I have no idea where he is. Just that the front door is fixed and his absence has widened the gaping hole in my chest. The emptiness in my stomach that’s eating me alive.
You fucked up.
Understatement. And I knew coming home would be a trip. But this…I can taste in the air that it’s a thousand times worse than I imagined the whole time I was gone.
I brave a step into my ruined room and rescue an envelope from the soggy carpet. I’ve never seen it before, but I knew it would be here. It’s that time—isn’t it always? Feels that way, butI’ve lost track of the days, the weeks, and every scrap of common sense I possess since I met Mal.
The envelope is dead weight in my hand.
I stuff it in my pocket and back up, leaning heavily on the door frame. “What the fuck happened?”
Jack startles, rearing upright, whipping around with alarm he doesn’t deserve in eyes that are so like Mal’s, and yet…they’re not. “Shit. Is it morning already?”
I nod, watching him use his tattooed arms to lever his body from the scorched carpet, one side dragging more than it has in a while. “You didn’t think to put shoes on your own fucking feet?”
Jack blinks. “Christ, you sound like Mal when you talk like that.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know that either.” Jack’s gaze flits to the smashed window as a cruel breeze whistles through it. “I didn’t see him leave.”
“He took my car.”
I spin around.
Sol’s there, hair mussed, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but wired with stress. “Pretty sure he’s gone after whoever chucked a petrol bomb through your window last night.”
“Whoever?”
Sol winces, glancing over my shoulder. But Jack’s already gone back to trying to fix my room, and Sol grabs my elbow, tugging me away.
I let him haul me to the kitchen, then I’m on him with none of the gentleness I have for Jack. “What thefuckhappened?”
Sol holds his hands up. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I woke up to smoke everywhere and Mal pounding on my door. Then him andJack flipped their soldier switch and the next thing I knew, I was outside with wet feet and Mal was gone.”
“Gone?”
“He got us up.” Sol shakes his head, stressed, bewildered. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been here. Or fuck, if you’d been in your bed?—”
“I wasn’t.”
“What if you had been? It could’ve killed you—fuck.”
I’m caught in thoughts of how Sol’s a deep sleeper and Jack’s sometimes so far gone we’re not sure he’ll come back. Of how quickly a fire could take hold in an old building Jack’s routed of damp. But Sol’s sharper concern pings my focus on him. “What? What is it?”
He scrubs a hand through his messy curls, emotion getting the better of him in ways I wish I was capable of. “Mal woke up funny last night. Or Jack woke him up. I’m not sure, but they got into it for a minute, before Jack got him down, and Mal was rattled after. I’ve never seen him like that.”
I can’t bring myself to picture what Sol means bygot him downandgot into it. Mal’s slept around me a lot, but I’ve never seen him dream. Just breathe and hold my fucking hand, andfuck, why does that hurt so much?
Because you pushed him away.
No.
Because Isteppedaway. Before he left, and I should be glad he’s not here. Ineedhim gone. But what Sol’s telling me underlines a truth that’s slowly dawned on me over the past few days—a truth that should’ve been on my mind from the start. Mal needs Jack. He needs Sol. And they need him. I’m the disposable one.