Page 43 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

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Stepping out of the shower,Solo towelled himself dry and stared at his features in the mirror. He smoothed a hand over the light stubble on his jaw. He was deadbeat, as the shadows under his eyes bore testament to.

He rubbed at the furrow between his brows, as though he could scrub it off if he tried hard enough.

Why was it that everything he did or said around Polly Fletcher seemed to go wrong? Was it him or her?

Apart from in bed, but he could forget about that right this minute.

Shit. He didn’t want—didn’tneed—to be so attracted to her, but the fact was, he couldn’t seem to keep her from invading his brain. The way she shook her head so her curls bounced, that habit she had of crossing her knee over her other thigh and holding on to her ankle, that little wiggle of her butt in her seat just before she said something.

There had been a fair few wiggles as she’d tried to get a word in this evening.

Solo groaned. He shouldn’t have taken over the session like that, but the thing was that maybe, just maybe, if someone had made sure Drew got the right advice straight after he’d returned from Afghanistan, and the right medications, things would never have gone so pear-shaped.

Seeing the hollowness in his reflected eyes, Solo thrust himself away from the mirror. Thinking about all that wouldn’t undo the whole goddamn train smash of the last few months. But at least Drew was in hospital, safe for the time being. He couldn’t harm himself. Or Emma.

Or Solo, for that matter.

The vitriolic spew of those text messages was hard to take, each new one like a punch to his gut. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to erase Drew’s number. That would be like severing a limb. And he knew, once they got the combination of treatments right, things would change. Most likely Drew wouldn’t even remember these episodes once he was well again.

Right now, the guy was lost in a living hell. And Solo was trained to understand that. His shoulders were broad enough, surely?

Solo clamped down on the direction his thoughts had gone, padded into his tiny room and stared glumly around.

What a clusterfuck. He hadn’t brought much with him, but he hadn’t been doing much to keep it tidy either. Frankly, it was hard to see a space on the bed to crawl into. He started to sort the pile of clothes so he could at least get into bed. Picked up his wallet and threw it onto the bedside table. It flipped open, and there, staring back at him, was the photo of him and Drew with Pop

He smiled grimly, feeling the bittersweet tug of happier times.

He’d never imagined, when Pops and Nan fostered a boy one year older than him, that they would become as close as brothers. That Drew would be the magic human bullet that would drag Solo out of his shell.

The Huckleberry Finn to his Tom Sawyer.

Drew, with his wild adventurous spirit and his fearlessness, had changed Solo irrevocably. For the better. He owed Drew for instilling in him the courage to follow his dreams. To make the world a better place.

The fact that Drew’s dreams had turned to dust wasn’t Solo’s fault, though, was it? Not his responsibility. What was he thinking? That by carrying this photo around he could turn back the clock, make everything right for Drew?

The familiar tightness pounded around the base of his skull. He’d done enough, put up with enough… even the whole messy business with Emma.

He’d never whispered a word of recrimination or blame to either of them.

Maybe he needed to give himself a break from the guilt trip. To not have to be confronted by Drew’s toothy ten-year old grin every time he went to grab his credit card or his driver’s licence.

Slowly he drew out the yellowed photo, eyes narrowing as he studied it. His own smile was reticent, uncertain. Drew’s was like sunshine radiating out of a clear blue sky. Ready for whatever life threw at him. Daring it to test him.

And then there was Pop, the glue that held them both together.

Except, when Pop died, everything came unstuck.

Solo went to the cupboard and dragged out his rucksack. He opened the front pocket and got out a small album of photos, and leafed through it until he found a transparent sheath and slotted the photo into it. Then he closed it and put it carefully back into his rucksack.

One day, when Drew was well, Solo would be able to look at that photo without feeling like he’d been put through a shredder.

He had to believe that would happen.

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