Page 91 of Goldilocks

Ivan smiled.

“But thank you,” Eric added.

“’Course,” Ivan said. “Anyway, to answer your question, Sam, I’ll be heading back for Monday. Eric’s going to take a break for a while to stay here with you. Get everything sorted out.”

Eric’s expression changed, then. Stress and unease filling it.

“I might be moving back,” Eric said. His eyes flashed from Ivan to Sam. “I won’t be intrusive, I swear, I just—It’s too far away. I can’t be that far from you.”

Sam could have pointed out he’d lived away for years, but that would have been a distinctly unkind thing to say. Especially since Sam could see that Eric was still working through feelings of guilt for leaving Sam behind in the past. Not that he should feel guilt for that; he had been a teenager. Sam wasn’t his responsibility.

“Cool,” Sam said. And he made sure he didn’t say it in the flat tone that seemed to trigger Eric. He used a nice voice. Offered a genuine smile when Eric turned to him, dumbstruck. “Maybe we could demolish the house together as a summer project?”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Eric’s surprise morphed to doubt, then to suspicion, and then to something that elevated his voice into a happy note. “I’ve done loads of work around Ivan’s place, so we could renovate it too. Make it liveable again. The garden is still in good shape.”

“Dad always has a list of what needs tending in the garden.” Sam grunted. “He’d never let his robins live in anything but paradise.”

Ivan probably thought he hid thathmmbehind a mouthful of food. But Sam heard it loud and clear, and he set his gaze on him, not pretending that his censure went unnoticed.

“What?” Sam asked flatly.

Ivan swallowed his mouthful and immediately his hands were up, palms showing in surrender. “I literally didn’t say anything. Not one word.”

Sam leaned back, irritation and anger rising up.

“Let me guess, ‘why’d he pay attention to the birds’ living conditions, but not his kids’?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You were thinking it.” Sam stood, and Ivan was covering his face now, the groan he released one of genuine frustration.

“I’m not thinking anything. It was just ahmm. A polite acknowledgement that you spoke when I didn’t have anything in particular to say on the topic.”

“I don’t believe for one second you have nothing particular to say ‘on the topic’,” Sam muttered. He picked up his empty plate and Roan’s as well and set them both in the sink. “I’ll leave the dishes to you. Concussed and all.”

Ivan was peering out from between his fingers, a glare fixed on Sam. “I was going to do them anyway since Eric cooked.”

For his part, Eric seemed frozen in place, apparently undecided about who he wanted to tell to leave off. Sam couldn’t have said who deserved it. Ivan for his quiet judgement or Sam for not letting that judgement slide.

“You sticking around for a bit?” Sam asked Roan as he walked toward his room.

Roan nodded and rose to follow.

The bedroom that Eric told him was his when he’d entered the flat was small and economical, the window having a view of the street. A gap in the terraces just opposite left them a sliver view of the ocean. It wasn’t far, a ten-minute walk at most.

Sam sat on the bed, and then, as a bone-deep weariness seemed to grab hold of him, he let himself sink back and shut his eyes. Roan closed the bedroom door before he approached the bed. “Lie properly,” Roan urged, and when Sam just hummed – not nearly as judgemental as Ivan’shmm– Roan took matters into his own hands and physically moved Sam himself.

He pushed Sam onto the far side of the bed, getting him under the cotton sheets, and climbed in next to him. Cotton wrapped around Sam’s midsection rather than bare skin as Roan settled behind him. Sam pinched the fabric of Roan’s sleeve, tugging at it. “It’s bad form to wear my ex’s clothes and get in bed with me.”

A displeased sound rumbled from Roan’s throat. “I was told it would upset you if I wore my own clothes.”

“It would have gotten unwanted attention at the hospital,” Sam allowed. “But now that we’re out of the hospital, I don’t like you wearing his things.” Sam blamed his concussion – though given that Adonis had worked his magic on Sam, it wasn’t any excuse – for voicing the niggling feeling buried deep within him. It didn’t bother Sam. Not really. It was just slightly irritating.

“I see.” Roan withdrew from Sam.

Sam looked over his shoulder and watched Roan undress. He cast the clothes across the room and fixed his gaze on Sam.

“This is better?”