Page 22 of Leather and Longing (Island Tales #3)

Chapter Eighteen

The house was quiet, save for the sea. The waves pushed and pulled against the shore beyond his window, their rhythm steady, indifferent. Adam lay on his back, staring into the dark that never changed.

It had been another black day. He’d lashed out at Paul every chance he got, sharp words, clipped orders, silence used like a blade.

He couldn’t seem to stop himself. The anger was reflex now, a shield against pity he hadn’t even been offered.

And when Paul retreated, when the house grew still again, the only thing left was the hollow ache of guilt.

He shifted under the quilt, restless, his hands curled into fists against the sheets.

What do I miss most?

He’d asked himself that a hundred times, though the answers were endless.

The colour of the sky at dawn. The silver edge of moonlight on the sea.

The quick glance that said more than words ever could.

The way a book looked, dog-eared and well-loved, waiting for him to pick it up again.

The faces of his friends. His sister’s expression, even when it was stern, even when she annoyed him.

I have no idea what Paul looks like .

He bit down hard on that thought, as though he could crush it before it bloomed.

He missed control most of all. Not only in the bedroom, not only the work he had built his name on, but in life.

The ability to walk into a room without fear of stumbling.

To cook his own meals without measuring danger in every hiss of oil or every sharp edge.

To be alone without it feeling like a death sentence.

The memories rose whether he wanted them or not.

Three months ago, the diagnosis: acute glaucoma. The words had sounded clinical, distant, until the consultant spelled it out. Sudden. Aggressive. Intractable.

Three weeks later, the world had gone dark. He’d fought— God , how he’d fought. Drops, pills, surgeries, specialists. One last desperate attempt to salvage vision in his left eye. But the verdict had been final, unyielding.

Nothing more we can do.

The phrase replayed like a cruel mantra.

He rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. The smell of salt air drifted through the open window, mingling with the faint scent of old wood from the beams overhead. He hated it, hated how alive the world still was, as if mocking him with what he’d lost.

The waves kept moving. The night kept breathing. And Adam lay there, blind and broken, listening to the sound of his own defeat.

“Call it off, Paul.”

Paul huffed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. More than once.” He stared up at the night sky where blue was giving way to a darker shade of velvet, and sighed. He knew Taylor had a point. If only it were that simple. “I… I can’t.”

“For God’s sake, why not? From the sound of it, Adam’s been nothing but a complete bastard to you for a couple of days now.” Taylor’s voice softened. “It was a good idea, I grant you, but why do something nice for him when he’s treated you like crap?”

Paul couldn’t argue with Taylor’s logic.

Adam had walked out of the kitchen and shut himself in the library, leaving Paul close to breaking point.

He’d wanted to hit something, punch something, anything to take out the frustration that bubbled up inside him.

His throat closed up tight and his chest constricted as he replayed Adam’s caustic words over and over in his head.

“Is it the sex? Because damn, it’s only happened once. It can’t have been that good.”

Funnily enough, the sex hadn’t crossed his mind. Paul couldn’t figure it out. The way he’d felt earlier, he should have marched up the stairs, packed his bags and told Adam where to stick his job.

And yet he was still there, attempting to do something pleasant for Adam.

I must be crazy. It was the only explanation that made sense.

What surfaced in his mind was a tortured cry, a man in torment.

He glanced at the closed library windows.

Adam had gone to bed, but Paul wasn’t about to raise his voice, in case the bedroom windows were open.

“I wish you could have heard him, Taylor,” he said quietly into the phone.

“That scream. The pain in it. The utter desperation. That’s what makes him act this way, I’m sure of it.

” When push came to shove, Paul still believed he could make a difference, that somehow he could get through to Adam.

Taylor huffed. “I think you’re making excuses for him myself.”

“But you will be there tomorrow, right? You and David?”

A pause. “Yeah.” Paul didn’t miss the note of reluctance, however.

“But if he starts on you again, don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut, okay?

” His voice was gruff, but Paul wasn’t fooled for a second.

Taylor spoke with love. “And seeing as tomorrow’s going to be a long day for Adam, you get some sleep, okay? It’s already past ten o’clock.”

“Okay. See you at the Beach Shack at midday. And Taylor? Best behaviour, please?”

Taylor gasped. “Me? As if I’d contemplate behaving in any other fashion.” Paul caught his snicker at the end.

He chuckled. “Thanks for that. I needed a laugh after the day I’ve had.

’Night, Taylor.” He disconnected, pocketed his phone and climbed the steep path to the kitchen door.

After assuring the house was locked up, he poured out a glass of water and climbed the stairs as silently as he could.

His head ached and a weariness had settled over him, making him long for his bed.

His teeth brushed, Paul crept across the landing past Adam’s closed door into his own room.

He undressed in the dark and slipped between cool sheets, the soft pillows and firm mattress welcoming him, supporting him.

Sleep remained out of his grasp a while longer, tormenting him with recollections of the previous few days.

The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself what he’d planned was the right thing to do, because he wasn’t doing it for himself.

He was doing it for Adam. By the time his brain had eased into neutral, Paul was exhausted.

His last conscious decision was that Adam was going to listen to him, whether he wanted to or not.

And if he didn’t want to cooperate, Paul had one last card to play.

Paul was taking no prisoners.

“Good morning.”

Adam surfaced through hazy, sleep-warm layers to smell coffee.

“Wha… what time is it?” Paul hadn’t brought him a morning mug of coffee for a few days, not since…

What day is it? All Adam’s days seemed to blur into one mass of rage, resentment and regret.

Some functioning part of him said it was Wednesday.

“It’s nine. I didn’t want to let you sleep too late this morning. We have plans.”

There was something new about Paul. The touch of steel in his voice, perhaps? Whatever it was, it made Adam’s hackles rise. “Oh, we do?”

“Yes. It’s time you got out of this house and got some fresh air into your lungs. You haven’t been out since you went to Ryde for a haircut, and I’ll bet that was the first time in ages that you’d set foot out of the front door. So we’re going out for the day.”

Someone was being awfully brave this early in the day. “What makes you think I’ll cooperate with your plans?” Adam barked out a laugh.

The silence that followed his words had the hairs on his arms standing on end.

Paul drew in a long breath. “You know what? You’ve treated me like shit the last few days, and I’ve just about had it.

I organized this on Monday. I thought it would make you feel good, because you’ve obviously been going through a really bad patch.

” He snorted. “But after yesterday? Believe me, last night I came this close to calling the whole thing off. I’m still in two minds now.

So it comes down to this: either you do this, or I walk.

And before you open your mouth to put your foot in it yet again, consider this.

If I walk, no book, no one to help you regain any form of independence, and best of all…

” Paul paused. “More Caroline.” Another deep breath.

“I’ll let you think on it. You can let me know what you decide when you come downstairs for breakfast.” Paul left before Adam could say a word.

Adam lay there, his heartbeat racing, a fluttering in his belly, his breathing rapid.

I did it. Paul wanted to leave. Part of him wanted to yell, “Well, fuck you!” Who the fuck did Paul think he was, to speak like that? He could go ahead and take a running jump, for all Adam cared. He hadn’t wanted a companion in the first place.

I don’t need him. Haven’t I always said that?

It wasn’t until a couple of minutes later that he realised he felt like shit.

Adam sat up in bed and took his mug in hand. That first shot of caffeine gave him a much-needed jolt. He propped his pillows behind him and leaned against the headboard. Adam put aside his emotions and considered the situation logically.

What am I about to throw away here?

It was easy to list all the reasons why Paul should go, but as for why Adam should put up a fight to keep him? That took more serious analysis, and the first conclusion he came to made Adam’s heart sink.

I’ve been an arsehole.

There was no way around that. He thought back on all Paul had done since his arrival—and how Adam had treated him.

Adam prided himself on his ability to handle people, yet in Paul’s case, yeah, he’d fucked up.

Granted, Adam would feel better if Paul did leave, but that left the not-so-small matter of his books.

He’d be ridding himself of an unwanted companion, true, but he’d also be losing a possibly valuable assistant in the process.

It was this last thought that decided him, albeit grudgingly.

Paul needed to stay.

Adam disliked having to admit he’d been wrong, but he had little choice.

By the time he’d showered and dressed himself, he was more prepared to face Paul.

The mere act of getting dressed served as a reminder of the thoughtfulness of his companion: Paul had re-arranged the chest of drawers so that not only did Adam know what each drawer contained, he knew the range of colours therein.

That knowledge did little to make Adam feel better.

He descended the staircase, stroking the smooth banister as he took each step with care. Yet another reminder: if not for Paul, how much longer would Adam have made do with sleeping on the couch and taking unsatisfactory spit washes in a far from adequate cloakroom?

Adam stifled a sigh. I need to make this up to him. He had no idea what Paul had planned for the day, but whatever it was, Adam meant to accept the thought behind it with good grace. If an opportunity came his way to put right at least some of the hurt he’d caused Paul, Adam would seize it.

He owed Paul that much.

Adam paused in the kitchen doorway, listening intently. Judging by the jerky movements and occasional thuds, Paul was still upset. Adam felt his way over to the table and sat down. All noise ceased for a moment, followed by the sound of pouring liquid.

“I’m sorry, I left my mug upstairs.” An apology seemed an appropriate beginning to the conversation.

More silence ensued. Paul cleared his throat. “That… that’s all right. I’ll collect it later. Here’s a fresh cup.” The clink of a cup being placed on the table.

“So…” Adam straightened. “What’s on the agenda for today?” He reached for his coffee, aware of Paul’s continued silence. Adam said nothing. He’d said far too much already, and although his words didn’t constitute an apology, they did signal his compliance.

It was all Paul was going to get, anyway.

A long exhale. “First of all, we’re going to walk down into the bay and have lunch.”

Adam saw the small horseshoe bay in his mind, brought up in a flood of recollections from his childhood.

Playing on the beach with his grandfather, running across the sand, pulling a bright red kite behind him, its tail fluttering in the warm breeze.

Building sandcastles with moats, and a drawbridge fashioned out of ice lolly sticks.

Sitting on a warm rock with his sister, eating ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

More recently, nine years ago, taking a boat out into the bay with Caroline, to scatter the combined ashes of their parents.

Their father had followed their mother, one month after her death from lung cancer.

Adam had always thought his father’s death certificate should have read ‘broken heart’.

“I haven’t been down there for a while,” he said quietly. He pictured the steep path that led down to the far end of the bay. He supposed he could negotiate it, with care. “And after that?”

“That is to be a surprise.”

Adam opened his mouth to demand more details but stopped himself. He’d inflicted enough damage with that waspish tongue of his.

There was nothing for it but to trust Paul.

“Okay then.” He awaited a response, but Paul remained silent.

Guess I’m not the only one biting his tongue. Not that Adam could blame him. His track record had to be enough to make Paul doubt the veracity of his reactions.

“You ready for some breakfast?”

The familiar ground felt good beneath Adam’s feet. “Yes, please.” His belly growled.

Paul chuckled, and the tightness in Adam’s chest eased. “I’m not making you a big breakfast. You’ll ruin your lunch.”

Talk about role reversal. “Yes, Dad,” Adam said, smirking.

“I’m being serious. But if you want to pig out on a huge breakfast and leave no room for homemade crab tart, or prawn salad, or chicken Caesar salad, or?—”

“Stop, you’re making my mouth water!” His stomach gave out another rumble as if to confirm his words.

Paul laughed this time, a rich, happy sound that brought about an unexpected release of tension in the muscles across Adam’s back.

He relaxed into his chair. “In that case, I’ll settle for a couple of slices of toast and maybe a bowl of cereal. ”

“Sensible man.”

Adam drank his coffee, the sounds of Paul’s activity washing over him. All it had taken was for him to be civil, and the change in atmosphere had been huge. If things continued in this vein, there was a distinct probability it would be a pleasant day.

God knew they were overdue for one.