Chapter 290
“Because of you,” Darren said simply.
Jayden wanted to moan at him for getting another tattoo, especially one so blatant. He wanted to yell at him for the scare in the bathroom. He wanted to make him take off his shirt to check he hadn’t hurt himself anywhere else either, just in case. He wanted to demand why Darren wanted more tattoos anyway, and what work would think.
And then he didn’t, because Darren’s halting explanation tore the rug from under him, and Jayden did the only thing he could do: he dropped the hand, slid his arms around Darren’s shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug that couldn’t possibly convey the pure, raw emotion that exploded in his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered fiercely. “I love you so, so much.” Darren’s arms slid around him, one firm and one barely touching, and Jayden buried his face in Darren’s neck to simply cling. “I love you,” he repeated. “I really, really love you, and…and…”
Darren kissed his hair, stroking gentle fingers at the nape of his neck, and Jayden gave up on words.
There was nothing more to be said.
* * * *
26
The ambulance siren was wailing, and so was the heart monitor, and Darren was gone, his arm trailing to the floor off the edge of the sofa. The blood was everywhere, just blood, seeping out of his shoulder, and blackened by the tattoo, pooling on the carpet and running down his arm in rivulets and…
Jayden woke with a sharp gasp, and it turned into a sob in an instant. Darren, Darren, Darren…he was gone. He was gone, and Jayden hadn’t saved him, hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t…he’d killed himself, he’d done it, he’d finally done it and Jayden hadn’t done a thing, Jayden had stood by and let him, Jayden had…
He covered his face in both hands and burst into tears.
It took a good minute—maybe more—of the explosive crying before his brain caught up on itself, and Jayden became fully aware. “A dream,” he croaked hoarsely to the room at large, then twisted. There was no Darren, and no thrown-back duvet that meant he’d gone to the bathroom, and no warmth lingering where he should have been. “A dream,” Jayden whispered again, but it was a begging sort of statement now, and he threw back the sheets and stumbled for the stairs.
There was a light on in the living room.
As Jayden rushed down into the living room, his mind began to finally push back the panic—because Darren had been on the late shift, hadn’t he? And there were his work boots on the mat. And there was someone in the kitchen and…and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, there was no bloodied body on the sofa. No pool on the carpet, no upended pill bottle on the coffee table, no sombre-looking paramedic and no crying Rachel and…
He stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. The tap was running, and Darren—alive and fine and with his sleeves rolled up and no blood, no gash, nothing off at all but that brand new tattoo and the fading black eye marring his face—was filling the kettle.
“Hey Jayd—what happened?” Darren interrupted himself, the moment he turned and glanced at Jayden’s face, the genial smile dropping into a serious expression. Jayden knew he had to look a sight, in his pyjamas and with his hair sticking up all over the place and in tears, but he didn’t care, and lurched forward to throw his arms around Darren’s shoulders and just…just cling
“Oh God,” he croaked and buried his damp face in Darren’s shoulder. He was wearing his uniform polo. It was black, and smelled funny, and itchy, and almost hotbecause Darren wore it. Darren was solid under it, real and alive and…and…not bleeding. “Oh God,” Jayden repeated, and squeezed tightly, another sob working its way up and out of his chest.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Jayden heard the thunkof the kettle being put down, and then Darren’s enormous hands were firm on his back. “What’s up? What’s happened?”
Jayden shook his head and clung tighter.
“Hey,” Darren prompted again, twisting his head to kiss the top of Jayden’s ear and whisper to him. “You gonna come out and tell me what’s up?” But despite his words, he was clinging back, his grip hard and warm and reassuring.
Alive. Bloody alive
“Bad dream,” Jayden croaked and took a hitching breath. “Just a fucking bad dream, it was just a dream…”
“Okay.” Darren smoothed his hair in soft little prods and swipes, almost plucking at it and tucking the tufts back into place in a series of soothing little actions. “I’m going to guess it involved me?”
“You…you…I dreamed I came home, and you were…”
Jayden couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. Saying it would be…would make it…
“I’m going to guess I’d done something?”
“…Your pills, and…and your shoulder and…your wrist, too…” Where the scars were, and had been. Where the tattoo was now. The shoulder had been someone else, at least, but the wrist had been Darren. Years ago, most of them before Jayden really, and self-harm, not…not an actual, you know, attempt, but…scars. All the same.