Page 21 of Drift

The kind of front door that led into a house, never a factory.

The kind that had once led into Jack’s home. Or a damn good replica from Vince of what he used to be able to call home.

Jack shook his head, more annoyed with himself than anyone. Yeah. He hadn’t seen the door was a damn good replica either. He’d needed Jan to tell him that too.

Shaking it off with a rough exhale, Jack headed in.

As with the first floor and its innards, floors and walls stayed stripped bare, leaving only concrete. Everything torn out. Every tear out of screw and bolt calling out Gray’s demons and rage, maybe Jan’s too. Gone was the laminate flooring of his hall. To the left had stood his coat stand, the stairs just ahead. Then a little farther, only the old arch called a way into what had been a mirror of his lounge. He made it through to the kitchen where dust marked where his breakfast bar had been, Christmas decorations….

“Jan still here, over there in the corner?”

A breath came down the back of his neck, and Jack glanced over to the corner.

Jan sat bound back under the window, tears streaming his cheeks, face so pale, so bloody scared.

“See?”Vince’s lips almost touched the back of Jack’s neck, hovering over the fine hairs.“You’re doing fine, our kid. Just fucking fine.” A snort. “Although this cleaning shit is still obviously a concern. But we’ll sort you, kid. Don’t—”

Don’t…

Jack dug his hands in his pockets, his look going around the wreck of the room.

Yeah, he’d never felt much for a building, the people inside making or breaking it. But with this one? Poison had once run through the brickwork, creeping over the empty floor, infecting the air, his skin… his head.

Only not lately, and he turned back for the stairs.

“Fucking ballsy, Jan.”

Jack stopped and frowned as his front door came open, or the ghost of at least.He managed to wait until Jan had at least allowed enough of a gap between him and the door before he kicked it shut and pushed him up against the wall, kissing the fuck out of his mouth, hands slipping under his shirt.

The muscle under Jan’s shirt was alive, all moving, contracting as Jack dug his fingers in, forcing a hiss out of Jan. His shirt shaped him well and looked expensive, but he’d needed to feel skin as much as he’d needed to see it. Two buttons tore free, the rest took the hint, giving up any fight to keep Jan away from him, and he’d promised himself he’d buy him another one as Jack traced his hands up, pushing his shirt away from his shoulders.

Great shoulders, kissable ones.

Jack whispered appreciation, playing left collarbone, right, sometimes biting, wanting to mark and—

“Back off, soft lad,” whispered Jack with a smile as the chill of the empty stairway bit deep into his bones. “I don’t need you saving me either.” Although this was more Halliday’s game play: naturally countering a bad memory with the good.

Only so much time had passed, too much of the good to bury the bad, and that… that was part of the problem here.

Jack took the stairs slowly, then frowned as a thud hit the top of the stairs, followed by a draught as something bumped into him and passed him tumbling by.

Humpty…

Dumpty.

Sad bastard had been pushed off the wall after all.

Looking down on himself at the bottom of the stairs had him unable to look away. His head and left shoulder had taken the worst damage. Face down, arm shaping his head, nose bleeding and running into the hair escaping over his cheek… he looked ill, skin pale, all—

“Maybe I should go call Vince?”

Jack glanced back up the stairs.

“You remember Vince now, don’t you, honey? He did that to you.” As she stood there, his mother pulled back her usual wild and long black hair into a ponytail, her beige trouser suit calling a need for business. Thirty-five. That’s all she looked as she stood there. No wrinkles aged her beauty, certainly not around her eyes that she later carried with the weight of the world. Her wilder Italian look and accent had always had his school mates sneaking over to get ahioff her and… how old had he been back then? Fourteen? It almost seemed unfair that she had youth here, not the poison of her later years.

He hated that he still loved the wild beauty of her youth. Therehadbeen good times.

“Don’t confuse the two.” Halliday whispered in his ear. “You’re not seeing her goodness, just your ability to love. That’s a part of you, not a reflection of her.”

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