“Fuck off,” said Hassan, laughing while squeezing Kieran tighter, before breaking apart.
He ruffled Kieran’s hair affectionately and smiled. Derek might have been onto something when he said Hassan was a daddy. He had to suppress a laugh thinking about it.
“How’s Omar?” he asked, trying not to think about the idea of some guy calling Hassan by that honorific.
“He’s infuriating. He doesn’t know what’s best for him.”
Kieran snorted. “What’s he done?”
“He wants to keep working at Knights Corner.”
“What’s wrong with that? Better than working at The Back Room, isn’t it?”
“Don’t remind me that he worked in that place. No offence to Daddy Derek.”
Kieran cracked up laughing and doubled over; his ribs hurt that much.
“Not that funny,” said Hassan, smiling. “Omar’s got a first-class degree from Cambridge and a master’s from LSE. He should be in a grad programme, not working in a bar.”
“Isn’t that his choice? Just like it was his choice to wait until he had his degrees and then come out to your parents, knowing what would probably happen.”
Hassan narrowed his eyes. “I’m just looking out for him.”
“No, you’re being Dr Hassan Malik, the overbearing control freak.”
“I just don’t want him to miss out on opportunities.”
“And that’s his choice. Besides, it’s September. All the graduate programmes will be filled. They’ll be recruiting for next year now.”
“I have some ideas about that.”
Kieran snorted. “Of course you do. Come with me into the kitchen. I need a brew, and Derek baked some cookies. And if you saydaddyagain, you won’t get any. They’re even better than Liam’s, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Hassan laughed as he followed Kieran into the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on and grabbed the milk out of the fridge before getting the mugs ready.
“Just spend time with Omar. You’ve missed out on ten years together. You can be an overprotective big brother later. He might be less resistant when he knows you better.”
“When did you become so wise?”
“You know me. The master at solving everyone else’s problems. Just shit at my own.”
“No, Kieran. Don’t blame yourself for this. That guy’s a predator. God knows how many other guys he’s done it to, and he’s with the mob, so he can do what he wants. That’s what makes me sick. Even if you wanted to go to the police, Grant would probably just pay them off.”
“Hassan, stop!” he shouted. “Let’s not do this again. I’m not going to the police. They don’t give a fuck about us anyway. They’ll take one look at me covered in tattoos and him in his sharp suit, and we know who they’ll believe.”
“I’m sorry. I just hate the idea of him getting away with it.”
“Well, I keep having to tell Derek not to go after him, so I don’t want to worry about you as well.”
“Derek wants to go after him?”
“I know. I’ve told him it’s stupid.”
“I’m warming to Derek. Maybe he’s not the arsehole I thought he was.”
Kieran couldn’t help but smile. One thing Derek Stephenson wasn’t was an arsehole. He’d made a mistake when Kieran was a teenager, but it was his mum who had kicked him out, not Derek. If anyone were to blame, it was her. He’d forgiven Derek before what had happened with Carl. It was why he’d gone to him, as he’d felt safe. With how he’d been the last two weeks, Derek was someone Kieran wanted in his life permanently. He just wasn’t sure in what capacity. His emotions were still all over the place.
Kieran was napping on the sofa when there was a loud bang on the door, followed by the bell ringing. It could be a delivery. He’d been ordering a lot of stuff lately. He wasn’t sure why, when he hardly had money to burn, but it was comforting.Derek had set up the doorbell app on Kieran’s phone. He checked and almost dropped his phone. Grant Kincaid was at the door. What the fuck was he going to do? He was on his own. Hassan had left about an hour ago, and Derek was dealing with some deliveries at the club.
