What was he supposed to do now? Ignore this? Try to convince Brandy that he was worth a try? Subtly, of course. He wouldn’t want to spring anything on the guy. But why would Brandy even want to try? He was too young. Immature. Hopelessly naïve.
“You’re fretting about something,” Brandy said.
“Ahahaha.”
Smooth, Zachary. Real smooth.
He cleared his throat, pitching his voice deeper than usual. The fuck was that about? “The thing is, I just don’t care about Jack.”
Brandy stopped chopping, but he didn’t look over.
“I thought I would. I tried. But . . . I’m more sorry for your ex. And I hate her.” For ever having you, for never loving you. For still having you.
“You don’t hate her. Your voice is . . . I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
Zach hugged his knees and thumped his head on them. He needed to get rid of this stupid awareness. Stop overthinking things. He’d make himself sick. Look, he was already shivering.
“You really don’t care about Jack?”
Zach snapped his head up. Had that question sounded too quiet? A little . . . imploring?
His heart lurched like it wanted to drag him across the room. He wanted to read Brandy’s face. And, you know, devour all the fairy dust he could while he was there.
He groaned.
And convulsed with a shiver; this one only half to do with the man watching him across the room. He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and snuggled into it. The back of his throat stung a little. The soup would help there. And Noah might make some of that ginger tea and honey he was so good at.
Wrapping the blanket tighter around him, he frowned. “Something wrong?” Brandy asked.
“It’s been almost twenty minutes.” He glanced out the rain-lashed window. “Where’s Noah?”
Sensibility
~Noah~
Zach had been found. He was safe.
Noah stood under the pub awning and looked out at the rain sheeting down. He’d hoof it home as soon as the sheets turned to droplets. Jenny had persuaded him to stay a bit to warm up and now the breath sifting towards the pelting water was coffee-laced.
Hopefully Zach and Brandy wouldn’t wait for him.
Finally, the rain eased. Raising his hood, he strode toward home, but he wasn’t one corner gone when the flash of a red coat and a massive backpack caught his attention. The man’s face, beneath the shadows of his hood, held it.
It wasn’t just that he’d recognised Luc.
It was that Luc was sobbing.
Noah jogged across the road and caught the backpack Luc was struggling to lift onto his other shoulder.
“Hey. Are you alright? I’ve got this, just tell me where you’re headed. What happened?”
Of course, a part of Noah suspected.
He heaved the pack onto his shoulders and patted Luc’s shaking back.
“It’s . . . It’s . . .” Luc couldn’t get it out, heavy sobs taking him over.
“I take it going home is out of the question.”
Another wracking sob.
Noah curled an arm around him. “Come on. My place is just up the hill.”
He steered Luc through the rain, through the garden, and onto to the couch. Face in the crook of his elbow, Luc slumped over the arm, back heaving as he apologised and sobbed again.
Noah sat beside him and put a hand on his back, unsure what to say, or how to say it. He didn’t know Luc. That was the problem.
He knew pain, though. A few months ago, this was Zach, when their dad had passed. A wreck of uncontrollable sobbing. Let it all out. Let it all out, he’d said then. And he said it now, too.
“W-why are you s-so nice,” his voice was hollow, cracking at the edges. “You should h-hate me.”
It would be easier if he did. If Luc were a spiteful, jealous, horrible person, he could hope that Wade would eventually see through him. That he’d want a relationship with stronger foundations, more care, compassion, kindness. There was hope in hate.
But Luc was . . . human. He had moments of jealousy, but balanced it with regret and humility. His biggest fault was that he hoped it wouldn’t be his heart that broke.
“I’ll make us some tea,” Noah murmured, and stood.
He’d just flicked the switch on the kettle when the doorbell chimed. Zach had glimpsed them from the bach on their way in; no doubt he wanted to know what was going on.
He opened the door quietly, prepared to tell him in quick, hushed brushstrokes.
His heart stuttered.
Zach didn’t raise his head and look him in the eye. Wade did.
He shifted restlessly from foot to foot, a ragged edge to his usual confidence. His eyes were darker than dark, rimmed with sleeplessness, and his t-shirt was a lie. No man sparkle about Wade today. He looked torn.
His sombre expression hit Noah like the loss of a wing and a terrible height.
