Cam’s entire body sank. “Fletch—”
“We’ll get the ferry in the morning. We just need to hide out until then. And he needs ID to cross the border. Your picture still the one from Uni?”
“What the fuck is going on? I thought you were just writing his book?”
“I am. But there’s more to this. And we need to lay low to be able to put it together. I can’t go into it all now, but this is something massive, Cam. This is a story I need to write. This will make me.”
“And what does Heston think about this? About you running off to the motherland with another man?”
Just the man’s name felt like a punch in the face. Would it have been twenty-four hours ago? He guessed that would be something he’d never know the answer to. That wasn’t his fault.
“Last I saw him, he had his dick in another man’s mouth. So forgive me if I really don’t give a flying feck what the wee gobshite thinks.”
“Shit, Fletcher, I’m sorry. What the fuck has been going on?”
Fletcher shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it’s all wrapped up in this thing with Jackson. But, to be honest, I always expected it.”
“Well, you did move in with the guy pretty fast.”
Fletcher went rigid, staring across the kitchen at his friend. At his unrequited love interest for the past five years. At the man who’d fixed his torn heart with his friendship alone, then trampled on it with his size elevens.
“Aye,” Fletcher finally said. “I had my reasons.”
Whether Cam knew those reasons, or would pick up on the heavy meaning in that sentence, Fletcher wasn’t sure. And, right then, he didn’t care all that much. Which was the first time in he didn’t know how long that he felt free of it all. As though the switch had been flicked off. The fire put out.
“So this?” Cam said, waving a hand at the open doorway. “You believe him?”
“Aye.” Fletcher didn’t have to hesitate at that. “I do.”
“And this is based on your research?”
He did hesitate then. “Not exactly. It’s mostly a gut feeling.”
“A gut feeling? Christ on a bike, Fletcher! You’re running away with a man that the whole damn country believes killed his girlfriend. A suspected murderer, for fuck’s sake! And you’re basing your trust on a gut feeling?” Cam paced around the small table in the centre of the kitchen, ripping his cap off and throwing it onto the surface. “I’ve let you do some stupid shit in your life, Fletch, but this?” He stopped and curled a hand around the back of a kitchen chair. He met Fletcher’s gaze, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head. “I watched you down ten Guinnesses in a row for a dare, then had to clean your black sick up from the carpet the next morning.”
Fletcher couldn’t stifle the chuckle that creeped out at the memory.
“I’ve watched you run naked through the high street, almost get caught by the rozzers if you hadn’t scaled that fence to the next house along where I had to knock on the door asking for sugar to help you escape.”
“You got a date out of that, so don’t downplay it, will ye.” Fletcher pulled out a chair and sat the opposite side to Cameron. He chuckled. He had played the fool back at uni. Anything Cam had asked of him, he’d do.
Anything.
“And I watched you sing the Corrs’ ‘Runaway’ at the pub karaoke night. The place told you not to come back again as you’d emptied it by the second chorus.”
Fletcher rested his hands on the table then snorted out an amused laugh as he twiddled his thumbs in circles. Until Cam turned serious.
“But I’m not sure I can watch you actually run away with Jackson Young,” he said, voice low.
It was at that moment the man himself appeared at the doorway. Fletcher shifted in his seat, glancing up to him and the lightened mood dropped rapidly.
“Sorry,” Jackson said, his affable smile making an appearance to brighten his features. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to ask if it’s possible to get a glass of water.”
Cam stared him out for a moment before clattering around in the cupboard, producing a mug that Fletcher recognised as one of his old Donegal souvenirs he’d used when he’d lived here. He filled it from the tap and handed it over. Fletcher would have got a little warm and fuzzy to know that cup hadn’t been thrown out, that Cam might have kept it as a memento of their time in that poky student flat-share, and he’d have clung to some stupid hope that it would have meant something.
But then he watched Jackson’s lips, the lips he could still feel so warm, so soft, so wet against his own, wrap themselves around his porcelain and swallow down the contents in one.
“Thank you,” Jackson said and leaned over Fletcher to place the cup on the table, wafting his musky scent to drown out the more potent artificial spray that Cam wore. “And as much as I wasn’t trying to listen.” He stood straighter. “The walls here are paper thin. I’ll wait outside. Let you talk.” He dropped a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder, pressing down, then met with Cam’s gaze. “I remember you. From the Roadshow. Kris used to make you get his coffee because you did it just the way he liked it.”
“Strong. Espresso. Two brown sugars,” Cam replied.
Jackson nodded. “Yeah. Kind of ruins the point of an espresso. You were the only one on the floor who would do it for him.”
“Your beverage choice was just as odd for a seven a.m. rehearsal.”
Jackson breathed through an awkward smile. “Agreed.”
Cam said nothing more then. So Jackson gave Fletcher a fleeting smile, then left, the front door clicking closed after. Fletcher watched him go, seeping out the breath he’d been holding in.
Until he met with Cam’s gaze and furrowed his brow.
“Oh, shit, Fletcher!” Cam barked, erratic pacing continuing.
“What?”
“Fuck! No, no, no, no! Not him?”
Fletcher’s face flamed. “What?”
Cam paused, glaring across the kitchen at Fletcher. He sighed, eyebrows drawing in. “You’re in love with him.”
“No I’m not.” Fletcher shook his head, desperate to refute.
“No?” Cam stopped, eyes widening as he held Fletcher’s gaze. “You think I don’t know what that fucking look is? You looked at me with those heart eyes for three fucking years!”
Those words punched a hole right through Fletcher’s resolve. “Go fuck yourself.”
“I’m not trying to be a prick, Fletcher.” Cam softened slightly in front of him. “I just don’t want you going down that path again. I was so relieved when you got with Heston. That finally you were with someone who could love you back. ‘Course I didn’t know he was going to turn out to be a tosser, but at least with him you had a chance at something. But this, this is you pining over another straight man.”
Fletcher couldn’t prevent the snort at that. “Another straight man?” he said, shaking his head at the absurdity.
Not only did he know that Jackson wasn’t straight, although sworn to secrecy over that one, he was also fully aware that the man in front of him had curved edges. Straight men didn’t tend to mess around with their gay flatmates after all.