“I was missing you,” Mal blurted out. “I mean I . . . But I never wanted her. She got the wrong end of the stick, that’s all.”
Jory gazed at him for a long moment, then looked away. “I wish I knew where I stood with you,” he said, apparently more to the kitchen wall than to Mal.
It made Mal’s heart hurt.
What the hell was he going to say to that? The whole reason he’d come up here was . . . to apologise, yeah, but mainly, if he was gut-wrenchingly honest, to find out where he stood with Jory.
Could he do it? Tell Jory how he felt? And risk Jory saying Sorry mate, last night was the deal breaker?
Then again, after last night, didn’t Jory deserve the truth?
Christ. Mal clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Did he really have the balls to go through with it?
“I wish I knew where I stood with you.” Jory hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But maybe it was time they talked about whatever was going on between them? Really talked, without sex or hurt feelings or near-death experiences getting in the way.
“So, what happened with Kirsty . . . Was it just the drink?” Jory took a deep breath. He should let it go, he knew he should; he was harping on about it too much, but he had to be certain. “What did happen? Exactly?”
“Think you saw it all. I mean, all of that sort of stuff. We had dinner, we had a few drinks, and then she—then it happened. And ten seconds later you walked in.” Mal looked him in the eye. “If I’d known that was gonna happen, I’d never have gone. On me mum’s life. And I tried—I wanted to tell you, it didn’t mean nothing, but you’d already gone. Wasn’t like I could jump in a car and zoom off after you, was it?”
Something twisted unpleasantly in Jory’s chest. No, he’d made absolutely certain Mal had no chance to explain himself. But, damn it, it had hurt seeing Mal with someone else.
“What would you have said if I’d stayed?” he asked in the end.
Mal stared at him, wide-eyed, like a cornered rabbit. Or any other small, rodent-like creature.
Jory met his gaze, and attempted a half smile of reassurance. He wasn’t sure he succeeded—but it seemed to do the trick in any case.
“It’s . . . Shit.” Mal looked away for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to Jory, seeming more fragile even than right after the car incident. More fragile than Jory could have imagined. “I like you. Like, a lot.”
Jory’s hand clenched into something resembling a fist without consulting him. It sounded good . . . But Mal hadn’t finished. Jory could tell. “But?” he prompted.
“But . . . I’m scared, okay?”
“‘Scared’?” Jory repeated stupidly.
“Yeah . . . Look, I know this is gonna sound like a really crap ambition to you, but it’s all I ever wanted to do, right? Drive a Tube train like my dad. It’s the only job I ever done, apart from when I started out in customer service cos you have to, cos they only advertise the drivers’ jobs internally. I thought it was gonna be my life, sorted.” He screwed up his face as if he was in pain. “Go on, laugh.”
Jory was too busy wondering exactly what all this had to do with them. And wanting to hold Mal until that pained look had vanished forever. Was touching allowed? Oh, to hell with it. Jory grabbed Mal’s hands where they rested on the kitchen table, folding them both in his own. “I’m not laughing. But I don’t understand . . . What are you afraid of? You mean, that you won’t be able to get over the . . . one under and get back in the driving seat?”
“Yeah. There’s that. But then there’s . . . Oh, shit a fucking brick.” Mal pulled away from him, closing his eyes tight shut. “There’s you.”
“Me?” Jory’s heart appeared to have taken up cliff diving. Did Mal mean . . .?
“Yeah.” Mal looked up at him from under his tousled hair. “All that crap I said about not wanting us to get into anything serious . . . Well, it’s bollocks, innit? Not the wanting. I mean, the actual thing. Ah, shit. It’s too late. I already— You know.”
“You’re . . . serious about me?” Jory’s heart leapt. That was . . . But he could celebrate later. For the rest of his life, if he had his way. Mal was what was important right now. “Then why not?”
“Because I can’t deal, okay? I can’t deal with it ending.”
“Then we won’t let it end.” Jory tried to put all his conviction into his voice.
Mal was shaking his head. “But you got your kid and your new job coming up, so you ain’t gonna want to move to London, even if I did get me old job back, and Christ, I wouldn’t ask you to. But if, well, if you wanted me to stay down here, what the sodding hell would I do? I’ve only ever been good at one thing, and that’s driving trains, and I fucked that up too, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Jory said fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done.” He was torn between jubilation that Mal had actually got so far as to think about them having a future together, and frustration that Mal had seemingly argued himself out of it before it had even started.
“I don’t just mean . . . See, me dad’s had his share of that sort of shit, and he never . . . never made a big deal of it. Just got back on with
