Page 53 of Follows with Intent

“It’s not like I haven’t been trying for the last three days.”

“Hold on—”

“No,” Jadon said, “your ex was right. You did the right thing, calling them.”

The way he said your ex was like a gust of red-hot air blowing through Nico’s head, and for the next few paces, he couldn’t speak. When he finally got control of his voice, he said, “I didn’t call them, Jadon. I told you that’s what he suggested. If you think it’s a bad idea, I won’t call them.”

But Jadon didn’t respond.

Harlow Hall rose ahead of them, hulking gray limestone in the shrouding gloom. Nico wanted to take out his phone and check the clock; how long had he been in the security office? What time was it? But he could see how that would go, taking his phone out of his pocket, the way Jadon’s mind would jump immediately to the worst possible conclusion.

“I’m sorry,” Jadon finally said. His voice was low and rough, and he kept his gaze locked on the building. “Of course you should do whatever makes you feel safe.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on. Can you talk to me, please?”

“Nothing’s going on.” His mouth slanted, the expression too tired and jaded to be a smile. “I’ll call them if you want. Shaw will be thrilled. Actually, North will be thrilled too, if only because it gives him a chance to get a dig in.”

“I don’t want you to call them for me. I don’t want you to do anything for me, Jadon. Believe it or not, I’m a big boy. I want you to tell me what’s going on.” Jadon’s sandy-dark eyes met Nico’s for a moment, and Nico thought, No wonder he’s losing his mind. The hollows were deeper, the smudges, more noticeable, so bad that, at a casual glance, they could have passed for bruises. It sounded more accusatory than he intended when he said, “You didn’t sleep last night.”

“I slept.” He rolled his eyes at whatever he saw on Nico’s face and added, “Some. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

You’re only one person, Nico wanted to say. You have to sleep and eat and take care of yourself, or you’re not going to be able to help anyone, let alone keep me safe. You can’t keep pushing and pushing. Not forever. You need someone to make you take care of yourself, you big dummy, because obviously you’re not doing it on your own.

But what he said was “What if we skip the party tonight? I’ll get a hotel, and you can have a staycation. We’ll lock the door and have a nice, quiet night.” Jadon’s eyes brightened, and Nico laughed. “Sleeping.”

“God, you know it’s bad when sleep almost sounds better than sex.”

“Almost?” Nico asked.

Jadon smirked. He hooked Nico’s pinky with his own and gave a tug.

“Nico.” Dr. Meza’s voice boomed with friendliness that sounded a little off key. “There you are!”

Nico slid his hand free of Jadon’s. Meza was coming toward them along one of the brick footpaths. He was still dressed in a suit, and he still looked...well, good. He smiled when he caught Nico’s eye, and then his gaze moved up and down him quickly before returning to Nico’s face. His smile broadened. Nico was suddenly aware of Jadon next to him, of how big Jadon was, and how Jadon made himself bigger by putting his hands on his hips, his shoulders broad, his stance tall and strong.

Oh my God, Nico thought, and the giggle in his throat felt near hysterical. What if he fights him?

“I was hoping I’d run into you before dinner,” Meza said, flicking a dismissive glance at Jadon before his attention came back to Nico. He stood close enough that Nico caught a whiff of expensive cologne—lavender, and something citrusy, and something else, darker, smokier. “I wanted to talk about your paper.”

“The dinner,” Nico said. Because he’d already forgotten.

“You’re coming, aren’t you? You’d better. It’s going to be a snooze if you don’t; Bill goes on and on, and he’s even worse after a glass of wine.”

“I don’t know.” Nico fought the urge to look at Jadon; out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Jadon was reading something on his phone, his face dark. Was he upset about a message, maybe? Or politely pretending, Nico considered, not to be enraged by the conversation? “It’s been a crazy afternoon.”

“Nico.” Meza lowered his voice, making a wall of his body to wall Jadon out of the conversation. Jadon didn’t actually growl, not out loud, but Nico thought he could hear it in his head. “You’re making a mistake. This is a big deal. I want to ask Anne to write you a letter, and tonight is your chance to chat with her, make an impression.” He smiled again, his voice even more intimate as he caught the lapel of Nico’s blazer and rolled the corduroy between two fingers. “And we can have a productive conversation about getting your paper published in the meantime.”

“Nico’s too polite to say it,” Jadon said, and his voice had the brisk professionalism that coded as cop and was about as subtle as a slap, “but he’s dealing with some personal issues right now. He’s going to have to take a raincheck.”

For the first time, Meza looked at Jadon. He was shorter than the detective, but he managed to give the impression that he was looking down on him, his refined features alight with amusement. “And who are you? The boyfriend?”

“No. I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police. And get your fucking hand off him.”

“Jadon!” Nico barked.

Meza opened his hand and released the jacket, the gesture expansive and demonstrative, the message clear: I’m not the one being unreasonable.

“Clearly I’ve interrupted something—”

---