Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.
Rating: R.
Notes: Thanks for the reviews and my apologies for the delay in posting chapter two. This story keeps trying to sneak into the realms of NC-17, so it's proving to be fairly hard going.
Warning: This story is Steve/Jesse SLASH.
STAR STRUCK
(PART TWO)
by
Guardian.
"Jesse, Steve? Are you in there?"
It was Mark Sloan's voice and Jesse looked at Steve, panic flashing in his eyes. The young man's face was covered in bruises and he didn't want his friend and mentor to see him in such a state. He couldn't very well pretend not to be home, especially as he was off work, supposedly sick.
"Get into bed, Jess," Steve whispered quickly. "Pull the covers right up. I'll get rid of him."
Jesse flashed him a genuinely grateful smile and headed for the bedroom. Steve waited until he had closed the door behind him, then went to admit his father.
"Dad, what are you doing here?"
"I came to see how Jesse is." There was a hint of hurt in Mark's tone, as though he were surprised that his son needed to ask such a question.
He walked into the small apartment, looking around curiously.
"Where is he?"
"In bed, sleeping," his son answered, just a little too quickly. "It's probably the best thing for him."
"Do you know what's wrong?" Mark moved towards the bedroom door. "Maybe I should take a look at him."
"No!" Steve had to force himself to keep his voice low. "No. He just said that he felt nauseous when he woke up. It's probably just a bug."
"Remind me who the doctor is here."
He forced a laugh: "That was Jesse's own diagnosis."
Mark just looked at him for a long moment, then sat down on one of the armchairs.
"I don't like being lied to, Steve," he said seriously. "Particularly not by you."
Steve sat down opposite him, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. Like Jesse had before him, he had trouble meeting the other man's eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that... well, Jesse really isn't feeling so good, but when I got here, we got talking."
He studied the backs of his hands.
"Dad, he knows I'm bi."
"And?"
"And he is too." Steve sighed, wondering what else he could say. He and Jesse hadn't got much beyond that point. Marcus Marriott kept getting in the way.
"Then so is Marcus Marriott," Mark surmised. "Jesse went to dinner with him last night. Today he's sick. Did something happen?"
Steve cursed his father's perception and sought a way to evade the issue. He still didn't know exactly what had happened on Jesse's date, but he did know that it wasn't good. He sought an excuse that would stay as close to the truth as possible, without giving too much away.
"Yes, you were right," he said. "The date was a complete bust. I don't think it even lasted an hour. Jesse and Marcus Marriott just aren't compatible."
"That's a shame, he was so looking forward to it. Do you know what went wrong?"
"Jesse didn't really say too much about it." That, at least was the truth. "I think he's kinda embarrassed."
"And now he's hiding from the world." Mark sighed. "There's no need for him to be avoiding us, we're not about to ridicule him. He should know that."
"No, dad, he really is sick," Steve hurried to defend his friend. "Maybe last night had something to do with it, but he looked awful when I got here. He's out like a light now."
"And you don't want me here when he wakes up." Mark got to his feet. "Okay, I won't cramp your style. But if he gets any worse..."
"I'll call you straight away." He walked his father to the door. "Don't worry if I don't come home tonight, I might crash on the couch here. I don't want Jesse to be alone."
"He's lucky to have a friend like you. Let me know how you get on."
Steve didn't need his dad to spell out what he meant by that closing statement. Mark was fully aware of his son's feelings for Jesse and knew that he had been hurting for a long time, believing that those feelings could never be returned. Now though, it seemed that they might yet have a chance of a future together.
But Mark was far from happy as he walked down to his car. He knew that Steve hadn't told him everything, that he had, in fact, lied to him. He wondered what was so wrong with Jesse that his own son couldn't trust him enough to tell him.
*****
After Mark had left, Steve eased the door to Jesse's bedroom open. There was a lump under the duvet, but the only part of Jesse that was visible was the top of his head.
"It's okay, Jess," he called softly. "He's gone now."
There was no response from the bed.
"Jesse?"
Steve walked over to where he lay, treading softly so as not to disturb him. He eased the covers back, then smiled down at his friend. The young doctor was dead to the world, his breathing deep and even. It would have been easy for Steve just to climb in next to him, given the revelations they had recently shared, but Jesse was hurt and exhausted. Sleep was the best thing for him.
Reluctantly, Steve tucked the covers back around him, then pulled a chair up next to the bed. He settled into it, prepared to wait for as long as was necessary, happy just to watch his friend sleep.
*****
Jesse lay on the floor of Marcus Marriott's limousine, it's luxurious interior suddenly seeming cramped and claustrophobic. He was trapped, his head ringing from the many blows he had received.
Marriott leaned over him, filling his vision and Jesse shrank away. The actor was breathing heavily, but his eyes were still enraged. He back-handed Jesse across the mouth.
"I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget." He straddled the doctor's prone form. "You don't fucking tease."
Jesse could only lie there helplessly. Marriott opened his legs, kneeling on Jesse's arms, effectively pinning them. His hands went to his waistband.
"When you make a promise you fucking deliver!"
Jesse wanted to protest that he had made no such promise, but sheer terror had robbed him of his breath. He couldn't even cry out.
*****
Someone was shaking him gently.
"Come on, Jess, wake up. Come on, buddy."
The voice was equally gentle and Jesse slowly awoke. With waking came the gradual realisation and relief that it had just been a nightmare. He blinked blearily and saw Steve's concerned face peering down at him.
And when he saw his friend's concern, his memory returned, suddenly and shockingly. It had been a nightmare alright, but one that was all too real. He felt sick to his stomach and tears filled his eyes.
Steve saw instantly that Jesse was about to lose control of his emotions and pulled him into a hug, rocking him gently.
"It's okay." He tried to calm the trembling man. "It's okay. It was just a bad dream."
Jesse had buried his face into Steve's shoulder and his tears soaked his shirt. Steve looked down at him, saw his exposed neck and recognised the marks there. Those bruises had been inflicted by lust and not violence. There were even teeth marks and dried blood where it looked like Marriott had got carried away.
Had Jesse allowed him to do that? Steve felt a twinge of jealousy as he imagined his own mouth descending onto that beautifully exposed flesh. Then he gave himself a mental shake. His friend was traumatised and needed strength, not passion. Steve continued to rock him, all the while murmuring soothing words.
Eventually, Jesse shifted in his arms and brought his hands up to wipe his tear-streaked face. But he didn't lift his head from where it rested on Steve's chest.
"He was... he was going to... rape me," the young doctor mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I didn't... wouldn't... do what he wanted. He pinned me down, I couldn't fight him. I thought he was going to rape me."
"Oh Jesse," Steve breathed.
Horror churned in his gut, but a small part of him was immensely relieved by the words that Jesse had used. He was going to rape me. That meant the actor hadn't actually gone through with it. Steve wasn't trained to deal with victims of sexual assault but he was confident that he could help Jesse. He loved him after all. Together they would get through it.
"What stopped him?" he asked quietly.
"Ollie. His driver." Jesse's hands twisted together in his lap. "He opened that little partition and told Marcus that he shouldn't... mustn't..."
He could still see the driver's face leering at his half-naked form, could still hear his laughter after they'd finally released him and driven away.
"And he just stopped?"
"Yes." Jesse's whispered answer was barely audible and Steve knew that he wasn't telling the whole truth. He looked down at his young friend and Jesse chose just that moment to look up at him. Their faces were very close together.
Steve just had enough time to register the redness in Jesse's eyes and the shocking bruises a stark contrast to his pale skin. Then Jesse surged up to him, locking his lips on his and gently probing with his tongue.
For the briefest moment, Steve responded with enthusiasm. He had dreamed of this moment for years. Then the analytical part of his brain recognised the ruse for what it was: a distraction from the questions he'd been asking. He pulled away.
"Not now, not yet." He saw the hurt on Jesse's face, but forced himself to continue. "It's too soon. I don't think you're ready for this yet."
"I'm ready. I..."
"Jesse," Steve over-rode him gently. "You can't just pretend that last night never happened."
He saw Jesse's face cloud over. The younger man folded his arms in a classic defensive posture. He shrugged Steve's hands off him.
"I get it." Jesse's voice trembled and Steve knew that there were more tears to come. "You don't want me now. After what he... After what happened... you don't... I'm damaged goods, right?"
"Wrong!" Steve replied emphatically.
He could see that the doctor was weeping again, but didn't know how he'd respond to being touched. His body language screamed leave me alone! But Steve had no intention of doing that. He put one hand to the small of Jesse's back.
"You were assaulted, Jesse. Even if he didn't... rape you." Even he stumbled over the word. "It was a serious sexual assault. You can't let him get away with it."
Jesse turned haunted eyes towards him.
"He has got away with it," he whispered. "You promised you wouldn't say anything and if you do... If you do, I'll just deny it."
"Why?"
"Why?" There was a bitterness to Jesse's tone that cut at Steve's very soul. "You want the whole world to know about this? Marcus Marriott, the rapist? I wouldn't be able to go outside without someone... the press... I'd lose my job, my friends... I'd have to leave LA."
Jesse honestly believed that what he was saying was true. Marriott's driver had told him what would happen if he tried to go to the police, using his fists to emphasise his point. He'd also warned Jesse that Marriott would have a rock-solid alibi, so he would lose everything for nothing.
"But Jesse, what if he..."
"Stop it, Steve, just stop it."
Any response Steve might have made was curtailed by the sound of his cell-phone. He cursed silently.
"I'll be right back," he said as he headed back into the lounge.
Jesse sat back on the bed and watched him through the open doorway. He couldn't hear even Steve's side of the conversation but it was obvious that the detective wasn't pleased with what he was being told. Eventually, reluctantly, he agreed with whoever was on the other end and hung up. He wandered back over to the bedroom.
"I have to go," he told his friend, all the while hating himself for having to leave. "I'm needed at work."
Jesse just nodded, somewhat distractedly. He was dreading being left alone again, but also relieved that there would be some respite from Steve's probing questions.
"Will you be okay?"
Jesse nodded again, then seeing the doubt on his friend's face, got to his feet.
"I'm going to get a shower, then maybe watch some TV." He laughed humourlessly. "Might as well make the most of the time off."
"If you need anything..."
"I'll be fine."
Steve still wasn't convinced, but he couldn't really delay any longer.
"I'll call by later."
"Sure."
After Steve had left, Jesse looked around his tiny apartment, feeling lost. Steve had rejected him. After so long believing that he was straight, he'd finally got the chance to demonstrate his true feelings, but the object of his desire had rejected him. Jesse fell back onto the bed and wept.
*****
The limousine screeched to a sudden halt, throwing Marriott off-balance and sending him sprawling over his intended victim.
"What the fuck? Ollie!"
The darkened partition that ensured privacy in the back of the limo slid to one side and the driver twisted around to look in at them.
"What the Hell is going on?" Marriott demanded.
"You can't do that, Marcus," Ollie answered, surprising Jesse with his words. "You know that. After the last time..."
"Fuck!" the actor cursed, with feeling.
Jesse, still shocked by the turn of events, lay silently as help came from the most unexpected quarter.
"Marcus." Ollie shook his head slightly. "You won't get away with it again."
Marriott cursed again and clambered off Jesse. He rolled the doctor onto his back and knelt over him. The interruption had quelled his passion.
"You little bastard," he spat venomously. He glanced back towards his driver. "Get him out of here."
Marriott slumped back onto his seat and, reaching for the champagne, took a long swig straight from the bottle.
Then the back door opened and Ollie grabbed him roughly by one already bruised arm and hauled him onto the sidewalk. The next thing Jesse knew, he'd been slammed up against a wall and Ollie's hand closed around his throat.
"You say nothing about this, to any one," the big man snarled.
At that moment in time, scared and humiliated as he was, Jesse would have agreed to anything, but Ollie began to beat him again anyway.
*****
Jesse awoke sweating, trembling and horribly nauseous. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, only just making it there before he was violently ill. In his haste, he failed to notice the sleeping form stretched out on his couch.
Steve had returned about two hours previously, desperate to talk to Jesse, but loath to wake him from what looked like a restful sleep. It had been a long and stressful night and he had no trouble getting comfortable on Jesse's couch and getting some much needed rest himself.
He was awoken by the sound of someone being sick, or rather retching. It didn't sound as though whoever it was had much left in their stomach to bring up. He looked around, momentarily disorientated, then the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. Squinting at his watch, he groaned as he realised just how little sleep he'd had, but he knew that he had more important things to worry about, namely a murder investigation.
Getting to his feet, Steve crossed over to the bathroom and knocked softly. There was no sound from inside.
"Jess?" he called softly.
When it still remained quiet, he tried the door. In his haste, Jesse had neglected to lock it, so Steve went in. He found Jesse slumped over the toilet bowl, ashen-faced and breathless. He crouched down next to him.
"Jesse, are you okay?"
"I'm fine." The younger man pulled away from his caring touch. "I must've ate something that disagreed with me."
"When was the last time you ate anything?" Steve responded, with a touch of bemusement. "Disagreeable or otherwise."
Jesse glowered at him and Steve sighed. This was not going well. He stood up.
"How about I make some coffee? You get yourself cleaned up, then there's something I need to talk to you about."
There was still a guarded quality to his friend's eyes, but eventually he nodded and Steve headed for the kitchen.
A short while later they sat in the lounge, Jesse in an armchair, Steve on the couch. Steve couldn't help but notice the distance that his friend had put between them, but he ignored the uncomfortable feeling it gave him.
"There was a murder last night," he began.
Normally those words would have provoked a barrage of questions from the young doctor, but there was barely a flicker of interest in Jesse's eyes.
"It's a difficult case," Steve went on, regardless of his friend's indifference. "There were no witnesses, not much in the way of evidence."
Steve took a swallow of his coffee and Jesse looked at him, curious in spite of himself.
"So who was the victim?" he asked.
"Daniel Flint." Steve steeled himself for what he had to say next. "He was a male prostitute and he was raped, then beaten to death."
Jesse's already pale face blanched and Steve though that he was about to make another mad dash for the bathroom. Instead, Jesse gripped his coffee mug with shaking hands and looked at Steve with tear-filled eyes.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked in a less than steady voice.
"Jesse," Steve put his mug down and leaned forward intently. "You've helped me out on a lot of cases and I really need your help on this one. I said that there was hardly any evidence, but there were similarities..."
"No." Jesse's voice was barely a whisper. "You think that he..."
"I need you to tell me exactly what happened. I know it's hard, but it is important. I think that Marcus Marriott killed that boy."
"Then arrest him!" Jesse flared, even though he knew it couldn't be that simple. His friend wouldn't be asking such difficult questions if he didn't have to.
"I can't even tell anyone that I suspect him," Steve argued, not unreasonably. "Not without telling them why."
"No, you can't! You promised!"
"And I won't break that promise," Steve assured him gently. "Not unless you let me."
Jesse looked at him sadly and it pained Steve to see how much this was hurting him. The doctor's gaze faltered.
"What makes you think it was him?"
"There were marks on Flint's neck." Jesse's hand shot up to cover those offensive bruises. "And the pattern of the bruising looked familiar. If we could just do a comparison..."
But Jesse was shaking his head before he'd even finished speaking.
"I can't."
"I know this is difficult and maybe I'm not handling it too well," the detective conceded. "If you'd prefer to talk to someone else, I'd understand."
"No, you don't understand." Jesse jumped to his feet and began pacing, a sure sign of his nervousness. "I don't want to talk to someone else. I don't want to talk to you!"
"Jess, you have to."
"I don't have to do anything." He whirled to face Steve. "I'm sorry that guy got killed, but I can't help you. Just do your job and leave me out of it."
"Jesse, it could have been you."
Steve had to raise his voice to cut through his friend's tirade and his words had the effect of a slap in the face. Jesse sat down heavily.
"I think that Marriott got carried away," Steve continued more calmly. "He was turned on by the violence and then he went too far and couldn't stop. Is that what happened with you?"
The doctor didn't answer. He just stared at his hands.
"Give me something, anything." Steve tried to persuade him. "Just give me a reason to arrest him, forensics will do the rest."
"I'd still have to go to court, to face him again." Jesse murmured. "People would know. I can't do it. I'm sorry."
"Jesse..."
"You see these?" he continued, gesturing vaguely towards the marks on his neck. "I let him do that. I was enjoying it. What does that make me?"
"It still gives you the right to say no."
Jesse snorted bitter laughter.
"Like that matters for anything. All that matters is that I got into the car with him and I let him... touch me. That's all that anyone will remember."
"Jesse, he's going to be defending a murder charge. You probably wouldn't even have to testify."
"Probably? Probably isn't exactly reassuring."
Steve couldn't answer that one. He wasn't about to make promises that he couldn't keep, not even to catch a murderer.
"He's going to have the best lawyers money can buy and they'll probably get him off and I'll have ruined my life for nothing."
Trying to reason with Jesse wasn't working, so Steve tried a different approach.
"I can't believe that you'd let him get away with murder. What if he does it again?"
He regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. Jesse reacted furiously.
"Then it would be my fault! Is that what you want me to say? That's one Hell of a guilt trip to lay on me. Thanks a lot, Steve."
"I didn't mean it like that," the older man tried to protest. "But he has got to be stopped. Can't you see that?"
"You don't even know if it was him," Jesse argued. "What if I do make a complaint and you arrest him, then it turns out that he was miles away, with dozens of witnesses, when Flint got killed? What then? I'd have thrown my career away for nothing."
"I don't think that's likely. You know what Marcus Marriott is capable of. Look what he did to you. I just need one reason, any reason to arrest him and I can guarantee that he'll go down for a very long time."
"I'm sorry Steve." And the young doctor did sound genuinely remorseful. "There's too much at stake."
Steve looked at him gravely, wondering what he could do to change his mind. He knew that Marriott was guilty and he was not going to let him just walk away. Not when his new movie release was imminent and his smug face would be staring down at him from every billboard in town.
"What about if I talk to my Captain?" he offered. "Maybe we can work something out to keep your name out of it. I want to arrest him for murder, not for assaulting you."
No, I want to beat him to death for what he did to you, Steve added silently. But Jesse was shaking his head again.
"I can't go to the police. I can't help you. Please, just leave me alone."
Steve bit back his anger. He knew the reasons for the doctor's reluctance, but he couldn't believe that Jesse Travis would knowingly let a man get away with murder. That was why he kept pushing, long after he should have given up.
"Jess, I want you to be completely honest with me. You know as well as I do that if Marriott gets away with this, then he'll more than likely do it again. Right?"
Jesse shrugged, then nodded reluctantly.
"And if that were to happen, if someone else were to get killed, could you honestly live with yourself?"
Jesse shook his head, then looked at his friend, with desperation in his eyes.
"I can't live with myself anyway," he whispered hoarsely. "It was my fault that Flint got killed. Because I didn't report what Marriott did to me, because I wouldn't give you reason to arrest him, it was all my fault."
"I'm not saying that..."
"But it's what you think, isn't it? What else, Steve? If I'd have let Marcus fuck me then none of this would have happened?"
Steve winced at the uncharacteristic expletive. He didn't think that he'd ever heard Jesse use that word before. Steve was off the couch in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling his friend into a hug.
"I'd never think that," he murmured into Jesse's hair. "I love you, Jess."
The words slipped out without thought and Jesse, once again reacted in a totally uncharacteristic way. He pulled forcefully away from Steve and looked at him, hurt and fear warring for dominance on his features.
"How can you say that?" he whispered, sounding horrified. "You don't love me. If you love me, why did you reject me?"
"Jesse..."
"No Steve!" The young doctor was becoming increasingly agitated. "You're just using me. You just want me to change my mind and you'd use my feelings for you to do that!"
"You... have feelings... for me?" Steve repeated, unable to believe what he had just heard.
"No!" Jesse spat back. "Not any more. Just leave me alone, Steve."
"Jess..." The detective's attempts to talk were again rebuffed.
"Get out!" Jesse was yelling at him now and Steve retreated from the unexpected fury in his face. "Get out and leave me alone!"
*****
Steve stormed into the beach house, slamming the door behind him. He knew that it was late, but he had to take his frustration out on something. Not surprisingly, Mark emerged from his bedroom just a few moments later.
"What on Earth is going on?" he asked sleepily. "I don't remember hearing any hurricane warnings."
Steve at least had the decency to look sheepish.
"Sorry dad." He sighed and sat down heavily. "I just came from Jesse's."
"How is he?"
In desperate need of help, but too scared to ask for it, Steve thought, but only shook his head in response to his father's question.
"Still sick?" Mark pressed. "Are you sure you don't want me to go and see him?"
"No, there's no need." Steve was wishing desperately that he could tell his father exactly what was going on. Mark would surely know what to do, but he would never betray Jesse in that way. "He probably won't be back at work for a few days though."
"If he's that bad, then I really don't think that he should be alone. You could have at least brought him back here. Let me give him a call."
"No, he was sleeping when I left." He knew that Mark had seen straight through the lie, but didn't know what else he could say. "I'll call round first thing in the morning."
He glanced at his watch and realised that it was nearly morning already. He'd be lucky to get another two hours sleep.
"Look, it's been a long night. I'm going to bed. Goodnight dad."
Mark watched him thoughtfully as he retreated down the stairs. He knew that his son was lying, but couldn't figure out why. As he returned to his own bedroom, he resolved to get to the bottom of the matter. If there was one thing that he loved, it was a good mystery.
*****
Jesse didn't even try to get any more sleep that night. Not only was he afraid of the nightmares, he was also horrified by what had happened with Steve. In just a few short minutes he had managed to lose both his best friend and any chance they might have had to take their relationship further.
He could hardly believe that he'd pushed Steve so far away, had lashed out at him when he was only trying to help. Jesse wouldn't have blamed him if he never spoke to him again.
So he spent the night staring at the television without really seeing it, replaying everything that had happened over and over in his head. Of course Steve had had to ask those questions, it was a murder investigation after all. Jesse had never turned him away when he'd asked for help before. He'd risked his life for Steve Sloan. Now he wasn't even prepared to risk some bad publicity.
And then there was the spectre of Marcus Marriott, hanging over everything. Jesse couldn't easily forget what had happened and just thinking about it brought all of his shame and guilt bubbling back to the surface.
Jesse wondered if he would ever truly recover from his ordeal, or if that sneering face would be there every time he closed his eyes.
And if it did ever end, how could he possibly face Steve after the way he'd treated him? As the night wore on, Jesse sank deeper into despair, convinced that he really had lost his best friend.
So, when there was a knock at the door early the next morning, Jesse's heart leapt and he practically ran to open it, more than ready to apologise and do whatever he could to repair their friendship.
"Steve..."
His words died on his lips as he realised with horror that it was not Steve who stood on his doorstep, but his father, Mark. Too late, he tried to close the door, but Mark had seen the younger man's bruises and, after the briefest moment's frozen shock, pushed his way into the apartment.
Jesse was suddenly and horribly deeply ashamed. He ducked his head and scurried into the kitchen, aiming to put as much distance as possible between himself and his mentor. Mark followed him more sedately and leaned on the kitchen counter.
"You don't have to hide from me, Jesse," he said with sorrow in his voice. "I saw them."
Jesse still didn't turn around, but he did stop the pretence of being busy. He rested both hands on the edge of the sink and looked sightlessly out of the window.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mark asked.
"Steve sent you, didn't he?" Jesse responded, evading the question.
"No, no he didn't. In fact Steve doesn't even know that I'm here." He moved to stand next to Jesse and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I came because I was worried about you and, by the looks of it, I was right to be."
"I'm okay." Jesse's voice was little more than a whisper.
"You're quite obviously not okay," Mark countered. He took the younger man firmly by the shoulders and guided him back into the lounge, seating him on the couch.
"Let me take a look at you."
Mark didn't give Jesse any chance to argue. He pulled a pen-light from his pocket and shone it into the young man's eyes. Jesse started to pull away, but then realised the futility of the gesture and gave in to the examination.
"Well, you don't have a concussion, nothing's broken. You're just going to be sore for a few days."
"No wonder they pay you the big bucks," Jesse said, with a feeble attempt at humour.
Mark smiled briefly, then was instantly serious again.
"Are you ready to tell me what happened?"
And, much to his surprise, Jesse found that he did want to talk about it. Whereas with Steve, his emotions kept getting in the way, he felt that he could truly confide in Mark. Plus, Mark Sloan was one of the most non-judgemental people that he knew.
Still, it wasn't easy. Jesse spoke slowly and falteringly, with frequent pauses and more than a few tears. He told Mark everything.
Mark, for his part, listened with growing horror and sympathy. He didn't ask questions, didn't interrupt. He let Jesse take things at his own pace and when the young man had finally finished and broke down completely, he wordlessly took him in his arms and held him until his sobs had subsided.
When he finally managed to pull himself together, he pulled away from Mark and sat staring at his hands, profoundly embarrassed by his outburst of emotion.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.
"Jesse, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Mark told him sincerely. "I'd be more worried if you didn't get upset after what you've been through."
"It's not just that. I feel like I've really let Steve down as well."
"You haven't let him down. He won't think that for a minute"
"He doesn't know... Not the details," Jesse looked pleadingly at his friend. "Will you talk to him? If he knew... If he knew everything, then maybe he'd understand why I can't press charges."
They were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the door.
"That'll be Steve," Jesse said, with the faintest tremor in his voice. "He must've kept the spare key.
"I'll take him for breakfast, talk to him," the older man promised. "Will you be alright by yourself?"
Jesse nodded, for once not just going through the motions, but genuinely believing that he might just be okay.
Still, Jesse couldn't help but feel nervous throughout the morning, wondering how Steve was going to react to what his father told him. He tried watching television, but found he couldn't concentrate. Eventually he settled for just pacing restlessly, casting frequent glances at the door and waiting for his friend to return.
He jumped slightly when there was a knock at the door, he'd been so lost in his own thoughts and hurried to answer it, not pausing to wonder why Steve hadn't used his key.
Then he opened the door and froze. It wasn't Steve who stood there, but Marcus Marriott's driver and thug, Ollie.
TO BE CONTINUED...