Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man (11 page)

Thankfully Jack had other ideas. “Nah. Fuck that. Let’s go home. I can get the prescription at that all-night Tesco in Arnold.”

Or not. Jack was in no state to endure the all-night supermarket in one of the roughest parts of Nottingham, with its bright lights and hordes of late-night shoppers and junkies. Finn would have to do it for him, and despite the challenges he set himself daily, he hadn’t been in a big supermarket in years.

Finn helped Jack up and walked him to the van, keeping an eye out for lurking photographers. Jack was the most well-known of them all, and getting caught staggering out of a venue, no matter the reason, was a hassle he didn’t need.

Finn navigated the north circular while Jack got his head down beside him, then they hit the M1…. No music, no conversation, just a silence that got under Finn’s skin and latched on to his unsettled nerves.

It took all his concentration to stay on the road… to ignore the whispering voice in his head, the one that popped up from time to time like it had never gone away, like it had always been there. The one that told him he was about to lose it and drive him and Jack off the road, killing them both. Or worse—killing Jack and living with Will’s grief.

Get a grip.
Finn clenched the steering wheel. Years of living with schizophrenia had taught him that often his most frightening thoughts were nothing more than anxiety, but the times when they hadn’t been… the times when they’d become his worst nightmares, when he’d been trapped in his own head, too fucked up to reason his way out…. Fuck, those times haunted him. Haunted him enough to make his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. Enough for his breath to get stuck in his throat, and his teeth to bite down on his lip so hard he tasted blood.

He zoned out so much he almost missed the junction for Nottingham. The sudden swerve into the exit lane roused Jack.

“Where are we?”

“Junction 26.” Finn pulled up at a light-controlled roundabout. “Are you going to be sick again?”

Jack grunted and sat up, his hand hovering over his mouth. “I’m all right.”

He didn’t look all right, and when Finn parked up outside the all-night Tesco, he felt like he might throw up himself. “Where’s your prescription slip?”

Jack fumbled in his pocket and retrieved a crumpled sheet of paper from his wallet. “You don’t have to come in with me.”

Finn steeled himself and plucked the prescription from Jack’s unsteady hands. “Just stay here, yeah? And don’t puke in the van.”

He got out before Jack could protest and took an uncertain step toward the huge automatic doors. The nasty voice in his head struck up a tune, a dark, ominous melody that told him he wouldn’t take another step, and for a moment, Finn gave in. Jack could sleep this off, right? He had before, and the morning wasn’t so far away.

Or Will could go….
Or you could just stand here all fucking night while Jack suffers alone….

Finn took a shuddery breath and reached for a song to beat back the voice. He found the last song he’d played that night, and Danny’s face flashed into his mind, steady and calm. Finn felt Danny’s dark gaze on him. Felt him watch Finn’s fingers dance over the guitar, absorbing every note like Finn had played it just for him. Of course, that night Finn had. The song he’d sung for Danny was old and rough, and the lyrics didn’t quite fit, but the tone had suited his mood and matched the nagging worry that, despite Danny’s growing presence in Finn’s life, something unseen stood between them. Danny was distracted, and not knowing why bugged Finn more than he cared to admit.

Didn’t stop him using Danny’s smile to force himself forward, though. One step, two steps, three. Then he was inside and the lights and noise hit him like walking out on stage, only without the shield of his guitar and the heady rush of music to protect him.

Finn looked up at the signs hanging from the ceiling. The pharmacy was at the back of the store. To get there, he needed to push his way through the aisles, half blocked by huge cages of goods being stacked on the shelves.

Great. If this was what these places were like at midnight, Finn shuddered to think what they were like in daylight. Actually he just shuddered, one of those invisible convulsions that felt like his brain had been zapped with electrodes.

He made it to the pharmacy. The woman behind the counter gave him a pen and then waited, staring, while he signed his name as Jack’s representative.

Finn tried to ignore the creeping sensation her attention gave him. Paranoia. He’d learned to live with it, but it didn’t get any easier. People often stared at him like they couldn’t quite place him. Some days he thought life would be easier if he’d let himself become a clichéd rock-star wanker. At least then he’d
know
why people were looking at him.

A few minutes later, he fled the counter, paper bag in hand. A stop at the cigarette counter for a bottle of water about finished him off, and he drifted back to the car on shaky legs.

Jack stared at him with hazy eyes. “You’re a real mate, you know that?”

Finn said nothing. It hurt to know Jack knew exactly what going into that stupid bloody supermarket had done to him.

“Finn?”

“
What?
”

“Have you decided about the Big Chill next year?”

The random question caught Finn off guard, even though he knew Jack was making a valiant effort to distract him. “Why are you worried about that now?”

“I’m not worried. I just want to know.”

Finn put the van in gear and reversed out of the parking space. The alternative dance festival was Jack’s favorite event of the year. Finn had gone with him for as long as they’d been friends. Why would Jack think next year would be any different?

“You should bring Danny.”

“Danny?”

Jack sat up a little, though Finn could see, even in his peripheral vision, how sick he still felt. “Yeah, Danny. He is your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Was he? The term didn’t sit right in Finn’s convoluted mind right then. “I don’t think Leftfield and poppers are his scene.”

“Don’t know till you ask, do you?”

But Finn did know. Danny was a copper. He wasn’t going to sit around in a field smoking bloody weed. Not that Finn smoked weed… anymore.

“You’re pretty cagey about him.”

“That’s bollocks.” Finn kept his gaze on the road. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Jack had been cool with Danny whenever they happened to cross paths, but that was standard practice for Jack and any man Finn brought home these days, not that there were many.

Jack said no more. Back at the house, he staggered straight upstairs and collapsed on his bed fully clothed. Finn stayed with him until the drugs knocked him out, then crept away to call Will—who, predictably, got straight in his car—then take a shower.

After, he found himself pacing the dark, silent house. Will was more than an hour away, and though Finn knew Jack was in no danger, he felt on edge. The usual postgig buzz had evaporated the moment he’d seen Jack’s cloudy eyes and pale face, and in its place, Finn felt like the walls were closing in on him.

He opened the fridge, shut it again, then eyed the cellar door, wanting nothing more than to creep down to his sanctuary of music and color and hide from the black silence of the house, but he resisted. He had to wait until Will got there. He owed Jack far more than that.

Shit.
Finn stopped in the middle of the kitchen and rubbed his face. It had been a long time since he had truly lost himself to the monster of schizophrenia, and even now he couldn’t remember much of it, but he knew Jack had been there, that he’d
stayed
there until Finn hadn’t needed him anymore.

Finn turned back to the fridge. In the darkness he could just about make out the photographs stuck to every available inch of brushed stainless steel. Finn’s whole life was on that fridge: family, friends, the band. Good times. Happy days. Everything Finn needed to see when his grasp on reality failed. Only Danny was missing.

Danny, Danny, Danny.
For the first time in hours, a thought felt good. Finn grabbed it, sank to the floor, back against the cupboards, and held on to it until a knock at the door startled the ever-loving shit out of him. The tapping was light, barely there if it was there at all, but Finn jumped a mile. Who the fuck was that? It was 2:00 a.m. and Will had a key.

Maybe he forgot it. Dickhead.
Finn punctuated his internal growl by hauling himself from the kitchen floor and padding to the front door. A shape on the other side of the frosted glass moved, a shadow that looked nothing like Will’s lanky frame.

Finn frowned and opened the door, half convinced he’d find nothing but empty milk bottles or the neighbor’s cat. Instead he found Danny, or rather Danny’s back as he walked away. “Danny?”

Finn’s voice was hoarse from a gig that felt so long ago he’d almost forgotten about it, but Danny heard him. He turned with a slow smile… a smile that seeped into Finn’s soul and warmed him from the inside out.

Finn closed the distance between them, ignoring the icy cold of the Victorian tiles beneath his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Danny didn’t answer right away. He wrapped Finn in a tight hug and squeezed. Then he sighed and pulled back a little. “You shouldn’t be out here. You’ve got wet hair.”

Finn had forgotten about that too, and Danny’s cool fingers grazing his scalp felt amazing. “What are you doing here?”

The repetition seemed to rouse Danny from his preoccupation with Finn’s hair. “Long night. Found myself driving by. Did I wake you?”

“No. We haven’t been home long.”

“We?”

“Jack’s upstairs. He’s ill, though. Migraine. That’s why all the lights are off.”

“Ah. I thought you were asleep.”

Finn shook his head. “Nah. Too wired.”

“From the gig?”

“Something like that.”

Danny sensed the heaviness Finn had unwittingly dropped on him. “What’s up? You’re shaking.”

“Am I?” Was he? “You must have that effect on me.”

Danny wasn’t fooled. He pulled back a little and stared Finn down. “What’s the matter?”

Finn didn’t know how to answer that. He’d always tried to be open with his friends about the dark clouds that plagued him, but in his love life, honesty had often come back to bite him in the arse.

Danny touched his face. “Want to make me a brew?”

“Hmm?” Finn abruptly remembered they were standing on the porch, at the mercy of the icy wind. “Tea? Shit, yeah. Come in. We have to be quiet, though. Jack’s ill.”

“Migraine. Nasty. Come on, then. Let’s go inside.”

Danny guided Finn inside and shut the door behind them. The darkness enveloped them like a blanket, and this time, with Danny right there with him, Finn welcomed it, like it could cocoon them together.

He took a deep breath and centered himself. “Tea. Yeah. Come on.”

Danny hovered close by while Finn made tea. He didn’t say much, but that wasn’t unusual, and Finn wasn’t feeling up to banal small talk. With the tea brewed, Finn considered the kitchen table, then the couch in the next room, and dismissed them both.

“Drink this in bed?”

Danny grinned a little. “There goes my flying visit.”

“Piss off. It’s not like I’m gonna tie you to the bedposts. You can leave whenever you want.”

Danny made a noise low in his throat—a grunt, a growl, Finn couldn’t tell—and pointed at the stairs. “Up.”

In Finn’s room they left the door ajar to listen out for Jack and Will, then stripped down to T-shirts and boxers and huddled up in Finn’s bed. Safe in Danny’s arms, Finn felt his heartbeat slow and his mind quiet, and realized he’d been far more wound up than he’d thought. He took comfort in Danny’s calm, quiet presence and his wickedly soothing touch, and it was a while before he raised his head from Danny’s chest.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“S’all right. You looked a little rattled.”

Rattled.
Rattler.
That was a good name for the imaginary blender in Finn’s mind. “I hate it when Jack’s ill. It changes him and it scares me.”

“Why?”

Finn shifted. He was on his side, pressed against Danny, absorbing his warmth, their tea long forgotten. He searched for the words to explain himself, but none came.

“You can tell me, Finn. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

And so Finn did. He told Danny everything and found himself shaking again, firmly rooted in that horrible place between hot and cold, with Danny’s touch the only thing that felt real.

Danny listened in silence until Finn got to the part about the supermarket, and then he took Finn’s hand and squeezed it. “Did you manage to go in?”

“Yeah, near enough pissed myself, though. Then I came home and wound myself up so much I was about to climb in the fridge when you turned up.”

Danny looked as though he wanted to smile. Instead he tucked Finn’s hair behind his ears. He did that a lot. “I get it, I think.”

Finn scowled. “I don’t want you to get it. I don’t want you to know how weird I am.”

“Weird compared to what? Finn, you did everything you needed to do. You drove Jack home, got his prescription, and put him to bed. What else did you expect from yourself? And it’s not weird to hate crowded places, mate. Lots of people do. My mum only leaves the house to go to the Chinese center in town. My dad does everything else for her.”

“You never talk about your family.”

“There isn’t much to say.”

Finn didn’t believe that. “Do you ever see your sister?”

“Not as much as I should.”

Danny wasn’t much of a talker unless they were talking about music or food… or Finn, and Finn didn’t have enough coherent thought to press him now.

Finn slid his hand under Danny’s T-shirt. Danny’s chest was smooth and strong, his heartbeat steady. “I think about you all the time.”

It wasn’t quite what he’d intended to say, but fuck, he meant it. He hadn’t known Danny long… a month or so, but Finn couldn’t imagine life without him now. When had that happened?

You pissing idiot.
Half a dozen bunk-ups and you’re mated for life?
Daft fucking tw—