Page 7 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Chapter six

Tonight You Belong To Me

Kenny sat on one side of Heather’s dining table where a mix of soft golden light from the overhead chandelier and the shimmer of candles were giving off a casual elegance, setting the ambiance for the most awkward dinner party he’d ever been at.

Her attempt at lamb kleftiko had been a success though, if everyone’s plate was to be believed. All gone. Jack and Fraser sat opposite, Fraser’s arm draped casually over Jack’s chair in that silent yet unmistakable possession, telling everyone in no uncertain terms that Jack was his. Despite the rings on both of their fingers, Fraser still needed to assert himself over Kenny. On the outside, people might wonder why. Fraser was huge. Muscles. A gym owner and fitness guru. All honed and mighty. Kenny was nothing in comparison. A lowly academic who did the occasional gym workout and run to keep in shape, but was still a forty-one-year-old who had his nose in textbooks most of his time.

But it was what went on inside that had Fraser desperate to assert himself. Kenny’s overarching knowledge of Jack threatened him. Kenny couldn’t do a thing about that. Couldn’t erase the six years they’d been in and out of each other’s bed and Kenny in and out of Jack’s mind.

He’d have to get over it.

At the bottom end of the table sat Dominic, Kenny’s colleague from the university and Heather’s old schoolmate, who’d originally set Kenny up with her. His wife, Tasha, a beautician, sidled next to him. And he was next to Heather, who was sidling closer to him with every sip of wine.

It was all very cosy. All very normal .

Kenny hadn’t ever felt more out of place.

Heather topped up the wine in each of their glasses. “I’m so glad that lamb came out okay.”

“It was delicious,” Fraser said. “Will have to get the recipe from you.”

“Was trying to give Kenny a little of what he’d had in Crete.” She smiled at him. “Was it as good?”

Kenny twisted the stem of his wineglass and propped his arm on the back of his chair. “Yeah. Just as good. There was a little place on the harbour where I had it three times.”

“Jack said you went up Mount Ida?” Fraser said, dipping forward. “In forty degree heat?”

“I did.” Kenny laughed. “Not my only mistake.”

“Why, what other mistakes happened?” Dom arched an eyebrow in suggestion.

One was going at all. Three weeks of sun, sea and solitude where all he thought about was Aaron Jones hadn’t been the medicinal time off he’d hoped. Two was going to a club when he was there, finding no one as striking as Aaron and leaving swiftly after downing a whisky. Three was having so much time to think he’d convinced himself that staying away from Aaron was the right thing to do, allowing Aaron a normal student experience with his boyfriend despite it killing Kenny’s very essence.

“Tried so hard to speak the language, but failed miserably,” he offered instead. “Asked for directions to some monument thing, can’t remember which now, and the man thought I was asking for the toilets. Ended up in some public restroom in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, God, do you remember Italy?” Jack’s smile, bright and eager to tell a new story, proved how much wine he’d had. He’d forgotten where he was and who they were with to mention that minibreak. “The cab driver in Florence? You butchered Italian so badly he charged us double.”

Jack laughed, and Kenny widened his eyes, trying to catch his gaze.

“You two went to Italy together?” Dom asked from across the table. “When was that?”

Jack flushed, realising what he’d inadvertently let out of the bag. To everyone else, people believed Jack and Kenny had been merely old work buddies, rekindling an old friendship that had died from Jack having left for Scotland eight years ago for a transfer from Ryston police to the Glasgow force. But no one knew the extent of their relationship and why Jack had fled so eagerly.

“Uh, yeah…Conference.” Jack grabbed his glass of wine and knocked some back. “Rained every day.”

Kenny said nothing. The rain hadn’t been an issue. He’d enjoyed being locked inside a hotel room with Jack. Sightseeing hadn’t been the reason they’d wanted to get away. It had been to see if they could talk about something that wasn’t psychopathic killers.

An awkward silence settled, so Kenny stood, gathering plates. “Let me clear up.” Heather went to help, but Kenny shook his head. “I’ll do it. You cooked. Finish your wine.”

Kenny made his way to the kitchen, dumping the plates on the counter and taking in all the mess. Heather was a chaotic cook. If this had been his kitchen, he’d have an aneurism. So he switched on the tap, filling the sink with soapy water to clear up what couldn’t go in the dishwasher, using the moment to escape the subtle tension from the table. And in his head.

Scuffling from behind made him peer over his shoulder. Fraser entered, carrying a few more dishes. “Thought I’d lend a hand,” he said, setting them down on the counter beside Kenny.

“You don’t have to.”

“They’re all talking about Strictly . That’s not my thing.”

Kenny snorted, stuffing his hands into soapy water to wash up the glassware. “Not a dancer?”

“Not really.” Fraser propped himself up against the wall opposite, folding his arms to make his bulging biceps strain his T-shirt, crossing one ankle over the other.

Kenny could feel him assessing him. Working out what it was Jack saw in him. How they differed, and what that meant for him.

“Jack says you’ve not decided on a honeymoon destination yet?” Kenny asked to keep up the friendly chatter, and to start small, knowing Fraser was here for ulterior motives and easing him in gently.

Kenny could tell a lot in the man’s stance and his behaviour of having left the dining table to watch him clear up. It didn’t take his PhD to read Fraser’s mind.

“Not yet. It’s all down to when Jack can get time off. He’s overworked at the moment.”

“He’ll always be overworked.” Kenny grabbed a tea towel, wiped his hands, and turned to face him. “You married police.”

“Ha. Yeah. Guess so.” Fraser tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “You and Heather…are you…?”

“Just friends.”

“Right. Sure. So no holiday romance for you? Woman? Man?”

Kenny arched an eyebrow. Fraser was taking his time in plucking up the courage to ask what he’d come in here for, settling for small talk. “No. ”

Fraser nodded, staring down at his shoes.

“Everything okay?” Kenny asked.

Fraser lifted his gaze, then sighed. “I probably shouldn’t…” He closed his eyes. “It’s Jack…He’s wound tighter these days.”

Ah. Here it is.

Kenny waited.

“Since we came back here.” Fraser looked him in the eye. “Has a lot of memories of this place.”

“He does.”

“Some bad.”

“Some very bad.”

Fraser flinched as if not expecting that. He probably thought Kenny would try to defend himself, at least. Say some memories were good. And while they were, they unfortunately didn’t outweigh the bad.

“He hasn’t been sleeping.” Fraser shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with telling Kenny but also clearly needing to.

“He’s landed a shit case right now.”

“Yeah. And he’s had bad cases up in Scotland, but he just seems tense all the time here. I’ve tried to get him to relax. Exercise. Mindfulness. All the other healthy body, healthy mind stuff I preach, but, well… the healthy mind stuff isn’t my forte.”

“The mind’s a complex thing.”

“Yeah. So…what can I do?”

Kenny inhaled, slipping his hands in his pockets. He felt for Fraser. It was clear the man adored his husband. He loved him enough to come in here and face his ex to ask for advice. But Kenny had sworn to Jack never to divulge what they’d once been to each other. How could he go against that?

“You know him better than anyone.” Fraser’s shoulders sagged as if he couldn’t bear to admit that. “Better than me. I just want to help him. You were with him during the Ryston years. You know how his head works when he gets like this.”

“The Ryston years?” Kenny exhaled a dejected laugh .

“The big case.”

“Yeah.” Kenny nodded. “I realise what he was referring to.”

The Howell case. It had had a lasting effect on everyone involved, and he swallowed, focusing on the floor tiles, Fraser’s words digging into places he didn’t want to revisit. But he wanted to help Jack. And Fraser. If Jack was struggling mentally, he wouldn’t be doing his best work. And if Fraser couldn’t help him, their marriage might not last to the honeymoon. Kenny would hate himself if there was an opening to prevent all that and he didn’t take it.

“If he’s spiralling, sometimes a distraction helps,” Kenny said, hoping to remain ambiguous enough whilst also offering a vague insight. “Something familiar. Calming.”

“Like what? We run. Do weights. Eat healthy. Binge Netflix. Play cards. We also have an ongoing chess tournament as he’s teaching me.”

“All great stuff. Keep those up. The chess is a great distraction.” How could he let Fraser know without actually saying it? “Have you tried reading to him?”

“Reading to him? Like, out loud?”

“Yes. While in bed, maybe.”

“So…a novel?”

“Hmm, not so much a novel. Something simple. Like a children’s book. It’ll pull him out of his head for a while.”

“Like, a bedtime story?” The slight crease in Fraser’s brow and the hesitant way his lips parted told Kenny everything.

He was trying to decide if this advice was genuine or if Kenny was testing him, maybe even mocking him. Had anyone else offered this suggestion, it would sound ridiculous, bordering on absurd. But being a doctor, a psychologist, meant people often took Kenny’s words as gospel, even when they should question them. The authority that his title carried was both a blessing and a burden, and Kenny knew better than to lean on it carelessly. But Fraser wasn’t gullible. He wasn’t someone to accept advice blindly, not even from a professional. That made this moment delicate. Kenny needed to tread carefully.

“I know it sounds unconventional,” Kenny said. “But Jack doesn’t respond to typical methods when he’s wound this tight. He needs something grounding. Something that pulls him away from the spiral. A bedtime story works because it’s simple. Familiar. Sometimes it’s not about the words, but the rhythm, the tone. It’s about feeling safe.”

“Do you mean read to him like you would a child?”

“ Exactly like you would a child. Hold him while you do it, too.” Kenny lowered his voice for it not to carry too far and also so Fraser would understand the intimacy of the information. “When you’re in bed.”

Fraser exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Is that what you did for him?”

Before Kenny could admit to anything, Heather and Jack entered with empty glasses and the empty bottles of wine.

“What are you two sneaking off for?” Heather sidled up to Kenny as Jack stood beside Fraser, him instinctively wrapping his arm around him. Natural caregiver. If he did the bedtime story stuff, Jack would be putty in that man’s hands. And maybe Jack would urge him to go further than that. And Kenny could finally be free of it.

“Thank you for helping.” Heather wrinkled her nose at him, edging closer. She was giving him permission to move their friendship along. To go back to maybe being something more. She was letting him know she still wanted him.

From across the room, Jack raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t blind to the way Kenny carried himself around Heather. Measured. Careful. Keeping a subtle distance, as though proximity might tip the balance of something precarious. It was restraint in its purest form, deliberate and telling. Jack also wasn’t blind to how Kenny was around Aaron. Starkly, unmistakably different. There was no careful detachment, no polished restraint. Around Aaron, Kenny’s control faltered, emotions slipping through the cracks no matter how tightly he tried to hold them in. The way he’d once been around Jack. And Jack didn’t need to say it aloud. His stare was enough, silently calling Kenny out.

I see you.

The sharp buzz of Kenny’s phone interrupted the moment, and he removed himself to fish it out. Glancing at the screen, his stomach both dropped and flipped.

“Sorry.” He waggled the phone. “I need to take this.”

He stepped out of the kitchen, into the hallway, answering the phone hushed enough for his voice not to travel through the walls. “Aaron?”

There was a muffled noise at the other end, Aaron’s voice slurring, thick and unsteady before he rolled out the, “ Been roofied.”

Kenny gripped the phone, pulse racing. “Where are you?”

“ Taylor …” Aaron’s voice was so light it was barely audible, as if he were drifting away.

Kenny didn’t wait for anything more. “Stay where you are.”

He then ended the call and bolted for the door, not bothering with his jacket or a goodbye. Fuelled by adrenaline, he launched into his car parked on the street, hands trembling as he jammed the key into the ignition, and roared the car to life. His phone connected to the Bluetooth, and he called Aaron again. The line rang, each tone stretching painfully long. No answer. A hollow dread twisted in his gut as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, tyres screeching against the pavement, and tore through the quiet streets.

He shouldn’t know where Taylor’s house was. But he did. He’d followed Aaron there once during the summer, driven by some sick, shameful need to know . He’d told himself it wasn’t stalking, just concern. But on other nights, he’d found himself parked nearby, staring at the house, knowing Aaron was inside, torturing himself with thoughts of what he might be doing.

Tonight, knowing where Taylor lived wasn’t a curse—it was a lifeline. His mind raced as the streets blurred past. Rohypnol? Alcohol poisoning? Something worse? Chong’s words about Connie Bishop’s toxicology report replayed in his mind, chilling him. A neurotoxin, fast-acting, undetectable in standard screenings.

Urging the thought away, he focused on the road. Thank fuck he’d only had the one glass of wine at Heather’s. He gripped the wheel as he pulled into Taylor’s street where rows of terraced houses lined the lane, the hum of music and laughter spilling from one house in particular. He parked hastily and stepped out, scanning the scene. Lights blazed in the windows, music thumping loud enough to echo into the street. Shadows of bodies moved behind the curtains. He was about to march in when his psychologist’s mind kicked in, running through Aaron’s behavioural patterns.

He replayed the call. There’d been no music in the background. No other voices. Nothing to indicate Aaron was still at the party. And Aaron? Who was Aaron as a person? Aaron hated feeling vulnerable. He wouldn’t stay somewhere he felt unsafe. He’d spent his life fending for himself. Learning he was alone. In times of trouble, what did Aaron do?

He’d run. Get himself away.

Kenny scanned up and down the street, searching. Then he saw it—a narrow alleyway between two houses, dark and uninviting, leading to the next street. His gut twisted. Aaron sought solitude in moments of distress. Kenny started toward the alley, calling Aaron’s number again. Faint vibrations buzzed somewhere in the darkness and Kenny’s heart lurched, so he clicked on his phone’s torch, the beam slicing through the shadows and revealing a slumped figure in the grass.

“ Aaron !” Kenny bolted forward, falling to his knees as he grabbed him by the shoulders to prop him up and panic bled through his usual composure. “Aaron, can you hear me?”

Aaron’s head lolled, eyes fluttering open, bloodshot and struggling to focus. “Doc?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Relief flooded Kenny.

“How…?”

“You called me. Can you stand?”

“Feel sick…” Aaron groaned, face pinching in pain.

“Okay.” Kenny stroked a damp strand of hair from Aaron’s forehead, swiping away the sodden grass sticking to his cheek. “You can be sick, but we need to get you to a hospital.”

“ No .” Aaron grabbed Kenny’s shirt in a weak grasp. “No hospital…no checks.”

Kenny understood the terror behind those words. Aaron didn’t trust authorities. Hated being under scrutiny. His past had made him that way. Defensive. On edge. Which might have saved his life right then. So he nodded.

“Take me home.” Aaron went limp.

Kenny hesitated, conscience warring with his instincts. He knew what was right. But the look in Aaron’s eyes—the unguarded fear —made the choice for him, and he hauled Aaron up, slinging him over his shoulder. Aaron mumbled incoherently as Kenny carried him out of the alley, staggering toward his car. Somehow, he wrestled the back door open and lowered Aaron inside, where he fell back, splaying across the seats, legs dangling out of the door. Kenny had to drape over him and grip Aaron’s belt loops to heft him farther inside, and as he did, Aaron cupped his face in both hands, raking his fingers through his beard.

“You smell really fucking good, doc.”

Kenny froze, lips inches from Aaron’s. Vulnerability radiated off him, intoxicating and devastating. The urge to close the distance, to claim what he couldn’t have, to kiss Aaron, nearly overpowered him .

Then Aaron’s hands fell away and his eyes pinched, a tear slipping from underneath. “ Fuck …I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”

Kenny pulled back, heart jolting. But he had to shake himself free. They were the words of an intoxicated and compromised young man. They weren’t true. Even if Kenny wanted to believe them.

Which he didn’t.

Couldn’t .

“Rest. You’re safe,” he whispered instead, tucking Aaron’s legs into the car and closing the door.

As he rounded the car, Kenny caught sight of a man approaching the house, and for an all-consuming moment, Kenny had an overwhelming desire to launch over there and pummel Taylor to the ground. But Taylor lit up with surprise as he clocked Kenny, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion before the front door opened, and the revellers pulled him inside. Kenny climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Aaron’s phone vibrated. Continually .

It didn’t stop until Kenny got home with Aaron unconscious in the back.

Whether Aaron meant for Kenny to take him back to his home, his room in Halls, didn’t matter because there wasn’t a chance in hell Kenny was leaving him alone. So inside his house, Kenny carried Aaron upstairs and instead of utilising the spare room this time, he took Aaron into his room, where he laid him gently on his bed. There, he leaned close enough to feel the faint warmth of Aaron’s soft breaths settling on his cheek, confirming he was still alive. Then he plucked up Aaron’s wrist, pressing his fingers over his pulse, counting the beats. Chong’s words rang in his ears. The toxin was fast-acting. If it were the same, he’d already be gone.

That thought kept him from spiralling.

So he fetched water, setting it on the bedside table before stripping Aaron down to his underwear, his body limp like a rag doll, and he lifted dead limbs to dress him in a pair of his own loose jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, then climbed onto the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around Aaron’s chest to rest his thumb over his radial artery.

Counting. Steady. Beats.

He held Aaron close, heart warring with his mind, knowing that whatever battle raged inside him, whatever lines he had crossed or rules he’d shattered, none of it mattered as much as the quiet rise and fall of Aaron’s breath beneath his touch.