14. Skylar
We run.
Mal in front, carrying the bag I threw in his face. Me behind him, matching his pace with ease while he takes it slow to wind me up, or because he has some fucked-up impression I can’t keep up with him.
I don’t really care which. He’s wrong on both counts. A leisurely jog in the sunshine is never going to piss me off, and if he wants to go hard, I’m here for it.
View’s not bad either, even with the bag obscuring Mal’s muscled back.
His bare back; he tossed his shirt before we left.
And even with the bag, I can still see the scattering of scars and marks on his tanned skin.
Some older than others. Some not old at all, like the gnarly scrape stretching from his hip bone to his ribs.
Looks like road burn, an injury I’m way too familiar with, but where Mal’s come from to be here, anything could’ve caused it, even shit I haven’t thought of.
And I try not to think too hard, about anything, even him. I focus on my breath, on the pleasurable heat in my muscles, and the smoke show running in front of me, scars and all.
The miles pass. We loop inland around Porth Luck and beyond, and take the coastal road that will lead us back into town.
It’s uphill and fire creeps into my legs, my lungs expanding with enough effort the reason I’ve followed Mal out here starts to gnaw at me.
A spare bottle of his medication is in my bag.
I swiped the prescription I found in the kitchen and had it filled, and I have no regrets.
He could have more stuffed in the pocket of his cargo shorts, but I’m not banking on it.
Mal likes risk. I saw it in his eyes in those photos from paratrooper training camp.
In his bright gaze when he came upright from fucking around upside-down on a wall with an eight-foot drop on the other side.
More than that, he thrives on it, craves it, maybe, and as hunger begins to claw at my insides, I understand it more than I want to.
He leaves the roadside and hops a fence.
I follow him up a steep grassy incline that leads to a cliff that’s closer to Porth Ewan than Porth Luck, an unforgiving edge that’s tough to access, and a known jump site for the people around here most determined to die.
Unease creeps into the endorphins from the long run. Mal’s not happy, I know that. But is life in Porth Luck so miserable for him he needs out like this ?
My brain says no. But I don’t believe he’s led me up here by accident, and my pace slows with his until we reach the top of the path he’s carved out and he drops to a crouch, the gentle heave of his shoulders the only sign of exertion.
I ease down beside him, feeling the cut of the wind against my heated skin. “Bird watching?”
He hums, low in his throat. A rumble of sound Jack makes all the time, and maybe it’s a Gallagher thing, but from Mal it’s pure sex.
And apparently the only answer I’m going to get.
So I take a minute to catch my breath. To revel in how good it can feel to be so tired and wired at the same time when it felt so lousy all the way home.
I’m not so na?ve I don’t realise laying eyes on Mal is what’s lifted my mood, but I shove it down to chew over later.
For now, I just breathe and let my gaze creep over him while he isn’t paying attention.
Enjoying the quiet for as long as it lasts.
Which isn’t all that long as Mal shifts beside me, his focus narrowed on some point in the distance. A vessel—a fishing boat, motoring towards the harbour of Porth Ewan Bay as Mal tracks it, locked in, mouth set in a hard line.
The vessel reaches the harbour and cruises to a mooring spot. Three men jump off and mooch away. Mal makes another quiet grunt and finally turns back to me. “Fucking cunts.”
“Who?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stands and stretches his arms over his head, his long frame brimming with unspent energy, my bag still strapped to his back, his thoughtful stare alive enough that I know he’s far from done.
With this run.
With the men on the Porth Ewan fishing boat.
With me .
And I know I should walk away and heed the voice in my head screaming that I need to.
For his sake, for mine. But I’ve never been so far gone that I don’t know I view the world through a distorted, fucked-up lens.
And that it’s not my fault, any more than Mal’s that we picked the same scummy bar that night.
He still has my bag.
I turn around, giving him my back. “Come with me.”
I have no doubt Mal knows this town like the back of his hand. He grew up here. But though he’s out most days, running on the beach, the pavements, and even the cliff paths, I wonder if he’s forgotten the most beautiful place in Porth Luck.
The most hidden.
I lead him down the cliff, his footsteps behind me louder than the voice in my head trying to tell me to run faster.
To push harder. To make my lungs burn and my muscles scream.
I take him to the river and the rocky path leading to a sacred and secret lagoon known only to locals. And me, thanks to Sol and Sev.
It’s midsummer, but we’ve picked a good day to be here. As I push through the ferns and trees to reveal the water, we find ourselves alone.
I’ve swum every inch of the lagoon since Sev first brought me here. I strip my shirt, kick off my shoes and socks, and dive right in, safe in the knowledge I won’t bash my head on rocks.
A splash echoes beside me.
Mal.
We breach the surface at the same time, and he’s closer than I thought he’d be. Hotter, too. Hair slicked back, I see his whole face—his bright eyes, scruffy jaw, and cheekbones he’s been hiding behind his messy locks.
Fuck.
The cool water doesn’t stand a chance against him.
I don’t stand a chance against his untamed grin as he tips his head back and laughs.
“Forgot about this place.”
“I figured.”
“How?”
“The state of your face.”
I splash him and swim away, diving down to expel a long breath, gliding through stillness until I touch the rock of the other side.
Mal is where I left him, head thrown back again, catching the sun as it filters through the canopy of weeping willow. Up close, I bet his eyes are like dappled leaves. Bet I could get lost in them too, and I feel a pull to him I haven’t felt before, not with such a visceral wrench in my heart.
Go back to him .
I don’t need to. The lagoon ripples as Mal swims and he’s in front of me before I can take another breath, both fists braced to the rocks, caging me in ways I’ve never let anyone else.
“If you’re trying to get away from me, you’ll need to swim a hell of a lot further.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’ll never stop chasing you.”
Mal grins as he spits that rubbish, and it’s infectious.
I smile too. “Since when are you chasing me?”
“Since you threw a bag in my face and ran off.”
“I didn’t run that fast.”
“You could’ve run faster,” he agrees, searching my face. “Why didn’t you?”
“Maybe I wasn’t trying to escape.”
“Hmm.”
There it is. The hum. That hmm sound easing under my skin like melted honey. I give in and let my hands go where they want—to his hips to edge him closer .
Our thighs collide, and I remember the hand he clamped on me at the dinner table the other night. How much I needed it.
This, though…the savage urge that has me curling a leg around his, it’s a different kind of need. Like the one that had me arching from my bed and tumbling us headlong into a furnace.
Yeah.
This is just like that.
Only this time, Mal kisses me first.