by Andria Large
“Ahhh, home,” he murmurs.
I can’t help but smile along with him. His happiness is contagious. It’s late spring, so the temperature is probably in the seventies. It’s overcast and breezy, making it a little chilly.
Warwick and I turn when we hear his name being called. A woman and man are standing on the sidewalk next to their parked car, waving at us. Warwick grins even bigger and claps me on the shoulder as he starts in their direction. I follow him, assuming he knows them.
The woman jumps into his arms and he hugs her tight, swaying back and forth on his feet. “Hi, Mum,” he says, his voice muffled since his face is tucked in her neck.
“Oh, my baby, it’s been too long,” she says, her voice trembling.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he replies as he lets her go.
He then moves to give his dad a hug. “Good to see you, son.”
After they separate, the three of them turn to me. “Mum, Dad, this is Jack McClellan. Jack, this is my mum, Libby. And my dad, Hugh.”
I shake both their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, and thank you so much for having me.”
“Of course, darling,” Libby replies with a warm smile. “Any mate of Warwick’s is welcome in our home.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before these arseholes start blowing their bloody horns,” Hugh says, waving us all toward the car.
Warwick and I put our bags in the trunk before climbing into the back seat. I can definitely see where Warwick gets his looks from. He looks just like his father. Once we’re all in the car, Hugh takes off, maneuvering his way out of the airport madness. It’s odd as fuck with him sitting on what would be the passenger side in America. And driving on the opposite side of the road is scaring the ever-living shit out of me.
The ride to the Aldridge home only takes twenty-five minutes. Warwick said the area they live in is just outside downtown Birmingham and is called Kings Heath.
Hugh pulls into the paver driveway of a two-story brick home. It’s a single home, but all the houses are close enough they almost look like row homes. With the car parked, Warwick and I get out and grab our bags, then follow Libby and Hugh into the house.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you take your bags upstairs and show Jack to Ainsley’s room.”
“Sure, Mum,” Warwick says.
“Then come back down for tea.”
“Okay.”
I follow Warwick upstairs, and he shows me into the bedroom at the end of the hall. It’s a nice size and is next to the bathroom. He then goes to the room across from mine and tosses his bag in.
“We’ll unpack later. Let’s go have some tea and relax,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply.
We head downstairs, where Warwick gives me a small tour that ends in the kitchen, where Libby and Hugh are sitting at the table with cups of tea already in front of them.
“Have a seat, Jack. I’ll get us tea,” Warwick says, motioning for me to sit at the table with his parents.
I take the seat across from Libby and adjacent to Hugh, who is sitting at the head of the table. Libby gives me a warm motherly smile.
“We’re so glad you’re here, Jack. When Warwick told us what you went through, we knew this was the right place for you.”
I nod. “Thank you. I really appreciate all of this. I couldn’t stay there any longer.”
“It wasn’t safe,” Libby agrees.
I shake my head. “No. It wasn’t.”
Warwick comes to the table with our tea. He sets a cup down in front of me, then sits next to me with his.
“Even after I go home, I think I may move to a different state. Just to keep some distance between me and him,” I say, glancing at Warwick in time to see him frown.
“How far are you talking?” Warwick asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know yet. As of right now, the farther, the better.”
Warwick nods, but the look on his face tells me it bothers him. We’ve become fast friends in the past two weeks, and I know he wants the best for me, but that doesn’t mean he wants me to move across the country. It might not be able to be helped, though. I can’t stay in the same city, or even state, as Greg. Nothing can make me stay.
Warwick nudges me with his elbow. “Wanna go out tonight? We can go into town and to a pub.”
I smile. “Yes. I definitely want to go out. I haven’t been to a bar in forever.”
Warwick grins. “Great.”
Hugh chuckles. “Warwick, you sound so American.”
Libby laughs. “Doesn’t he?”
Warwick rolls his eyes. “Can’t be helped. I’ve lived in America for seven years now. I was bound to pick up a bit of an accent. I bet by the end of the month, Jack here will have a little British accent.”
I laugh. “What? No way!”
Warwick gives me a knowing glance and nods. “You’d be surprised how quickly you’ll pick it up.”
We all have a good laugh. It feels fantastic to be free. To be able to laugh without worrying if I’m laughing at the right thing—it’s incredible. I am so grateful to Warwick and his family; they have no idea what they are doing for me.
WARWICK
JACK AND I take a taxi into Digbeth to go to one of my favorite places. The Night Owl has live music and a laid-back kind of atmosphere, which is exactly what Jack needs. When we get there, I lead him right to the bar. It’s still a little early so the place isn’t completely packed yet. I’m hoping to ease Jack into it. Figured he’d be okay starting with a smaller crowd that grows throughout the night.
Jack is nervous when we walk in; I can tell by his wide, darting eyes. I place my hand on the back of his neck and give it a squeeze. Jack turns his gaze on me, and I lean down to talk in his ear.
“He’s not here. Try to relax,” I say softly. “Take a deep breath.”
Jack nods and pulls in a deep breath. He closes his eyes as he blows it out.
“You’re okay. I’ll keep you safe.”
He nods again as he takes another deep breath.
“What do you want to drink?”
I move away, giving Jack some space. He opens his eyes and gives me a grateful look. “I’ll have a beer.”
“Okay.”
I get the bartender’s attention and order us both one of the beers on tap. Once we get our drinks, I pay and then we go find a table. Music is playing low while the band sets up on the stage against the back wall. In front of the stage there is a dance floor, and we find a small two-seater table off to the right of that, against the wall. Jack turns his chair so he’s not exposed. He’s gazing out at the crowd, watching silently as he drinks his beer.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing a blue plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattooed forearms. His faded jeans hug his arse and thighs. His dark blond hair is long on top and flops over to the left side. Then he has a full beard that’s trimmed short and neat. Of course, I can’t forget those piercing light blue eyes of his. Bloody hell. I’d love to see desire fill those eyes instead of the fear that always seems to be lurking in them.
Jack brings his gaze around and catches me staring at him. He quirks an eyebrow.
“What?”
I shake my head, diverting my attention to the band. “Nothing. I’m just glad we’re here.”
“Here as in the bar, or here as in England?”
“Both.” I smirk.
Jack hums. “Yeah, me too.”
After two more beers, Jack finally starts to relax. He’s leaning back in his seat, tapping his foot to the songs the cover band is playing, and he seems to be enjoying himself.
“Soooo, I’ve been thinking,” Jack drawls and turns his glassy gaze toward me.
I’m unable to stop the smile that spreads across my mouth. He’s drunk and it’s so cute.
“Yeah? About?” I answer.
“I want another tattoo,” he states matter-of-factly, adding a sharp nod to say he
’s already made up his mind. “Greg wouldn’t let me get any more tattoos. But he’s not here, and I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“Damn right, you can. Do you know what you want?”
“A phoenix rising from the ashes.”
I grin. “I like it. Where are you going to get it?”
He pats his chest. “Right here. I don’t have anything on my chest yet and want it to span all the way across it.”
“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, then?”
Jack nods, a hint of sadness flashing through his eyes. “Yep. I have.”
“Well, I think we can make this happen. I have a friend who is a tattoo artist. I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Jack smiles. “Sweet!”
I chuckle, then take a sip of my beer.
“You should get one too!” Jack exclaims excitedly.
I almost choke on my beer. “What?” I cough.
“You should get a tattoo too. You’d look sexy with a tattoo,” he blurts.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “So I’m not sexy now?”
He blushes, and it’s bleedin’ adorable. “That-that’s not what I meant.”
I bark out a laugh and clap my hand down on his forearm. “Relax. I’m messing with you, mate.”
He gives me a hesitant smile before downing the rest of his drink. “I’m gonna go get another one. You ready for another?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure. Here, take some money.” I lift my hip and dig for my wallet.
“No, I got it,” he says, waving me off as he heads for the bar.
Lucky for him, they take credit cards here, otherwise he’d be coming back without drinks.
JACK
“WHY DID you let me drink that last one?” I slur and drop my head to Warwick’s shoulder.
We’re sitting in the back seat of the cab, heading home. I’m so fucking trashed, I can barely see straight. I haven’t had the freedom to drink like that in over a year, and I took it way too far.
Warwick chuckles. “Just don’t throw up on me.”
“I’m not gonna throw up.”
Warwick puts his arm around my shoulders and lets me rest my head on his hard chest. I wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle in closer. Just as I begin to doze, he’s waking me up because we’re at his parents’ house. We get out, and I stumble toward the front door while he pays the driver.
I get to the door and lean my shoulder against the wall next to it. I’m tired, and the world is spinning. I close my eyes for a second and feel like I’m falling. Warwick curses somewhere close to me as my arms pinwheel. His strong arm bands around my waist and yanks me up against his rock-solid body.
“Whoa there, mate.”
“Shit,” I grumble and drop my forehead to his chest. “I don’t feel good.”
“All right. Hang on,” he murmurs.
He works one-handed to unlock the front door. Once we’re inside, he quickly locks it and helps me up the stairs and into the bathroom. He gets me to the toilet just in time for me to heave my guts up.
Warwick sits on the edge of the tub and helps by flushing the toilet whenever I have a break in vomiting. I groan, feeling like this is never going to end. What was I thinking, drinking so much? I haven’t drank in over a year, so why did I think I could handle this much alcohol?
“I’m… never… drinking… again,” I choke out between heaves.
“Mm-hmm,” Warwick hums, and I can hear the amusement in his tone.
When I know I’m completely empty and nothing else is coming up, Warwick hands me some tissues.
“Can I get you anything, Jack?”
“My toothbrush and toothpaste would be great. They’re in my suitcase.”
By the time he returns, I’m standing at the sink, splashing cold water on my face.
“Here ya go, love,” he says, holding out my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Thank you,” I rasp, taking them from him.
He leaves me again as I go about brushing my teeth. When I’m done, I leave the bathroom and make my way to my room, which is right next door. Warwick is in his room across the hall with the door open. He’s standing next to his bed, pulling on a T-shirt. I catch a glimpse of his flat stomach and almost walk into the doorframe. Luckily I glance back just in time. Damn, that man is fine. No, Jack! No thinking about other men like that. It’s too soon.
Warwick walks into my room just as I plop down on the edge of the bed. I fumble with the buttons on my shirt. I’m too exhausted and drunk to work these damn things. Warwick comes to stand in front of me.
“Can I help?” he asks softly.
“Please.”
He gets my shirt off and tosses it onto the top of the dresser. He’s quiet and his face is stoic as he gives me a little shove that has me flopped onto the comfy bed. I close my eyes as he lifts one leg at a time so he can take off my shoes and socks. Then his deft fingers work on my belt and fly.
“What do you usually sleep in?” he asks, his voice rough, sending a shiver of need down my spine.
“Just my underwear,” I breathe.
I’m pretty sure he curses under his breath, but I could have been imagining it. Warwick yanks my jeans down my legs, and I hear him drop them to the floor.
“Come on, under the covers,” he rasps.
I do as I’m told and roll onto my stomach so I can crawl up to the head of the bed. Warwick helps me pull the covers down so I can get under them. He then pulls them back up when I settle and close my eyes again. He places a soft kiss on my temple before disappearing. I hear him moving around the room before something thunks down next to the side of the bed I’m lying on.
“Here’s the trashcan if you can’t make it to the toilet,” he murmurs.
“Thanks, Warwick,” I whisper.
“Welcome. Night, love.”
“Night.”
The last thing I hear is the door snick shut.
Chapter EIGHT
WARWICK
I TRUDGE down the stairs around 1:35 p.m. I forced myself to get up, otherwise I would be sleeping all day and then awake all night. Sodding jet lag. I haven’t woken up Jack yet, though. He needs some rest after his rough night last night.
I had a rough night too, because I could barely sleep after seeing him practically naked. I thought I was doing the right thing by helping him get undressed. No doubt he’d still be dressed now if I hadn’t helped. But bloody hell, seeing him without his clothes on was torture. Especially knowing nothing is going to happen between us. It could take years for him to heal from the trauma he’s been through. I will never ever initiate anything.
I head right into the kitchen because I’m in desperate need of some caffeine. I don’t even realize there are more than two voices until I step through the doorway and look up. All of my brothers are here.
“There’s sleeping beauty now. We were just about to come and wake ya,” Courtney says with a huge grin.
I smile brightly, completely awake now as they all bombard me and give me a group hug. As they let me go, Finlay gives me an unexpected shot to the gut. I double over as all the air leaves me.
“What the fuck?” I wheeze.
“That’s for not visiting in three years, ya fuckin’ wanker,” Finlay snaps.
I have always been the closest with Finlay because he’s only a couple of years my junior.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp as I straighten back up. “I should have visited sooner.”
“It takes some bloke who needs a place to stay for you to come home? Fuckin’ rubbish,” Finlay continues, anger flashing in his blue eyes.
“How long have you been angry at me? You could have said something sooner and not hit me.”
“Nah, you deserved that. And I’ve felt like this since you left the last time, ya bastard.”
“And you waited until now to tell me? Finn, we talk on the phone at least twice a week!”
“I wanted to say it to your face,” he bites out.
“All right. You got it ou
t of your system, now let it go,” Ainsley chimes in.
“Yes, please, Finlay,” my mum adds. “I don’t want you to be angry the entire time your brother is here. You said your piece, now let’s move forward.”
Finlay huffs out a “Whatever” and stalks over to the table, where he drops down into a seat and crosses his arms over his chest. I’ll have to get him alone later so we can talk this over. I don’t like him being mad at me.
“Where’s your friend?” Conrad asks.
“He’s still sleeping. He had a little too much to drink last night.”
“Yank can’t hold his alcohol, huh?” Crispin grins.
“You forget Warwick is a Yank now too. Can’t you hear it when he talks?” Finlay gripes.
I’m just about to pull Finlay away so we can talk when a bleary-eyed Jack walks into the kitchen. His fingers are pressed against his temples, and his skin looks pale. He’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. He’s got to be majorly hungover.
“Warwick—” he starts, then lifts his head and sees the amount of people in the kitchen. “Oh shit.”
His eyes dart to me, the look in them saying “Help me.” I motion for him to move out of the kitchen and into the hallway, then follow and stop in front of him.
“You all right, mate?” I ask quietly.
“No. I feel like shit. My head is pounding, and I just wanted something for it so I can go back to sleep.”
“You don’t want to sleep all day, Jack. You have to try and fight the jet lag a bit. I know you’re hungover, but it’s probably best if you stay up.”
Jack groans and drops his head in to his hands. “I need to at least take a shower. Who are all those people?”
“My brothers.”
“Oh great. I probably look like death.”
I chuckle. “Meh.” I shrug. “Close, but not that bad.”
“You’re not helping.”
I grin. “Go take a shower. The aspirin is behind the mirror.”
He drops his hands and nods. “Thank you.”
I reach to give his arm a squeeze, but he flinches and takes a step back.
“Fuck. Sorry. I’m just tired and my brain isn’t working right.” Jack sighs.
