Chapter 15

I drove to the cliffs, taking way too many risks on Porth Ewan's batshit roads. As I drove, it began to rain—really rain—and big fat drops obscured my vision, forcing me to slow down in time for a wide truck to come at me from the opposite direction.

Slipping past was impossible. I skidded to halt, earning myself a finger from the truck driver. But I didn't give a rat's fuck.

I hit the accelerator again, the car lurching forward. The cliffs were still a mile away, but the ocean claimed the horizon, dark and angry, the sky fast catching up, and it fucking scared me—because I'd spent my whole life chasing the light.

And, because I was an emmet. Unless Kim had rocked up somewhere fucking obvious, I had no chance of finding him in the dark.

Fuck.Panic seized me, and I drove faster, pushing the car's one-litre engine to its limits until the road to the cliff-top car park finally came into view—a road that was blocked by the same motorbikes I'd seen around Red—around Lena. The same men astride them.

I slowed as one approached my window, and hit the switch to roll it down.

The biker stared back at me like he had the whole world on the tip of his tongue. But he said nothing and another took his place, pointing a gloved finger up the road.

"He's up there. Don't think he's gonna jump, but I've been wrong about that shit before."

Grief clouded the biker's dark eyes, but I didn't have time to give a shit. I drove around him and continued to the car park, hurling my car to a stop as I scanned the deserted space.

No cars. No people.

No Kim.

Maybe the bikers were wrong. Or Kim had left without them seeing.

Maybe he'd left me.

Or gone to Red.

Or…

Maybe he'd jumped and the bikers didn't see that either.

Sheer terror gripped me and I scrambled out of my car as lightning razored the sky, a flash of white that gifted me a better view of the dark clifftop.

Of the bench and the slumped figure huddled in the rain.

I ran, vaulting the low wooden fence as rain monsooned around me, soaking me to the skin with coldness I didn't feel.

"Kim." I reached him and dropped to my knees, taking his limp hand. "Hey. What's wrong? Can you look at me? Please?"

He didn't so much as twitch, and for the longest moment, I honestly thought he was dead.

Then he shifted, his hand fell from mine, and the only good thing about it was that I knew he was alive.

"Hey." I grabbed his hand again. "Whatever it is, I'm here, okay? But you need to get out of this rain before you get fucking pneumonia."

If he hadn't already.

I leaned over him, searching for another sign of life. I waited for the smell of booze to hit me—beer, wine, whiskey, I'd never asked him what his choice of poison was—but instead of alcohol, all I smelt was wood and rain.

All I smelt was him.

I put my hand to his cold cheek. "Kim."

My plea was whispered this time, but by some miracle seemed to penetrate where I'd already failed.

Kim groaned and his eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and unfocused. "Jas?"

"It's me. Can you sit up?"

Kim blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Might ask you the same thing. It's wetter than an otter's pocket up here, and cold as fuck."

"Cold?"

The confusion in his troubled gaze tore me in two. I took both his hands in mine and tugged him forward, causing his feet to hit the ground. "We're up on the cliffs."

"The cliffs?"

"Yeah. You didn't show for the barn opening. I was worried. Calum told me to look for you here."

"Calum."

It wasn't a question this time, and slowly, cognition returned to Kim's green eyes.

He ripped his hands from me and covered his face again. "Fuck."

I rubbed his damp leg. "It's okay. We can fix it. How much did you drink?"

"Drink?" Kim dropped his hands like I'd burned him. "I didn't drink anything."

"No?" Stress sharpened my tone. "So why are you passed out on a bench in the rain?"

"I—" Kim glanced around. "Shit. How long have I been here?"

"I don't know. Do you remember coming up here?"

Kim nodded. "I came out for a walk."

"When you were drunk?"

"I'm not fucking drunk."

His shout was sudden and loud, even with the vicious wind swirling around us.

I reared back.

He caught my arm. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Then tell me what happened. Please? I can't help if you don't."

His only answer was a violent shiver, reminding me that we were both wet through and exposed to the elements—him more than me, and Christ knew how long he'd been out here.

I coaxed him to his feet, steadying him as he wavered. "Come on. Let's get warm."

He didn't protest as I led him to my car.

I sat him in the passenger seat and slammed the door harder than I'd intended, helped along by the wind, then got in the driver's side.

Kim's head was down, his eyes closed. I touched his arm, rousing him. "Okay?"

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

And by that, I meant my place, where I knew where every drop of booze was, and could easily dispose of it the moment we walked through the door.

We made the journey in silence; me focused on the road, wondering how the bikers on their noisy rides had somehow vanished into thin air, Kim staring out of the window. If he was surprised to find himself at my flat a little while later, it didn't show. I steered him inside and helped him out of his wet clothes. "Shower. Warm yourself up. Don't lock the door, though, in case you fall."

"I'm not going to fall."

He drifted away before I could answer. I waited for him to slam the bathroom door, but he left it open and turned the shower on, and after a few minutes, I poked my head around the door to find him sitting in the bath, his face hidden in his knees.

The sight of him broke me, and the frustration I'd felt since the car park melted away if it had ever truly been there.

I joined him in the shower and turned the heat up to warm his bones. He didn't seem to notice me rubbing shampoo through his hair, even as I slid my fingers over his scalp to the base of his neck, kneading.

It was a while before his quiet sigh broke the silence.

"That feels nice."

"Good." I rose up on my knees, ignoring how my body naturally responded to being so close to Kim, and massaged his shoulders. "Enjoy it while you warm up. I'm usually too amorous around you to be this nice."

"You're always nice."

"Yeah? If that was true, perhaps I'd have known earlier that you needed me, eh?"

Kim looked up. "You weren't here."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"No, that's not what I mean. I'd never want you to be—it's just—Fuck." Kim banged his head on the tiled wall behind him. "I called you a few times. Your phone was off."

"The battery ran out. I'm?—"

"Jas, please. Don't be sorry for my bullshit. I can't handle that guilt on top of the rest of it."

With Kim apparently ready to talk, now seemed as good a time as any to steer him out of the shower and into my bed.

I slipped in beside him, clicking the TV on for some background noise before I turned to face him and gestured for him to pick up where we'd left off in the shower.

Kim's eyelids seemed to weigh him down. "What do you want to know?"

"Will you tell me what you drank?"

"I didn't drink."

"Kim."

"I didn't, I swear. I wanted to, and kinda lost my mind over it, but I didn't drink. I promise."

Cynicism bubbled up my throat as I stared at him, warring with the reality that Kim had never lied to me before. That, despite his demons, he was so painfully honest sometimes that I wanted to weep. I believed him. I had to, or we had nothing. "So what happened?"

"What always happens, I guess." Kim stared down at his hands and traced the anchor tattoo on his index finger with his thumb. "I'm not good with downtime, especially when I'm on my own. I finished the barn job in the middle of the night, and no one was around—you, Lena. And the next day I had nothing to do either. It sounds fucking stupid. Like, why can't I read a book or some shit, or annoy Brix for the day? But it doesn't work like that. It gets louder and louder."

"And you want to drink to stop it?"

"I always want to drink, but it got out of hand this time because I had nothing and no one to distract me. I went mad with the power tools for a while, but then the generator failed, and I couldn't get hold of you, or anyone else, and then I felt like a selfish prick for even trying, so I took a few zopiclone, hoping I'd sleep it off."

"Zopiclone?" I searched my brain for where I'd heard the word before. "Sleeping pills?"

"Yeah . . . shit, don't look at me like that. I couldn't handle it, Jas. I needed to sleep."

His voice wavered. I slipped my arm around his slender shoulders and pulled him close, brushing his damp hair out of his face. He shivered. "Go on." I thumbed his cheek. "Tell me how you ended up on the cliffs."

"I don't know. The first pill I took didn't work, so I took another, and then one more. They must've kicked in all at once while I was walking. Good job I wasn't driving, eh?"

I felt sick. "You could've overdosed. Or got bloody pneumonia."

"I'd take that instead of this. Sometimes I think I'd rather have a fucking tumour."

There was no mirth in Kim's tone, only fatigue. I kissed him, then coaxed him to lie down with his head in my lap. Kim's addiction wasn't going anywhere, and neither was I. For now, that he was safe, warm, and in my arms was enough.

I tracked Brix down on Facebook while Kim slept, and called him. He seemed unsurprised to hear from me. I combed my fingers through Kim's hair as I filled Brix in on our cliff-top adventure. "He banged some Zopiclone, but he says he didn't drink."

Brix hummed. "If he says he didn't drink, then he didn't. He hides from us, but he doesn't lie. Mind, popping the sleeping pills isn't much better than hitting the sauce. It's still a chemical reaction to emotions he can't handle."

I couldn't argue with that, and I didn't try. "Do you think he needs Lena here?"

"No. Lena is gone, and it's how they both want it. If you're going to be with Kim, you need to learn to deal with this in your own way."

He was right, of course, and for that to happen, Kim and I had to talk again when he woke up, which sent a new flare of anxiety rippling through me. "He took three Zopiclone. Is that dangerous?"

"I wouldn't know, but I think the pills he has are the lowest dosage. Hang on, I'll ask Cal. He remembers numbers and shit."

Brix broke off to mumble to who I presumed was Calum, and my attention drifted to my bedroom window. It was raining again in earnest, and I couldn't help imagining Kim still passed out on that bench, soaked to the skin, and exposed to the bitter wind.

"…don't think he's gonna jump."

What if the mystery biker had been wrong? Or they hadn't found him, and I hadn't either?

Then what?

Brix saved me from answering that question. "Calum reckons Kim can take four of those pills before he hits the maximum dose, so he should be fine. Besides, he's probably already slept most of it off."

"I guess you're right."

"I have no idea if I'm right, Jas. But I know Kim won't want you worrying yourself to death. He doesn't wear guilt well. That shit fucks him up more than anything."

Don't I know it.

Though, as I thanked Brix and hung up, it struck me ironic that I'd learned as much about Kim today as I had in all the time I'd known him. And why was that? Kim talked, I just hadn't listened hard enough.

* * *

Kim slept right through until morning, while I watched, unable to close my eyes to the guilt and worry kicking up dust in my gut.

It was barely dawn when he woke. I slid down the bed to face him, cupping his cheeks with my palms. "Okay?"

Kim blinked slowly. "I think I need to go to a meeting."

"A meeting?"

"AA."

I nodded. "When and where? I'll take you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"But you're gonna?"

"Yeah."

Kim's wry half smile was the poor ghost of any grin I'd ever seen from him, but this morning, with the early morning light filtering through the curtains, it felt like the sun. "I'm sorry, Jas."

"Don't be. I'm here. I got you."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Kim didn't seem to have an answer, and it wasn't the time for me to force my undying love on him. Instead, I got up and made tea, then drove him along the coast to Porth Luck, and the AA meeting held there every week.

I pulled up outside. Kim opened the door, but he didn't get out. "You don't have to take this crap on. We can go back to being friends anytime you want."

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support you in this?"

"A friend with better things to do than hang out at a dead-end church at dickhead o'clock in the morning."

"I'm not hanging out at the church. I'm going to sit in that fish shop across the road and eat my bodyweight in fried mackerel sandwiches. Unless you want me to come in with you?"

Kim shook his head. "Some meetings let you bring someone in. They don't like it here."

"Then I'll be just across the road. And, Kim?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll always be your friend, no matter what."

* * *

Kim's meeting took about an hour, so I made good on my promise to decamp to the fish shop.

The mackerel sandwiches came with tea.

Lots of tea.

I loaded up and opened my laptop, searching for something to do to occupy my tired brain. I toggled the Wi-Fi from my phone and logged into the enormous cloud storage that cost me a kidney in fees every month and opened a folder that contained more than a decade of unfinished personal projects.

More recently, there were a thousand shots of Kim, most of them taken at my old flat before we'd fucked on the floor, but there were others from before and after.

Frowning, I lined some up in chronological order, starting with the clandestine shot I'd taken of him that day I'd met him, and finishing with a playful pose he'd struck for me the day before I'd gone to Bristol. I studied the images, searching for any sign of the deterioration I'd missed, but found none. The first shot was of his alluringly slender back, and in the last, his grin was as easy and bright as it had ever been.

What had I missed? Kim claimed there was nothing, but how could that be true? Was addiction really so fucking illogical?

As I thought it, I realised I'd inadvertently hit the nail on the head. Logic played no part in this horrible disease. How could it, when Kim had been so happy when he'd called me that last time?

I had no answer to that, and the images of Kim filling my screen with his grace and beauty hurt my heart. I shut them down and opened up a folder I hadn't looked at in years—one of my oldest files.

The individual images opened in the sequence that I'd taken them twelve years ago, growing progressively more horrifying with each shot. I poured over them with the morbid fascination only a photographer could have with images like these. I got lost in them, making tweaks here and there, and wondering what had become of the bloodied, soot-smeared faces I'd captured that day. Wondering if the bewildered horror in their eyes had ever faded.

"That's real pain, eh?" Kim slid into the seat beside me. "Puts things in perspective."

"Hope you're not about to tell me that you have no right to have problems."

Kim shrugged, but I could tell my gruesome screen was distracting him. He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine. "What are these? It looks like a war zone?"

"You're close. I took these at Edgware Road twelve years ago."

Kim missed a beat, then his tired eyes widened. "7/7? The tube bombs?"

"That's the one. I was on my way to uni when people started to come up from the tracks. I tried to help at first, but there was nothing I could do."

"Fuck. I remember watching it on the news with Brix. How old was I? Nineteen? Yeah, something like that. It didn't seem real to us, though. City life never did until Brix took up with it."

"It didn't seem real to me, either. Without these, I wouldn't really remember it."

"What did you do with these after? Did they go to the papers?"

"A few." I enlarged the images I'd sent to the Times all those years ago. "I didn't let them pay me, though. The fees went to the memorial fund."

Kim pointed at a bloodied woman, her face burnt, her long hair stained a dark, mottled red. "I think I've seen her before."

Of all the images he could've picked out. I closed down every file except that one, and retrieved two more from a different folder. It clearly took Kim a moment to realise the photographs were all of the same woman. He frowned. "I don't get it."

"Fate," I said. "I'd been at Kings Cross early that morning, shooting some buskers for a project. I caught her by chance as she headed underground, and then again an hour later, when she came up at Edgeware. I tracked her down when I found the first image and asked if I could photograph her one last time, so I had all three images—before, during, and after. Mad, eh? She keeps all three in a drawer at her office. Says it reminds her how fragile life is."

"She ain't wrong." Kim's eyes remained fixed on the young woman.

Knowing how much time I'd lost to staring at photographs that made my nerves itch, I closed the laptop. "How did the meeting go?"

Kim shrugged. "Good, I s'pose. I feel calmer, which helps, even though it freaks me out to see so many pissheads in one place. Reminds me how far I can fall, you know?"

"There must be people who are doing well too, though?"

"A few. I like to hover near them, absorb some of their willpower."

"Does it work?"

"I think so."

"Good. Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

I nudged him. "Tough. I'm not taking you home till you've eaten."

Kim took a little persuasion, but eventually relented and ate a small breakfast that turned into a big one as his appetite returned. I watched him, still drinking my cauldron of oversweet tea, and wondered when he'd last eaten.

Perhaps sensing that I was fretting, he pinched my cheek. "Stop worrying. I'm sorry I fucked up, but you can't let it be all you see when you look at me. It wins that way."

"It's hard not to worry. I didn't see this coming."

"And you never will. I don't, and I know it better than anyone."

"There's nothing I could've done to help you?"

"Probably not. I just need to keep fighting. Plenty of addicts win. There's no reason I can't too."

I absorbed that with a slow nod. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes." Kim faced my gaze head on. "Always."

"I came to the cliff to look for you because Calum thought that's where you'd be. But I wasn't the first to find you. Some bikers got there before me, and they were the same ones from the jam festival. The same ones I've seen Lena with a bunch of times. Who are they?"

Kim relaxed, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Any biker you see in Porth Ewan is from the Rebel Kings MC. Other clubs can't ride here."

"Sounds dramatic."

"It's life, just not ours. Some of the Kings are good people, though. We've been inking them for years."

"They're your friends?"

"If I ever need them to be. They're more friendly with Lena, if you know what I mean." Kim smirked and curiosity got the better of me.

I leaned closer. "Which one?"

"The fucking president, of course—she deserves top tier after me. And his mate. But that's a story for another day, and probably one I'm not supposed to share."

Damn him and his discretion. But I let it go, distracted by the easiness seeping into Kim again, replacing the tension he'd woken up with.

God, it looked good on him, and hope stirred in my battered heart. The change in him from the meeting was clear to see—the fading lines of stress in his face, the upright set of his shoulders. The weight of what he'd been through in the last few days was still there, but he had a tangible grasp on it, like he was emerging from the other side of a recurring bad dream. "I believe in you."

"I know. I think that's why I didn't dig up the whiskey I buried in the strawberry patch last year."

I couldn't gauge if he was joking or not, but the sentiment wasn't lost. "I want to be there for you—here for you—if you'll let me."

"I couldn't push you away, even if I wanted to. I fucking love you."

"What?"

Kim looked away. "I was kinda hoping that you already knew."

I caught his chin and forced him to meet my gaze again. "Knew what?"

"That I love you."

I grinned like a fucking maniac, couldn't help it. "You love me?"

"Course I do. And I really do, Jas. This ain't the addiction bullshit messing with my head. You have to know that . . . I'm still me, with or without it."

"I do know that, I promise. The only reason I've been too messed up to say so is because I bloody love you too."

"Really?"

"Yes. Man alive, how could you not know?"

Kim laughed, and it was the first real humour I'd seen in him since the weekend. "Um…perhaps because we've been too busy working and fucking to get around to saying so?"

"Actually, you kinda did say so, when you called me in Bristol, but I was half-asleep, so I thought I'd dreamed it." I laughed with him, and leaned in to loll my head on his shoulder. He was warm and strong beneath me, and the faith I had in him seemed all the more real. "You're going to be okay. We both are, together. I can feel it."

Kim kissed my temple. "I feel it too. I've just gotta remember what it means."