Page 28 of Viking Ink

Mitch let out a huff, crossing his arms as if to argue,.

Cal just arched a brow. “Now, Mitch.” I was tempted to chuckle at how quickly Mitch gave in, but then Cal fixed me with the same glare. “Talk, and then we’ll see how badly you fucked up.”

“I brought us home fish and chips. Rhys had had a pretty bad day. Things at the surgery had been crazy and he’d skipped lunch. He got excited about dinner, ran off, washed his hands, and came running back down the hall.”

Cal nodded. “And what, Daddy Simon told him to slow down?”

“Yeah,” I answered sheepishly. “And I may have mumbled something about if he were my boy, I’d make sure he followed rules. Rhys heard, and wouldn’t drop it.”

“What do you mean?” Mitch asked, walking back into the room carrying a tray burdened with cups of tea and biscuits.

“Kept asking me to repeat what I said. I’d already embarrassed myself, and didn’t want to repeat the experience,” I muttered, accepting the cup of tea from Mitch. “I lost my temper a bit, told him to drop it. He excused himself and went to his room.”

Mitch sat down on the floor, close to where Cal was sitting and glaring at me. “I love you to death, big brother, but you’re a fucking tool. Rhys looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. You are the man, the Daddy, he’s been looking for. Sure he’s inexperienced, and he’s younger, but he knows what he wants, and what he wants is you. You’re just too blind to see it.”

“How the hell do you know this? I think you’re just making assumptions,” I growled.

“Well unlike you, fucknuts, I have actually talked to Rhys about this shit. He wants to know stuff. He’s not as naive as you think. But for some crazy reason, he thinks he’s not good enough for you,” Mitch shouted back.

“I’ve only known the lad for two weeks—”

“You know things can move pretty quick in relationships like this,” Cal interjected. “I’ve been out of the scene for a while, but I remember what it was like—the connection, the intense draw. You can’t deny that you feel it with Rhys. I’ve seen it for myself when the two of you are together.”

“You got any more to add, Mouse?” I asked, a tad churlish. I hated that they’d seen through my argument so quickly—nearly as much as I hated being a coward. The feelings I had for Rhys, they weren’t some flash-in-the-pan kind of thing. If I let myself open up and try this, I risked getting my heart torn to shreds again.

Mitch leaned forward. “Rhys isn’t Liam. He’s not going to hurt you. I think he’d rather throw himself in the bay than hurt you, and the lad can’t swim.”

Before I could dwell too long on the past and Liam, my brain latched onto what Mitch had said. “Rhys can’t swim?”

Mitch rolled his eyes hard enough I worried he’d do himself an injury, “Bro, as I said, Rhys and I talk. So, what are you going to do?”

“I should go home and talk to Rhys—really talk,” I said with a sigh. This was going to be a long night. “But what if he doesn’t feel that way about me? I don’t want to alienate the lad.”

“Trust me Simon, you won’t. But go gentle with him,” Mitch answered, standing up. “Now give me a hug, then fuck off.”

Hugging him tight, I whispered against his ear, “Maybe one day I’ll get to be the one giving you advice about your love life.”

Mitch pulled back and smiled sadly. “Don’t think it will any time soon, bro. Now go home and give Rhys a cuddle for me, okay?”

“Will do, Mouse.” I looked over and nodded at Cal. I had to get home and apologise to Rhys.

I was half frozen by the time I got back to the flat. I’d forgotten to wear my warmest jacket, and riding my bike in late autumn without a thick coat was a rookie mistake.

The flat was dark when I got in. The only light came from the kitchen. Rhys must still be asleep. I was tempted to go down the hall and check, but I chickened out and made a cup of coffee to fortify my nerves before I checked in.

I settled down in my recliner. It had a clear view up the short hallway, and I could see the door to Rhy’s room from where I sat. My mum’s old clock ticked out a steady beat. It was the only sound in the flat apart from the leaking tap in the kitchen that I’d told myself I’d fix a week ago. It was eight. I’d only been gone an hour. Should I wake Rhys, or let him sleep through till morning?

Okay, fine. Maybe I was hoping to put off the talk a bit longer. I felt like shit—worse still because I’d made Rhys feel bad. Maybe I should bake him some of those unicorn cupcakes he liked. I didn’t have the food colouring, but the corner shop was still open. I was sure they had some. Stop it, I chided myself. I was a grown-ass man. But still, I was scared of the look of disappointment I was sure Rhys was going to give me when he saw me.

My thoughts stopped when I heard the first muffled cry from Rhys’s room, then a louder wail. Shit. He was having a nightmare. I bolted down the hallway, carefully opening Rhys’s door. I could hear him sobbing quietly under the pile of duvets. His teds were both on the ground.

“Rhys? Are you awake?” I moved into the darkened room, looking for the lamp he normally left on. A soft whimper and a snuffled, “Simon?” broke my heart. Flicking the lamp on, I picked up the bears and eased down onto the bed.

“It’s me, baby bear. Did you have a bad dream?”

The duvet moved and Rhys’s head appeared. His face was ashen, his cheeks blotchy with tears. “I’m sorry, Simon. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not cross with you, baby bear. This was all my fault. I should have talked to you. Instead, I acted like a giant tool.”

---