“No.”
“Sure about that? Because you were eyeballing each other pretty hard.”
“He never looked at me.”
“Not when you were looking at him, maybe, but trust me, he was looking, and I know that look.”
“You don’t know anything,” Mickey snapped. “Just leave it, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Isha nodded, unfazed by Mickey’s lack of control. “If you say so, but if there’s something you need to talk about, know that I’ll listen. Or call Dom if you don’t want to talk to me. What’s gone down tonight is huge and it’s going to take months to unpick, but you matter, Mickey, to both of us.”
Mickey believed him, but he didn’t have the headspace to unravel the mess between him and Benito. Not yet. Right now, all that mattered was that Benito was still breathing. The gut-wrenching moments he might not have been would stay with Mickey forever, but as long as Benito was okay, he could live with that.
He worked through the night with Isha, transporting residents to hotels and gathering supplies to keep them going while their flats were inaccessible. It was close to dawn when he pointed his car in the direction of home.
With the smoking tower block behind him, he drove north, the radio keeping him company. News reports came in thick and fast. After a while, Mickey switched to a DAB station. Mellow drum and bass filtered into the car. It reminded him of dirty nights with Benito, and yearning consumed him. He tapped the dashboard and brought up Benito’s number, but his phone rang before he could place the call.
Benito.
Warmth filled his chest. He answered so fast he gave his thumb whiplash. “Hey.”
“Mickey?” Gianna’s panicked voice filled the car and stopped his heart. “Mickey, please, you have to come quick. Something’s wrong with Benito.”
23
Mickey had never been to Benito’s flat. All he knew about it was that it existed, and there was no time for him to digest that the city-centre apartment was exactly as he’d pictured it.
For the second time that night, he flung his car up a kerb and abandoned it.
He sprinted across the road to the new-build block opposite the shopping centre. The exterior door was open. Mickey shouldered through it and charged upstairs to Benito’s flat.
Gianna met him at the door, clutching a phone. “He’s in the bathroom. We can’t get him up and he can’t breathe.”
Mickey pushed past her and followed the sound of a hacking cough to the bathroom.
Benito was on the floor, hunched over his knees, shirtless and coughing. Rosetta was close by, rubbing his back.
She moved back when she saw Mickey. “He’s been really sick,” she said. “It’s only just stopped.”
Mickey dropped down beside Benito and took over rubbing his back, flinching as Benito’s bare skin touched his palm. “Why’s he so cold? How long has he been like this?”
“Since we got back. I thought it was just from the smoke; then he passed out.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe? I called 111. They think it’s a delayed reaction to the smoke he inhaled. They’re sending paramedics to check on him, but it could be awhile before they get here.”
“Did he hit his head when he passed out?”
“No. He was already on the floor.”
Benito’s coughing fit died down as Rosetta finished speaking. Mickey gripped his shoulders and eased him upright, taking in his grey skin and unseeing gaze as he tried to remember the last first aid training he’d taken. Most of the course had centred around dealing with elderly tenants prone to falling, and as Benito shivered in his arms, he realised he was totally out of his depth.
Get him in the recovery position. As the thought crossed his mind, Benito began to come round. His face contorted with pain and he brought his hands to his head. “Fuck. My head, man—” He broke off with an agonised groan.
Mickey manoeuvred him into his lap and cupped his face. He rubbed his thumbs over Benito’s cheekbones. Why does he look thinner? It’s only been a couple of days. “Paramedics are coming to help you, okay? They’ll make it stop.”
Benito gazed up at him, his eyes bloodshot and wild and still so unfocused Mickey couldn’t be sure he was fully conscious. “I need you.”
“I know. I’m here. Everything’s okay.”
“It’s not. I—”
“Shh. You’re okay.”
Benito’s eyes rolled shut. He curled into Mickey’s chest, tremors still wracking his body. “I can’t.”
“You can. You’re okay, I promise.” Mickey held Benito tight and kissed his temple. He stroked his face and whispered anything he could think of until paramedics appeared in the doorway sometime later.
They helped Mickey lean Benito against the wall, then Mickey got out of their way.
He found Gianna crying in the kitchen while Rosetta hovered in the hallway, torn between her children.
Mickey lifted Gianna onto the countertop and gave her a quick hug. “You want something to drink? I bet your brother keeps hot chocolate around here somewhere for you.”
“He does.” Gianna hiccupped. “It’s in the cupboard over the microwave with the marshmallows.”
Mickey opened a cupboard that was otherwise empty save a jar of Galaxy hot chocolate and a bag of mini marshmallows. The sight of it warmed and broke his heart in equal measure, and everything hurt as he tried to make sense of how he felt for Benito. I love him.
It was the truest story ever told, but—
But nothing. He’s dying on his bathroom floor. Everything else is fucking noise.
Mickey filled the kettle and set it to boil. He gave Gianna another hug, then left her to check on Benito.
A paramedic emerged from the bathroom and beckoned Mickey and Rosetta into the living room. “He’s had some oxygen and he’s doing much better. Sometimes the effects of smoke inhalation can take a while to manifest, but his vital signs are strong so he’s probably going to be okay.”
“Are you sure?” Rosetta twisted her hands in knots. “He wasn’t right even before the fire. He fell asleep on the sofa and he never does that, even when he’s been driving all night.”
“His blood sugar is low,” the paramedic said. “Did he eat this evening? He said something about pizza when I asked him, but he wasn’t making much sense.”
Rosetta shook her head. “He was in his car all day waiting for Gianna to come home from school, and he didn’t eat the dinner I made him.” She glanced at Mickey. “He was upset.”
The paramedic nodded slowly. “Well, whatever’s happened today, it’s a lot, so seeing as he’s refusing hospital treatment, the best thing you can do is keep him warm and safe. Maybe a light meal, if he can eat? And plenty of fluids. Keep an eye on him and call us back if you’re the slightest bit worried.”
Worried didn’t even come close. Mickey drifted to the doorway where he could see Benito’s legs. They were no longer shaking, and if he strained his ears, he could hear the low rumble of Benito’s voice. “Are you sure he doesn’t need more oxygen? He was struggling to breathe.”