mellow. They wormed deep inside him, made his toes wriggle, his pulse flutter. The sound tinkered in his chest.
He closed his eyes on the rain pelting the sea and sand. His hand curled around the neck of his guitar, cutting off the music. Brandy had stepped in front of him with just that decisiveness at the ball, ready to take anything so long as Zach stayed safe.
Zach’s throat tightened. A hot tear edged one eye.
How his heart had thundered.
But . . . it hadn’t been heartbreak.
It has its own consciousness. And when you feel it surround you, you just know.
“Zachary?”
Zach bolted to his feet at the distant call.
Brandy jogged through the downpour toward the cave. He caught sight of Zach and relief slowed him to a brisk walk. Brandy’s wet hands came up around Zach’s face, and Zach couldn’t breathe.
“Thank God. We were so worried. Jesus, you must be freezing.”
He shrugged out of his thick jacket. Zach couldn’t . . . couldn’t move. Brandy shoved his arms into the sleeves and zipped him to the throat. The cuffs were wet through, but the inside was dry, warm, like Brandy was hugging him.
“I’ll text Noah.” His phone came out and after, blue eyes lifted and plunged into him. “Zach, say something? Are you okay?”
Zach stumbled deeper into the cave until he hit the jagged back wall.
“Zach?” A flash of realization coloured Brandy’s face. “You overheard me with Noah.”
Yes. But that wasn’t . . .
“I’m sorry.” Brandy moved closer, expression gentle, concerned. A ray of warm dappled light in front of a storm.
The scent of him rose from the jacket and Zach tasted it on every breath. He couldn’t . . . couldn’t take the fizzing in his veins. It was too much.
Brandy was close, so close. His nose would graze his if he dipped.
He’d never . . . Well, they’d been closer than this before, but that was then. Cluelessness—and possibly denial—had a lot going for it.
Brandy’s brow furrowed; beads of rain dripped from his hair and slowly snaked down the tight lines of his face. A firm hand landed on Zach’s shoulder. “Are you angry with me?”
He whipped his head from side to side. He couldn’t speak, but Brandy had to know he wasn’t . . . he wasn’t angry.
A sigh glided over his hair and Zach choked on a sound.
Brandy looked down at him, lips pressing together and parting. “Zach, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Fairy dust.
His hands shot to the cave wall to steady himself.
Oh, this was . . . this was not good.
“Zach?”
“Ah, nothing.”
Brandy cocked his head, bringing his lips that much closer. A confused whisper, “What’s going on?”
A peal of awkward laughter. “Nothing!” He ducked to the side, out from under that heavy current.
Brandy turned, frowning. “Something.”
“Nothing. We’re all good. I was just” —imagining you kissing me again— “lost in thought. Jack and everything.”
Brandy brushed past and Zach lurched back.
Another frown.
“A spider dropped from the ceiling.”
Brandy scooped up his guitar. The guitar that he’d dropped. Abandoned. He carefully dusted off the grit.
