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—likeVinnie—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 Šventoji 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 stillBritish, 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 meloud enough to drown out all thought, and I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know.
The company too. I eat eggs and fried fish, and soak up the camaraderie I’ve missed since I woke up in Landstuhl. Sol and Sev do most of the talking. Oscar referees. Jack dips in and out, and I feel his gaze on me more than once. But I don’t look his way. He’s closest to the door, and I know if my focus strays in that direction, I won’t get it back.
Sev finishes first and dumps his plate in the sink. He comes back and flops into his seat beside me, rubbing his head. “I’m so hungover.”
“You want your bed back?”
“Hmm?”
I slide him a glance. “Your bed. Your room. That’s why you’re on the sofa, right? To make room for me?”