Don't... Book 8
“My head. My body. My fucking heart behind it all.” – Jack Harrison.
Jack’s quiet confidence calls it out—he’ll get Martin back. It’s there in his soft smile to Jan, in the private brush of touch to the back of Gray’s hand. Jack’s meetings with his psychiatrist Dr Halliday are never missed, care-plans are adjusted with each no-show from Martin, and behind it all, Jack’s hold on to Gray and Jan is never more him: never more intimate.
Yet something tastes off to Gray.
Like Jan, he’s only ever known Jack alongside Martin.
But now Jack has no mask to hide beneath…?
When a homeless youth with the heart and soul of a Gothic romantic drifts into Gray’s hall, his fingerprints acid-burned away, masking all identity – the concern is never more there for Jack. Jack’s longer, slower drift into the Unknown.