Connor woke up the next morning with a headache and the insistent press of needing to talk to someone about how he was feeling. There was only one person he trusted and she wasn’t answering her phone. He could wait until the surgery opened, but part of him wanted what he had to say to be separate from work life. The clock showed 5:50 am; he’d been up since four after violent dreams, and there was no chance of being able to get back to sleep. Still, no wonder Rachel wasn’t answering her phone. Maybe if he went over, she’d be up and awake by the time he got there.
His damn car didn’t start the first time or second; in fact, he nearly gave up when finally the ignition connected and the Ford roared to life as he had his foot flat to the floor.
Embarrassed, he glanced around him, but there was nobody walking past at the arse end of morning. Aston-Under-Wold didn’t wake up until seven, and Connor wasn’t even sure Rachel would be awake, but he wasn’t going to sit in his place and stew on the dreams. He needed to get some words out in the real world before he exploded with the secrets he held.
Connor’s car made it as far as the beginning of Upper Fordham before dying. Damn thing had been making strange noises for a few days now. Didn’t help that he wasn’t using it as much as he should have been. He recalled his dad complaining that Connor’s grandpa didn’t use his car much and that was why it was always at the mechanics.
At least he was within pushing distance of Rachel’s house. Until he started to push the ancient pile of shit and it got stuck in a rut on the broken grass verge while he was half in and half out of the car, hand on the steering wheel. Cursing, he considered what to do now. He was far enough away from the bend in the road that he was visible, and it was light enough no one would hit it. Not that he cared about his car, but he didn’t want it to form a solid roadblock.
Locking it was a chore, as the key stuck and Connor had images of never being able to get the door open again because the key had snapped inside it. He gave one last baleful look and jogged the short distance to Rachel’s front door. When he knocked, she took her sweet time answering, finally appearing with a towel wrapped around her hair and a dressing gown tied at the waist.
“Connor?” She glanced over his shoulder like she expected someone else to be with him. “What’s wrong?”
“My car broke down.”
Rachel stared at him with a complete lack of comprehension. “In Aston?”
“No, here.”
She blinked at him. “I think you need to start again.”
Connor felt fight or flight grab at him. He could start again, explain he wanted to talk, or he could call a taxi and get back to Aston where he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone at all.
“I was going to… I needed to… my car…”
Rachel stared at him for a few seconds. “Connor, why did you drive to Upper Fordham?”
“To see you.”
Rachel nodded, then moved to one side. “Then get in here. I have coffee.”
When inside Rachel’s place, Connor felt a kind of peace steal over him. This little garage conversion was a real home, warm and inviting, with huge cushions on a cloud-like sofa. Rachel poured him coffee and encouraged him into the sitting room and down to that sofa, and he sat gratefully.
“I’ll just get dressed,” she said.
She was back in less than a minute, towel-dried hair scooped up in a knot on top of her head, and dressed in jeans and her usual work T-shirt. She brought with her more coffee and a bowl of cereal which she balanced on her knee as she took the chair opposite Connor.
“I’m all yours,” she offered.
Connor placed his empty coffee mug on the small table next to him and hunched over on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, his hands in a loose knot between them. “Not sure where to start.”
“The beginning,” Rachel responded around a mouthful of cornflakes and milk.
“I had this boyfriend. His name was Tristan, and he was in my shared house at Bristol Uni. He was studying Philosophy, he was pretty and sexy and way way back in the closet.”
“Narnia.”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
“So we did the dance. We’d have sex when we could, hid mostly from everything. He wasn’t the heir to a fortune, but he was the spare, a bit of a dick, but good in bed, and funny.”
“When he wasn’t being a dick,” Rachel said insightfully.
“Yeah.” Connor swallowed. Maybe he should have drunk whisky or something to take the edge of this shit. “I was seeing Tristan, but things didn’t end well, which accounts for the panic attacks. Which leads me to Ash.”
“And that’s all you’re telling me about Tristan. That it didn’t end well?”
Connor closed his eyes briefly and hung his head. “One day,” he murmured. Then he forced back the emotion that threatened to choke him and pushed it back in the box marked Yesterday’s Shit. “One day maybe I’ll share it all, but—” He breathed through his nose, attempting to calm rising panic. “—but Ash and Tristan, they’re so similar.”
Rachel frowned. “Ash strikes me as being a nice guy, a player maybe, bit rootless, but a nice guy.”
“You know what he said yesterday? He had no idea the Haynes estate donated land to the wildlife sanctuary.”
Rachel was still frowning like she didn’t follow his train of thought, and who the hell would? He wasn’t making any sense at all.
“He wouldn’t, I guess, it’s a big estate, and he’s mostly in the city. Are you likening him to this Tristan because of money?”
“No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know. I think it’s more, there was this blasé way that Tristan would look at money. He didn’t know how much he had, he didn’t care where it came from or where it went, and he used money to fuck me over.”
Silence. Connor was aware of what he’d said about being fucked over. Sympathy passed over Rachel’s expression. She probably thought Tristan had sold him out or something or had moved on because Connor wasn’t wealthy. Connor wasn’t going to correct her. Let her think that until he was ready to tell her the whole thing. If I ever do.
“So let me get this right. This cute guy who seems entirely gone on you, with whom you could probably have hot and uncomplicated sex with, for the summer, doesn’t know what a vast estate like the Sterling-Haynes family have, is spending their money on?”
“You make it sound normal.”
Rachel shrugged. “It is normal, for them.”
Abruptly none of what Connor was saying made any kind of sense to him. Why was he fixating on money and privilege, when Rachel was right, he should be focusing on fun and sexy times. That and knowing the whole thing would end at the same time summer did. The relationship, or whatever it was, had a defined end.
What he’d done wrong with Tristan was to imagine more with the man, finding a common ground and building a life, even thinking that one day Tristan would own his sexuality and come out of the closet despite what his family thought.
“Okay, so what do you need me to say? I can give you my opinion, but unless I get the whole story of what went on with this Tristan guy and why you look so pale when you talk about him, I can never say what you really want or need to hear.”
Connor groaned and buried his head in his hands. “My head is so fucked,” he said through his fingers. He heard Rachel move, felt the sofa sink as she sat next to him, and didn’t argue when she put her arms around him and hugged him.
“It may well be,” she said, “but Ash is a hell of a good summer romance to have, and maybe that is exactly what you need.”
Connor turned into her hug and nodded. “Ignore my fucked-up head,” he murmured.
“Yep. And go have monkey sex.”
Connor’s stomach sank. That wasn’t going to happen. He’d never lose control and fully enjoy anything that could leave him hurt. He knew that.
Did he feel better for having talked to Rachel? A little. Then not a lot at all. To actually get to the point where he could let himself lose control? That still didn’t seem like something that was going to happen over the space of a summer.
“Monkey sex isn’t on the agenda,” he lied. He knew he was lying to her and to himself. If he allowed his brain to be overruled by his sex drive he’d end up in bed with Ash with no regrets shadowing them.
Rachel tapped him on the chest. “Monkey sex is always on the agenda. Now, first things first, let’s go find Mark.”
They separated from the hug. “Who’s Mark?”
“Took over Henry’s garage a couple months ago. Not sure if he takes in work, he mostly has these heaps that he works on, but…” She quirked a half smile. “Your car certainly qualifies as a heap.”
“Ha ha, I thought that place was closed-up.” The last Connor recalled was the shutters on the windows of the auto repair centre placed rather out of the way on Sixways Lane.
“Worth a try to see if he’s opened as an auto shop. And we can get better coffee on the way back at The Wychwood.”
By the time they left, it was nearing seven am, and the short walk through the quiet village had the effect of pulling Connor back to the here and now. He’d managed to blurt out some of the issues in his head, and quite as he expected, they’d sounded stupid to his own ears. Just because Tristan and Ash were similar in families and money didn’t mean they were anything alike other than that. Ash made him laugh, and he was way outside the closet, that was at least two things in his favour.
“Are you sure there is someone in there?” Connor asked. He was doubtful anyone lived in this place. He didn’t know what it looked like inside, but from the outside the place looked old, made of tin sidings and seemingly held up by posters from the seventies for oils and auto lubricants. A side door was open and it led into a small room. The door held a handwritten sign proclaiming office hours were seven until four Monday to Saturday. There was no sign of the elusive Mark. Connor imagined a retired guy with tufty grey hair in dusty, oily work clothes, but when the door opened in front of them, the one marked Workshop, he was blown away.
Mark Delaney was no old guy, if anything, he was a similar age to Connor and yes, he was wearing jeans with oil on them and a cap with a Porsche logo, but other than that he was so not a tufty-haired retiree. He was built, with muscles and a trim waist and a T-shirt with the worn remains of a logo stretched over a wide chest. He was about Connor’s height but his presence was large in the small room.
“Can I help you?” Mark said, his voice a deep but polite growl.
“His car broke down in the village,” Rachel began. “Wasn’t sure if that was your kind of thing.” She was talking as she looked around her at the office, at the newer posters for the 2015 Formula 1 season, at the calendar, not of busty women but of Welsh Castles, of the neat and tidy desk. Connor was taking it all in as well.
“I can take a look,” Mark said. “I’m expecting a call, but if you leave the keys and a number…?”
Connor’s eyes widened. They didn’t know Mark from the next man, but the guy was asking for the keys to Connor’s car. Was that right?
“Give him the keys,” Rachel said.
“How do I—?”
Rachel poked him in the side. “Give him the damn keys, Connor.”
Connor reacted quickly, handing over his keys.
“And a number I can reach you on?” Mark asked. He was smiling and had a notebook in front of him. Connor gave him the number and Mark scribbled it down before tearing off a receipt for the keys. “I’ll take a look and get back to you. Is there somewhere you want it put? If it can be moved, I can bring it here.”
“Pull it into the drive just after where it broke down,” Connor said. Then he sighed heavily. “But if it’s dead, then…”
“Then I’ll bring it here and we can arrange a burial.”
Connor’s eyes snapped to Mark. He wasn’t teasing, but he was still smiling, open and friendly, and again that snap of familiarity hit him.
Rachel dragged him away and they began the walk back to her place. She handed him cereal, sorted out her hair into a complicated braid, and then the two of them went into work in Rachel’s car. A newer model than his, it near purred, and it had a jack to connect an iPod, no cassette deck.
“I really need a new car,” Connor bemoaned.
Rachel glanced at him with a ‘duh’ expression on her face. “You think so?” she asked dryly.
“And you trust Mark?”
“He’s the new mechanic, we know where he lives, and Dad said he’s a good guy.”
Connor felt marginally better. Rachel’s dad was hot on knowing exactly what was going on in Upper Fordham, and if he was happy with Mark, then he must have checked him out.
When they reached work, all hell had broken loose which meant he could focus on work and forget worrying about his car, or Ash. A cage on its side, a German shepherd limping, a cat hissing from a shelf. Connor felt every ounce of anxiety inside him subside. This was his normal. He could handle this.
Only when he was setting the shepherd’s leg did he realise he’d appraised Mark and not felt one ounce of danger from him. Despite his size, despite his muscles and his stern countenance, he had the softest of smiles, and he just seemed… friendly.
Yet sparky small Ash with his attitude and his laughter and his teasing was such a danger to him? Connor shook his head, then stroked the shepherd’s soft fur as he finished up. “Hey, boy, I am so fucked-up.”
Being a dog and unconscious meant the shepherd didn’t give anything back, not even a whine, but Connor felt better that the words were out there.
So what had he learned? That something about Ash got under his skin, but maybe it wasn’t the money? Maybe it was because Ash had to be looking for summer fling and Connor was scared he wanted more.
Yep. That was exactly it.
* * * * *
Rachel was at classes that night. She was taking a new course in wine tasting and had to get into Cheltenham so Connor wasn’t able to get a lift back to the village for his car. Mark had called although it had been Evan in reception who’d talked to him. Apparently the car was at Rachel’s and had suffered a broken hose, and if Connor called, then Mark would meet him at the car and give him back the keys.
Connor caught the bus from Aston to Upper Fordham and it dropped him right outside The Wychwood. He called Mark’s number, but as it was connecting he saw the man himself walking down from Sixways Lane direction and towards the pub. And behind him, in the beat-up Land Rover from the estate, Ash was driving down the hill from the Grange. They hadn’t made plans to meet tonight and lunch hadn’t happened, something about business and Ash not being in work, and the sight of his wannabe lover driving this way had Connor grinning.
Ash waved and pulled off the road into The Wychwood parking area, but Mark reached Connor first, holding out the keys and an envelope.
“No rush on payment,” Mark said.
“Thank you so much.”
“I topped up the oil and took a look at some of the other parts. When did you last get it serviced?”
“Last summer,” Connor admitted. ”I don’t do many miles.”
“And this is the problem. People think if the car is sitting there it doesn’t need to be looked at. You should get it done a couple times a year at least.”
They stood in awkward silence, and in Connor’s peripheral vision he saw Ash reverse into a space.
“Do I know you?” Mark blurted out.
“I was going to ask the same thing. I was at university in Bristol?”
Mark shook his head. “Army.”
“Do you have any pets?”
“Do spiders count? I have a lot of those?” He grinned at Connor. “The garage is swarming with the damn things.”
“No, I just… You look familiar.”
“Are you from round here?” Mark asked.
“London, born and bred.”
“Damn, I was born here, didn’t leave until I joined the army.”
A glimmer of recognition hit Connor. Something about Mark’s eyes, the suggestion of the kid he’d used to be. “Wait, you grew up here?”
Mark nodded. “Henry was my great-uncle.” Connor recalled Rachel mentioning something like that. ”I lived with him when I was a kid.”
“Oh God, Mark, I’m Connor,” Connor offered uselessly. That wasn’t going to explain anything. He expanded. “My family were here every summer, you lent me your spare bike.”
Mark snapped his fingers. “London boy, I remember.” He held out his hand, which Connor took. “Good to see you all grown up.”
“We were lucky to make it to eleven. You remember the obstacle course we made for our bikes?”
Mark nodded. “Oh my God, we nearly died on that final bend near the tree. Hell, that was so many years ago now. How did we get so old?”
Ash joined them, standing at Connor’s side.
“God I know, sometimes I feel so old,” Connor said.
Mark’s gaze shifted to look at Ash, and Connor recalled his manners. “Mark, this is Ash… Ash, Mark. Mark and I used to play in the woods when we were kids.”
Ash and Mark shook hands.
“We should get a beer,” Mark addressed Connor directly. “I would suggest tonight, but I can’t, I’m meeting my accountant.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Two hours of hell and me getting in trouble for not keeping receipts. At least she drinks beer.” He turned to address Ash. “Nice to meet you.” Then he was back to Connor. “You have my number now.”
“I look forward to it,” Connor said. He wasn’t lying. He loved the idea of connecting to something from the golden years of his life. Before everything went horribly wrong.
“Should I be jealous?” Ash asked. He twined his fingers with Connor’s and tugged him a little. Connor compensated by tugging back and somehow they ended up in a hug outside The Wychwood pub. The hug turned to a kiss, but before it got too heated, Ash separated them and guided Connor through the side gate and into the garden, keeping close to the edge and finding the same spot Connor had hidden in when he and Ash had first kissed. Ash pushed him gently to sit on the backless stone bench, and then he straddled Connor’s lap and hooked his legs over the bench, clasping his hands behind Connor’s neck. They kissed deeply for a while. Connor was okay with Ash being there, he was calm and could push Ash off at any moment if he needed to.
Ash pulled back a little. “So? Should I be jealous of the big guy?”
Connor cradled Ash’s face. “He’s not the one I want the summer fling with,” he said in all seriousness. No, Ash was the one he wanted to have some fun with.
“Why does what we have need an expiration date?” Ash asked. He sounded just as serious as Connor was.
“Because you’re going back to the city and I’m staying here,” Connor explained like he was talking to a kid.
“And that’s it?” Ash asked. He pressed his cheek against Connor’s hand, like a cat, and there was a light in his brown eyes.
“Yeah, what else could it be?”
Connor stopped any more talking by tilting Ash’s head and kissing him, and they stayed there, kissing and talking about Connor’s shitty car and Mark until a group of kids came closer and it was time to think about dinner and drinks.
Connor saw Mark in the corner, head bent over notebooks, and a tall skinny woman tapping at her mouth with a pencil looking like she was concentrating.
“He’s a good-looking guy,” Ash said.
“You think?” Connor wanted to hear more. Of course Mark was a good-looking guy if you liked big and strong and solid.
“God yeah, I bet he could pick me up and bench-press me.”
“You’re not that small,” Connor said.
“No, but he’s that big.” They ordered drinks and found a table in an alcove. “Anyway, he’s not my type.”
Ash was teasing and Connor could get behind that. I need that. “He’s not?”
“Nope, I like my men with a degree in being a veterinarian, a clapped-out car, and with blond hair and hazel eyes. Oh, and their name has to be Connor. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Your type?”
“Easy,” Connor said. “Anyone called Ash.”
When he and Ash continued the flirting and the laughing, and some more frankly awesome kissing, Connor knew he had been lying. Not anyone called Ash, no. But this Ash, his Ash.
That was his type.