Page 20 of Written in Scars

“It looks gorgeous out there,” Sam said, nodding towards the window and the cliff tops and sea beyond.

Logan looked. The afternoon sun, though still bright, had begun its decent towards the horizon. “Fancy a walk? While it’s light enough. There’s a footpath along the cliff. The views are incredible from there.”

Sam squeezed him gently. “That sounds amazing. Lead the way.”

****

Johan drove south on the A1 motorway. The phone tracking app placed Sam’s device somewhere on the coast, east of Durham. Durham? What the hell is he doing there? They didn’t know anyone from that neck of the woods. Not unless Sam knew someone from work. Johan had expected him to run to his parents, or that shit-stirring Mark, but they all lived north of the river. Why would he go south?

Part of him knew Sam would come back of his own accord, probably sometime this evening, with his tail between his legs like a miserable dog. If he’d headed for his family, Johan would have left it at that. The last thing he felt like today was a face-off with that battle-axe mother of his. But the fact Sam had set off for unknown territory aroused his curiosity.

“I met someone last night.” That’s what Sam said before he left. Johan hadn’t believed him, not to begin with. Sam was lying, trying to get a reaction, to make him jealous. Jealous? Ha, as if. Sam wouldn’t know where to begin if a dude made a move on him.

Now Johan wasn’t so sure.

Sam was a virgin when they met. They’d been dating two whole months before he dropped his pants and offered Johan a feel. Another month until he gave up his untouched arse. In their eleven years together, Sam had shown no interest in other men. All he ever wanted was Johan. Johan gave him every opportunity to spread his wings, inviting him to join in when he picked up a random shag. Sam’s answer was always the same: no. He’d spend the night in the spare room rather than enjoy the fun. He was so fucking boring.

So, what the hell is he playing at today?

Johan didn’t know, but he intended to find out.

Could he really have met someone last night?

It seemed so unlikely. Sam had gone straight to the TV show after work and came directly home from the studio. No chance of hooking up there. And when he stormed out of the house afterwards, there’s no way he’d have gone out on the pull. Sam would have spent the night with one of his fag-hag friends, crying into their prosecco and bitching about him. For sure. The story about the other man was bullshit, pure and simple.

Johan came off the A1 at the exit for Durham and followed the tracker in the opposite direction to the city. He had no idea where he was but trusted the app. It knew where Sam was hiding and would lead him right to it.

After several miles of winding country roads, he came upon a village called Low Nest. He’d never heard of it but pushed on, following the audio guidance from his phone. It looked like a shit-hole. A one-road-in, one-road-out kind of place. Fancy shops selling over-priced home wear, tearooms and boutiques. Pure hell.

The phone-tracker took him through the village and out the other side, onto an even smaller, winding road that climbed the hill above. Just as he doubted the accuracy of the tracker, he came upon a two storey, limestone cottage. According to the app, Sam should be right here.

Johan stared at the house, bewildered. What the fuck was this place? It looked like something out of the pages of a country lifestyle magazine. They knew no one who lived in a house like this. Unless it was one of Sam’s cronies from work. That had to be it. They must be letting him hide out here, biding his time until he came home.

Well, enough of the bullshit. You’re my husband and you’re coming with me right now.

Johan got out of the car and approached the house, his shoes crunching on the gravel drive. There was no sign of anyone around. He went straight to the front door and rang the bell. No trace of life inside. He rang again.

Nothing.

He pounded on the door, then dropped to his knees to shout through the letter-box.

“Sam, it’s me. Get your arse out here. This has gone on long enough. We’re going home.”

When there was no reply, he stooped lower to gaze through the flap. He saw a smart hall and a fancy wooden staircase. A large ginger cat glowered at him from the middle of the floor and hissed a warning. Johan’s eyes flitted around the hall, searching for anything familiar, a photograph, a jacket on the hanger, anything to give him a clue who owned this place.

Then he saw it. At the bottom of the stairs, pushed against the wall: Sam’s suitcase.

“What the fuck?”

The little bastard was here all right. So where was he hiding?

With rage mounting inside, Johan stood up and pounded on the door.

Sam was making a fool of him, and for that, he would pay dearly.

****

Though the sun still shone, it had lost its earlier warmth, and the breeze that came off the North Sea had a definite chill to it. Logan didn’t feel the cold. The last hour, walking along the coastal path with Sam had been exhilarating. He’d walked the route more times than he could remember since buying the cottage, but it had never been as special as this. Not even that very first time, when the views from up high, and the sound of the water on the rocks below were brand new. Being with Sam made it a whole new experience, one he didn’t want to end.

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