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Monday morning it was him and Vicky again, yakking away in the kitchen—him at the table. He’d just finished his second cup of coffee when the sliding door opened behind him, pushing in a fresh breeze and the unmistakable shuffling of Heath’s steps.
Vicky stared at her son over the counter, mouth partially open. Will refrained from craning his head around to take a peek at the guy himself. Things had started to look up between them yesterday—a glimpse at them being okay with each other. He needed to stay cool.
He sipped his empty cup.
“You’re home,” Vicky finally said as Heath moved behind him into view, showing off a pair of a faded pair of jeans and black tee-shirt that did nothing to hide his tapered torso.
Heath shrugged, glancing at Will briefly—and Will was quick to dart his gaze away from the guy’s ass.
“Went for a jog yesterday morning instead,” Heath said, kissing his mom on the temple. Stepping back, he opened the cupboard, cutting Will’s view from the chest up. “I might have strained something a bit, so I’ll leave off it a few days. I don’t want to risk making it worse; we’re playing the Thornweeds this weekend. I’ve gotta be in form.”
“Take it easy then, love.” Vicky snapped the dishwasher shut and checked her watch. “Let me hang out the washing, Will, then we can head out.” Before she left the room the phone rang and Vicky practically leaped back into the kitchen and lunged for the phone on the bench.
“Vicky here,” she said breathlessly. Her expression smoothed into disappointment a second later. “Oh, Anita. Hey . . .” her voice trailed off as she took the call out of the room.
Heath grabbed a bowl and the Weet-Bix and sat across from him, the container of milk blocking his view of Heath’s strong hands. Hands that he’d often taken to admiring whenever they ate together.
He let slip a low sigh, and when he realized, quickly raised his cup to sip more coffee, but again, it was just air. Coffee-flavored air.
Heath smirked at him over the top of the blue-top milk. “You’re weird,” he said suddenly. Well, suddenly for Will, since he wasn’t expecting him to talk at all. Heath was mostly broody silence toward him.
“Weird?” Was that a good weird, or a weird weird?
Heath stood up, spoon clattering in his bowl, chair scratching over the floor. In the kitchen he grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup before coming back to the table with the pot still in hand.
“Yeah, weird,” he said softly as he tipped more coffee into Will’s cup. He leaned down so his lips were close to his ear. Close enough he could feel the words, and a shiver slipped through him. “We’re never short on coffee in this house—just help yourself, okay?”
“O-kay,” Will said slowly. He stared at his coffee-filled cup and back to Heath. Had he . . . oh Christ, he’d seen his cup was empty. He’d seen him sip away at it.
So much for playing it cool.
Heath left the pot next to Will and went back to his Weet-Bix, the corner of one lip twitching.
Flustered, he concentrated on the newspaper folded next to him on the table. At least he knew how to fake read! Take that, Heath Wallace.
Just when he finished his third coffee, Vicky came back from outside. “You ready?” she asked him.
“Let me go brush my teeth and we can go.”
When he came out of the bathroom and grabbed his bag, Vicky was nowhere in sight. Frowning, he went outside the front. Was she waiting in the car?
“She’s gone,” Heath said behind him, startling him into a jump. A firm arm gripped his bicep, keeping him from falling down the two steps to the front path.
“She left without me? I didn’t think I was that long. Maybe I shouldn’t have flossed that second time—”
“No. I told her I would take you. I’m heading that way anyway.”
“Oh yeah?”
He shrugged, fiddling with the cap he’d just put on. “Yeah.”
A smile stirred inside of him but it was hastily overridden by a groan. “Does that mean I have to ride in that death contraption-thingy again?”
“Sally?” he said almost offended. “She’s my baby. We’ve had some times together.”
“It’s a 1989 Commodore. It sure has had many ‘times’.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s old. Rusty.” He shivered. “And it shudders.”
Heath shook his head. “She’s a beaut. Come on, give her a chance.” He shut the front door and herded him toward the ‘beaut’, the weight of his fingers warm on the back of Will’s neck and shoulder where Heath steered him.
Heath opened the passenger side and patted him on the back to hop on in. He’d only just shut the door, and Heath was already climbing into the driver’s seat. This time, once he had his seat belt in the lock-attachment-thingy, he took Information Technology—such an uninspired title—from his bag and whacked.
He caught his fingers instead of the belt and lost his grip. “Freaking hell! ‘Beaut’ my freckled ass.”
Heath chuckled and, leaning over him so close one false move would have their lips touching, pulled up the belt and drew it down to the lock. His fingers brushed against Will’s as he took the book off him. In two hits, Will heard the faint click.
“She has her idiosyncrasies, that’s true.”
Idiosyncrasies? That’s a euphemism. “Shouldn’t you get that fixed?”
“Probably.” The car grunted to life and they backed out of the driveway.
Half way down the hill, Heath peeked at him out the corner of his eye. “So, was that just one of your odd sayings or is your arse really freckled?”
“Wouldn’t you want to know,” he teased.
It was an odd saying, mostly. He only had a handful of freckles and weirdly enough they were, mostly, on his ankles. But, yeah, there were a few on the dimples of his ass cheeks. He grinned at Heath. “But few people get to know the answer to that.”
“Few, eh? Right.”
Will almost wanted to add: but I’d be happy to tell you about mine if you would about yours. Scrap that, how about: Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.
Heath shook his head as they turned down George Street. Damn this ride was going by way too fast. Of course the one traffic light that took forever was green when they drove through this morning.
“You know, I’m not the only weird one.”
“Yeah, but you’re the weirdest.”
“I contend with that.”
“Contend? There’s no point. Hands down you’re the weirdest.” A dimple appeared in Heath’s cheek as he looked at him and grinned. “First there’s that thing you do with the food.”
“That ‘thing’ I do?”
“Well, I don’t know what you call it. Maybe you’re a bit OCD. But I’ve never actually seen someone so—”
Will finished for him, “Fussy with food, huh?” He knew it was true, but he hated to be called fussy, and it was what everyone told him.
“I was going to say particular. But, yeah. Is there . . . a reason for it?”
“No, there really isn’t. It isn’t something as simple as being freaked out to shower after watching too much Hitchcock or something. It isn’t like that. You can’t psychoanalyze it. There is no traumatic dinner-table event or anything that happened to me. I just, I like things the way I like them. I could eat anything the way others do, but I just . . . if I can, I like it my way.”
Heath’s dimple deepened with a growing smile, and he clapped one hand on the back of Will’s neck, fondly messing the back of his hair. “See. Weird.”
He let go and went back to drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. Will just swallowed hard, still feeling Heath’s touch on his head. It was probably just a chummy type touch, but, wow, he hadn’t expected it.
“We’re looking for a park now,” Heath said, “so keep your eyes peeled, right.”
“Oh, you can just stop here and I can jump out. You don’t need—”
“Is that a park just up there?”
Will scoured the street. Right in front of the building that housed the university library—the Link, as it was called—there was a parking space. “Yep, it’s free, but it might be a bit tight for this beast of a car.”
But Heath was already maneuvering to parallel park. “With my loving hand, she’ll fit perfect.”
Again the guy’s hand went behind him and he glanced at Will briefly before slipping the car smoothly into the parking space.
“You’re good,” he said, giving him an appreciative nod.
“Oh yeah, I am.”
They stared at each other. A shiver of anticipation took hold of him; he wanted to lean over and kiss Heath goodbye like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d always been doing that. Like Heath had always been Standing Guy.
And then Heath looked past him to the Link and a small frown cut between his eyebrows followed by a small sigh and he looked toward the museum across the road.
It took a conscious effort to pull his gaze away from Heath and grab the bag at his feet. Also not dwell on what that look at the university building meant. He was opening the door when Heath’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. Will breathed in deep before facing him.
“Do you want to maybe,”—Heath cleared his throat—“get a coffee or something?”
Um . . . It was impossible to think with Heath’s hand on him. It was so warm and heavy and his fingers were stretched just past the collar of his tee-shirt, skimming his neck.
Heath dropped his hand to the console and Will quickly found his voice.
“Well, I’ve got a meeting with my supervisor.”
Heath dropped his gaze, nodding. “Of course.”
Will hesitated, but went for it anyway. “After?”
“Give me your phone.”
“Huh?”
Heath beckoned for him to hand over his cell. Will arched to slip it out of his pocket and handed it over to Heath who quickly blinked away from him to the phone. He pressed a few numbers and then a Chili Peppers melody filled the car. Will stifled a half groan, half laugh as Heath handed him back his cell.
“After,” Heath said. “Text me when.”
* * *
It had to be said, he was a bit of a snoop. He’d always liked a bit of gossip—it probably went hand-in-hand with his over-zealous mouth.
It was why, after his appointment with his supervisor, and wanting to get rid of his bag before meeting Heath, he’d stopped outside the office and listened to Sig and Candice arguing.
The door was cracked open a slither and Will could see Sig in his robe, sitting at his desk and running a hand through his hair.
“I spoke to Harriet after you left Friday night.”
Candice’s voice sounded small. “Oh.”
“Jesus, ‘Dice, why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sorry, Sig. I—”
“She said you were jealous. That’s why the effort to break us up. Is that . . . true?”
Sig’s hands linked together on his lap and his eyes shut.
“That wasn’t it. It was a bad moment, Sig, I shouldn’t have done it. I just saw her flirting and—”
Sig’s shoulders slumped and he unlocked his hands. “Look, I don’t want to hear it, okay.” He let out a heavy breath, bordering on shy and frustrated. “Who I date is none of your business, so please stay out of it.”
Candice spoke, trying, Will thought, to go for a playful tone and failing. “So I can’t ask if you got lucky Friday—”
“Christ! What do you want to know?” Sig’s jaw was clenching and unclenching, and though it was hard to tell, Will would bet anything that the guy’s eyes were moist.
“I just—”
He cut her off again. “What? You want to know I took her back to my place and screwed her against the fridge?” His voice trembled as he spoke, but he kept going. “That she loved it and I didn’t because it wasn’t right?”
He exhaled, slowly. “Maybe instead of butting into my love-life,” he said quieter, “you should get your own.”
“R-right,” Candice squeaked. Footsteps pattered over the carpet and Will barely had time to step back before the door was thrown open. She pushed out of the office, seeing him and just knowing.
“Heard enough?” Her eyes shimmered with tears and her jaw wobbled to stay tight and in control. She closed her eyes, and as she did a tear trained down her cheek. With a shuddering breath, she pushed past him and hurried down the hall.
Dumping his bag inside the office door, he jogged after her, finding her in the ugly foyer to the eleventh floor, fingering a battered leaf of the godforsaken pot-plant. He stood next to her at the windows, watching thick grey clouds stretch over the city.
He was about to say something, apologize for eavesdropping, when she shook her head. “Don’t. Just not right now, ’kay? Later.”
He nodded and squeezed her shoulder once. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I bring back chocolate or something?”
She let out a half-laugh, strangled with the effort not to cry. “Feel free to bring me back a latte if you like.”
“Latte for later, then.”
Then on an impulse, he pecked her cheek before heading into the opening elevators.
He’d bring her back a latte from café Albany, her favorite on-campus place for a frothy-good coffee. Anything to make her cheer up some again.
He made his way out of the Commerce building and across the campus to the Link. Checking his watch, he was ten minutes early to meet Heath. He had two choices. He could wander around campus some more like an idiot without a purpose. Or he could go inside and grab them both chairs—who cared if he looked over-eager? He was.
But maybe that’d put Heath off him?
God, what was he on? Just because they’d shared a look didn’t mean he stood a chance. Although this going for coffee thing did look promising. Semi-date like, a bit.
He hovered until a fat drop of rain splashing on his nose made the decision that much easier.
Inside it was.
When he trudged in, his nerves settled and he smiled. There on a blue chair, legs up securing a second one, lounged Heath, reading.
Will snuck behind Heath, landing two hands on either of the guy’s strong shoulders. “Whatcha reading?”
Heath slammed the book shut in fright and then laughed as Will let go and moved to the spare chair still occupied with Heath’s legs.
“You enjoyed scaring the crap out of me, didn’t you?”
He smirked. “I wasn’t sure I would, but it’s nice to know you can be. Scared, that is.”
“I’m scared of plenty of things.” The humor lines at the sides of his eyes smoothed over and Will paused.
“Like what?” he asked, tentatively.
Heath purposely ignored him, jerking a thumb toward the café behind them. “Drink then?”
“Since I’m up,” Will said, “how about I get them?”
He was expecting Heath to protest and climb to his feet to stop him, but instead he got a widening grin. “That’d be great. Thanks. I’ll have a hot chocolate with pink—ahh, just a hot chocolate.”
It took him ten minutes before he got his order and made his way back to Heath. He handed over the hot chocolate with three pink marshmallows on top of the lid.
Heath’s cheeks flushed as he murmured a ‘thanks’ and popped one of the marshmallows in his mouth. Cute.
Placing his own cup on the table in front of their chairs, Will shifted Heath’s feet and settled himself on the chair. Heath seemed to have frozen the second he’d touched him. Well, what did he expect? He wasn’t going to have coffee standing next to him while another chair was right there.
Or, wait—“Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“Huh?” Heath seemed perplexed.
“You said this morning you strained your foot.”
“Oh. Um, yeah, but it’s fine.”
“Good. So,” Will prompted, “back to those things you’re scared of. . . ” He was determined to study Heath closer this time. But Heath deflected.
“You know what I’m not scared of?” Heath said, smiling. “Dogs. Especially cute little Labradors whose biggest crime has been licking the ice-cream from my bowl when I left it on the coffee table.”
“Yeah, laugh all you want. I’ll find out what freaks you out and taunt you with it.”
“I doubt you’d do that.”
“You bet I would.”
Heath sipped his drink, smile ever-so faltering. “So, I heard you talking to your family the other week and—”
“You overheard me?”
“You were in the kitchen, I was in the lounge. I just heard some.”
“Huh. Are you a bit of a snoop, too?”
“Snoop? What do you mean?”
Will rushed a sip of his coffee, almost scalding his tongue. “Never mind. What did you overhear?”
“You telling someone that you wanted to travel more, and that maybe you’ll go down south to check out Stewart Island.”
“Yeah. Well. Sig gave me the idea. But first I have to get a car. Learn to drive a stick. Then we’ll see about the travel. But, yeah, it sounded amazing.”
“I could teach you. We could use Sally.”
He was glad he’d swallowed his mouthful of coffee, because he was sure if he hadn’t, he’d have spat it all over himself and Heath’s legs.
“No way!” Then realizing how rude that sounded to what was, actually, quite a thoughtful offer, he added, “At least not until I get my tetanus injection.” Not that that would really help if the car blew up on him. “I’ll see if Candice is crazy enough to teach me. I hope she is.”
“Candice?” Heath repeated. “The name’s familiar.”
“Well, she said you were a friend of a friend.”
Heath thought about it a moment, lifting the lid off his hot chocolate and scooping the froth clinging on its sides onto his finger. “Oh yeah, she’s friends with Lucy.”
He licked his finger. It was totally unpremeditated—Heath did it as if it was a habit—but watching his finger go in and out of his mouth had Will hard in moments.
Staring at his own cup instead of Heath and his finger, he willed himself to calm down. “Lucy?”
“Yeah, my ex-girlfriend.”
That little tidbit of information helped cool things down, all right.
“Oh.” So there was a Lucy. What did that mean, exactly?
As if Heath could read his thoughts, he answered, staring into his cup, voice hushed, carrying barely to him. “I’m bi. There are some girls that interest me. But, actually, maybe not so many. Lucy was . . . Well she was there at a difficult time. For a bit, anyway. I still keep in touch.”
Will nodded. What else was he supposed to do with that information? He finished the last of his coffee in the silence that followed.
“So,” he said, looking at his watch, “I guess—”
Heath’s feet jerked off the chair, skidding down one of his legs. “Are you hungry? Because I am. Let’s get something to eat.” He offered his hand and Will took it, trying to shake some sense into his thoughts as he stood.
He wasn’t that successful.
All he could think about was that one of those fine hands was grasping his own. And just imagine if they felt like this on his hand, what would they feel like roaming over his body? Pumping his cock? Fucking his ass? Gah! Concentrate. “Lunch. Yeah. That sounds . . . that sounds edible.”
He paused. Edible? He’d not just said that.
Heath chuckled. “Yeah, edible. Come on.”
At a café across the street, they ordered some lunch. Once they were tucked away at a corner table, Heath across from him, he leaned into his seat, glancing at the waitress. “She did not like my order.”
“She’s just pissed to be working. She was grumpy with mine as well. And so what? You like your food the way you like it. Good on you for knowing what you want. Some people stand at the counter staring at the menu like they’ve got a finger up their bum, you know? Takes forever.”
He sent him a wicked smirk. “Damn, I think I ordered wrong. I’d rather have a finger up my—”
The waitress was before them, dumping down the second hot chocolate Heath ordered and his fejoa juice. She didn’t stay long, and as soon as she slunk out of sight, Heath leaned over the table, raising a brow, “What were you saying?”
Will playfully kicked Heath’s leg. This was getting fun between them. Comfortable, almost. Like he could relax and not have to worry or censor too much what came out of that big mouth of his.
“Gonna share what’s making you grin like that?” Heath asked, dipping his marshmallows into the hot chocolate with a spoon.
“I’m just so glad things are evening up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I might be weird with the way I order, but you have a fetish for marshmallows—and not any marshmallows, mind you. But fluffy, pink ones.”
“How’d you know I like them fluffy?”
He laughed. “I hazarded a guess.”
Heath watched as Will took a long sip of his juice. “I meant it, you know, if you change your mind.”
“Meant what?”
“I could teach you to use a stick.”
Their gazes held, the pull between them unmistakable, warm, inviting. “Yeah,” Will murmured, “maybe that would work.”
“And if you are really bad,” Heath said, breaking the magic of the moment, “I can always drive you down there myself.”
Will choked, spluttering green juice over the table. Grabbing Heath’s napkins, he wiped up the mess. “You would?”
He caught Heath shrug in his peripheral vision. “It’s not like I have much else going on. And, well, only if Mum’s cool. But I’m sure she would be.”
“Well, Heath, I have to say, you are full of surprises.”
“That’s definitely true.”
But he didn’t look happy about it.
* * *
He was on a high after lunch. If he was the breaking-out-in-song type, he’d probably be singing that raindrops-are-falling-on-my-head song, seeing as raindrops really were falling on his head as he raced back to the Commerce building.
Soaked, but with Candice’s latte protected, he got back to his office.
Candice took it with a grateful smile before giving him a funny frown. “What’s that you’re humming?”
Humming?
Oh. Huh. Maybe he was the break-out-in-song type.
But if he was, he couldn’t help it. Lunch—Heath—it’d all been, well, perfect.
It was official. He was crushing on the guy.
“You feeling better?” he asked, noticing a long black stripe had been added to the canvas behind Candice.
Her lip wobbled a fraction as soon as he asked, but she fronted up a short smile. “Fine.” Pushing back a stray hair with her fingers, she left a dark smudge across her forehead. “So, we’re getting a fourth office mate. He’s supposed to be arriving today, sometime. Actually, I thought he’d have come by already. His name’s Eric, I think.”
“Sucks there aren’t so many females in this field, huh? Have to put up with us stinky guys instead.”
She sipped her latte. “Yeah, well you’re not so stinky. Though Sig has his moments. But I tell ya, it’s so great never having to queue for the bathrooms.”
He laughed at the same time there came a shy knock at the door. In the freaking good mood he was in, he leapt up and yanked the door wide open. Wide open to a very attractive man. Unusually attractive, considering earrings and tattoos didn’t really do it for him. Of which, this man had plenty. But his green eyes were really rather stunning behind the thick frames he wore.
“Please tell me you’re Eric,” he said, stepping back to let him in.
“Yes, yeah. Eric Graham.”
Will glanced at Candice, whose eyes were also wide, taking in all the, well, art this guy sported.
“Well,” she said, cupping her chin in her hand and staring at him, “that’s really not fair, now, is it? All you guys are shattering my perceptions of IT guys as thin and pasty.”
“And smelly,” Will reminded her.
“And smelly.” Candice crooked a finger for Eric to come closer. “Thank you,” she said.
“Ah, what for? Proving we’re not all thin and pasty?” Eric peeked at Will out the corner of his eye. “I would have thought he’d have proven that already,” he finished, inclining his head toward him.
Oh, yes. Flattery would get you anywhere. Eric and he would get on just fine.
“No,” Candice said. “Thank you for joining the Freak Zone. There’s no way I have to worry about finishing this damn thesis on time now with a hottie like you around. I’m going to be in here extra early and late—see, not a minute in this room, and you’re already motivating me. Yes, yes, you’ll make a fine addition.”
He laughed. “Okay, then. Say, what’s with the canvas?”
Will sat back and swiveled in his chair, stopping when he was square to Candice. “Does Eric have enough charm to get an answer out of you?”
For a second, Candice glanced at Sig’s desk. Then she took in a deep breath and smiled. “Guess, we’ll see, won’t we?” She faced Eric. “So, I wonder what you did to get sent to the Freak Zone.”
Eric gave an uneasy grin. “Freak Zone?” he asked at the same time Will cried, “We’re not all freaks.”
Candice turned on him. “Oh honey, don’t kid yourself.”
“What?” Sure some might consider his eating habits strange, but he’d barely eaten anything in the office. So how would she even know?
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. No one else I know yodels every time they hit a right answer.”
“I do not—”
“Yeah, you do. Sig giggles—actually giggles—every time you let out a yippee-day-di-do or whatever. We’ve decided when you were accepted here, you must have done something to that effect too, hence admission to the Freak Zone.”
Huh. Stuck somewhere between embarrassed and amused, he said slowly, “So, what’d you do, Eric?”
They spent the next twenty minutes easing poor Eric into the Freak Zone that was their office. Then Sig came back and Candice went all quiet. Within five minutes, she’d packed her stuff and was heading out.
Grabbing his bag, quite ready to leave and get back to seeing some more Heath himself, he followed after her.
They rode the elevator down to the ground floor in silence.
Outside, Candice opened her large, yellow, Mickey Mouse umbrella and beckoned him to share it with her.
“I fucked up, Will.”
“We all do.” And couldn’t he testify to that? Absently, he rubbed a finger over his nose where Karl had hit him after the biggest screw-up of his life.
Candice sighed, steering him around a large puddle and across the bridge to the main part of campus. “Yeah, maybe. But I wish I hadn’t lied to Harriet. She is a bitch, I still believe that completely. She flirts with anyone and doesn’t care if she says stuff that, well, hurts. But I was wrong to tell her Sig didn’t care about her—that she was just a fling and that he’d said he didn’t see her as long-term material.”
She dabbed her eyes with her sleeves. “I don’t know what came over me.” Giving a dry laugh, she shook her head. “I’d love to blame the margaritas but I think I might have said it without them, too. She was just so gloaty about how great they were together; how wonderful he was in and out of bed, and I couldn’t hear it anymore. I just snapped. I didn’t think she’d break it off with him because of it. But she did. And, Will, this is where I become the bitch—I was glad of it.” Her bottom lip was back to wobbling. “Until today.”
Will stopped and wrapped her in a hug, making Candice lose her grip on the umbrella until it fell to the side. Who cared for a bit of rain? He squeezed tightly. “You realize you did something shitty, and it’s brave of you to admit it.” He kissed her forehead, right over the smudge. “You know what you need to do now.”
“Yeah. Give an apology. A really big one. But I’m afraid it might not be enough.”
Will nodded sympathetically. “All you can do is try.”
She looked back toward the Commerce building. “Guess . . . maybe I should.”
“Off you go then.”
“You want to borrow my umbrella?”
“Nah, I’ll be all right.”
Just before she left, she clutched her bag and rifled through it. “Wait a sec, Will, I have something for you.” She took out a folded piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you earlier, but, well, you know. Anyway,” she cleared her throat. “At the weekend, you seemed confused about the Wallaces. Well, I get why you suggested we move in together. It can’t be comfortable living there—and if they haven’t told you, which I’m suspecting to be the case, then that’s even more reason to get out.” She handed him the paper. “I went to the newspaper archives and photocopied the article for you. If you need somewhere to stay tonight or anything, you just come over to my place and crash with me.”
And with that she left him holding the answers to the Wallace house mystery in his hands.
Maybe he shouldn’t have read it. Maybe he should have waited for Heath or his mom to tell him in his own time. But he wasn’t built like that. He was naturally curious and he just couldn’t help it. The answers were there and almost as soon as he’d raced out of the rain and under a pavilion, he read it.
His stomach sank.
* * *
He went back home for dinner. He couldn’t quite say why, after reading the truth, but perhaps because it was just a piece of paper and it didn’t really seem real. Perhaps going back and eating dinner with them was him looking for more proof. Evidence. Though, if he thought back on the last five weeks, he had enough.
He sat himself opposite Vicky and Heath at the dinner table. Heath shoved his plate a few inches in his direction and skidded his chair to follow suit, flashing him a grin. “How was the rest of your day then?” he asked.
At Heath’s sudden talkativeness, Vicky almost dropped her fork. “Yes,” she said, smiling at her son, “how was it?”
He stared down at his plate, murmuring. “It was . . . interesting.”
Maybe coming back here had been a bad idea. He couldn’t sit here and act normal.
After that, he mumbled answers—though he was barely listening to the questions. He prodded his fork at the potatoes on his plate, pushing them around, stabbing them. Should he tell them he knew? Tell them he was so angry they hadn’t told him right from the beginning? Tell them how sorry he was?
Vaguely, he heard Heath ask for the pot of potatoes.
His fork sunk into the bed of mint peas and he mashed them into a pulp. Or should he pretend he didn’t know anything? Maybe bringing it up was a bad idea. If they hadn’t told him yet, it was for a reason—they couldn’t. He could imagine it hurt that bad.
“Could you pass the potatoes?” Heath said again.
No, he really should confront them about it. Delicately, but it needed to be done. This wasn’t fair on him. He closed his eyes. Fuck. Heath had tried to warn him. Had told him to find another place to live. And even if there wasn’t much accommodation out there available, he’d have whipped up any old room, if he’d have known . . .
“Did I forget the ‘please’?” Heath said, grinning and pointing to the pot in front of him.
Will stared at the pot, his reflection curved and distorted on the side.
He squinted, trying to make out any detail accurately. At the same time, Vicky snapped, aggravated, but not really annoyed. It even bordered on amused.
Except the words hit him like a pounding gavel, the exclamation-mark to all the proof he needed. “For God’s sake, William. Stop day-dreaming and pass the potatoes to your brother.”