Page 21 of Written in Scars

The sky had darkened and was now almost the exact same shade of indigo as the sea.

“We should get back,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I’m freezing.” His light weight jacket would be no protection against the strengthening Northern breeze.

“You can borrow a sweater at the cottage, though I can think of a better way to warm you up.” Logan took his hand. It was a simple, unselfconscious gesture, and Sam didn’t pull away.

Logan couldn’t imagine what was going through the younger man’s head. He must be in turmoil. However bad things had gotten between him and Johan, walking out after all that time wouldn’t be easy. Sam seemed to be dealing with the situation, but Logan didn’t really know. It could be a long time before Sam was ready to start a new relationship. Logan was prepared to wait.

One thing he was sure above everything else: Sam was worth it. However long he took to get over Johan, Logan would be there, patiently waiting.

He squeezed Sam’s hand as they approached the rear of the cottage. Sam squeezed back and grinned at him.

“I’ve only every lived in the city,” Sam said. “Everything is so different out here.”

“It’s not that far out,” Logan assured him. “You saw how short the drive from Newcastle is. And Durham city is even closer. Sunderland too. This isn’t the back of beyond you know.”

Sam laughed. “I like it. It’s just different, that’s all.”

Logan hoped he was telling the truth. No reason for him not to, but he wanted Sam to spend a lot more time here. He wanted him to stay, however cautiously he had to play it.

As they approached the house, a figure in a dark coat, stormed around the corner. The man might have been good-looking, but his smooth, sun-tanned face was twisted in an ugly contortion of rage.

Logan had no doubt: this was Johan.

“Shit,” Sam said.

“Very fucking cosy,” Johan sneered. “A little country hideaway. Perfect for a dirty weekend. So, how long has this been going on?”

This guy was completely wired. It was more than just emotion or anger, Logan recognized the black, dilated pupils of a drug addict. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating, Johan was as high as a kite.

“What are you doing?” Sam said angrily. “Go home, Johan, you’ve no business here.”

“You’re my business and you’re coming with me,” Johan shouted, stepping forward.

“No, I’m not, I told you before, we’re finished, and I mean it. How the hell did you find me?”

“I tracked your phone, idiot.”

Sam patted his pockets. “I must have left it in the house,” he said to Logan.

“Come on,” Johan shouted. “Home.”

Logan had heard enough. “Do you want to talk to him?” he asked Sam.

Sam shook his head. “Not when he’s this high.”

“He doesn’t want to speak to you,” he said firmly, sounding calmer than he felt. “And this is private land, so you can take yourself out the same way you came in.”

“Who’s this dickhead?” Johan narrowed his eyes, staring at him. “Oh, right, you’re the guy from TV. Big-fucking-deal. I’m supposed to believe you two only met last night? Is that it? A likely fucking story.”

“Believe what you want arsehole. Just get the hell off my land.”

Johan clenched his fists and inflated his chest, making himself bigger. “Your land. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? You stuck up cunt.”

“I’m talking to a hot mess. Do you know the state you’re in? Go home and straighten yourself out.”

Johan turned towards Sam. “Are you going to let this cunt talk to me like that? I’m your fucking husband.”

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