Page 49 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

He clocked in, setting himself up behind the counter. The shop was one of those all-in-one student havens. Snacks, groceries, Ryston-branded hoodies, and overpriced chargers. Everything a student needed but was too lazy to walk to the Tesco Extra a mile away and stock up way cheaper. Aaron hunched over the counter, scrolling through his phone during a lull.

Missed calls. Messages. All from Kenny.

They were mundane, polite.Call me when you can. I need to talk to you.Nothing dramatic, nothing begging for forgiveness, but that made it worse. The lack of emotion. Carefully chosenwords. It all screamed,let’s draw the line again.Aaron didn’t need to hear it. He knew how this ended. Rejection was just the next step.

“Are you serving?”

A girl placed a meal deal on the counter, so Aaron tossed his phone down and scanned her items, forcing himself into autopilot. The queue behind her grew, and for a while, he let the rhythm of customer after customer numb him. Hand over the goods, take the payment, mutter a half-heartedcheers. It was better than thinking about Kenny. About Heather. About himself.

When the last customer left, he rested back against the counter partition, pulling out his phone again. He should do what his social workers, what Jervine his case officer, and all those many, many therapists had told him to do. Get away from anything that had a link to his parentage. He searched for universities offering Forensic Psychology, thinking maybe a transfer would be in order. He’d qualify for one. Had the grades. No doubt Ryston would love to see the back of him. Where could he go? Somewhere far away. Somewhere where no one knew the Howell name. Or maybe he’d ditch psychology altogether. Marine Biology sounded peaceful. No murders, no mental anguish, just dolphins and coral reefs.

“So the phone works?”

Aaron froze. The voice was unmistakable. Low, smooth, tinged with irritation and something heavier. He looked up, and there he was.Kenny.

Stood on the other side of the counter, his presence filled the small space. He wasn’t in his usual lecture attire. No suit today. Instead, he wore a dark jacket over a plain shirt, chinos, with his hair slightly tousled, as though he’d run his hands through it too many times. And he had his glasses on, eyes sharp behind the lenses.

Aaron’s stomach twisted. The casual look, the mess of hishair, made Kenny seem more human. And far more dangerous to Aaron’s already fragile defences.

“Did you want some fags?” Aaron jerked his head toward the hidden tobacco shelf.

“They’ll kill you.”

Aaron snorted. “No, they won’t. You already know what will.”

“Aaron…”

“Did you actually need something?” Aaron cut him off, laced with false bravado. “We’re out of Crème Eggs. They don’t come in until January. And a bunch of ravenous students are going to pile in any second, and I wouldn’t wanna be the one standing between them and theirGinsters.”

Kenny leaned forward, voice dropping, soft but commanding. “Then pick up your fucking phone and talk to me.”

Aaron forced his face into a sneer. “What’s there to talk about? I finished the latest assignment. Handed it in. Even showed up to the lecturesyouskipped. Surely, I’m not on anyone’s shit list yet, am I?”

“The library staff?”

Aaron froze for a second too long before shrugging. “You heard about that?”

“Yes, Aaron. I hear most things.”

Aaron opened his mouth, ready to fire back something sharp and cutting, but the doors whooshed open, sending in a cool draught from outside along with a bunch of lads. Among them was Max. Their eyes met over the aisle, and Aaron’s stomach sank like a stone. Max’s smirk was unmistakable, a wolfish grin meant to taunt, to remind Aaron he wasn’t in control.

Bollocks.

Kenny glanced over his shoulder, catching the tail end of Max’s swagger before the group disappeared among the shelves. Kenny turned back, arching an eyebrow.

“Who’s that?” Kenny angled his head to Max eyeing him over the shelves of produce.

“A bellend.”

“You know a lot of them.”

Aaron narrowed his stare back at Max. “Tell me about it.”

“Can we talk?”

“Not unless you want Ryston’s finest listening in. There’ll be a queue any second.”

“Later?”

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