Page 145 of Too Close To Home

And Jake had dealt with it.

Done three years’ worth of dealing with it.

Now there was this new girl case, and if Andy was finally caught, finally put away properly, then he might have some sort of closure. His family might be able to grieve properly. Move on. And he could…start his life again. Or something close enough to it. And yeah, that was definitely making him cling to the hope his phone would ring.

But mostly…he wanted to hear Harrison’s voice.

To know he hadn’t completely fucked it.

That he hadn’t crossed a line he couldn’t come back from by being…himself. Impulsive. Reckless. And really fucking stupid.

By morning, he’d had enough of lying there staring at the ceiling.

He got dressed, grabbed his keys, and headed out for work. As he opened the door, he nearly walked straight into Brodie on the doorstep. Coffee in one hand, Greggs bag in the other.

“Hey.” Brodie gave his barman smile. The one where his teeth sparkled.

Jake stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the door shut behind him. “What you doing here?”

He should’ve listened to Deacon.

This was edging into something else now.

Brodie held up the bag. “Brought you breakfast.”

Jake turned the key in the lock, checking the piece of shit door was shut enough that Brodie couldn’t worm his way in while sort of wishing he had a lock on himself. On his dick, at least. It kept getting him into trouble. “Why?”

“Because you need to eat.” Brodie cocked his head. “And I’ll guess you haven’t. You can’t keep living off bacon butties from the van. You look good now, but it’ll creep up on you.”

He gave the bag a little shake; the smell hit instantly. Warm. Sweet. Tempting. Jake could say no. Should say no. Stop this turning into a thing. But his stomach twisted, empty and loud, and the coffee smelled decent. Better than anything he’d grab on the go. So, like every other time he’d told himself not to, he reached out anyway.

“Cheers.” He pulled out a cinnamon whirl, still warm, and bit into it.

Fuck, it was good.

Brodie grinned. “What happened with the detective?”

Jake chewed, buying himself a second. Figuring out what to say and what definitely not to say. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What d’you mean?”

“Andy.” Brodie leaned his hip against the rail. “They arrested him, right? And he was in the pub that night. Same night Emily went missing.”

Jake took another bite, more to give himself something to do than because he wanted it. Because somehow, the taste had dulled after the first two bites. Story of my life. Case in point, standing right there on his balcony. “They’re questioning him.”

“Aye.” Brodie nodded, as if that confirmed something. “It’s got to add up, though, hasn’t it?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Brodie took a sip of his coffee. Let it linger. Catching his tongue on the edge of the lid before lowering it again and holding it out. Jake looked at it. He knew exactly what that was. And it wasn’t just a drink. Or a peace offering for having allowed Andy into the pub, for serving him. Nor was it even a friendly gesture. Not when he’d put his mouth and hand and tongue all over it. No. This was him proving they’d been something once. That Brodie still wanted to be.

That coffee, it might as well be a kiss.

So Jake shook his head. Refused it. The taste for cheap and easy had dulled for complicated and unavailable. “What did he ask you?”

“Who?”

“Harrison.”

Brodie frowned. “Shouldn’t you call him Detective Black?”