Page 8 of Viking Ink

Could this man be any sweeter? I wanted to hug him and thank him, but my nervous nature made me hesitate.

“No strings attached. I mean, maybe if you wanted you could help out around the shop when you’re not playing.” Simon ran a hand through his hair and gave a shrug. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just lay that out on you. You can say no.”

I wanted to say yes straight away. It was a kind offer, and I doubted Simon had any ulterior motives. But rushing into decisions was not how I worked. Still, Simon was willing to open his home up to me, and there was something endearing about that.

“Would you… would you mind if I thought about it overnight? I’m very grateful—you can’t imagine what an offer like this means to me—but I’m still not sure how long I’m staying in town.” I could play it off on wishful thinking, but Simon looked almost crestfallen. “I’m not saying no. I just need to think about it.”

Simon gave a nod, his smile returning. “Of course. Just know I don’t want you rushing off while you’re still injured. Let’s just say the old man in me would worry.”

I looked around the room again. Even with all the boxes and piles of old tattoo magazines, the room had a warm feel. The soft dusky pink of the painted walls was a pretty colour— I could imagine Mr Ted sitting comfortably on the bed—and the small window looked out onto the bay. I could sit there and draw. It would be easy to say yes, to move in here, finally have a roof over my head and friendly company. But there was the risk of staying in one place too long.

A hand on my shoulder drew me back from my thoughts. Simon was standing closer with a look of concern. “I hope I haven’t freaked you out?”

“No, not at all. I just, I really want to accept your offer, but there’s things about me, about my life, that complicate matters.”

“Take the night to think it over, lad. And anything I can help with, just ask. I might have a lead on a guitar, if you’re interested. I know it won’t be your Mam’s, but at least once you’re feeling better, you’ll be able to play again.” Simon smiled softly. “People in town enjoy your songs. You’ve become part of the square, and I think the market traders will miss you if you’re not there come the weekend.”

My already warm feelings towards Simon bubbled up. It made me feel good to know that my busking was enjoyable and would be missed if I left. In all honesty, I was tired of running and hiding. I wanted to settle down and find somewhere to call home.

Could it be here?

The thoughts kept tumbling through my head as I followed Simon through to the small kitchen, the smell of soup and bread warming not only my belly but a space inside my heart. This could be the home I’d been looking for, if I’d only take the chance.

Chapter 3

SIMON

I was up before the sun. Thick clouds hung over the bay, the predicted winter snap rolling in already. The flat was cosy thanks to the heating I’d installed after last winter. It was never supposed to be my long-term home, but living over the shop and its proximity to the town centre made the flat perfect for the short term—the short term being the last five years.

It was fine for me, because I didn’t need much space and I never brought anyone back here. My hook ups and scenes were all in the safe confines of the club. There, I could be a doting Daddy Dom to willing subs. I had no real connection with anyone at the club, other than our shared love of the lifestyle. I was a good Dom, and I loved my littles that I cared for at the club, but none of them sparked a connection that I wanted to make permanent. Perhaps I was looking for something I would never find, or I wasn’t looking hard enough.

Perhaps what had happened with Liam had made me a little gun-shy.

I needed a cuppa to get my head straight before Rhys woke up. I was still shocked at myself offering Rhys a place to stay. I barely knew the lad. I could fob it off as concern for his health and his living situation, all of which were valid points, but that was avoiding the elephant in the room.

I was attracted to the lad—and had been since the first time I saw him playing in the square.

I didn’t do this. I didn’t fall for complete strangers. I didn’t do relationships full stop—not since Liam. I felt a wave of the familiar old pain when I thought about him. He’d fooled me and used me, using what I loved against me.

God, I was being a maudlin old bastard this morning. Must be the weather. I snatched the whistling kettle off the hob, then poured a brew and let it steep. I thought about my offer to Rhys and about the man himself. He was hiding from someone, that was certain, and his reaction when I had suggested talking to the local coppers gave me pause, but for the life of me I couldn’t see the sweet lad involved in anything illegal. I wondered if Father McKellen, who ran the shelter in town, knew anything. But if Rhys heard I was asking about him, would he think I didn’t trust him? Perhaps it would be better to ask Rhys himself.

I heard a shuffling behind me and looked over my shoulder. My heart skipped a beat. Rhys, sleep-messy, stood rubbing his eyes with one hand. In his other hand he held the ratty looking teddy bear. He was the picture of adorable. He blinked slowly, a sleepy smile crossing his bruised face as he saw me.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“You don’t look like you’re awake yet, lad. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll wake you once I get breakfast on.”

Rhys blew out a loud breath and shuffled towards the table, teddy still clutched in his hand. “Can’t sleep; face hurts.”

“Sit your arse down, lad. I’ll make you a cuppa and find some pain killers for you. I’m not surprised your face is hurting. You took one hell of a beating last night.” It had worried me last night, enough that I still wanted to take him to the clinic to get checked over. I just had to convince him that it was the right idea.

Rhys slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

I got up and reheated the kettle. Looking for a mug, I saw one that made me smirk. It was bright yellow and covered in images of Paddington Bear. I hid a smile when I saw Rhys carefully place his worn teddy on the table. It obviously had great sentimental value to him.

“Do you want coffee or tea?’

Rhys’s face twisted a bit. “I’m not a fan of coffee, to be honest, unless it’s the mocha mess Liz makes.”

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