Page 130 of The Other Side

Drum tensed slightly.

“Ashford is changing his plea to guilty.”

Oh God.

“If he thinks that will avoid additional charges in relation to your kidnapping and attempted murder, he’s mistaken, but it’s good news for you.”

“Unless he thinks it will make me less concerned about my safety and easier to get at. Then he’ll change his plea again.”

“Once the court accepts his guilty plea, it’s legally binding and the case moves straight to sentencing. It’s very rare and legally difficult to change a guilty plea back to not guilty. He’ll have no grounds. He’s still going to prison for a very long time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to think about any of this tonight. Just concentrate on getting better. We’ll be in touch. You did well, Drummond.”

When the call ended, Drum set the phone down.

“Does that mean it’s over for you?” Osian asked.

“Closer to over than it was. Maybe Ashford finally accepted he had no way out so he’s done what he can to reduce his sentence. At least I won’t have to go to court. That’s a relief.”

“You want cake to celebrate?”

“Not tonight. Let’s go to bed and you can tell me about Faeryland again.”

So that was what they did. Drum cried when he realised that Osian was free too, that they could visit Faeryland together and share both worlds.

“I can hardly believe it,” Drum whispered. “Tomorrow might actually come.”

“Hey! It’s already here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

They were still tangled in the sheets the next morning when a sharp knock rattled the front door. Osian dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt, and padded downstairs to see who it was.

Kit stood on the doorstep, a smile on his face. He held up a grease-stained white paper bag. “I bought croissants. Not coffee because I wasn’t sure what you liked. I like mine black, please, and thank you in anticipation.”

Osian chuckled. “Come in.” He stepped aside and as Kit passed him, the smell of fresh pastry made his stomach rumble.

“How’s Drum?” Kit asked.

“He was awake for most of the night. His ribs are killing him—not literally, thankfully. Black coffee, no sugar, right?”

“Please.”

Osian paused, turning to face Kit directly as they reached the kitchen. “I didn’t get the chance to say thank you properly yesterday. You saved his life.”

“It was a team effort,” Kit said, deflecting with a modest shrug.

A heavy, shuffling sound drew their attention to Drum, who was coming down the stairs in just his jeans. Every step looked like an ordeal.

“In the end, maybe,” Osian said softly, already moving across the room to Drum. “But if you hadn’t been able to trace him from the cottage…” He guided Drum to the couch, easing him down, then gently wedged a plump pillow behind his back.

“Drum, remember Kit? He was at the café in Sparlow and then he tracked you. You were a bit out of it when you met.”

“Hi,” Drum said. “Sorry I couldn’t manage to put on a T-shirt.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kit said. “I won’t look. Oops. I already did. You are… very bruised.”