Rafe stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded, “What else did he say? Because that’s no fucking excuse, he knows you have issues. Fucking Hell. Sam, I’m so sorry.”

Sam turned, “Mercy said he wanted more, said I was too over fucking bearing. Me, overbearing? I only wanted what was best for him. We went to the mirror, that club over Camden way. We met up with some of his friends, he introduced me to a guy – Stuart – he was called, so not my type. On the way home, he drops a bomb – saying he and Stuart had been a part of a threesome.”

“I take it that’s not your thing, Sam?”

“No, it’s not my fucking thing Rafe. When have you known me to be with more than one man at a time?”

“But he is young. Maybe it’s a thing nowadays?” Rafe asked, reaching towards Sam, gripping his forearms.

Sam’s breathing increased; his head lowered.

“Sam, it’s okay. It’s his loss. You’re a good man, fuck, I would do you!”

Sam’s head shot up, “You would?” a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, if I were that way inclined. And not going through a divorce with a woman.”

Rafe worried for Sam, he always had. The big burly man had come back from the war with many problems. We both did.

Sam smiled, “Yeah, well, you’re not, are you? Mr fucking Perfect for me is straight and married. Oh, and did I mention straight? Why are all the best ones straight, Rafe?”

Rafe’s cheeks coloured, Sam turned away, continuing.

Gathering the clothes from the hallway floor.

“Is he seeing someone else, Sam? You were good to him. Had he been drinking?”

“I don’t know?” Sam stopped and thought for a moment, turning back to Rafe. “I suppose he could be. I just don’t know. I thought I knew him; clearly, I didn’t.”