Whisper (Skins Book 2)

by Garrett Leigh

  I couldn’t deny it, though I’d have stayed up for days if it meant getting to touch Joe again. His flawless skin was hypnotising—addicting, and however many times I got to lay my hands on him, it would never be enough.

  We ate our breakfast in silence. For once, Joe didn’t shoot surreptitious stares at me while I ate, and I was glad of it. The bacon sandwich was amazing and I was doing pretty well at ignoring my carb phobia. Or perhaps I was the one too tired to argue, even if it was with myself.

  Either way, I didn’t much care.

  And I cared even less when Joe took my empty plate and tossed it on the table. “Ma can probably make you a bed up at the bungalow . . . or, you could kip on here with me. Top and tail? I don’t snore.”

  The proposal was tempting, and practical, considering the large L-shaped couch, but despite craving Joe’s touch—craving this—what little sense my fatigue-addled brain had left told me that begging a bed off Sal and Emma was probably a better idea.

  I opened my mouth to say as much, but Joe was closer than he’d been a split second ago, and for the second time that week, I was kissing him before I truly knew what I was doing.

  The first time, Joe had taken control from his position straddling my lap, but now he submitted, falling backwards onto the couch. I followed him as easily as breathing, chasing him down and covering his body with my own. His arms snaked around my waist, holding me in place, and all bets were off.

  I slid my hands under his T-shirt and deepened the kiss. He hooked his legs on mine, gasping, and I dove in harder. I’d never kissed a man like I found myself kissing Joe. Never felt a kiss so entirely. But I felt him everywhere—my skin, my veins, in every nerve. Tiredness faded away, and blood roared in my ears. I could’ve kissed him forever, if he hadn’t broken away with a jaw-cracking yawn.

  He groaned. “Sorry. I’ve been thinking about you like this for days . . . can’t believe I’m close to sleeping through it.”

  His eyes fluttered closed, and warmth in my chest eclipsed the heat pooling in my jeans—stronger, even, than the desperate craving to have Joe’s hands on my dick again. I wriggled around until I was beneath him, and coaxed him into using me as a pillow. “Rest, mate. It’s okay. We can revisit this later.”

  “Promise?”

  I wove my fingers into Joe’s silky hair. “Promise.”

  Chapter Nine

  Joe

  I woke up alone, which was odd because I was pretty sure I’d passed out with my face in Harry’s chest. Perhaps I’d dreamt it. But, no. When I stumbled out into the yard, there were still donkeys in the tack room and half a dozen emaciated ponies taking up space I didn’t have.

  Fuelled by coffee, I took a shower and then set to work reassessing the new arrivals. The vet would be here soon, but I needed a daylight idea of what we were dealing with. If the ponies were in as bad a shape as I’d feared last night, they’d be with us for the long haul, and that was a serious problem.

  Besides, angsting over the ponies distracted me from looking for Harry around every corner. Seriously. What was it about that bloke and leaving me hanging on the couch? He’d kissed me, every time, goddammit.

  The four ponies in the donkey paddock were doing well. George had fed them little and often, and they were enjoying the hay in the donkey shed. I checked their hooves and teeth and then left them to it. The two mares in the foaling stable were a different story. In the few hours I’d slept in Harry’s arms, one of them had gone downhill.

  I fed her more warm bran laced with the molasses someone had helpfully rooted out from wherever I’d stashed it. She didn’t eat much—too weak—and I was trying to tempt her with some fresh green grass from Sal’s garden when the vet arrived.

  His assessment was bleak. He offered to put the mares down, but I wasn’t there yet. Grandpa—and even my loser dad—had taught me that a horse would let me know when they’d had enough, and I’d never forgotten that lesson. Both mares were still looking me in the eye with the kind of determination you only saw in horses. That was enough for me, at least for now. It had to be, or my whole fucking life was a waste of time.

  Dealing with the vet put me in a bad mood. More than that. A fog I couldn’t shift settled over me, and I retreated to Mani’s stable to get a grip on myself. It worked until Toby came to find me.

  “Shadow’s got a splinter in his leg.”

  I pulled my face out of Mani’s mane. “What?”

  “Shadow,” Toby repeated. “You asked me to check the fields when I got here, so I did, and I saw Shadow was lame. I hid in the bush when he was eating and had a look. There’s a splinter in his left shin.”

  Great. The vet had already left, and even if he hadn’t, I didn’t have the money to pay him for stuff like that. If Shadow had a splinter, I’d have to try and get it out myself, which meant bringing him into the yard when he was used to having the field to himself all day.

  I took a deep breath of Mani’s soothing scent and gave Toby my full attention, though I couldn’t actually remember him arriving for work this afternoon. Couldn’t remember anything except the dire state of the mares in the foaling stable and the intoxicating weight of Harry’s body pinning me to the couch. “Sorry, kiddo. Tell me again from the beginning? And what the fuck are you doing climbing trees?”

  Toby shrugged. “Harry showed me. It’s fun.”

  “Fair enough.” I trailed Toby to the top field. Shadow was about as far from the gate as he could get, but even from a distance, I saw him limping.

  I whistled to him and shook a bucket of oats, but it was ages before he looked my way, and by then, Toby had got bored and wandered off. Standard practice, where Shadow’s games were concerned. I was the only idiot stubborn enough to wait him out, but I wasn’t feeling particularly stubborn today. Just weary and desperate to do something to heal at least one of the horses that relied on me.

  Sighing, I vaulted the gate and ventured into the field, approaching Shadow with the bucket held out and my head down. He ignored me at first but then started to circle me, trying to catch me staring at him so he could charge me.

  But I knew better than to look at him. I kept my back to him, turning as he cantered around me. I was dizzy by the time his appetite for oats got the better of him.

  He stuck his nose in the bucket and ate as I examined the wound on his shin. The splinter was big but not that deep. If I could get some reins on him and lead him down to the yard, I could have it out in a couple of minutes. Stupidly, though, I hadn’t brought any reins with me.

  I fished my phone from my pocket to text Toby to bring some down and hang them on the gate, but it rang in my hand before I could switch it to silent.

  Startled, Shadow reared up and knocked the bucket to the ground. Cursing, I cancelled the call without looking to see who it was, but it was too late. Shadow whinnied and grunted, his hooves stamping as he tossed his head, searching for the noise that had frightened him.

  His body was a blur as he moved. I bent to retrieve the bucket and my phone rang again. Shadow shrieked, and I looked up just in time for him to spin around and kick me in the guts.

  Chapter Ten

  Harry

  Car mechanics always had the knack of putting me in a shitty mood, and Newquay’s finest was turning out to be epic at it.

  “Bad news,” he said. “The parts came in, but they’re the wrong size. We ordered some more, but they won’t be here till Monday.”

  “You couldn’t have told me that on the voicemail you left this morning?”

  “I did ask you to call me back,” the mechanic retorted mildly.

  And the fact that he had a point pissed me off even more. Monday. Brilliant. I didn’t particularly need my car, but hiking to and from the garage was something I could’ve done without today, and the fact that I’d abandoned Joe on the couch again for absolutely nothing frustrated the hell out of me.

  I trudged back to the farm, pointlessly hoping that Joe had got up in my absence, done everything he needed to d
o, and returned to the couch. Today was typically British and grey, like summer was something that happened somewhere else, and curling up on Joe’s beat-up sofa, snatching a few hours’ sleep in between keeping the promise I’d made him would be a dream come true.

  Fantasising about just how I would keep that promise kept me company on the three-mile walk, even when it began to rain and the dirt tracks leading to the farm became instant rivers of mud. The call to be wherever Joe was seemed so strong, I half expected him to be waiting for me on the doorstep, but of course he wasn’t. The house was empty, and a cursory glance around the yard found it deserted too.

  Deflated and wishing like a bitch that I’d called the garage back before assuming their half-cocked mumbled message meant my car was ready, I drifted to the kitchen. Sal’s absence at lunchtime was obvious by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Sighing, I turned the taps on and looked around for a sponge. In the yard, a horse called out. A shudder passed through me, like someone had walked over my grave. I glanced out of the kitchen window, but there was still no one about.

  Idiot.

  I needed a nap, but my bed was still stacked with tack, and kipping on Joe’s sacred couch while he wasn’t around seemed all kinds of weird. Yawning, I settled for finishing the washing up and boiling the kettle. Coffee was on the list of things I rarely allowed myself, but if I had any hope of getting through the rest of the day, I needed it.

  It took me a while to remember how I drank coffee, and the farm had every type under the sun squirrelled away in the cupboards. In the end, I picked the cheap brand that reminded me of my father, because by then, the two hours’ sleep I’d caught on the couch had become inadequate enough to turn me into a masochist.

  I was on my way to look in on the sick ponies when Toby burst into the yard, covered in mud, his face twisted in panic.

  “Harry!”

  I grabbed his arm to stop him barrelling into the tack room door. “Whoa. Where’s the fire?”

  “It’s Joe,” Toby gasped out. “Shadow kicked him. He can’t get up. I—”

  “Where?”

  “Top field.”

  I took off running with Toby a heartbeat behind me. Dread laced every step. I knew jack about horses, but danger had always lurked around Shadow, even when Joe rode him so beautifully. This is bad. My heart knew it even before the top field came into view.

  We reached the gate. Shadow was standing on the crest of the hill, storm clouds gathering in the sky behind him. He stamped his hooves and tossed his head, blowing like an angry dragon. He bent his neck and nosed at the crumpled body on the ground beneath him.

  But Joe didn’t move.

  I grabbed Toby and pushed him towards the other gate. “Quick. Do something to distract that horse. I need to get Joe out of there.”

  “You can’t.” Panic reared in Toby again. “Shadow’s guarding him. He’ll barge you.”

  “Just do it. Where did Joe get kicked? His neck? His chest? His spine?”

  Toby shook his head. “I didn’t see.”

  Fear clenched my heart. If the impact of Shadow’s hooves had injured Joe’s spine or neck, I wouldn’t be able to move him. And what if he was bleeding? Or worse? Fuck. I needed to get to him, and fast.

  I pushed Toby again. “Go.”

  He ran off, sprinting to the other gate until he reached the trees and swung himself up like I’d taught him a week ago. He called Shadow’s name and shook the branches. Fruit began to tumble to the ground. Shadow turned his head, casting his baleful glare in Toby’s direction. For a long moment, he didn’t move a sleek muscle, and horror spiked in my chest. If I couldn’t get him away from Joe, a vet would have to come, and—

  A lighter voice sounded in the field. Emma’s call was like tinkling bells, and Shadow ambled away like a soft summer breeze.

  I took my chance and hurdled the gate, skidding across the wet grass until I got to Joe. He was moving—thank God—and trying to get up, but his arms wouldn’t hold him. “Easy.” I caught him. “Where are you hurt?”

  “Stomach,” Joe gritted out, rigid with pain. “Motherfucker stamped on my guts.”

  “Can you walk? I need to get you out of this field.”

  “I—” Joe’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Joe . . . Joe. Come on, mate. Stay with me.”

  He didn’t respond, and as I wiped the dirt from his face, the blue tinge to his lips scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I knew the human body like the back of my hand, and whatever was going on inside his body was sending him into shock.

  I scooped him up and carried him to the gate. Toby was waiting, a phone clutched in his hand. He crouched beside me as I lay Joe on the path.

  “Emma called an ambulance,” he said. “Her and George are trying to get Shadow into his stable. Is Joe okay?”

  No.

  “I don’t know, kiddo.” I took Joe’s pulse. It was strong, but his breathing was raspy, and as I pushed his T-shirt up, the hoof print on his abdomen was horrifying. “Get a blanket. We need to keep him warm.”

  Toby darted away and came back with a horse rug. I laid it over Joe and held him against me to keep him off the damp ground. “Where’s the ambulance coming from?”

  “There’s an ambulance station in town,” Toby said. “But you won’t hear them coming. They know since Josef died not to come up here with sirens.”

  Joe’s grandfather had died three years ago. The likelihood of an ambulance crew remaining constant enough to recall instructions like that struck me impossible, but twelve minutes later, a fast-response car crept up the lane. No sirens.

  By then, Joe was shivering, his skin grey, and fading in and out of consciousness. I called his name over and over, but he was too out of it to hold my gaze.

  The paramedic took one look at him and called for backup. A second emergency vehicle arrived as silently as the first.

  “Blunt force trauma,” the lead paramedic said. “We need to get him to Treliske ASAP.”

  It took everything I had to let them lift Joe from my arms, even though I saw shades of my own brother in each of them. Joe’s hand fell limply from mine and I scrambled out of the way, but his agonised groan when they rolled him onto his back cut me to the bone.

  Toby trembled beside me. I put my arm around him, hoping my terror wouldn’t seep into him and upset him more. I couldn’t articulate what Joe meant to me—I’d yet to make sense of it—but he was Toby’s hero, the farm’s fearless leader, and Toby’s tears said it all.

  The lead paramedic stuck his head out of the ambulance. “We need to go. Who’s coming with him?”

  No one was stopping me getting in that ambulance. Later, I’d perhaps reason that Emma had been nowhere to be seen, Sal was away, and Toby too young, but right then—right now—none of that mattered. “Me. I’m coming with him.”

  I got in the ambulance and we sped away from the farm. Joe was sick before we hit the main road, and the drive to Truro was one I couldn’t describe. Three times his blood pressure bottomed out, and when we reached the hospital, he’d deteriorated so badly that he was whisked away to Resus.

  A nurse directed me to a waiting area. I prowled the plastic rows of seats like a caged animal. Was this how Shadow felt in his stable? I’d watched Joe wrestle him up to the top field more times than I cared to admit and always enjoyed the moment Shadow gained his freedom, galloping away up the hill, his dark mane flying behind him. But as my incarceration stretched on and on with no news, those moments seemed like another world.

  Two hours in, I lost my shit. I flagged a nurse down and asked her about Joe. “He was kicked by a horse,” I said when her face showed no recognition.

  “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get someone to talk to you.”

  Twenty-minutes later, a doctor who appeared barely out of his teens came to find me.

  “Are you a relative?”

  Nope. “Yes.”

  The doctor nodded, perhaps too busy to care at this point. I knew how
hospitals worked. “We’ve done a scan of Joe’s head, and there’s no significant injury there—a mild concussion, perhaps, but we’re more worried about his abdomen at this stage. We’ll be taking him for an ultrasound shortly to check for any ruptures or tears.”

  “Internal bleeding?”

  “Yes. It’s a concern with any blunt-force injury.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “In and out, but that’s to be expected. We’ve stabilised him with fluids and oxygen, and we’re monitoring his BP. After the ultrasound, we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with, but for now, it’s a watch-and-wait situation.”

  I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to. “Can I sit with him?”

  “Of course. Come with me.” The doctor walked me to the alarmed doors at the end of the corridor. He buzzed us through. “Don’t expect much sense from him. He’s pretty groggy, and we’ve given him morphine and anti-emetics. Come and find me if you think he needs more.”

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  But the doctor was already gone—reminding me that NHS hospitals were nothing like the fictional emergency departments on Sky Atlantic—and I was left to track down Joe by myself.

  I found him on a bed in the RESUS department. A nurse was monitoring him and the bed next door. I caught her eye. “Am I in your way if I stand here?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “Let me know if he wakes up.”

  That didn’t seem likely. Joe was on his back, his face deathly pale and lined with pain, but there was no sign of him being awake. Oxygen tubes snaked into his nose and his arm was hooked up to an IV. I read the label on the bag, but it didn’t mean much to me. My medical knowledge was limited to rehabilitation, and I was so far out of my depth right now that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  Joe’s hand seemed a good place to start. I took it and turned it over, checking for injury beneath the dirt ground into his skin, before I twined my fingers with his and squeezed, hoping for a reaction. But there was none. I touched his cheek, gently brushing away some dried mud, and squeezed his hand a little harder. “All right, mate. I’m here. You’re not on your own.”