3. Mal #2
But we don’t. We survive and Jack pulls back, mussing my hair. “Sol told me not to tell you, but I didn’t think you’d come.”
“You weren’t wrong to think that. I didn’t fucking want to.”
Jack nods, a sigh breaching his lips. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“Nothing happened to me.”
Argument flickers in Jack’s gaze. Then uncertainty. He glances over my shoulder to where I assume Sol went, and I see him let it go as he shifts to wave me forward. “Come inside. I’ll show you around.”
Around the pub I own and the flat upstairs. I couldn’t give less of a fuck, but despite my reluctance to be here, seeing Jack unlocks something inside me. I follow him into the pub, the empty pub—it closed an hour ago, and there’s not much to see that can’t wait till morning.
Or maybe Jack’s the one who’s tired.
Either way, we don’t linger, and my heart drums that fucked-up tattoo as I trail him to the flat upstairs.
To where I live now, where Skylar lives.
I should be focusing on my brother’s deep frown as he punches a code into the lock, the way he switches arms to push the heavy door, but I find myself scanning every shadow for those tousled blond waves, craving a hit of that smoke and metal stare as Sol hums a shanty tune from where he’s retreated to his own space.
Jack shows me the living room with its Norse-themed chessboard and battered couches, a book with a cracked spine splayed on the floor, as if someone fell asleep reading it. A kitchen that smells of bacon and toast. A bedroom— my bedroom—that shares a bathroom with the last room on the landing.
Skylar’s .
The door’s shut. But it doesn’t matter. I know before Jack tells me he’s not here. I feel it in my bones and I’m not sure I want to look too closely at why.
Sunrise sneaks up on me. One minute I’m stuck in a cursed night that won’t fucking end , pacing around my big bed to the soundtrack of Sol’s kid brother coming home drunk and falling off the couch in the living room.
Then it’s dawn on a bright summer day, and time to face this new/old world of mine.
Or at least the bathroom that’s all Skylar.
He’s still not here. I’d know it even if I hadn’t spent all night listening for him. I still feel it , which is fucking ridiculous, but it is what it is.
I open the bathroom door and take a breath, scanning the neat space—the clean space, though anything and everything seems clean to me after nine months living on remote bases and dusty outposts.
Just like being alone so much with both feet on solid ground feels like a sock being stuffed down my throat, civilian life a looming nightmare I’ve never had time to fear before now.
I miss my crew.
My friends.
We’re scattered far and wide and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s too easy to keep my thoughts on who the shampoo in the shower belongs to and pretend everything else never happened.
Thing is, though, standing in that shower, the scent of him—of Skylar—all around me, it’s the kind of distraction that spells trouble.
I’m hard before I can blink and it pisses me off.
I like sex. I like hookups. But it’s a fragment of who I am.
A sideshow to my real life. I’ve never had any trouble pushing attraction aside before.
Hell, I did it with Vinnie for half a decade and my cock never ached the way it does now.
Calm your tits.
His order from beyond the grave doesn’t help.
I glare at my dick with enough venom I’m shocked it doesn’t wither and die, but only blasting myself with frigid water cools my blood even a fraction and I abandon the shower, thankful for nothing except Skylar not coming home to catch me standing to attention in his bathroom.
It’s not my finest hour, but I can’t spend another minute in my room. I dress in my last unworn t-shirt and despite an urge to blow downstairs and just run , I follow the sound of bickering to the kitchen.
The Bosanko brothers clamour by the stove, arguing about whatever’s going on in the pans Sol’s tending. Sev, his younger brother, is a foot taller than when I last saw him, his hair a shade darker. Still a skinny fuck, though, at least next to Sol.
They don’t hear me coming. I lean in the doorway, watching their scrap unfold. Sol’s stronger than Sev, but he’s not going to win. He’s too emotional, too nice. Sev could light him on fire and he’d still use his own blood to put out the flames.
Sev elbows him out of the way. “I don’t know why you’re cooking all this anyway, he’s probably not even hungry. Jack never was when he first came home.”
They’re talking about me. Fucking amazing. I need to break this shit up before I cringe myself through the hardwood floors. But Sol says the magic words that derail me.
“Skylar should be home soon.”
Sev shakes his head. “Like that makes a difference?—”
He notices me and drops the spatula he’s holding. It clatters to the floor and Sol jumps out of his skin.
I just stare, watching them, knowing I could make it easier, but lacking the energy to do it.
“Fuck.” Sev bends to scoop up the spatula. He tosses it at Sol’s bare chest—neither of them are wearing more than old jeans—spattering him with hot oil, and wipes his hands on a cloth before he takes a hesitant step towards me. “I haven’t seen you since I was a kid.”
There’s not much to say to that—it’s true. But even though I know nothing about the man who stands before me now, I’ve always cared about Sev.
He gets close enough that I can ruffle his dark hair.
I do it, noting his slim-fitting charcoal jeans are nothing like Sol’s weather-worn stone-washed denim. That his ink is more urban than the seafaring legacy etched all over his brother.
He got out of here .
I’m out of touch, but I scent the freedom on him as I pull him in for a fleeting hug. “You smell like the city.”
Sol snorts. “Like hipster beer and bad dick.”
“Fuck off.” Sev levels a glare over his shoulder. “Don’t take your self-imposed celibacy out on me.”
Hurt flares in Sol’s eyes, but Sev doesn’t see it. He runs his gaze over me, from my bare feet and ancient cargo shorts to the t-shirt that was probably once red. “I thought you’d look worse. Sol’s been acting like you died.”
“ Sev .”
It’s not Sol who speaks, it’s Jack, from behind me. I should’ve heard him coming. A month ago, it would’ve got me killed. Now , it means nothing more than I have to move to let him past, but he stops in the doorway and looks me over with stronger perception than Sev or Sol. “You didn’t sleep?”
“Maybe later.”
He nods, letting it go like he did last night, but again seems to second-guess himself and he turns back a half a step later. “You can get me up if you’re awake all night.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you’re not on your own.”
“I’m fine.”
Jack frowns, as if he’s got so much more to say, but he can’t find it in his brain.
Then he moves on, gravitating to where Sol’s returned to the stove, and I watch them because it’s easier looking out than looking in.
To watch my brother seek reassurance in his best friend, and Sol smile at him with the same love he always has, except it’s dimmed by sadness now.
Maybe because Jack never needed that reassurance before .
Guilt gnaws at me. Then a door opens downstairs and my heart skips a beat that has nothing to do with the pill bottle I’ve dumped in the bathroom bin. Footsteps sound. I’m still blocking the door. I move aside as a shadow graces the landing, but it’s bigger than I anticipate.
Wider.
Taller.
Than who?
Than Skylar, clearly.
Fucking hell. I take a seat at the table as a giant human squeezes into the kitchen. He has long hair in a messy knot at the nape of his neck, more tattoos than even Sol, and enough of the sea about him that I know who he is.
Oscar.
Jack’s mentioned him on the phone. He works for Sol on the boats. He has a kid and he’s a fisherman—that much I remember. No one told me he was hot, though. If I didn’t have Skylar on my mind and my life was completely fucking different, I’d be all over the bloke.
Or at least thinking about it.
Oscar makes eye contact with Sol, seriousness in his gaze. “Hull’s patched, but it can’t take another hit like that.”
Sol ignores him.
Jack frowns.
Sev glances up from his phone. “What happened to the boat?”
“Nothing.” Sol bangs the egg pan on the counter. “Just a bottleneck in the harbour.”
He’s lying. It’s as clear to me as the sky outside. But no one else sees it, or catches Oscar’s consternation. They go back to whatever held their attention before and Oscar shakes his head before he seems to notice me.
His exasperation fades like it was never there. He grins like the summer sun— like Vinnie —and his big hand finds mine with warmth and a thick Baltic accent. “Mal? It is nice to meet you, my friend.”
“Likewise. What’s that accent?”
“Lithuania.” Oscar’s grin widens with pride. “I do not sound English yet? Mattis says I do.”
“Who’s that?”
“My brother. He lives in Peterborough, but he is not as…um…”
“Corrupted,” Sol supplies.
Oscar laughs. “I was not going to say that, but yes. He still sounds like he did when we left ?ventoji ten years ago.”
“Can’t sing for shit either.” Sol brings food to the table. “But you’ll be all right with Mal. He’s no more English than you are.”
“Northern Ireland. Like Jack, I remember, but you are still British , yes? If you want to be?” Oscar eyes the food and swipes his phone, his eyes sharp as he reads the numbers on the screen before drawing a slim black pouch from his pocket.
I spot the unobtrusive glucose monitor on his arm and glance away as he injects insulin into his stomach, letting the hunger I’ve repressed all night seep into my orbit now I’m not alone with it.
Makes me wonder if I’ll have to take a nap in the bar downstairs to get any sleep, but Sev dumps a plate in front of me loud enough to drown out all thought, and I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know.