Chapter 2

In a way, they were each other’s protection.

Sophie left the three of them at the bus stop when the bus itself arrived in a clattering cloud of stinking smoke. Rebecca perched in the seat in front of the boys and turned around to chatter to Luke about her choice of music for her upcoming dance exam. Shane, trapped in the safety of the window seat, wedged his backpack between them and stared out at the passing, still slightly unfamiliar countryside, where town roads potholed and narrowed and became country lanes.

The bus wove out of town towards the village of Wells on the main and larger one of two roads, then carried on up the hill through Hinckley Rise, over the ridge, and dropped down towards Little Hinckley. They all got off at the ridge, Rebecca hugging them both—her hair tickling the underside of Shane’s jaw—before jumping over the private gate and heading up the track to her father’s farm. It was winter and getting dark already, so they lingered at the bus stop until they heard the clang of the yard gate in the distance and knew she was home.

“You okay?” Luke asked as they climbed over the stile. There were three fields going to pasture between the ridge and the back of Little Hinckley’s churchyard, and if it was dry, they crossed it rather than go via the village green and past the clutch of gossiping old ladies.

“Mm.”

“You sure?” Luke squinted at him. “You’ve been kind of…quiet.”

Shane shrugged, hefting his bag higher on a shoulder. “I dunno. Bored in classes. Bit…pent up.”

“Pent up how? Like…” Luke mimed shooting something, and grinned that beautiful smile that twisted Shane’s stomach. “You want to go be all military and shoot stuff at the base pent up, or…”

“Or,” Shane said significantly.

Luke laughed, and stopped. In the lonely privacy of a darkening field, the distance could finally be closed, and Luke’s fingers locked around Shane’s wrist to pull him back. That smile was wide and heart-stopping, and the kiss that Luke offered slow and gentle and chaste, yet full of promise.

“We could barricade the door,” he said, his fingers curling around the nape of Shane’s neck. Shane smiled against a pale cheek, his eyes closing. Here, where it was just them and nobody else could know, things were simple. Easy. “Anna’s had the day off work, she’ll be clattering around in the kitchen by now. Long as we’re quiet…why not?”

Alone in the field, Shane couldn’t think of why not. He slid his hands around Luke’s waist, under the blazer but over the shirt, and felt the warmth of him. It was chilly out. Too cold, really, without coats. But Luke was warm—Luke was always warm, despite the icy blue eyes and sharp tongue—and Shane felt idly content, as though he could stand here forever.

“Long as we’re quiet,” he echoed vaguely, and Luke stroked long fingers through his hair and kissed him again, a little more open. A little more coaxing, or enticing. He bit down gently on Shane’s bottom lip, and tugged in a motion so fleeting it was almost a nip.

“We do actually have to go home if we’re going to barricade that door,” Luke teased quietly, and Shane fluttered his fingers at those lean, dance-formed sides.

“In a minute.”

“Now?” Luke asked, in a wheedling tone. “It’s cold. And you’re making that face.”

Shane blinked, and collected his scattering thoughts. “What face?”

“That lazy, pretty face thing you do. Usually after,” Luke added in a significant tone, “but your proper happy one.”

“Pretty?” Shane echoed, slightly affronted.

“It’s a pretty expression!” Luke defended himself, stepping away. He clutched at Shane’s hand again briefly, then twisted their fingers together and began to pull Shane down the hill towards the village. The treeline at the back of the church meant they wouldn’t be seen. Yet.

“Pretty?” Shane repeated, now definitely affronted.

“Oh shut up,” Luke huffed, squeezing his hand. “I love you best with that face on. You’re always so…so cool and collected everywhere else, so distant, and I like seeing you look properly relaxed and happy for once when it’s just us.”

“In bed.”

“Or the hay that one time.”

“Yeah but that itched, I wasn’t happy for long.”

“True,” Luke said, then dropped his hand as they climbed over the stile, crossed the narrow paddock, and over the churchyard wall. The graves leaned at wonky angles; Reverend Morris, opening the doors ready for the evening service, waved to them. Or rather, to Luke. Shane lived in Wheatley, five miles over nearer to the army base.

“Evening, boys,” he called. Luke waved back; Shane stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded.