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between them on the floor.
    “It’ll never be long enough. Don’t pretend any different. I didn’t come back because I thought everything would have blown over. I came back because…” Kit paused; he tilted his head upwards slightly, so that he was staring at Ross’s mouth. “Because…” He licked his lips. “There are things that need to be said.”
    “What things?” The muscles of Ross’s stomach cramped in anticipation of the reply. He placed his hand over Kit’s fist, but his friend’s grip didn’t loosen.
    “We left things at an awkward point.”
    “You mean, you did.”
    Kit jerked away at the accusation, and stalked across the kitchen. He paused by the pantry door and snatched up a towel with which to dry his hands. “Maybe I could have handled things better, but it seemed best not to embroil you in the media circus.”
    “But leaving without so much as a goodbye, let alone a postal address. That was uncalled for.”
    “Call it guilt. I had to, Ross. I couldn’t stay.”
    “I’d have left with you.”
    “Gone into exile. That would just have made us both look guilty.”
    Dark storm clouds billowed across the coal-dark surface of Kit’s eyes. Ross chucked aside the tea-towel and closed the gap between them again. He touched Kit’s arm, where his bicep peeked from beneath his sleeve.
    “You were training, Ross. You’ve a practice now. This place is right for you. Always has been. I couldn’t steal you away from that.”
    Ross prodded him slightly with two fingers and felt the tension in the muscle. “You’re still making excuses. Deal with it, instead of running.” He turned away and opened the fridge. Kit’s gaze never left him as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful of tart cranberry juice. Ross ignored him, focused instead on the explosion upon his taste buds. Neither of them could alter the past. The difference between them was that he’d moved on. Kit hadn’t. Kit had lost himself in a cornfield six years and never found his way out. The shadow of that golden valley still clung to his skin.
    Kit moved so fast, he was on Ross before he’d had a chance to react. “You want me to deal with it?” Kit was right in his face, so close there wasn’t room for a whisper to pass between them without it raising hairs. Hard fingers dug into Ross’s upper arms. The cold metal of the fridge door buzzed against his back. Nerves across his loins and torso jumped when he felt Kit’s hips meet his own.
    “What are you doing?” he barked, unintentionally showering Kit in vibrant red drops of juice, which clung to his pale skin and rolled down his cheeks like blood tears.
    “Dealing with it. This is what I came back for. You, Ross. Not Flora’s legacy, not to apologize, or face their continued suspicions, but to see you. You’re right. We left things undone. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.”
    Cold washed up Ross’s spine as he stiffened. Heat washed down to his loins just moments later. “I’m with Evie now,” he protested, clinging to the juice carton so that the cardboard crumpled beneath his fingertips.
    “And I was with Sammie then.”
    Ross felt his skin drain of warmth and colour at the mention of Kit’s ex. Hard enough to hear her name, let alone hear it spoken with the growled note of possession Kit had produced. Ross knew the facts. Told himself he knew the truth, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t lain awake on numerous nights past, picking over events, and letting the darkest reaches of his soul mount suspicions. Kit’s reassurance, his denial, should have been enough. Most of the time it was, just every now and then the demon imp of suspicion roused itself and crowed, “what if?”
    “Kit, no,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if his protest was real. It certainly carried no weight with Kit. His friend leaned closer, stretching and pressing his body against Ross’s. Ross sensed the hardness of him, smelled the natural scent of his body beneath the