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H e looked so disappointed, and I was disappointed with myself, having built up all that courage only to have chickened out on…

I didn’t even know what, but somehow, my hand had travelled up to his cheek.

He’d not shaved for a couple of days again, building up a nice little bit of shade around his square jaw.

A distinguished, mature man—something that should have put me right off. I liked women with curves, the feel of soft skin against mine. Yet here I was, with my sweaty palm against his sharp stubble, wanting to put my mouth on his, scrape my teeth against his skin, press lips against lips.

Where on earth had all this come from? I absolutely understood his predilection for alcohol, because right now, I needed that bourbon—preferably a whole bottle—to numb the ridiculous thoughts forming in my head.

“Kissing,” he said in a voice that trembled. “Is that something we should be doing?”

He swallowed, staring at my mouth like he’d never seen it before. How had I not noticed? I’d not even thought of it before, but yes. A hundred per cent kissing, please. I think I nodded. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“I’d love to,” he admitted, moving his gaze to my eyes like he was asking permission.

Consent. He had all of mine, even if I had no idea what that actually meant.

Which, of course, was when the clatter of Jean’s heels punctured the silence and made him shoot up to standing, leaving my hand to lazily trail down his chest, stopping somewhere on the way as he attempted to step back, causing the chair to scrape awkwardly against the floor as Jean popped around the corner .

“Oh, hello!” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Caught in the act? Absolutely not. Nothing to see here. Stewart looked flustered as anything, and I was…smiling.

“I’m just going,” he said awkwardly.

“See you at what? Six?” I enjoyed jumping in and watching him squirm.

Perhaps we needed this. A bit of space.

Anticipation.

I hadn’t felt it in a long time.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Jean scolded me.

“I just got word from Buxtons. They want you to draw up contracts for all five of their sites. We won’t have time to sit down for the next two weeks, so expect early starts.

Also, I need to ask Stewart to drive us on Tuesday—pity he was in such a rush.

” She glanced towards the door through which he had made his escape.

“Two site visits and a meeting with Janusz Sadowski at their sales office. It’s in Croydon. ”

“Croydon?” I managed to spit out in some kind of judgemental disgust.

“Yes, Croydon, Dylan. We take what we can. We’re picking up business, and you and I can’t afford to say no. Not to anything. Take it, do the work, and let him pay you. Move on.”

I nodded carefully.

“And I like that you and Stewart are finding your feet.”

“Our what?”

“Being…friendly.”

“Jean…” I warned.

“Oh, don’t tut me, Dylan. Do you think I’m blind? I see how the two of you look at each other. And my middle boy is queer. You know this. Don’t be silly, not around me.”

“Oh.” I had known. Not even considered it. This was…new. Very new. I’d only really started thinking about Stewart differently…

Who was I lying to now? He’d been the hot neighbour in my head since the first time I laid eyes on him. And now?

“It’s very new,” I huffed out, trying to sound casual.

“Hmm,” she said, barely looking up from the laptop as she tapped away, not even bothering to sit down.

“Sadowski has a massive contract pending in Southwark, so I don’t want to hear you grumping about visiting the fine city of Croydon, you hear me?

That Southwark site is huge. We’re sealing that deal on Tuesday, mark my words. ”

“Yes, okay.” I took a seat, still a little flustered, and rolled up the plans from earlier. I should really get started on those contracts and get ahead of myself.

“Is this a steady thing then? You and Stewart?”

Nosy? Jean? Never!

“Jean, we haven’t even kissed.” I hated how whiny I sounded. That had to stop. Right now.

“Ah,” she said, with a smile this time. “And have you told him?”

“What?” I knew. She knew. All my secrets. Jean was the one who’d flown out and dragged my sorry arse home from Miami. Bandaged me up and confiscated the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for me.

“That doctor was an idiot. All those pills, and he expected you not to try to down them in one go? You still had a whole bottle of bourbon in your room. I’ll never forget it. It would have been on my conscience forever, Dylan, had you successfully completed that little stunt of insanity.”

“I have nothing in the house these days. Not even a paracetamol. ”

“Good,” she said, not missing a beat. “So have you told him?”

“That I’m a suicidal lunatic who downs antidepressants for breakfast? I get prescribed them in strips of seven. Can’t overdose on them even if I take the whole packet.”

“I know that. But Stewart needs to know. He needs to be on your side. And you probably need to tell him about the scarring on the inside of your arms as well as the fact that you have a metal plate in your shoulder.”

“I don’t need protection,” I spat out in self-defence.

I did. Most of all, I needed protection from myself. From my past and my future. All the stupid things I’d done to myself.

And others.

“Dylan.” Jean sat down next to me. “Veronica looked after you from the moment she married you.” She sounded like she was talking about building contracts, planning permissions, lawsuits against rogue builders or something.

“She made sure you got up and went to bed, that you ate well and exercised. And she made sure that your head was in the right place so that your business was successful, because she had your back. I know all you see is evil now, but she wasn’t just that.

She was also the woman who adored you, cared for you when you couldn’t function, and most importantly, she gave you three wonderful children. ”

I flinched. I had to stop doing that.

“But she couldn’t do it anymore, and I don’t blame her.

Not at all. You can be hard work. I may be overstepping now, but the first time I met Stewart, I thought, here is someone who can take you on and make you fly.

Someone solid and strong who doesn’t need the limelight.

Stewart looks at you like you’re the most incredible, precious thing, and that?

That is something you need to hold on to. ”

“Okay,” I said, a little bit overwhelmed by her kind words. Precious? I suddenly smiled, realising what Stewart would have said. Bah .

“So next time I catch you being affectionate in the kitchen, don’t pull apart. Just give the man a kiss and tell him how special he is.”

What did I say to that?

“Dylan?”

“Yes? ”

“You’ve got this. I know you do because I haven’t seen you like this for a long time.”

I stared at her. She stared back.

“You’re doing well,” she said, tapping me gently on the back. “Really well. And it’s wonderful to see.”

She got her whip out after that and kicked us both into gear, ensuring we made a decent start on things. She was right. We had to take on everything that came our way and start to build up again. Gain clients. Make connections. Show what we could do.

What we could do was the basics, and those I actually could do, including getting myself showered and dressed in smart clothes. But for that, I had to venture upstairs and get them out of the closet.

The bedroom was surprisingly clean after Stewart’s efforts to spruce up the house.

The large bed sat unmade but with the duvets and pillows neatly stacked.

My shirts in the wardrobe were still in dry cleaner’s plastic from years ago, but they were clean and crease-free.

I brought them all down for ease, grabbing a fresh pair of trousers too and a tie.

I was suddenly unsure if I was dressing up for nothing or if I should just slum it in my usual jersey shorts and washed-out T-shirt. I wanted to, though. I wanted to make the evening special.

My energy was surprising, but perhaps this was how things were. Some of my ghosts had taken a back seat, if only for a few hours. I was back working. My head in the right space. I was taking steps to at least try to get some kind of access back to my children, and I had…

Stewart. Did he want more than kissing? And what the hell did people do if they did…

more? I didn’t know any gay people. I didn’t have any friends.

All the people that Veronica and I had once socialised with were gone, drifted away like exorcised spirits, too afraid to get involved with the nutcase and his high-flying wife. I shuddered.

“I used to have friends,” I opened the conversation with, half an hour later, as I burst through his open patio doors.

Yes. Unhinged. But I wasn’t sure of anything and had once again managed to get myself in a bit of a state.

“I don’t know what to wear, and I have no idea what to expect.

I put this on, and then I thought…is the tie too much? ”

He laughed, standing there in his usual shirt, no tie, a smart black apron around his chest, something bubbling away on the stove behind him as he walked up to me and wrapped me up in a hug, held me tight as my heart beat far too loud and fast.

“This is nice,” he said, his hands stroking firmly up and down my back.

Calm. I needed this. I needed to calm the hell down and just function. Not get wound up and flustered. And then I would plummet into despair, and things would go straight to hell.

I also needed to think positively. My therapist had said that was one of the things I had to remember—not to see the worst in everything.

“Gun Larsen told me that I had to stop being a pathetic waste of space earlier today,” I continued my excellent conversation with.

“Dylan.” He sighed quietly.

“I agreed with her. I have been wasting time, mostly being pathetic. And I should never have represented myself in court. I want to hate Gun Larsen, but at the same time…”