I’m worried about you, brother. “Fancied some company.”
He didn’t believe me. And he shouldn’t have. But he let it go and listened to me ramble on about the land me and Rubi still couldn’t figure out what to do with. “Weren’t you thinking about building a campsite there a while ago?”
“We talked about it, but I don’t want randos that close to the club all the time. Same with the garden centre thing Rubes was obsessed with for a while.”
Folk winced. “That might’ve been my fault. He thinks I’m bored training prospects.”
“Are you?”
“Not enough to sell pot plants instead.”
“What about the lifeboats? Is that a thing? I can’t remember.”
“It was nearly a thing, but I’m not as good at being wet and cold as I used to be.” Folk flexed his hands. “And I’m tired, to be honest. I don’t know how much use I’d be to anyone.”
“Anything I can do to help you with that?”
“Like what? Give me new joints?”
“I would if I could. I’d fucking give you mine.”
“Cam, I know that. But I have nothing going on that you can fix.”
It sounded so final. And maybe Folk meant it to be. We talked some more about the land, deducing that we needed to find a use for it that paid for itselfandkept the general public away ninety percent of the time. But he knocked out before we found the answer, and the sense of failure that swept over me had nothing to do with a bunch of fucking fields.
I leaned back on the couch, moving slow, unsure of how lightly Folk slept these days. Actually, I didn’t know how he slept at all, bar what Ivy had whispered to me earlier.
My other dad doesn’t like sleeping...
Fucking hell, those words were gonna haunt me until I figured this out.
Or, you know, passed out myself, feet on the coffee table, shoulder jammed against the sofa arm, Folk’s shin pressed to my thigh.
I woke with a jump sometime later, eyes flying open to movement in the pitch dark and a low muttered curse that shocked the shit out of me.
Folk.
He wasn’t next to me. A state of affairs that should’ve beennormal, but I knew before I found him hunched on the floor was the worst thing in the fucking world.
I rolled off the couch, landing on my knees in front of him, hands already raised in surrender. “Bad dream?”
Folk’s chest expanded too fast, sweat coating his skin. For a long second, he didn’t seem to see me. Then something switched. His gaze sharpened and he reached out, wrapping shaky fingers around my wrist. “Fuck.”
I stayed quiet, bracing for him to open up or push me away.
Prepared for both.
Accepting both.
“I swear he dies every time I shut my eyes.”
“Who?”
“Rocco.” Folk brought his free hand to his head, taking a moment before he let go of my wrist and rose.
I went with him, knees cracking, guiding him back to the couch. “I’ll make the tea.”
He didn’t answer, but I left him anyway. I had fucked-up dreams sometimes, and unless it was Saint or Alexei—and sometimes not even then—I didn’t want anyone in my face while I tried to figure out which way was up.