Page 26 of Joey

Ethan nodded slowly, refocusing on his drink. “Someone recognised him, and it brought the journalists out.”

“So I see.” She glanced to where she would’ve been able to see them had the walls of the house not been there. “He couldn’t have been that famous. I didn’t recognise him.”

Ethan huffed a laugh. “Not hugely, but in his circle, he is. His name is Joey Reynolds. He’s a tattoo artist for celebrities.”

“Hoo-boy. No wonder there are so many photographers out there.”

“What?” Ethan glanced at her. “They’re still here?” She nodded. “But he’s gone?”

“I don’t think it’s him they want to talk to at the moment.”

Ethan dropped his head into his hands. “They were supposed to leave when he did,” he mumbled.

“It looks like you might be a celebrity for the next few days,” Christi said. “Maybe you should talk to them and get it over with.”

“No.” Ethan shook his head to confirm his denial. “Joey’s been through enough. He doesn’t need me talking about our time together on top of that.”

Christi sipped her drink. “What are you going to do?”

“Ignore them. They might follow me and photograph me, but they won’t get any words from me other than ‘fuck off.’ And that’ll be me being polite.” Ethan gulped his coffee, the heat soothing the ache in his throat. After his bout of crying, his sinuses complained bitterly, the pressure around his eyes and nose immense, but it would ease eventually. What he needed was more sleep. To fall into a dreamless state where nothing could touch him for a few hours.

“What time did he leave?” Christi asked, her question prodding the pain in his chest and setting it afire once more.

“Around three o’clock, give or take.” Ethan glanced at his watch. “Jeez. It’s nine o’clock. I’ve lost far too many hours.” He gulped the last of his drink. “Thank you, Christi. You didn’t have to stay.”

“Of course I did. You’re my best friend.”

Ethan yawned. “I need to sleep more. Are you okay with those vultures out there, or do you want to stay over?”

“I’ll be fine. They’ll get nothing from me.”

He said goodbye and got ready for bed. Sinking into the mattress made him groan as his body conformed to it, easing some aches he’d achieved with his sofa snooze. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, then reached for the pillow Joey had used while he’d been there. Ethan inhaled, closing his eyes as Joey’s scent filled his lungs. Ethan’s eyes burned, but he held back the tears. He placed the pillow back in place and rolled to his side, burrowing his nose into the edge of Joey’s pillow. He didn’t want the scent to disappear too quickly, and if Ethan hugged it, his own scent would replace it sooner than he wanted.

He fell asleep to the scent of Joey in his nose, hoping that when he woke, it would all have been a bad dream.

Instead, he was abruptly pulled from a dream by someone screaming his name.

****

Chapter 8

Joey

“Joey! JOEY! Why are you here? Who is Ethan to you? Why were you working at The Cliff End Hotel? Joey! Why haven’t you been home? Do you feel guilty about what happened to Elliott? Was it your fault?”

Joey swallowed down his responses to the half a dozen reporters shouting questions his way, even though he wanted to smack them about with how evil their questions could be. Yes, Joey did feel guilty about what happened to Elliott, but he wasn’t going to admit that to them. Vultures.

He pressed the car key, unlocking the doors, and climbed inside. He slammed them closed, muffling the questions being thrown at him, and locked them for good measure. Starting the engine, he carefully pulled out of the space and drove down Ethan’s street. The photographers ran alongside him for a short distance, then stopped. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with him without a car.

He hoped they would leave Ethan alone, but he knew better than that. They would stay around his house until he made an appearance. If being by Ethan’s side wouldn’t have made things worse, he would’ve stayed.

As he worked his way through the windy streets of Whitby, then the hills and valleys of the Yorkshire Moors, his focus remained on the man he’d left behind. Just before he reached the junction to join the motorway, he pulled into a lay-by. After putting the handbrake on, he gripped the steering wheel, glaring at the road ahead of him. He smacked the palm of his hand on the wheel, squeezed it tight, and then smacked it again. There wasn’t much more he could do to release the fury inside him.

Those reporters had a lot to answer for. If those women—or David—hadn’t recognised him, he would still be holidaying in Ethan’s arms.

He exhaled and rested his head back. But wasn’t that the problem? Hisholidayingthought showed exactly what he hadn’t wanted to see. This wasn’t Joey’s normal life. He’d taken a break from reality and ended up living the dream with Ethan. A dream that could never become real life because Ethan didn’t deserve to be thrown into his celebrity lifestyle. Ethan deserved to be worshipped from afar with nothing bad ever touching him.

Joey closed his eyes, picturing Ethan’s face. Other than one photo on his phone of them both, his memories were all he had. But that photo of them lounging in bed, both sleep and sex mussed, was something he would never delete.

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