“You have, but it’s not your fault, so wipe that guilt shit off your face.”
“Guilt shit?”
“Yeah. That frown you get when you’re blaming yourself for everyone else’s problems. I saw you do it at work that first time I saw you in Stratford. You ran through the waiting room like a walking migraine.”
Dylan laughed and then clapped his hand over his mouth, remembering the ward sister’s warning about keeping quiet. “That’s pretty much my life when I’m not in The Pitt or Lovato’s, and I haven’t been to either for a while.”
“The Pitt is that mysterious metal club you’ve never taken me to, right?”
“Yeah. Why? You wanna go?”
“Sure. I can dig a mosh pit. When I was with the EBC, we performed with Mötley Crüe at Glastonbury. It was proper mental. I loved it—” Angelo broke off with a harsh cough that went on and on.
Dylan passed him some water and helped him drink, then eased him back down, frowning when Angelo winced. “What’s the matter? Apart from the obvious.”
Angelo shifted onto his side. “My hips are killing me. I need to wedge something between my legs— Don’t fucking smirk. I’m serious.”
Dylan swallowed a grin and stood, searching for something to help. He opened and shut a few battered cabinets but came up blank. “What about a pillow?”
Angelo rolled his eyes. “You think I haven’t thought of that? I asked for one yesterday, but I was asleep when the pillow fairy came around.”
“Pillow fairy?”
“She didn’t tell me her name.”
“She could’ve left it anyway, even if you were asleep.”
“I think you have to sign something. Stop you nicking them.”
“That’s fucking ridic—” Dylan caught himself mid-rant again. “Never mind. I’ll just go ask Jade for one.”
“Jade?”
“The ward sister.”
“Blonde with tattoos?”
“That’s her.”
Dylan briefly deserted Angelo and cadged a pillow from the nurse’s station. When he got back, he helped Angelo get comfortable and then covered him with the thin hospital-issue blanket. “Still cold?”
Angelo shrugged. “I’m all right.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dylan unzipped his beloved Judas Priest hoodie and held it out. “Borrow this. It’s clean, I promise.”
After a fleeting standoff, Angelo took the hoodie, and the faded gunmetal grey was awesome against his light olive skin, and warm too, if his contented sigh was anything to go by. “Thanks. I’ve only got the clothes I came in with and some random shit my mum found in the loft.”
“Your mum?”
“Yeah. She’s retraining as a parent but forgot that I’m not sixteen anymore.”
Angelo said it with humour, but Dylan sensed the tale simmering beneath his wry grin. “What’s been going on with your family? The deli’s been closed for a week now.”
“Damn. Is it that long?” Angelo pulled his hood up and propped his head on his folded arms. “The bailiffs turning up feels like yesterday.”
Bailiffs. That made sense. Dylan had been waiting on a hammer blow to hit the Giordano family business from the start. He poured Angelo more water and gestured for him to continue.
“There’s not much to it, really,” Angelo said. “One of our suppliers took us to the small claims whatsit and sent high court bailiffs to collect what they were owed. Add in costs and the fact that all our stuff was so ancient that it wasn’t worth squat, and they pretty much cleaned us out.”
“What happened next?”
Angelo’s expression darkened. “I was on my own when they came—obviously—so I locked up and went home. My mum and my uncle’s family were there talking bullshit about how I hadn’t tried hard enough to make the business work.”
“That’s—”
“I know, I know.” Angelo found Dylan’s hand. “And for once I didn’t let it go. I threw the keys at my mum and got lairy with my uncle. It kicked off and we had a bit of a punch-up.”
Dylan whistled. “Awkward. How bad did it get?”
“I broke his nose, and he fucked my ribs up.” Angelo pulled Dylan’s hoodie and his T-shirt up to reveal ugly bruising on his torso. “But it was a good thing, I suppose. My mum finally figured out that Gino was manipulating her and sacked him off.”
“That’s good.” Dylan couldn’t tear his eyes from the bruises. He reached out and tugged Angelo’s clothes back down. “So you’re getting on better with your mum?”
“It’s hard to tell. I haven’t spoken to her much, but she did peel me off the kitchen floor and bring me here, so I can’t complain too much.”
“The kitchen floor?”
“Yeah. I don’t really remember, but apparently the oxygen in my blood was really low and I passed out.”
Dylan shook his head slightly to disperse the images of Angelo unconscious and helpless on the floor. “Sounds like you’re lucky she was there.”
“I am, and she’s visited every day since. Oh, and she’s put the house on the market too. She’s downsizing to a retirement flat in Peterborough.”
“Peterborough? Why on earth would she want to go there?”
“Because it’s dirt cheap compared to round here and full of Britalian’s like her. Either way, it’s what she needed to do all along; she’s just a week too late.”
“Wow.” Dylan let out a whoosh of air. “Sounds like your whole world is upside down. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Nothing’s going to happen fast, so I guess I’ll stay put until she moves then see where I’m at. She said she’ll give me some money to help me find a place around here if I want, but I’m not relying on that.”
“You can’t take money from her,” Dylan said. “Not if you want your DRO to stand. You’d have to pay your creditors in full before you have anything for yourself.”
“I know. I’m still fucked, aren’t I? I haven’t even got a job.”
Dylan’s mind went into overdrive, scouring his brain for the cases he’d worked on where debt relief orders had been revoked. “That might work in your favour. If we can get your GP and your physio to write letters confirming your condition, the receiver might let the order stand.”
“We?”
Dylan flushed. “I—er—took your case back from Romford. It’s my boss’s name on it, but we’re working on it together. Your order came through a couple of days ago.”
Something akin to relief coloured Angelo’s tired face. “Thank fuck for that. Romford are clowns.”
“I can’t argue with that. Just keep the office informed, okay? We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
“Story of my life,” Angelo muttered.
Dylan grinned. “And mine. Oh, and if you ever meet my boss, Helen, don’t tell her that we’ve been fucking. It’s kind of inappropriate.”
“Fucking. Hmm.” Angelo squeezed Dylan’s hand again. “Is that what we’re doing?”
Of course it wasn’t. Dylan had been in love with Angelo pretty much from the start, but so much had happened—and not happened—since then that it was hard to see the light. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but I do know that I was wrong to hassle you for commitment when you had so much shit going on.”
“That’s not fair,” Angelo protested. “You didn’t ask me for commitment—just some friendly communication, and I messed that up, not you.”
“Not deliberately, though. I thought I’d got my head around what ME means for you, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? I had no idea how badly it was affecting you—um—mentally, if that’s not a totally offensive way to put it.”
“It’s not. I wish I could’ve explained it better so you knew it wasn’t that I didn’t care, but please don’t feel bad. None of this is your fault, Dylan.”
Dylan traced a careful finger over Angelo’s knuckles. “I never gave you a chance to explain, and for someone who gets paid
to listen, that’s pretty unforgivable. And it’s something I’ve been guilty of before—letting my imagination have a fucking rave. Maybe I’ve got mummy issues.”
He tried for a laugh, but it came out too bitter to see Angelo smile in return. Angelo stilled Dylan’s fingers. “You’ve never told me about your mum. Was she a bitch?”
“No idea. She ditched me and my dad when I was two.”
“You don’t remember her?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you,” Angelo said softly. “But that’s okay. We don’t have to know everything—understand everything—to move forward. Sometimes, we have to let things be.”
“We’ve said that before and look where we are.”
“We’re here,” Angelo said. “Both of us.”
Green shoots of hope flared in Dylan’s belly. Every part of him screamed to lean forward and kiss Angelo’s chapped lips, but Angelo’s increasingly heavy eyes stayed him. Despite a desperate need to be as close to Angelo as possible, it was probably time he left.
Perhaps sensing the war going on in Dylan’s convoluted brain, Angelo brought Dylan’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. “Don’t go.”
“I’ll have to eventually.”
“I know, but not yet . . . please? Stay a bit longer?”
Dylan couldn’t refuse. Didn’t want to. He disentangled his hand from Angelo’s and cupped Angelo’s face, stroking his darkly stubbled cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You do something to me.”
“Do I make your heart feel like it’s stuck on a spinning top?”
“Yeah, actually. You do.”
“Good.” Angelo’s eyes closed. “Because that’s how you make me feel too.”
Dylan felt suddenly lighter, like he always did in Angelo’s rare moments of sentiment. “You know I’m not talking about the club, don’t you? I mean, the things we’ve shared there have been amazing, but that’s not why I’m sitting here.”
Angelo opened his eyes with a barely audible sigh. “I know you didn’t come here to fuck me, Dylan. And I know that’s not what you got so upset about. I do kinda get the feeling that playing in the club is . . . Shit, I’ve lost my words. Uh, cathartic, maybe? You always seem calmer after.”
“I’m not calm before?”
“I don’t know. But I need to learn if we’re going to get better at this.”
He’s so fucking right. Dylan sucked in a deep breath, Angelo’s warm skin against his palm tying him down to the world. “I’m a pretty anxious person—in case you haven’t noticed by now.” He choked out another harsh chuckle. “I don’t mean to be, but my brain works a million miles an hour, and sometimes I can’t catch it before it’s fallen off a cliff, you know?”
“I remember that feeling,” Angelo said softly. “It’s been a while, but I remember it. And I was a selfish prick when I was well—probably still am. I can’t imagine how it must be to be like that when you care more about other people than yourself.”
“What makes you think I’m so selfless, eh?”
Angelo shot Dylan a hard look. “Every moment we’ve ever spent together.”
“Bollocks. Maybe it’s just you I’m sweet on.”
“So it’s a coincidence that you waited for your BFF to find his soulmate before you stepped away?”
“An unintentional one.” But was it? Dylan had lost many nights to worrying about Sam. Had that changed when he’d met Eddie? Or had he got caught up in fucking them both as a way of holding on? “I don’t know. Sam was too easy to fret about, and angsting over shit is like an addiction sometimes. I know I’m not doing anyone any good, but I can’t stop.”
“How do you feel about Sam moving to Poland?”
“Sad. Relieved. Lonely.” There were other emotions that Dylan couldn’t quite decipher. “But I don’t worry about him so much anymore. Eddie takes good care of him.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“What?” Dylan looked down to find that Angelo had somehow hauled himself upright again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you spend all day at work fixing people’s problems, then you go home and keep doing it. What about you? When does it stop, Dylan?”
A thousand words passed through Dylan’s mind, but none of them fit. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Angelo’s. “When you’re inside me.”
For a long moment, Angelo simply stared, then a slow smile spread across his face. “That’s sweet, and the world comes to a standstill then for me too, but you’ve got to have other ways of taking a break.”
Dylan sighed and reluctantly pulled away. “I’m working on it.”
“Are you?”
“No, but I’ve got plans to.”
Angelo rolled his eyes. “I s’pose that’ll do for now. I’m not exactly in a position to be doling out life advice.”
“You should probably lie down,” Dylan observed. Was it his admittedly overactive imagination, or had the rasp in Angelo’s chest got louder? “Jade told me not to tire you out.”
“Was she taking the piss?”
“I don’t think so, and we should probably humour her. She threatened to put Sam in restraints once.”
“I like that shit.” But Angelo lay back down all the same, though his smirk remained, glinting through his obvious fatigue like a devilish beacon. “Can I ask you something?”
Dylan covered Angelo with the blanket. “Sure.”
“When did you first realise that you like fucking in front of other people? I spent a decade on tour with a hoard of horny queer teenagers, so it came with the territory, but it must’ve been different for you.”
“Your way sounds fun.”
“It was, and I’ll tell you about it sometime, but I’m too tired now. I wanna hear you talk.”
Dylan smiled, as much for the memories as for Angelo. “It was a long time ago—back when I was a student. I was working—”
“As a waitress in a cocktail bar?”
“Shut up. As a kitchen porter in a student canteen, actually, but that’s hardly the point. Anyway, I got friendly with one of the owners, and after I’d left the company, we met up again and ended up shagging . . . and, uh, his fella saw us doing it.”
Angelo whistled. “He caught you?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. They had a cool-as-fuck open relationship, and he never bottomed, so he got a kick out of watching Cass top other blokes.”
“And you got a kick out of him watching you?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Angelo let out a long breath. “I was worried that my dick was broken, but that little anecdote has woken it right up.”
“Oh yeah?”
Angelo yawned around a painful cough. “Yeah. Don’t worry, though. I’m going to save it for you.”
There was so much Dylan wanted to say, about possible uses for Angelo’s rejuvenated libido and so much more, but Angelo was done. He faded out so fast it was hard to imagine he’d been awake and talking, and all Dylan could do was hold his hand just a little while longer and then leave him to his dreams.
Chapter Thirteen
Angelo lay back on his childhood bed—the one he’d finally consented to sleep in now Gino was out of the picture—his cracked phone pressed to his ear as Dylan’s husky voice soothed his soul—a nightly occurrence since Dylan had appeared at his hospital bedside ten days ago.
“So basically,” Dylan concluded a story that Angelo had only managed to half follow, “I’m a little bit drunk . . . and horny, so I’m going home.”
“Fucking hooligan.”
Dylan laughed. “I try, but it’s Saturday night and my partner in crime is still benched.”
It took Angelo a moment to realise that Dylan was talking about him, and a rush of warmth made him glad that Dylan couldn’t see the flush staining his cheeks. “I don’t know when I’ll be up to the real world again.”
“You’re not feeling any better?”
“Actually, I a
m. Apparently passing out in the kitchen is my thing now, but this time I came round feeling like a new man.”
“I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
Angelo snorted. “It’s usually a safe bet that I am, but for once I’m serious. I woke up hungry and breathing like a normal person instead of Darth Vader. It was weird.”
“Good weird, though, right? Oooh, hang on. I’m getting off the train.”
Angelo waited while Dylan got off the train and swiped his way out of the station. His absence seemed to go on forever—the longest ten seconds of his life—and he let out a long breath when Dylan came back on the line.
“Are you tired?” Dylan asked. “I can leave you to it if you like?”
“No!” Angelo said quickly—too quickly. “I told you, I’m feeling good. I just miss you . . . I wish we were stumbling off the train together.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I want to see you.”
Dylan sighed. “I want to see you too. I just figured you needed some space to get better and sort things out with your mum.”
Angelo couldn’t deny that if Dylan had been around over the last ten days, Theresa wouldn’t have got a look in, though he was glad Dylan hadn’t seen his more undignified moments. “Mum’s asked me to go to the solicitor with her tomorrow. And she’s been feeding me to death. I’ll be a walking lasagne by the time you see me.”
“I doubt that. Your bod is still killer.”
“That’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”
“Sorry.” Dylan sounded anything but. “Gallows humour, remember?”
“Piss off.”
Dylan laughed and a pleasurable shudder rattled through Angelo. He remembered the first time he’d heard Dylan laugh in the club—in the basement room where it had all begun.
“So . . . ,” Dylan said. “What do you want to do? I guess you’re not up for going out yet?”
“Actually, I could do with a change of scenery, but I’m still skint, so—”
“Come to mine.”
“Um . . .” Angelo wanted to. Fuck, he wanted to. But Dylan spoke again before Angelo could.
“Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Dream: A Skins Novel Page 14
