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Water spilled from the gutters in heavy streams beside him, splashing onto the pavement, and Jake stared at the puddles gathering along the kerb with sudden, violent hatred. As though the river itself had followed him here. As if it had slithered its way through Hartswick and wrapped itself around his throat years ago and never once loosened its grip.

Harrison came up behind him, close enough Jake could feel the warmth radiating from him. Then he stroked his hand along the centre of his back, soothing rather than restraining, and Jake shut his eyes as his body betrayed him by leaning into it.

“Please,” Harrison’s soft lips landed on his rain-cold shoulder, “come inside. You’re soaked through.”

Jake turned his head then, meeting Harrison’s gaze at close range. Rain clung to his lashes, and he looked wrecked beneath the exhaustion. Pleading in a way Jake hadn’t expected from him.

Jake swallowed hard. “This can’t work, can it?”

Harrison drew in a breath, chest rising. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you want it to.”

Jake shut his eyes.

Because Christ, he was angry.

Angry at the police. The river. And at Harrison for knowing things he couldn’t say and somehow making Jake ache for him anyway.

But underneath all of that sat something worse.

Fear.

Deep, sick fear curling through his stomach every time he pictured a body beneath black water. And Harrison had the answers. Or at least more answers than anyone else. Which meant this thing between them was never going to be clean. Never simple. There would always be parts of Harrison locked behind police tape and procedure and things he wasn’t allowed to say. Jake understood that. Enough to realise this would probably hurt them both eventually.

But then he thought about last night.

The promise of it. What they could be.

So…he nodded. “Aye, reckon I do.”

The relief crossing Harrison’s face was enough to know he wasn’t in this alone. Then Harrison took his hand, fingers cold and damp as they tangled with his, and he guided him into the cottage. The front door clicked shut behind them, muting the rain outside while warmth wrapped around Jake all at once.

“I need a drink.” Harrison dragged a hand through his wet hair. “You want one?”

“Aye.” Jake toed off his boots by the door, not wanting to drag mud through the hallway after spending weeks helping repair the damage from the last storm that had ripped half the roof apart.

His socks squelched over the floorboards, so he ripped them off too and chucked them over to his boots as he followed Harrison through to the kitchen. The lights were low. Warm pools across dark counters. And as Harrison grabbed two beers from the fridge, popped the caps, and handed one across to Jake, he could see how wrecked he was. Almost as much as Jake felt.

So Jake took a long pull from the beer.

Too long.

Cold beer burned down his throat while Harrison staggered away to lean on the opposite counter, watching him over the neck of his own bottle, drinking slower. Controlled. Even now. And when Jake realised he was seconds away from emptying his entirely, he dragged it away from his mouth and leaned back heavily against the fridge behind him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then he bowed his head. “What do you know?”

“I know a woman was recovered from the river, deceased.”

“You know more than that.”

“Jake—”

“What else?”

Harrison looked down before meeting his eyes again. “She’s believed to have been in the water somewhere between five and ten days. Approximate age range twenties to thirties.”