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“No.”
“I’ll pay for gas.”
“Cameron, your dad threw you out. You’re not staying at a hotel alone.”
“It’s better than John’s suggestion.”
“What did he”—Henry held up a hand—“I don’t want to know. Anything is better than John’s suggestion.”
“Hence the hotel.”
“What about your brother’s?”
“Dad’s visiting tomorrow.” Besides, seeing Brandon would rub in the differences between them.
Henry scrubbed a palm over his slightly stubbly jaw. He eyed Cameron from the corner of his eye and refocused on the road, deep in thought. “All my plans were outdoors, but this is an indoor day. Dad’s in Auckland for the night, how do you feel about hanging out at my place?”
“Your place?” Cameron gulped.
Henry’s laugh tempered Cameron’s ache, and his accented chatter was a comfort. Cameron took a deep breath and sank into the passenger seat.
Henry drove well. Never sped, never lagged. He worked the special hand controls for gas and brakes with ease, navigated traffic with humor, and always slowed when passing schools. So different from John’s ballsy over-confidence.
Henry smiled. “Are you still terrified of the manse?”
“Everyone keeps telling me it’s a pretty old house, but it feels . . . mysterious.”
“Well, it is. So much lies within and outside of its walls. I’m sure if we Poirot’d every room we’d uncover generations of secrets.”
Cameron perked up. “Secrets you don’t already know?”
“Absolutely. I left when I was thirteen; at that age I didn’t think about investigating old trunks and cabinets hidden behind sliding wall panels.”
“That’s the perfect age for old trunks and sliding wall panels.”
“Yes, but not secret, cobwebbed hallways to the forbidden attic.”
Cameron shivered. “Why haven’t you investigated since coming home?”
“Maybe my heart isn’t stout enough,” Henry suggested, raising a brow. “Maybe I’m too frightened to explore on my own.”
“If this is your way of luring me into dark corners of your house—”
“You’re interested? Good, because I will need you to hold my hand.”
That was more incentivizing. “What else?”
“We can start with the hand and see where it goes from there.”
“I meant with the secrets and mysteries!”
Henry grinned, eyes bright under his dark curly hair. “We’ll explore the basement with a dimly lit torch, linking our arms together while we navigate the maze of dusty furniture. If we get lost, I’ll call your name, and you’ll have to rescue me from my own terrible imagination.”
“Ghosts?” Cameron whispered.
“Spiders.”
Cameron laughed.
“After the basement, we’ll sneak through forgotten hallways and head up old stairs that groan in protest—or perhaps warning.”
“Why is it forbidden?”
“I don’t know. One time I heard sounds coming from it at night, and my mum kissed my head while she tucked me in bed and said it’d be fine but never to go up there. Her voice shook, so I never quite believed her.”
Cameron cuddled into his hoodie, tucking his nose under the neck.
“These memories sure make me wonder. . . . But I could never go on my own.”
Henry delivered him a sneaky look, playing on Cameron’s curiosity. “I’m sure you’d manage.”
“But I wouldn’t have nearly as much fun.”
Cameron gnawed his lip and the neck of the hoodie slipped down off his jaw. “What if I’m equally freaked out? What if we uncover a secret too terrible for us?”
Henry’s eyes lit up. “Like what?”
Cameron looked away. “Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s ridiculous. Something John said, and I don’t believe for a minute.”
Henry frowned. “What did John say?”
Cameron rubbed his thumb over the bag. “He spoke to a guy you used to know. Mike, I think.”
Henry stiffened; a muscle in his jaw twitched, and the pause stretched. “I had a thing with a Mike, in England. In one of my off phases with Alicia.”
“Um, yeah.”
“What did he tell John?”
That you woo men and break their hearts. “That he found it strange how both your sister and your mother fell down the stairs.”
Henry scoffed. “Is that what Mike’s saying?”
“You mentioned that Georgie had a fall—”
“She did. When she was nine. Before our mum passed. Mum was ill, Cameron. She fought hard and lost. She was weak and slipped on the stairs, which sent her to hospital again, but it wasn’t what killed her.”
Cameron bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Henry.”
Henry’s warm fingers squeezed his. He cleared his throat. “Will you explore with me?”
“You still want to?”
Henry nodded, but his eyes glistened. Cameron wanted to distract him. “Maybe we’ll uncover a great portrait of a man so grotesque, his features will make our souls feel cold—”
“The Picture of Dorian Gray?”
“Too easy.”
“Another one.”
“Perhaps we’ll uncover clues to scientific experiments. Stitched inanimate flesh—”
“Frankenstein.”
“Fine, you do one.”
“Georgie and I have been feeling unwell the last weeks. Whenever we’re inside, our spirits sink. Maybe we’ll find a journal from our great-great-grandfather that tells how his sister died in the home and he buried her under the house. How for days afterwards the walls howl—”
“This game was a bad idea.” Cameron chuckled and flipped his hood up again. “House of Usher?”
