Page 17 of Tribute Act

“I’ll walk you down to your B&B,” I told Mack. “I’m heading off now too anyway.”

Mum glanced me, her gaze relieved. “That’s a good idea, love,” she approved, clearly liking the idea of at least knowing where Mack was staying. Mack was less easy to read, his only reaction a brief nod.

We headed out into the hall to fetch our jackets, Mum talking Mack’s ear off about the next day’s arrangements. She finally, reluctantly, let us go a few minutes later. As we called our good nights to each other, she stood there, framed in the light of the doorway, a fragile, hopeful figure.

“I didn’t know who you were,” Mack said, as we strolled towards the seafront. He didn’t seem to object to me walking with him, which was a relief.

“I figured,” I said. “Same here.”

“It’s kinda weird.”

I glanced at him. “How so?”

He met my gaze just as we passed under a streetlight. Those eyes. So dark and melty. Making my stomach turn over with helpless lust.

“Technically, we’re stepbrothers.”

I gave a strained laugh. “Right, I see what you mean. But it’s not like we met before we hooked up.”

“True,” he murmured, looking away, eyes fixed forward.

An awkward silence grew between us. I searched my mind for something innocuous to say to break it, but found myself blurting out, “Why did you leave the hotel without waking me this morning?”

His turned back to face me. Carefully he said, “You said you only wanted to blow off some steam.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Even so. You could’ve, you know, said goodbye.”

He shrugged. It doesn’t matter.

But it mattered to me.

At last he said, “Don’t get me wrong, last night was great, but I knew I was coming here today, and that afterwards, I’d either be heading straight back to Manchester or going into hospital to have half my liver cut out. I wasn’t in the market for anything more than a hookup.”

It was a fair point, but I was still faintly hurt by his blunt words. Despite what I’d said to him, it hadn’t felt like a casual fuck to me.

I sighed and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, saying nothing, and for a while, we walked along in silence.

When we turned off Cockle Lane onto the seafront, it occurred to me that we were getting close to his B&B—and that I wasn’t quite ready for this to end.

Whatever this was.

Before I could think better of it, I said, “Look, do you want to get a beer?”

He turned to look at me and his expression was wary—wary but with a hint of interest.

I added softly, “Just to talk. It’s been a hell of an evening.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. It was an oddly vulnerable gesture—another one I already recognised from him. It was the weirdest thing, but seeing him do that made me want to step right up to him and wrap my arms round him. Give him a reassuring hug.

Instead, I waited.

Honestly, I expected rejection. Another I need some space, but when he finally spoke, he said, “Yeah, okay, why not. One beer can’t hurt.”

On reflection, the Sea Bell probably wasn’t the best place to take Mack. I was so used to the place, I’d forgotten how unwelcoming it could be to newcomers. A dozen heads turned when we entered, and whilst I got the usual grunts and nods, Mack garnered assessing stares, even though he was with me.

Not that he seemed too troubled.

“There be a stranger in town,” he murmured in a comedy Cornish accent as we headed for one of the tiny tables.