Chapter 9

Gentle bites to Brix's cheek brought him awake. He raised a heavy hand to bat the biter away, but a low, grumbling hiss warned him off, and he knew better than to declare war on that.

On her.

Brix opened his eyes to the bundle of feline attitude digging the shit out of his chest.

Zelda stared back at him. Belligerent. Awake. She wanted him up, but why? Despite the beginnings of a searing hangover already settled in his bones, it was too dark to be morning. Even Porth Ewan wasn't this black at dawn.

And this isn't my fucking bed, either.

The thought solidified as Zelda leapt from Brix's chest to the back of the couch, revealing he'd never made it upstairs.

Fuck. Brix winced and sat up, holding his throbbing head as he took in the scattered detritus of a night on the scrumpy. Jesus. Whose bonehead idea was that? As if he didn't know it had been his—cos it was always his now Kim had got his shit together.

Reeling,Brix staggered to his feet, using the sofa for balance. Zelda's reasons for waking him were her own, but the fact remained that it was twat o'clock in the morning and he was downstairs in his clothes—even his boots—which meant he had shit to do before he could go back to sleep.

He stumbled upstairs, for once not pausing to see if Calum was in his bed, and went straight to his bedside table and the washbag of distant guilt and self-loathing that kept him alive. The fat red pill stuck in his throat, but he forced it down, kicked off his boots, and collapsed on his bed, before Mother Nature had other ideas.

Too slow.

Sudden nausea ripped through him, dragging him off the bed. He dashed for the bathroom and puked in the sink.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no way the pill had survived that.

So take another one.

He didn't want to, but life wasn't about choices anymore. Not for him. It was about necessity. Survival. Which meant sleep was off the table until that fucking pill stayed down.

* * *

It was light when he woke again, tucked up in bed, his boots on the floor beside him, and no delinquent cats to be seen. Brix rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was truly awake, but the blaring alarm from his phone a split second later put paid to the idea that it was all a dream.

He scrabbled around, searching for the phone.

The one in his jeans…that he was still wearing.

Twat.

Brix silenced the alarm, noting the time: 8:30 a.m.

Fuck's sake.

He was due in Truro at ten, the place that always seemed to be dragging him from his bed when he felt like utter shite.

Spinning, he hauled himself upright. Nausea followed him, then a blinding headache, and a dull pain in his stomach that would be his constant companion for the rest of the week, and it was only Monday.

Couldn't just have a couple of beers, could you?

Apparently not. Brix reached for the washbag before it slipped his mind. He swallowed the two gigantic pills—one red, one blue—and stumbled to the bathroom, searching out water to chase them down. And to brush his teeth while he avoided the red-eyed, unshaven corpse staring back at him from the mirror. It was definitely a bandana day, if he survived that long.

Shower.

The hot water woke him up enough to remember Calum, and that for the short time they'd lived together, Brix had yet to get up in the morning before him.

Today was no different. But where was he? Out with the chickens?

Brix backed away from Calum's door and glanced out of the landing window. The yard was empty, the house quiet, and there was a distinct lack of feline activity too.

Bemusement, and the need to eat something before he hit the road, drove Brix downstairs.

The cats were on the couch, sleeping in and around a blanket from the armchair. Apart from telling him they'd been fed, the scene stirred something in Brix—the couch, the blanket…scrumpy, Calum, and…fuck.

Brix gripped the banister, the events between the pub and waking up in his bed, impacting like a runaway freight train. The confusion in Calum's dark eyes as he'd looked at pictures of himself. The bewilderment when Brix had told him why there were so many.

The sensation of Calum's skin against Brix's palms, and his lips . . . fuck, his lips.

Christ.

Dizzy, Brix gripped the banister harder, digging his fingers into the blue wood. In the cold light of the early morning, he couldn't recall how Calum had responded to their clumsy kiss, if he'd let Brix feel the warmth of his broad chest as they'd fallen against each other, or if he'd humoured him then let him pass out like the drunken idiot he was.

Everything was hazy and shadowed, and all he truly knew was that the cats had been fed, but Calum was gone.

* * *

"You look pale. That winter flu caught up with you already?"

"Hmm?" Brix turned away from the window as nurse Sally stuck a needle in his arm, drawing blood. "Nah, I'm hungover. Went out last night."

Sally twisted the cap onto the vial and dropped it in a plastic envelope. "That's not like you. Given up clean living?"

"No, just felt like a blowout. And now I wish I was dead."

"Most people do after a heavy night. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Howdya know I'm being hard on myself?"

"Because I know you, mister, and you always are."

She was right on both counts. Sally had been his key nurse for the last four years, and she was as familiar with Brix's bouts of self-loathing as he was.

"I shouldn't drink. It fucks my medication up."

"As far as I remember, it only interferes with your treatment when you drink your dad's scrumpy. Ben, there's nothing wrong with having a few pints with your friends."

Ben. Brix rolled his eyes. Sally was the only person on earth who called him that. For some reason, he'd never told her anyone he'd met more than once called him Brix—no, it's cos you want to disassociate this shit from your real life. "It was the scrumpy," he admitted. "I usually give it away when my dad brings it round, but I have a . . . friend staying with me at the moment, and introducing him to it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A friend, eh?" Sally's faint smirk let Brix know she hadn't missed his stumble. "How's he this morning?"

"Dunno. He was gone when I woke up."

Misery hit Brix again, laced with an unhealthy dose of nausea.

Sally passed him some water and let it drop. "How are you otherwise? Your bloods were good last time, as always, so you must be doing something right."

"I do what I'm told." Brix found a distant grin and plastered it on his face. "I'm okay, though. Got some new chickens and my dad's behaving himself. Can't ask for more than that."

"No fights in the Sea Bell?"

Brix's grin became genuine as he recalled his father's last rumble in the pub. "It wasn't a real fight. Just a fisherman thing, scrapping over the hurling ball."

Sally was from Birmingham, and it showed when Brix talked about Cornish things like they were anything close to normal. "Remind me what that is again?"

"The ball they throw from the sea wall on Shrove Tuesday. A mob game for fishermen, cos whoever has the ball when the clock strikes noon gets free beer for a year at the Sea Bell and the Joker. That shit's important to my dad."

"Do you play?"

"Fuck no. I'm not Cornish enough for that."

Sally frowned. "Not Cornish enough? You were born here."

"But I left, and some folk round here say that makes me as good as dead."

* * *

It was lunchtime when Brix finally slipped through the studio's backdoor, hoping to reach the office before anyone saw him. But luck wasn't on his side and he found Lena already there, frowning at the appointment book she used to back up the computer system that remained a mystery to Brix. "Can't you do that somewhere else?"

She glanced up. "What crawled up your arse?"

"Nothing."

"You're not as hungover as Calum, then?"

"Calum?"

Lena set the book aside and studied him over the reading glasses that made her look like a punky secretary. "He was pretty ropy when he dropped by this morning. Did you have a good night?"

"No idea. Woke up on the couch at 3 a.m."

"That bad, eh? Speak of the devil . . . Hey, Calum."

Brix jerked around faster than his aching head could deal with. Calum stood in the doorway, dishevelled and gorgeous . . . too fucking gorgeous if he felt even a fraction as terrible as Brix did.

"All right?" Calum sidestepped Lena, who flipped Brix a wink and left. "Did you get your shit done?"

"Shit?"

"You said you had stuff to do this morning." Calum frowned, shyness creeping into his dark gaze. "Did I imagine that?"

Brix couldn't handle the uncertainty in Calum's pretty eyes. The dejection. "I'm impressed you can remember anything I said yesterday. I can't and I need some fucking tea."

More than tea. Dizziness hit him again and he regretted not getting round to forcing breakfast down before he'd left the house.

"Brix?"

"Yeah?"

Warm hands gripped Brix's wrists. "Sit down, mate."

I'm not sitting already? Apparently not. Calum guided Brix to the chair Lena had vacated and crouched in front of him, those warm hands on Brix's knees. "You okay?"

Brix nodded, slowly, knowing his head would spin off his shoulders if he moved too fast. "I need to eat. Is Corey here? He's usually my pal when I'm hanging. Kid's fucking awesome at fetching butties from Becky's."

"Becky's?"

"The sandwich place." Lena reappeared at Calum's shoulder. "What do you want? I'll get it."

"Anything." Brix drew the appointment book towards him, hoping Calum would go with her and give him the space he needed to get himself together.

Calum didn't leave. He kept his hands on Brix's knees. "What's wrong?"

"Hangover."

"And?"

And so many years when Brix had longed for Calum's earnest gaze to keep him company through the worst days of his life. But he couldn't get into that right now. He'd break, and he wasn't in the mood to be fixed. "And, I'll be fine when I've eaten, honest. Are you telling me you didn't wake up with a hole in your head this morning?"

Calum's shy grin made a rare appearance. "I woke up at the top of the stairs. Didn't have a fucking clue what had gone on. I'm all right now, though. Kim brought me some bacon."

"He's good like that." Brix forced himself to contemplate how much didn't have a fucking clue what had gone on covered. And also, how he'd stepped over Calum to reach his own room. "Did you tuck me up in bed?"

"Erm . . ."

"Don't answer that."

Calum rose and perched on the desk instead. "I didn't want you to get cold."

No chance of that with Calum around. His presence was flustering Brix with every day that passed, and it was gradually dawning on him that it had always been like this. That Calum had bewitched him from the start.

"Brix?"

"Yeah?"

"What appointments do you have today?"

Brix had no idea. He focused on the handwritten book Lena kept up-to-date for his sake. "A consultation and finishing up a half sleeve."

"You want me to stay with you? I've got a while before that viking dude comes in?—"

"I'm fine." Brix scrubbed his eyes and tried to unfuck his face. "Do what you gotta do. I'll be out in a bit."