“I’m okay,” Angelo said. “Tired, but wired. It’s weird, actually. My brain feels clearer than it has in a long time.”
“That’s good. You told me in the hospital how much the brain fog frightens you.”
“Did I? I don’t remember.”
Dylan remembered everything about that night—how terrifying it had been to see Angelo so ill, but conversely, how he’d come away from it feeling like they finally had a chance. “You want to stay in bed today?” He lightly scraped his fingers over Angelo’s scalp. “To rest, I mean. We could Netflix and chill?”
Angelo shook his head. “As much fun as that sounds, I’ve got to get up. That’s what I’ve learned this week—that if I can move, I have to, however much it hurts. Muscle memory, you know?”
Dylan didn’t, but he took Angelo’s word for it and helped him up with a smile that Angelo didn’t miss.
“What are you grinning about?”
Dylan shrugged. “You. It’s so amazing that you feel as terrible as you did before, but you’re somehow coping with it so much better. What’s your secret?”
“Education.” Angelo stood and stretched so elegantly that Dylan nearly tackled him to the bed again. “I was so scared when I first got ill that I stuck my head in the sand. If I hadn’t, I’d have known then what I’ve learned this week about ME, and I’d probably feel a whole lot better.”
“What’s next for you, with your recovery, I mean?”
“Graded exercise. Slow and steady, a little bit each day. I don’t think I’ll dance again, but I can utilise the way my body is already conditioned to move.”
More stretching that turned Dylan’s brain upside down. Again, he recalled their impromptu yoga session in the spare room last night. “Perhaps you could teach.”
“What?” Angelo looked at Dylan from between his legs. “Teach who?”
“Other people with ME. You were so good with me last night—so patient. And you did it instinctively.”
“That’s because I like you.” Angelo came upright. “I’ve done mentoring before at ballet companies, and I hated it because ninety-nine per cent of people on this planet annoy me.”
Dylan let it go. Angelo would need an income eventually, but did that matter right now? As he watched Angelo’s naked form disappear into the bathroom and debated following him, he couldn’t quite decide.
* * *
Later that day, it turned out not to matter at all. Angelo’s mother called while they were walking slow loops of the park and gave Angelo some news that turned his fortunes the right way up.
“She’s sold the business?” Dylan guessed from the one side of the conversation he’d heard.
Angelo nodded, his eyes bright. “Yeah, and then some. Apparently a couple of blokes turned up this morning and bought the building, the equipment we had left, and even our fucking name. She said they might go to the auctions too and scoop up all the vintage stuff the debt collectors took.”
“Oh my God. That’s incredible. I thought the house would go first.”
“Me too.” Angelo stopped walking and abruptly dropped onto a nearby bench. “And I thought we’d end up giving it away for peanuts too—just to get rid of it. But these guys have offered the asking price and a shedload more to keep the name above the door. I can’t fucking believe it.”
The financial nerd in Dylan cried out for specifics, to know what this truly meant for Angelo, but concern for Angelo in the here and now won out as Angelo shook his head, dazed, and clearly overwhelmed.
Dylan knelt in front of him. “This is good news, right?”
Angelo stared at his blank phone screen. “It’s more than that. My mum’s splitting the profit from the business three ways between her, me, and my sister. It’s a lot of money, Dylan . . . like, life-changing. I don’t know what to do with it. I feel fucking sick. Is that weird?”
“You’re probably in shock.” Dylan rubbed Angelo’s knees. “It’s a big change from when we first met.”
“Can I cancel the DRO?”
“You’ll have to,” Dylan said. “You won’t be eligible when the money comes through. Will you have enough to clear your debts?”
Angelo laughed. “Um. Yeah. Twice over. And I’ll be able to pay rent for a year while I get my shit together.”
“Rent where?”
“I don’t know. Wherever’s closest to you.”
“To me?”
Angelo’s humour faded. “You’re doing that freaky question thing.”
“That freaky question—” Dylan stopped and tried again. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It means I’m trying to tell you that I can afford to live near you for the next twelve months because I’m ridiculously fucking in love with you, and the blank look on your face is terrifying.”
Dylan’s heart thudded to a stunned and wonderful halt. “You love me?”
Angelo groaned. “Oh God. Stop. Please. Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you—been in love with you—whatever. I’ve just been too fucked up to do anything about it. How can you not know that?”
Dylan had no answer because he did know it. How, he had no idea, but out of everything they’d been through in the last few months, the sudden certainty that Angelo loved him nearly sent him to his knees. “I love you too. More than that. I’m fucking crazy about you.”
“Just plain crazy, more like,” Angelo grumbled.
But the joy in his tired eyes was unmistakable and did something to Dylan that he couldn’t describe. “Do you want to hear something else crazy?”
Angelo sobered. “Depends. That you love me back has pretty much done me in for the day.”
“Move in with me.”
“What?”
“You heard.” Dylan rose out of his crouch and climbed carefully into Angelo’s lap, straddling his waist and pressing their foreheads together. “Move in with me. Pay half my mortgage and use the spare room for your physio, and maybe, when you’re back on your feet, we can look to buy a new place together.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be well enough to do that. What if I relapse to the point that I can’t get out of bed for a year? What then?”
“Then I’ll go back to paying the mortgage by myself until you’re better.”
“What if we get a bigger mortgage that you can’t afford on your own?”
“I’m a debt advisor. Do you really think I’d let that happen? That I’d ever let us get into a position where I couldn’t look after you?”
“You shouldn’t have to look after me.” Angelo’s fingers tightened around Dylan’s wrists. “It’s not fair.”
“Nothing’s fair. But we’ve got each other—we love each other. Surely we should embrace that and face whatever life throws at us together? Angelo, I want to live with you. I want to go to bed with you every night and wake up with you every morning. We can handle the rest—you know we can.”
Whether Angelo truly knew it or not was hard to tell, but he wore his crumbling resolve on his sleeve. “If we’re gonna do this, you’ve got to slow down. I can’t spend the rest of my life watching you worry yourself into the ground. That hurts me as much as me being ill upsets you.”
“But you can help me with that,” Dylan said. “Teach me to relax and break the cycle? I know you can’t see it, but you’ve done just as much for me as I have for you. If yesterday had happened to me six months ago, I’d be drunk now . . . and I’d stay drunk all weekend until I had to go back to work on Monday and pick up all the pieces.”
“You wouldn’t have taken the time off?”
“Nope. Not a chance. But being with you has made me realise that the quiet isn’t something to be afraid of. That I can take control of it and make it work for me.”
Angelo chuckled softly. “How you’ve taken all that from me constantly flaking out on you, I don’t know. I think you’re insane for wanting to live with me. Even without the ME, I’m a moody bastard.”
“You think I can’t h
andle a moody bastard?”
“I know you can handle me, Dylan.” Angelo’s voice dropped an octave. “Perhaps that’s what I’m afraid of.”
Hope bloomed in Dylan’s heart as Angelo’s humour returned. “Is that a yes?”
Angelo smiled like the rare winter sun hazing the park. “Of course it’s a yes. I know I’m shit at showing it, but you and me together, despite all the bullshit that got to the table before us, is everything I’ve ever wanted. Shit, didn’t even know I wanted.”
Dylan couldn’t argue with that. They still had much to learn about each other, but their love was real, and so were their dreams.
Epilogue
Dylan stared across the crowded rock club, his gaze drawn, as ever, to the graceful form that stood out among the sea of sweaty bodies. Angelo was dancing with Eddie, lifting her high above his head, his strong arms holding her firm as her laughter rang out over the thrashing music.
Sam watched them too, his expression hard to gauge. “Should I be jealous?”
“Of what? His moves? Probably. But if you’re worried he’s gonna crack on to your missus, don’t bother. We’re in the wrong club for that.”
Sam laughed. “Don’t mention that bloody sex club to Eddie. You know she’ll want to go.”
“That a bad thing?”
“Fucked if I know, but I ain’t man enough to deal with all of you.”
Dylan laughed too, leaning on Sam and absorbing his familiar solidness. He’d fretted when Eddie had called him a few days ago to say she and Sam were paying London a flying visit, but his anxiety had proved baseless. Sam was happy and healthy, and the space he’d once owned in Dylan’s heart now belonged so entirely to Angelo that it was hard to recall when life had been any different.
It helped that Angelo and Eddie got on like a house on fire. Both so beautiful and vibrant, Dylan could watch them move together all night. Had done exactly that, in fact, while he and Sam had got quietly drunk in the corner.
“When do you start your new job?”
“Hmm?” Dylan snapped his attention back to Sam. “Oh. Um, next week. I’ve got a few cases to close up in Stratford first.”
Sam tipped the last of his beer down his throat. “Never thought I’d see you working in the Romford office. You always said you’d rather shoot yourself.”
“I’m not going to be just working there, though. I’m running it—the financial department, at least. And they’ve given me a lot of scope to change things. It’s worth it now that I can make a difference.”
“You don’t have to change things to make a difference. Sometimes you’ve just got to carry on.”
Dylan thought of the years that Sam had put into keeping his grandfather’s café open, the eighteen-hour days he’d worked without a second thought to the effect it was having on the rest of his life. In that, he and Angelo were exactly the same. “I hear you, but there’s a real opportunity here to make things right. And it’s closer to home so I can be there for Angelo if he needs me.”
Sam said nothing to that, all too aware of what it was like to depend on those he loved most to take care of him. He’d been well the whole time he and Eddie had been in Poland, but who knew what was round the corner? Not Dylan, and living with Angelo’s condition had taught him to take each day as it came. Worrying about tomorrow didn’t make anything easier.
Besides, today was a great day, and as awesome as it had been to spend it with Sam and Eddie, Dylan was itching for the next phase to begin.
Hot, sweat-sheened arms slid around him from behind. Angelo pressed a wet kiss to Dylan’s cheek. “What are you smirking about?”
“I’m not smirking,” Dylan protested as he turned around, though Sam certainly was until Eddie distracted him with a heated kiss of her own. “I’m just happy.”
“Happy, eh? I’ll take that. Have I done enough moshing for you yet?”
“You love it.”
“I love you.” Angelo swiped Dylan’s beer and necked it. “And you’ve been pining for this place, admit it.”
“Maybe,” Dylan hedged. “I didn’t think you’d be quite so into it, though.”
Angelo set the empty bottle down. “Why not? I let you fuck me with Motörhead growling in the background, don’t I?”
Behind Dylan, Sam burst out laughing. Dylan flipped him the bird over his shoulder and made an executive decision. He moved impossibly closer to Angelo, wedging his knee between his legs. “Careful. It’s your turn to call the shots when we ditch this place, but I might change my mind and bend you over the bar.”
Angelo smirked, seeing Dylan’s bluff for exactly what it was, because they both knew that even if Angelo was more than a once-in-a-blue-moon bottom, Dylan was waaay too thirsty to switch up their sex club adventures. “Does this mean you’re ready to go?”
Of course it did. They said goodbye to Sam and Eddie and left The Pitt, taking advantage of the heady summer air to save money and walk across town. They held hands, like always. Nine months to the day since they’d first met, and it had yet to get old. Would it ever fade?
Dylan doubted it.
* * *
Angelo fell onto Dylan’s chest, his muscles screaming, but for once the lactic acid in his legs was there for all the right reasons. He kissed Dylan’s sweat-damp skin, trailing his lips up until he found Dylan’s neck, and then he sank his teeth in, thrusting into him one last time. “Jesus!”
At home, his shout would’ve rung out and disturbed the neighbours. In Lovato’s, though, only the crowd who’d chosen to watch the show reacted, and Angelo barely noticed them—too transfixed by Dylan falling apart beneath him. His arched back and flailing hands. His wild, guttural cries. One day, Angelo would get used to how beautiful he was.
But not today.
They peeled themselves off the mattress and slipped away from the masses into the private showers. Angelo finished first and sat on the bench while Dylan finished up, watching, awed and wondering, as had become his habit in the last few months. How did I get so lucky?
As if he’d ever know.
Dylan crouched in front of him, naked, his hands on Angelo’s denim-clad knees. “Are you falling asleep on me?”
“Not yet. Just enjoying the view.”
“In Romford? You need to get out more.”
“Don’t be a dick.” Angelo poked his tongue out. “I want to ask you something, actually.”
Clearly intrigued, Dylan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Not gonna propose, are you? Because I’ve already told you I’m not a marriage kind of bloke.”
Angelo snorted. “You and me both.”
It was true. On one of the many nights they’d sat up battling the evil tag team of Dylan’s insomnia and the spasms in Angelo’s muscles, they’d talked about anything and everything, learning what made the other tick, and solidifying their bond until it was absolute. They were different men, but their dreams were the same.
“Actually,” Angelo went on. “I was going to ask you if you’d be my student for the day on Wednesday. I know it’s your last day off before your new job, but it’s my first assessment and I’m freaking out a bit.”
Understatement. Freaking out wasn’t Angelo’s usual style, but Dylan wasn’t the only one with new employment prospects. Angelo’s ME-specific physio had panned out so well that Harry had suggested he retrain as a graded exercise therapist. In a moment of madness, he’d agreed and was now three months deep into his first year.
Dylan nudged Angelo with his shoulder. “Of course I’ll be your student for the day. I don’t know what you’re fretting for, though. I know you don’t like peopleing, but you’re an amazing teacher. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be able to bend my legs behind my head like I did just now.”
Angelo chuckled. “You’re a quick learner.”
Dylan laughed too, but the ever-present shrewdness in his gaze told Angelo that he’d seen right through him. “They’ll give you another date if you’re not up to working that day.”
“Yeah, but what’s the point in that? If I can’t get myself healthy enough to go to work, how can I help anyone else?”
“By showing them that it’s okay to have bad days. You know that exercise therapy isn’t a blanket treatment. It’s helped you massively, but it doesn’t work for everyone—and it doesn’t work all the time. That’s what Harry tells you, and that’s what you’d tell your patients, right?”
“I s’pose so.”
“You know so.” Dylan knocked Angelo’s shoulder again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, you have just as much chance of having an amazing day. Like today. Did I tell you that I love you yet?”
And just like that, the malaise clouding Angelo’s mind cleared. Despite their surroundings and lingering heat of their playtime encounter, Dylan’s gaze seemed innocent and pure, and Angelo lost himself in the smile that had turned his life upside down for the better. “I wanna get into bed with you.”
Dylan held out his hand. “Then we’d better go home.”
“Okay, but Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.”
THE END
PATREON
Not ready to let go of Angelo and Dylan? Or looking for sneak peeks at future books in the series? Alternative POVs, outtakes, and missing moments from all Garrett’s books can be found on her Patreon site. Misfits, Slide, Strays…the works. Because you know what? Garrett wasn’t ready to let her boys go either.
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Coming Soon
Coming soon in the SKINS series…
Whisper
Believe
Crossroads
Keep reading for exclusive excerpts…
Whisper (a SHORT excerpt)
Whisper
The haze evaporated, but in its place came the mess I’d been in the first time I’d ever raised my hands to someone. Nausea flared in my gut and spread out, its acid tendrils creeping through my veins like lava.
Dream: A Skins Novel Page 19
