Chapter Text
But it couldn’t last forever.
Slowly, his tears abated, and as they did, Will grew uncomfortably aware of their near-embrace. He pushed away from Nigel sharply, turning away to wipe his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Nigel sat down. “Our food should be ready soon,” he said, picking up his napkin, unfolding it onto his lap, kindly ignoring Will for the time being to give him a moment to collect himself. When the young man didn’t sit immediately, he said in a more firm tone, “Stay and eat.”
“I don’t feel well,” Will answered. He gazed at the wall, keeping his back to the other. His eyes still felt uncomfortably hot. His cheeks were tacky with remnants of salt. “I’d rather go.”
There was a brief silence. Then Nigel’s chair scraped across the floor. “I’ll drive you.”
His hand closed around Will’s arm, and he allowed himself to be led out of the room, keeping his gaze resolutely far from Nigel’s features. Nigel didn’t look at him either. He just nodded to the hostess when they passed her stand. “Add our dinner to my tab and bring my car around,” he said. The woman nodded, hurrying to the coat closet and retrieving their jackets. Nigel took them with a brief smile. He led Will outside onto the curb to wait for the valet, still holding on to his arm. His hand was gentle, but it was the kind of hold that would tighten if Will tried to pull away.
“Put your jacket on,” Nigel said, letting go briefly to shake out Will’s coat and hold it out for him. Obediently, he slipped his arms into the jacket and shrugged it on, not commenting on the way Nigel’s hand lingered on his shoulders, flattening the collar and smoothing it down. His hand slid down Will’s arm, closing around it once more. “We’ll grab something for you to eat on the way home.”
“Just leave me alone,” Will said quietly.
“No,” Nigel replied smoothly. “Someone has to take care of my little professor.”
“I’m not your anything,” he snarled.
One of Nigel’s sports cars pulled up in front of them. The valet stepped out, passing the keys to him. Nigel slipped him a twenty, then took Will to the passenger door, opening it for him and none-too-gently pushing him in. He leaned his hand against the doorframe, leaning down to gaze in at him. “I know you’re upset. But you’re being sour.” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t like sour.”
Will didn’t say anything. He gazed straight ahead, unblinking.
Nigel sighed. “Alright, come on.” He snapped his fingers, then held out the keys, jingling them when Will looked up with a start, glancing from the keyring to Nigel’s face in confusion. “You’re driving,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Will looked at the car’s interior, his mouth opening and closing briefly. “I don’t — Nigel, this thing is worth more than I make in three years.”
“Let’s go,” he repeated. “Scoot over.”
He made a desperate protesting noise, but at the inflexible look in Nigel’s eyes he reluctantly clambered over the center console, sliding into the leather driver’s seat with more than a little apprehension. He fiddled for the seat controls, pushing the seat forward and a bit higher to account for their difference in height. Nigel settled into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. He flicked the keys into Will’s lap. “I’ll direct you.”
He started the car, raising his eyebrows as it rumbled to life with a throaty roar. “Please tell me this is an automatic,” he said.
“You’re telling me a Biloxi fisherman doesn’t know how to drive stick?” Nigel scoffed.
“I do, but it’s been a while,” he said defensively. “I don’t want any critiques.”
“No critiques,” Nigel promised, stretching comfortably, resting his hand on the back of Will’s headrest. “Just drive.”
He was far from a car lover, but even he had to appreciate the feeling of driving an expensive, powerful machine like this. They pulled away from the curb with the barest jerk. They drove in peaceful silence for the first few minutes, but as the street traffic cleared, Nigel tapped the back of Will’s seat. “Have some fun, professor.” He caught the uncertain gaze Will flung his way, his eyes glittering with mischief and amusement as he watched the man drive. He nodded, half-closing his eyes. “Go on.”
Will accelerated, a surprised laugh escaping him as the car surged forward in response. Nigel laughed beside him, bracing as they soared forward. “I see now why you drive the way you do,” Will said.
“Mhm,” he replied. “Left up ahead.”
Will eased over to the turn pocket, taking the turn a bit faster than he ever would have normally. He laughed again. The sound felt free and easy. Nigel just watched him. Will glanced over at him again, and he was struck by the warmth in those eyes. He looked almost wistful, almost grieving. He looked away quickly. It felt like walking in on a mourner at the end of a funeral; a private moment for them alone that wasn’t meant to be witnessed.
Nigel leaned forward, flicking on the stereo. Something soulful and beautiful crooned out. He turned it up to be heard over the engine and leaned back in his seat. Street lights swept over them regularly as they drove, lighting up the cab, reflecting in their eyes.
Nigel gazed at him. “When you hit Murph, was it because he accused you of sleeping with a man? Or because he accused you of sleeping with me?”
He frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“You know the difference,” Nigel drawled. He brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it lazily. “You should quit your job, come work as my personal driver instead.”
Will scoffed, exhaling sharply against the flutter of warmth in his chest. He saw the White Talon pub on their right and drifted across the road, easing to a stop on the curb. He put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt. “Thanks for the joy ride,” he said. Without the roar of the engine and the blur of lights, things felt too quiet and real again. He gave a tense smile that reached no further than his lips and didn’t look into Nigel’s eyes.
“We didn’t get you food,” Nigel observed.
“I’m not hungry.” He shouldered open the car door, leaning down to peer through it. “Thanks anyway.” He paused, then shut the door, quickly walking around the hood of the car toward the alleyway.
Nigel followed, trailing him down the sidewalk, through the door, up the stairs. Will did his best to ignore him until he was fumbling with his keys at the apartment door. He could feel Nigel’s breath on his neck. He shoved the key into the lock, jerking the door open and keeping his hand on the knob, glancing back at the man. “What?” he said. He felt too warm, too uneasy, too aware of how close Nigel was standing to him, how the man was gazing down at him with his hair falling into his eyes, studying Will so carefully with such a gentle expression.
Nigel blinked slowly. When he spoke, his voice was low, soft, a bit hoarse. “It was nice to have you at my home, professor,” he said.
“Sure, it was a blast,” Will said lightly. “Next time I might even come willingly.” A good-natured smile flitted on his face, only a bit forced. He could sense the other shoe was about to fall, and he wasn’t sure why such a pit of dread was opening in his stomach.
“Will,” Nigel said. His tone was all wrong. It was the type of tone used before bad news or tragedy. He went still. The older man smiled grimly. “It was nice to have you at my home,” he repeated. “I’m very sorry. It was selfish of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s better if we don’t see each other anymore.”
Slowly, he blinked. There was an awful feeling in his body, like it had been opened up and all the organs and air inside had been quickly, cleanly removed. His hand felt very cold against the doorknob. He was more upset about this news than he should be, he thought distantly, like a whisper across a foggy meadow, too vague and faint to make any sense. He bowed his head, trying to hide his reaction, trying to understand it and parse it out.
Nigel waited, a patient though somewhat pained expression on his face. Finally, he said: “You are attracted to me.”
Will looked up sharply. He frowned. “No, I’m not like that.”
“Like what? Gay?” It came out as a scoff, a sharp smile biting at the words.
Will didn’t respond.
Nigel rubbed the back of his neck, tipping his chin up, working out the tension there. “I see how you look at me. A man would be lucky to have such a friend like you, if that is how you stare at all your friends. Falling over yourself to offer them a kiss like the one you gave me.”
Will’s face flickered, twitching at his brow and lips. “Go to hell,” he said.
Nigel sighed. He tousled Will’s hair, more condescending than he’d intended. To soften the action, he reminded, “I kissed you, too.”
Silence stretched. Will glanced at him briefly, his eyes dark. Nigel shook his head. He wasn’t used to this; didn’t usually spend a long time with his amusements, so the separations were easy. Both parties usually knew it was finite. He should’ve recognized sooner that Will did not know this. And if he did recognize it early, and knew that Will did not understand it was finite, and he chose to continue anyways, then, well.
He never claimed he wasn’t selfish.
“You think you like me,” he said, “but you like what I show you. You don’t know me, and believe me, you do not want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I know you.” Will’s voice was faint, low and empty.
“Do you?” Nigel said, doubt dripping from his words. “How so? Because you know what I like to drink and how I like to dance? Because you know what coffee shop I go to? Come on.”
“I know other things about you,” the younger man muttered.
“What do you think my job is, Will? Really.” Nigel gazed down at him, his eyes sharp.
“You said you’re a landlord.”
“And you believed that?”
“No.” His voice was quiet.
Nigel looked at him for another moment, then away, shaking his head again. “Yes, you did. Or you didn’t, but you were willing to play pretend. And that’s why it won’t work.”
“So I’m the idiot for believing what you told me,” Will said flatly.
Nigel slipped his hand in his pocket, sighing in exasperation. “No, you’re not an idiot. You’re just young, and a bit infatuated, and you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
His throat worked, trying to muster up the words he wanted to say and trying to strangle them back at the same time. Finally, they twisted their way out in a hushed murmur. “I could figure it out. Know what I’m getting into.”
Nigel’s face twitched; his brows drawing together, his lips drawing downwards — then it smoothed to its former state. Will caught none of it, studying the ground instead. Softly, Nigel said, “Yes, you could. You’re smart. But I don’t want you to.”
A pause. “I think you’re an asshole.”
He sniffed casually, rubbing his nose, conceding with a tilt of his head. “Yes, I think that’s fair.”
“I’m just a joke to you. You never cared.”
Nigel mulled over this. “Mm, that one I think you will regret saying.”
“Cut the bullshit,” Will said flatly, his voice stronger now. He looked up at Nigel, and his gaze was flintier, a sparking, dying ember hollowing out his face. “Quit talking like you’re a fount of wisdom when all you did was lie to me the whole time we knew each other. You don’t know better than me. You just don’t care.”
“I don’t care about you?” Nigel repeated. He lowered his head, nearly touching his forehead against Will’s. “I don’t?”
“Not in any way that means anything,” Will said. “Was I really just a dog to you?”
Nigel ran his tongue over his teeth slowly, feeling their edges, trying not to lose his temper. “A disappointing ending doesn’t mean the whole thing was a waste,” he said finally.
“Yeah, well, it does for me.”
“Then you’re being childish,” he snapped back.
“And what are you doing? Being grown? Fucking around with me and making me feel like the biggest idiot in this goddamn fucking city just so you could have a laugh till you got sick of me?” Will shook his head, his teeth flashing along with his eyes. “I guess it’s my fault for thinking we were friends,” he said bitterly.
“Will, come on,” Nigel said, tipping his head back. “You thought this was a fucking movie? That I was a perfect angel and would take you to parties every night?”
“I thought you were my friend,” Will snarled. “Because you said you were. Because you called me yours.”
Nigel made a frustrated noise.
“Screw you,” Will spat. “I was your friend. And I fucking cared about you, and I thought you did too.” His finger stabbed towards Nigel’s chest, but didn’t touch it, stopping short. “Don’t make me sound like some kind of bitch for that.”
“You are my friend,” Nigel said.
“Fuck, Nigel,” Will snarled, but emotion was bubbling behind his words, hot, angry, ripping at him. He pressed a hand to his face, dragging it viciously down his eyes. “All I wanted was to be close to you.” He looked away, his eyes squinting and nose wrinkling as his features braced against the waves crashing over him, his skin recoiling at the tears searing his eyes. He shook his head, lips pulling back from his teeth as he struggled to contain the onslaught rushing through his chest. He couldn’t voice what he wanted to say. You could’ve just left it. Why didn’t you? Why did you do this to me? To see what would happen? To see just how much I would embarrass myself for you? How desperate I’d get? To have a plaything that would do anything just to enjoy the twilight of your attention?
Nigel closed his eyes briefly and sighed, exasperated, pained, pitying. Oh, God, pitying. “Will, we can talk tomorrow. I think you should sleep.”
Will closed the door with a bang.
He stood in place, blinking. He hammered on the door with the heel of his hand. “Will.”
No answer. He clenched his jaw. Wordlessly, he walked down the steps, his heels stabbing into the ground with venom.
“Alana?” Will stood in the middle of the dark room, ruffling Winston’s ears absently. “Is this a good time? I wasn’t sure about the time difference.” He had no idea where she’d flown to, but likely someplace tropical and beautiful and very, very expensive.
“This is perfect,” Alana replied through the phone. “How are you?”
“Great, great,” he replied, flinging himself down on the couch and curling forward to rest his head against his free palm. “Listen, about last night —”
“Will,” she interrupted. “It’s okay.”
“No, no, I don’t want you —”
“Will.” A touch of exasperation entered her tone. “I’ve kissed enough people to know when they’re interested and when they’re just closing their eyes and hoping for the best. It’s okay, really. You’re sweet, and you’re handsome, but you clearly didn’t enjoy it. You’re not the love of my life, and I’m not heartbroken, and we’re both adults that can still be friends. Okay?”
He could hear the smile through the phone. It pulled at his own mouth. “Was it that bad?”
“I wouldn’t say bad. But I wouldn’t have been surprised if you started wiping your mouth after.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’re kind and. . . and funny and a wonderful friend, I just. . .”
“Wouldn’t ever do it again,” she finished for him. “It really is okay, Will.” She paused. “How’s Gio?”
“I haven’t heard from him since this morning, but I think he’s okay for now. Not great, but, you know.” He gripped the phone a bit tighter. “I didn’t want to say it over text, but, ah — Gio told me about his dad.”
She didn’t respond. The silence stretched.
“Alana, I know what’s going on. Not everything, but I’m not stupid. I’ve been stupid and blind about it, but I know.”
Her voice was taut. “You need to stop talking.”
“I’m not going to do anything. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nigel and I aren’t talking anymore.”
“Okay.” She drew the word out slowly, like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t or thought better of it. “Does he know that?”
“More or less,” he said. “Don’t tell him I talked to you.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to get involved in whatever is going on between you.”
“There is no ‘between’ us,” Will bit out.
“Okay.” That same tone again, with a tinge of confusion, hesitation. “Do you think he’s just. . . just not going to notice?”
He glanced at Winston. “I’m sure he’ll find something new to amuse himself with.”
She paused. “Will, it’s just — Nigel isn’t. . . he’s not a bad person, but he isn’t going to like that. Especially if you don’t talk to him first.”
“I’m not talking to him again, Alana.” He didn’t explain why. He couldn’t. That would involve the humiliating admission that every time he tried to talk to Nigel, to confront him, to tell him to fuck off, it inevitably spun out of control until he was somehow enjoying his company again and looking forward to the next time he’d be haunting his doorway. And it would involve explaining that Nigel’s rejection was currently cutting a deep chasm through his chest, and he hoped the rest of him would fall through it, too.
A pause. “O —”
He closed his eyes tightly. “Please stop saying ‘okay’ and just tell me what you really mean,” he said thinly.
She sighed. “I don’t — I have to go. Merry Christmas, Will.”
He blinked a few times. Right; Christmas was in five days. It felt like a horrible joke. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, but she’d already hung up.
He sat there for a long while, then finally nodded to himself, stood, and went to his closet to fish out his old suitcases. Winston padded behind him, tipping his head as he balled up shirts, boxers, and jeans into the suitcase, pulled down a jacket, then went to the kitchen and grabbed Winston’s dog food and a few bowls. Then he went to the coffee table and opened his laptop.
Now it was his turn to avoid Nigel. The university was closed until mid-January; that left him a little over three weeks to lie low and get the man off his back. By his estimation, Nigel would find a new fascination in half that time. And it gave Will time to lick his wounds and feel less humiliated and conflicted about this whole affair, and its ending.
He called a taxi to take him to the nearest airport — not for a flight; it’d be a nightmare right before Christmas, and he wasn’t sure how Winston would enjoy the trip, and he really had no interest in where he went as long as it wasn’t here. It was just the best place to find a rental car, and the most inconspicuous. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he didn’t like the thought of using a smaller agency closer to home. He’d be lost in a sea of travelers renting cars this way. Winston watched him come and go, loading two suitcases and some extra supplies before he finally put on Winston’s harness and led him out by his side.
He locked the door with a sense of finality, checking the envelope taped to the front of it was firmly affixed. He smoothed an air bubble out of the tape with his thumbnail. The outside of the envelope simply read “Nigel” and contained January’s rent check.
He descended the steps two at a time. Winston gamboled beside him, a slight worried look in his eyes at the anxiety rolling off Will, but an undeniable sense of excitement at the break in routine. It made Will smile despite it all.
A few weeks by a lake in some secluded, wooded place was just what the doctor called for, Will thought. Even if his eyes were bleary with sleep as he watched the sun rise from the porch of the cabin. Winston had sensibly slept during the drive and was now exploring the surrounding underbrush with excitement. The rental had a small dock and a little boat that could be taken out on the lake for fishing. Not that this weather was good for it; he was half surprised the lake wasn’t iced over. Still, it was beautiful to see the sun rise against the slushy snow banks leaning up against the porch railings.
It would be good to be away from it all.
And for the first three days, it was. He and Winston enjoyed slow mornings, slow afternoons, and slow evenings. They ate meals together, Winston watching as Will made his morning coffee, lying on his legs while he read a book on the couch, trotting beside him when they went for walks along the hiking trails nearby. There was a small town about thirty minutes from the cabin, but Will was resolved not to drive into town if he could help it. He’d stopped in a larger city about an hour from the cabin to gather a stockpile of groceries to last him a while from some twenty-four hour mart, then made the final leg to the cabin before crashing for the day.
Now that he’d caught up on sleep and exhausted all the sleepy, comforting activities in this place, he was beginning to feel restless.
He’d turned off any location services to his phone before leaving the city proper. No calls or texts had come through from any unknown numbers, nothing suspicious or unusual. But he felt an uncomfortable feeling of unease and boredom. It was too quiet. Too calm.
Too easy.
His fears were confirmed when he woke up on Christmas Eve to a phone call from his father.
Nigel wasn’t angry.
That would have been too blunt and harsh of a term. Nigel was rarely angry; his emotions were complex, nuanced, difficult to explain. They required a certain delicacy and verbosity to name, a dedication to not only the understanding of the mind but also an understanding of language.
He was pissed off.
He held the rent check half-crumpled in his hand, listening as each of his calls went to voicemail. He stood in the middle of Will’s living room, dust motes flying around him as the door hung ajar behind him. Murph hadn’t been overly pleased about fishing out the key for him, but he had grown shockingly amenable after his hospital visit.
His latest call went to voicemail again. His fingers twitched around the phone. With a restrained motion, he ended the call. He drew one hand over his face, inhaling deeply, smoothly. Gazing down at the ground, he grew lost in thought. He had already torn through the apartment, searching for anything he could use to track down more information on the professor’s whereabouts.
He wasn’t angry. But people — particularly the professor — shouldn’t just leave. Not when their conversation was unfinished.
After a long few minutes, he nodded once, then took the phone back out of his pocket. He searched through his contacts for a while before he found what he was looking for; the number for Doctor Simpson, the professor’s boss. It was one of a handful of numbers he’d taken from Will’s phone the night he’d stayed over, just in case it came in handy.
When he pressed the phone to his ear, his face was impassive, still. With each ring, it redefined itself, rearranging minutely into a mask of concern until, when Simpson answered the phone with a faint note of confusion and irritation, his voice sounded startlingly real. “Doctor Simpson?” he said. “It’s Nigel, Will Graham’s. . . friend.” He weighed out the pause, delicate, careful, precise. “We met at the Christmas party?” He waited, listening. “Yes, yes. Listen, have you seen him or heard from him lately? He’s disappeared. We’re all so worried.”
He gazed straight ahead as the woman spoke. Then, he said: “I’m trying to get ahold of his family. Do you have any information on them? An emergency contact, perhaps?”
A long pause, not of reluctance but of shuffling papers, taps at a keyboard. Nigel’s face split with a grim smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sure he’s alright. I’ll give his father a call and get this all sorted out.”
Will stared at the screen for a long time, long after the call had ended and gone to voicemail. His dad didn’t leave one. He waited a few seconds, then the screen lit up again as his father called him once more. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had called him. Whenever it was, it was probably to ask him something stupid and meaningless, something that had lasted a few minutes at best. Despite his better judgement, he picked it up and answered the call, twisting back into the sheets to lay against the pillows and rest a free hand against Winston’s back. “Hello?”
“William?”
“. . . Yeah.”
“Are you alone up there?”
His dad sounded accusatory. Angry. Will gripped the phone a bit tighter. “Yeah. Why?”
The voice was deep, rumbling, and snarling. “Why the hell am I getting calls about you being missing?”
Will’s heart sank. “What?”
“I’m here trying to enjoy a nice holiday season with Cindy, and instead I’m dealing with harassment from your boss calling me to see where you’ve fucked off to. Did you list me as an emergency contact? Are you stupid? What am I going to do for you from Louisi-fuckin-ana?”
“I didn’t have anyone else,” Will said, frowning, sitting up slowly. He’d wanted to put Nigel, because he was the only person he knew in town and it seemed to make the most sense at the time on a random Thursday night when he was staring at a screen going over employee benefits and a load of other crap, thinking about how there was absolutely no one to fill in the information for that emergency contact and just how that made him feel — and then he’d snapped himself out of it and scrawled down the only other name that came to mind. “Look, I don’t know why they’re calling you. I’m off work. The university’s closed.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess your boyfriend’s real worried, so they are, too. I guess he called them and told them just how worried he is about you.” Each word was spat out, each emphasis mocking and cold.
He went very still for a long moment. Then he sank his head down into one hand. Winston looked up, watching how Will curled forward. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” he said, numb. “What the fuck are you —”
“Don’t you fuckin’ swear at me, you cunt-faced piece of shit,” came the quick, resounding snarl. “I knew you were leaving for the city to try and hide. I knew what you were the second you —”
Will squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a long, unsteady breath as he listened to a well-versed, extremely verbose speech from his father. It was well rehearsed, with many practice runs that Will had been a loyal audience and listener to. He wanted to drop the phone, to hang up, to do anything, but as always, he just sat there and listened.
“ — two calls from this european motherfucker asking me —”
Will lifted his head. “What?”
“You know who,” his father spat. “He —”
His voice was hollow and distant. His tongue felt heavy. He interrupted again. “What did he ask you? What did he say?”
A sharp, grating scoff. “I’m not dealing with this. I don’t wanna hear from you anymore. Haven’t I made that clear?”
Will tried to break in, but his father launched into the next stage of his heavily flavored speech. He pressed his hand tighter against his forehead, closing his eyes tighter, leaning forward until his head rested against the mattress. Every time he opened his mouth to respond, it was like his father sensed it and doubled down on his venom, his descriptions growing harsher and more colorful every time Will inhaled to speak.
As the poison seeping out of the phone melted into a cesspool between his ears, he tried to pull himself out of the bubbling oil to think clearly. He had no doubt who had called the university to strongarm or manipulate them into giving over Will’s emergency contact. Nigel was trying to find him.
He twisted his head to glance out the window from beneath his arm. Snow was falling heavier than ever. It wouldn’t be safe to leave in this weather, and where would he go? As it was he had to scrape together scant savings to afford this brief escape. The idea of cutting his losses and driving off into the unknown to maybe hole up in some unknown motel (amidst icy conditions and whirling snow) felt like an awful idea.
He reached across the bed, grabbing onto his laptop that he’d left there the other night. He dragged it over and opened it, numbly opening the browser to open his email. He hardly ever touched his personal inbox; most of his time on the laptop was spent grading or answering emails for the university, and at this point his personal email was usually just a sea of advertisements and nothing else.
He didn’t know what he was looking for at first, but he found it almost right away. Sandwiched between spam emails and subscriptions he hardly remembered signing up for was a series of alerts. A new login, a new device added to a series of accounts. Some were inconsequential — his phone provider, his work email, and then: his credit cards.
“Fuck,” Will muttered. On the other end of the line, his father’s volume rose in violence. He dropped the phone face down onto the bed, pressing his fingertips against his lips as he checked the timestamp. Four hours ago.
Plenty of time to go through the transaction records to find the charge for this rental. He scrolled further up, and there it was; a password reset request for the account he’d used to book this rental. It was opened, but left in the inbox, as if Nigel didn’t even care to cover his tracks. And why would he? He didn’t care if his presence was announced. There had been no real point in calling Will’s emergency contact, other than to maybe weasel some information out of him to get through the (admittedly weak) security questions on Will’s accounts. More likely than not, it was out of sheer curiosity. A name Nigel didn’t know, with no information other than their relation: father and son. It was bad enough to feel like he was being hunted down, but knowing Nigel had overstepped this far made him sick.
He closed his eyes, faintly hearing the muffled tones of his father through the phone. Nigel knew where he was. He’d known for several hours now. He didn’t care if Will knew.
Maybe it would stop there. Maybe it would be enough for him to have confirmation that Will was alive and well, just hiding in a corner with his tail tucked between his legs for the time being. Maybe he’d just leave it alone, Will told himself.
But that didn’t sound like Nigel at all.
Just over the sound of his father’s droning voice came a hearty buzz from his phone. He glanced over, flipped it over to look at the text that came through.
Let me in. It’s fucking freezing out here.