With or Without Him (33 page)

Tyler set the tree in the container, filled it with water and then cut away the netting. The branches fell into shape and he stood back and inhaled the scent of pine. The tree was a bit thin on the left side but overall it looked good. He wrapped it in lights, plugged them in and smiled when they started to twinkle. The tree was great. He hoped Haris agreed.

He turned off the main light, switched on a lamp and grabbed a pad of manuscript paper and his acoustic guitar. If the guy from
Spot
magazine
did
persuade anyone to come and see the band, they needed more material of their own. Tyler lounged on the couch and stared at the tree as he strummed.

Light up my life.

Light of my life.

Let me shine.

Haris discretely checked the caller ID on his phone and then tuned back in to what the two men in front of him were saying. He was intrigued by their idea of generating supplementary power on the underground system by utilizing the change in pressure as trains moved through tunnels and pushed air ahead of them, but he had no idea if the technology was sound.

“We could put our turbines on the top of the trains or in the tunnels,” one of them said.

Haris had already read their twenty-page business plan and he liked the prospective clients, though he remained to be convinced it was a lucrative investment. He needed independent advice on the technical aspects, but at least these two had passed the first hurdle. They listened, were focused and intelligent, and he could imagine working with them.

He wrapped up the meeting, told them what else he needed, what he was going to do and arranged to see them in the new year. Once they’d left, he returned Stan’s call.

“Sorry. I was busy. What’s up?”

“My guy lost him.”

Haris clenched his jaw.

“That’s the bad news. The good news is that he’s back in Holland Park, but for two hours we lost contact with him. Are you sure he doesn’t suspect he’s being followed?”

“What happened last night has probably made him wary.”

“You want me to keep watching?”

“Yes, but start again tomorrow. I’m going home soon and Wilson will be there anyway.” Even if he wasn’t, Tyler was safe at the house. He pushed to his feet and pulled his coat out of the closet. “Did you get anywhere with the other thing?”

“George Blunt was at a House of Commons banquet last night. I’ve nothing yet on Prescott. Saturday, I’ll have people watching the building. We should get a photograph of him at least.”

“Remember the police might be doing the same thing.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t step on any toes.”

As Haris ended the call, another came through from a colleague.

“Yes, Jake.”

“We have problems. I need you at Fleet Street right now.”

Haris sighed. “On my way.”

Tyler had been playing and scribbling melodies and lyrics for over an hour when the doorbell rang. He was halfway down the hall before he registered flinging open the door might not be the best plan, considering what had happened last night. He nipped back into the room he’d come from and peered out of the window from the cover of the Christmas tree. The guy that stood on the doorstep was in his fifties. He had salt-and-pepper hair, sculptured cheek bones and looked…familiar. He wore a long, dark, smart-looking coat with the collar turned up. A taxi stood at the curb behind him, its engine running.

The bell rang again and Tyler slid away from the window. Before he thought too much about it and changed his mind, he went to the front door and pulled it part open, ready to slam it in case of trouble.

“Good afternoon,” the man said. “Is Haris at home?”

“He’s at work.”

“Ah, I tried his office but they said he was out until tomorrow. I assumed…”

“You’re his father,” Tyler blurted.

The guy’s eyes widened.

Tyler opened the door fully. “Come in.”

The man waved the cab away and stepped inside. Tyler closed the door.

“I’m Kamil Abdul Al-Wadhi, and yes, Haris is my son.”

“I’m Tyler Bellamy. I’m…Haris’s friend.”

He held out his hand, Tyler shook it and they stood staring at each other.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Tyler asked.

“I’d prefer coffee.”

“I think I can manage that. Like to take your coat off?”

Tyler hung the coat in the hall cupboard. When he turned, Haris’s father had removed his shoes. Tyler led him through to the kitchen and grabbed coffee from the freezer. This man didn’t seem like an out-of-a-jar type.

“Take a seat,” Tyler said. “Does Haris know you’re coming, Mr. Ab…Al…?”

“Call me Kamil. No. He doesn’t know.

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him in.

“He told me you haven’t seen each other since he was seventeen.”

Kamil’s mouth twitched. “I’ve seen him. He hasn’t seen me.”

“Ah.”
Haris is going to kill me.

Tyler loaded the machine with water and tipped the ground coffee into the filter paper.
 

“Was it you playing the guitar?”

“Could you hear me? I was just messing around.”

“One of my sons is musical. Adil plays the drums for hours. Fortunately, we have a large house. But Malik and Haris were only interested in listening to music, not playing.”

Tyler thought Kamil looked drawn and ill. His eyes were green like Haris’s but lacked sparkle and his skin was sallow.

“Milk, sugar?” Tyler asked.

“No, thank you.”

Tyler poured out two mugs and added sugar to his. “Shall we go and sit somewhere more comfortable?”

“As you wish.”

Tyler took him back to the room with the Christmas tree and they sat at opposite ends of the couch. He put his coffee on top of the pile of manuscript paper and muttered, “I’m not sure I should have let you in.”

“Why not?”

“Haris might not have wanted me to.”

“So why did you?” Kamil sipped his coffee.

“Because you’re his father and you haven’t talked to each other in a long time. You wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important. He ought to hear what you have to say.”
I think.

Kamil smiled and Tyler’s heart clenched to see his lover’s smile on another man’s face.

“I hope you don’t want to hurt him,” Tyler said quietly.

“I’ve no wish to do so.”

“He’s been hurt enough.”

Kamil met Tyler’s gaze. “We have all been hurt.”

But I bet you don’t have scars on your back.
“How were you hurt?”

“Haris brought shame on our family.”

A ball of anger swelled in Tyler’s gut. He opened his mouth and then thought better of it and pressed his lips together.

“Why did you think I was Haris’s father?”

“You look like him. Plus he has a photograph of you in his study.” When Tyler had been down to collect the watercolors, he noticed Haris had put it back in the same spot. A shot of smiling parents, and a teenage Haris, the tallest son, with his arms around his brothers.

“Does he?” Kamil looked surprised. “Could I see it?”

Tyler hadn’t expected Kamil to follow him and jerked away when he felt him reach to take the picture frame from his hand. Tyler collided with Haris’s desk, sending a pile of papers cascading to the floor. As he bent to scoop them up, a couple of photographs slipped from a brown envelope and as he registered what they were, he froze in horror.

For a couple of seconds he tried to convince himself he was mistaken, but he wasn’t. Tyler had guessed photos existed but he’d never seen them, never seen himself with his lips around a guy’s cock while someone took him from behind, never seen himself covered in come, never seen that
look
on his face. His cheeks burned.

He bent to scoop them up but Haris’s father beat him to it and picked up the envelope. Tyler tried to pull it out of his hand and it ripped, more photographs cascading to the floor together with photocopies of newspaper cuttings about his family’s murder. He crouched down and fumbled through the papers, careless now of the man watching—a police report, his father’s financial details, a list of every care home Tyler had been in and his fucking exam results. He struggled to draw air into his lungs.

“This…man is you,” Kamil muttered. “I thought…but you’re with other men…you let… What does my son want with a man like you?”

The disgust in his voice was clear. Tyler’s face flooded with heat. He
was
a man like that. All Haris wanted him for was four months of sex. That was the agreement. No point losing sight of that no matter how much he wanted to.

“What are these websites?” Kamil asked. “SeeHowTheyCum dot com? You do this too?” He thrust a sheet of paper in front of him.

Tyler’s shame and anger morphed to acute pain. Haris knew about the movies too?

“For money?” Kamil snapped. “Does my son pay you?”

Alcide barked and Tyler started.

I have to get out of here.
A heavy weight pressed against his chest, crushing him. As he stumbled from the study to the hall, Wilson walked out of the kitchen and slammed to a halt.

“This is Haris’s father, Kamil Ab…something or other.”

“Kamil Abdul Al-Wadhi.” He held out his hand to Wilson.

Tyler’s mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. “This is Wilson, Haris’s right hand man.”

“How do you do, sir?” Wilson narrowed his eyes at Tyler.

Yeah, I wish I hadn’t let him in too.

“I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Kamil said. “I don’t want to cause any problems. I merely wished to speak to my son.”

“I have a few things to do.” Tyler ignored Wilson’s pointed cough and headed for the stairs.

Haris had known everything about his life. Tyler had finally opened his heart and Haris had already fucking known. It seemed like the worst sort of betrayal. He grabbed his bag from the closet and started to pack.

No wonder Haris hadn’t been shocked when he’d told him about the parties. Christ, the guy had probably known before he’d met him. Maybe he’d watched porn online, come across the movies Tyler had starred in and had him traced. Haris had manipulated everything.
The fucking bastard.
Tyler’s history was there for
him
to share, not for others to uncover.
Oh fuck it.

He left everything Haris had bought him, anger and disappointment battling for control of his emotions. He crept downstairs and gave the piano a regretful glance before he retrieved his notes and guitar and zipped them into a soft case. He had no choice about taking the coat Haris had bought him. He no longer had another. Tyler shoved his feet into his boots, pulled on his hat and walked out.

A moment later, he dropped the key through the letter box.

By the time Haris arrived home, the snow was falling in fat flakes. He’d thought about asking Wilson to collect him, but he knew he didn’t like driving in the snow, or in heavy rain, or in the dark or when it was frosty. In fact, he wasn’t sure Wilson even liked driving. When he exited the taxi and spotted the lit Christmas tree in the window, Haris did a double take and assumed it was the wrong house, but no. It had to be Tyler’s doing. He smiled and took out his key.

As he locked the door on the inside, Wilson burst out of the kitchen and rushed into the hall. “Sir!”

“What—?” Haris’s coat slipped from his fingers when he spotted his father standing behind Wilson. Shock surged through his body, chilling him as effectively as a fall into an icy lake.

“
Salam alaykum,
” said his father. Peace be upon you.

“
Wa-alaykum as-salam,
” Haris automatically replied. And upon you be peace.

His father moved forward and held out his hand. Haris hesitated and then stepped to take it. He sensed his father on the point of embracing him and moved away before he could.
What’s this about?

“Sir,” Wilson said. “I need—”

“That will be all,” Haris said.

“But—”

“Not now.”

“I—”

“Not now,” Haris snapped.

Wilson sighed dramatically but left. Haris gestured toward the drawing room. “I assume you have something important to tell me.”

“Yes.”

Haris kicked off his shoes then picked up his coat and hung it up before he followed his father into the room.

“Please sit,” Haris said and waited for his father to take a seat before he did. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he struggled to breathe.
Not my brother. Don’t let anything have happened to Adil.

His father sat with his hands in his lap and stared at him. “You look well.”

Haris didn’t reply.

“I, however, am not. I’m informed by my doctors that I’m unlikely to live more than another six months.”

It took a moment for what his father had said to sink in.
You don’t see me for all these years and expect me to be devastated by your news?
Except, he
was
shocked.