Lacking any better ideas, he returned to the cafe that had used to house Rudolph Kaspersen’s hardware store. Luckily for him, it stayed open until late, and the all-day breakfast called his name. He snapped a picture for Shay, who still hadn’t read his last message, and drank as much coffee as he dared before he opened the video-editing software that fluctuated between being the finest technology ever invented and the bane of his life.

  Today turned out to be a bane of his life day. Glitches, bugs, missing actions—nothing worked the way it should, and he was on the verge of hurling the whole lot through the cafe window when his phone flashed.

  Shay: but you are coming back, right?

  Ollie frowned. Why would Shay ask him that when he had thousands of pounds worth of equipment to return to the band? Did he seriously think Ollie was going to pull a fast one and flog it on eBay?

  It’s not the gear he’s worried about, knobhead.

  But that realisation made Ollie frown even harder. He was self-aware enough to know his flip-flop moods and mixed messages were likely giving Shay a migraine, but to think Ollie would duck out on him now?

  You would. You still might.

  The demon was loud—too loud. Ollie shut his laptop without saving any of the tenuous progress he’d made and stood with a screech of his chair. He stuffed his laptop into his backpack and tossed way too much money on the table.

  Fuck car park barriers, he was getting out of here.

  Ollie slipped a grateful fifty-pound note to the car park attendant and burned under the raised barrier. He navigated out of the city and hit the main road south, absorbed in the absolute mess of the van’s cab. Litter, partying detritus, even a half-eaten Fray Bentos pie, but he didn’t care. In the two hours it had taken him to track down the company managing the car park and persuade them to let him out, the pull to be with Shay had become desperate.

  So much so that he’d forgotten to text him back, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. Besides. It was nine o’clock. Shay was on stage.

  Ollie fiddled with the radio. As luck would have it, it somehow picked up the northern radio station that was broadcasting the Newcastle gig. Ollie’s heart skipped a beat as the presenter cut the commercials and announced the band. He’d heard them play live a few times now, and seen them rehearse more than he could count, but this was different. Stripped back and acoustic, this was Smuggler’s Beat as he’d never heard them before.

  This was Shay as he’d never heard him before.

  The road faded as the gig played out. Shay’s voice filled Ollie’s every sense and drove him on, his foot pressing harder to the accelerator with each track. The band had a dozen instruments that they swapped around whenever the fancy took them, but Ollie knew when it was Shay playing. Knew which notes came from his heart and the drumbeats that came from his soul.

  His voice was different too. It had always been raw, but now every song had an edge Ollie couldn’t describe, a depth that pulled him under, and by the time he rolled into Newcastle, he felt as though he’d combust if he didn’t get to Shay soon.

  It was two o’clock in the morning. Road closures and a wonky sat nav had sent him round in circles, and he wasn’t much earlier than if he’d waited until midnight to leave. But still. He was here. He had to hope that Shay hadn’t given up on him and hit the town.

  Ollie parked the van and slid out of the driver’s seat, his legs stiff from being behind the wheel so long. The bus was close by, no lights or signs of life. Ollie had a fob that unlocked the living quarters, but he found the door unlocked. He crept up the steps, expecting a row of empty bunks, but as his vision cleared, he realised the whole band was present, correct—and fast asleep in their beds.

  Even Jumbo.

  Wow. It didn’t take a genius to figure that Corina had reasserted her authority. Ollie half expected to find her sitting at the office desk, watching over them like a matron, but she wasn’t. In fact, she was nowhere around at all. She rarely slept on the bus, a fact Ollie was glad of as he ditched his bag and his boots and tiptoed to Shay’s bunk.

  Shay’s curtains were open, and he was curled on his side, one arm pillowing his head, the other flung out as though he was searching for something. His hand dangled over the side. Ollie grasped it and entwined their fingers. He thought about leaning down and kissing him but settled for whispering Shay’s name until he stirred.

  “Ollie?”

  “It’s me.” Ollie squeezed Shay’s hand a little tighter. “The van’s safe, your gear’s safe.”

  Shay stared at him, his sleepy eyes a mix of relief and confusion. He tugged Ollie closer until Ollie was all but lying on top of him.

  Then he kissed Ollie’s cheek, his jaw, his lips. “I don’t care about the gear.”

  A shiver ran through Ollie, but for once it was the good kind—the kind only Shay had ever elicited from him. Kissing Shay back was easy. Giving in to slide onto his bed, to mould their bodies together as their tongues fought for dominance, even more so.

  Shay was shirtless. Ollie ran his hands all over his smooth skin, all the while praying Shay wouldn’t try to do the same to him. As he found Shay’s sensitive spots and committed them to memory, the worry slipped further from his mind, but it was there—fuck, it was always there.

  He buried his face in Shay’s neck, kissing the delicate flesh, revelling in Shay’s pleasured gasp. God, I want him. And right now, Ollie wasn’t in the mood to remember that the roadblocks he’d set up in his mind would ensure that it could never happen. Right now he wanted to pretend they were both undamaged and whole, and losing himself in Shay’s gorgeous body was the best distraction.

  Whether it was instinct or the fact that he’d just woken up, Shay kept his exploration of Ollie tame. As he arched beneath Ollie, his long fingers remained buried in Ollie’s hair, and despite every ruined nerve crying out for Shay’s touch, Ollie was so fucking glad, he wanted to cry. Please. Just let us have this.

  Shay’s sweatpants slid down his hips, lower and lower. His hard length pressed against Ollie’s thigh, and Ollie’s mouth watered.

  He slipped a hand under Shay’s waistband. “Is this okay?”

  “Shut the curtain.”

  Ollie obeyed and, as he came upright, found himself level with Shay’s groin. The sweatpants were gone.

  Desire surged through Ollie. He took Shay in his mouth, swallowing him with little warning. Shay shuddered, his groan muffled by the pillow he pulled over his face. His thighs trembled, and Ollie made the most of how wound up he was.

  It was quick.

  Brutal, almost.

  Ollie worked Shay, drinking in everything he got in return—every muted gasp and strangled moan, every jerk and shiver. He pinned Shay to the narrow bed, hands clawing at his slim hips. Tenderness dissolved into a frenetic rhythm. Heat sluiced through Ollie, and he welcomed the sharp sting of Shay tugging at his hair.

  Shay came.

  Stars exploded.

  Ollie smiled and felt whole.

  He crawled up the bed. Shay reached for him. “Let me—”

  Ollie cut him off with a kiss, guiding Shay’s hands away from where he wanted them most. Please don’t.

  Shay didn’t. He kissed Ollie until they ran out of air, then broke away with a jaw-popping yawn.

  He laid his head on Ollie’s chest. Ollie tangled his fingers in Shay’s hair and stared at the ceiling. “I was in an accident a few years ago… a car accident.”

  Shay froze but didn’t speak.

  Ollie sucked in a breath and carried on. “I was a passenger in an Uber coming back into London from Oxford after a meeting. The car flipped on the M1 and burst into flames. The driver died, and my left side got burned to fuck. I don’t remember much, or what happened after, but my body won’t ever forget.”

  He nudged Shay, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I’ve never shown anyone what’s left of me, not even my mum. And I don’t know how to fix that.”

  Shay swallowed hard, a tremor running through his slim frame. “It wouldn’t change how I saw you.”

  “It’s changed how you see me already. I can tell.”

  “Ollie—”

  “Shh.” Ollie tapped his finger to Shay’s lips. “I don’t want sympathy. I just need you to know why I am how I am. So you never think it’s your fault.”

  “But—”

  Ollie shook his head. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shay was stuck in a twilight zone where Ollie handed out brain-melting blow jobs with one hand and devastating bombshells with the other. Also, in the cold light of the early morning, the possibility that he’d dreamed some of it was totally a thing. Only the fact that Ollie lay asleep beside him made it seem real.

  Ollie was fully clothed and on top of the duvet. Shay scowled. It was too cold for that shit, and he wanted to cuddle against Ollie’s back without freezing to death. He sat up and reached for a hoodie, prepared to sacrifice the covers for the opportunity to wrap his arms around Ollie.

  The bus doors opened and closed as he was slipping it over his head. Light footsteps tapped down the aisle. Corina. She poked her head around Shay’s curtain and rolled her eyes. She disappeared, only to return with the duvet from the bunk she rarely slept in.

  Shay opened his mouth to thank her.

  She tapped her lips and vanished.

  Problem solved, Shay spread the duvet over the narrow bunk and lay back down, grateful that Ollie’s jeans were so battered they were nice and soft, and that the lack of space meant he could press up close to him without looking like a needy weirdo.

  You are a needy weirdo.

  Whatever.

  Exhausted from travelling, performing, and angsting over Ollie, it didn’t take Shay long to drift back to sleep. The warmth of Ollie in his arms was soothing, and his heart quieted. Maybe when it was really morning they could get breakfast and talk some more. Or maybe not.

  Maybe Ollie was done talking and what he’d already said would be enough.

  Ollie was awake. Shay knew it like he knew the draught torturing his exposed bare foot was coming from the fucking Arctic. But he didn’t move. Didn’t dare. At some point they’d shifted on the bed, rolling over so Ollie was behind him, arms vice-like around Shay’s waist, his morning wood deliciously hard against Shay’s leg. I want to stay like this forever.

  But wishful thinking got Shay nowhere. A few blissful seconds later, Ollie kissed the back of Shay’s neck and rolled away.

  Shay played possum while Ollie sat up and did something with the curtain. He wondered if Ollie would slip away like he had the last time they’d shared a bed. When he didn’t immediately disappear, Shay took a chance, turned over, and opened his eyes.

  Ollie was staring right at him, his expression as unguarded as Shay had ever seen it. It really happened.

  Shay blinked as images of Ollie lying helpless in the back of a car, surrounded by smoke, blood, and flames flashed, unbidden, through his mind. He couldn’t imagine pain like that, or what it did to a man. Ollie had said it had happened a few years ago. Perhaps his physical wounds had healed, but Ollie hadn’t. Shay’s heart cried out. I’m so sorry this happened to you. “You stayed,” he said stupidly instead.

  Ollie said nothing. Just tucked a stray lock of hair behind Shay’s ear, but that he made no move to leave the bed was everything.

  Shay found his hand and squeezed. “Lie down again?”

  Ollie shrugged. “If you want.” He slid down the bed as though they woke up like this every morning. And if he noticed the multiplying duvets, it didn’t show.

  Shay wasn’t in the mood for a loaded silence, so he found the news channel on his phone and propped it up on the shelf. It was the smallest makeshift TV in the world, but it did the job, and with the scent of coffee drifting past the curtain from whoever had ventured out of bed first, he could almost pretend they were at home. His home. Ollie’s home. Didn’t matter.

  Reality was never far away, though. Shay reached for his medical bag and dug out the glucose monitor. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit either, but it was one of the few things in life he’d never be able to choose his way out of.

  Ollie took the kit from him. “I can do it.”

  It was the first time he’d spoken. His voice was raspy, but present, and relief flowed through Shay. Last night, when he’d been talking about the… accident, he’d sounded so distant Shay had irrationally wanted to shake him. As though Ollie detaching himself from something so horrific was somehow unreasonable. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.” Ollie moved deftly to draw blood from Shay’s finger and feed it onto the test strip. “But I reckon you must get fed up with it.”

  “Not as much as when I was growing up. I used to drive my ma mad back then. My fourteen-year-old self would rather have risked a hypo than stop what I was doing for this rubbish.”

  “Sounds legit.”

  “I thought so. The hospital said I qualify for an insulin pump, but I haven’t got around to thinking about it properly.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m busy. And lazy. And I’m not sure I want a permanent reminder of my wonky system attached to myself. At least the old-fashioned way I get a few hours where I can forget about it.”

  “I never thought of it like that. Your reading is 4.1. Is that okay?”

  Shay nodded. “It’ll do. I should probably eat soon, though.”

  “Soon?”

  “Yeah. As in I’m not getting out of bed until I absolutely have to.”

  Ollie grinned faintly. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes, Shay. It does.”

  “You’re staring,” Jumbo said.

  “Am not.”

  “You bloody are. Everything okay?”

  Shay tore his gaze from where Ollie was preparing to set off in the van for the next tour stop in Sunderland. He looked considerably more cheerful about it than he had any other leg of the journey, and now Shay knew why, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t mean just you, mate.”

  Shay rolled his eyes. Jumbo, still buoyed by guilt over fucking the roadie situation and being a general pain in the arse, had been glued to his side since Ollie had left the bus. “What did you mean, then?”

  “Nothing specific. I saw Ollie rolling out of your bed for the second day straight this morning, and now you’re being all emo and shit, so….”

  Shay scowled. He’d spent the last few weeks accusing himself of the same thing, but he wasn’t about to take it from Jumbo, even if the big man did seem to have his hooligan heart in the right place. “Forget what I told you the other day, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Do you want a hug?”

  “Piss off.”

  Jumbo grinned and shuffled away, and Shay continued to study Ollie. It was lunchtime, and after a hectic schedule the previous day, the entire bus had spent most of the morning in bed. Shay and Ollie had holed up behind the curtain, watching the news play on a loop while they held hands, gazed at each other, and hardly spoke. It had been perfect but, as ever, had left Shay pondering what the hell would happen next. Was Ollie going to slide so easily into Shay’s bed every evening? Last night he’d swapped his jeans for sweatpants, and there’d been no repeat of that blow job, but nothing else had been different. They’d still held each other like lovers all night long.

  Ollie glanced up. He wouldn’t be able to see Shay through the blacked-out bus windows, but Shay felt his gaze on him all the same, and sat down so he couldn’t see Ollie either. Somewhere on his bed, his phone rang. Shay searched half-heartedly for it and found it beneath his pillow as the call rang out.

  Dammit. He’d been meaning to have a proper conversation with his dad for days, and right now, with a thirty-minute trip to Sunderland to kill, he had time to speak for longer than the usual three-and-a-half minutes.

  He called his father back. “Hey.”

  “All right, lad?”

  Frank Maloney’s gruff voice was like a blanket and a book on a cold winter day. Shay lay back on his bed—he definitely could smell Ollie this time—and folded his free arm behind his head. “What are you up to?”

  “Walking the hounds. I thought I’d try out that flash new phone you sent me so I could talk to you when I was out.”

  “It’s not flash, Dad. It’s the oldest iPhone in the world.”

  “Not as old as me, though, eh?”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “Feel it, son, without your mother here nagging me along.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, like it had been since Shay’s ma’s funeral, but Shay still couldn’t get used to it. It was like Frank had shut the door on grief so absolutely that missing Shay’s mother had become a casual conversation. What do you want from him? Tears and hysterics every time you speak?

  Shay shuddered. Fuck no. His father had always been his rock, even when his life took turns Frank didn’t truly understand. Crying didn’t make a man weak, but Shay was weak enough to be glad it had never happened.

  “So where are you off to now?” Frank pressed when Shay failed to fill the gap. “I told Sheila next door you were in Scotland, but I got that wrong, didn’t I?”

  “I called you from Newcastle last night.”

  “Ah, that’s right. You’re moving around so much I get confused.”

  “Well, I’m heading to Sunderland now, so you can tell her that when you next see her.”

  Shay would bet his banjo that would happen sooner rather than later. Frank mentioned Sheila every time they spoke, and Shay was okay with that. His father—God willing—had decades left to live. Shay didn’t want him to be on his own.

  Frank said something. Shay snapped back into the present. “Hmm?”

  “I said, where are you at with that family tree thing? I couldn’t make head or tail of the stuff you sent me on that Anna girl. She sounds bonkers.”

 

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