Faint humour brings a hint of life back to Skylar’s face. “It was my job to stitch people up after trouble on the road. Putting it to good use kept me alive for a while.”
“Then what?”
“I met Sol. Oscar. Jack. And eventually we came back here and I found myself stitching up brothers for Cam too. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t stand being around him. And I love him too much to hate him like that...”
Skylar trails off. Subtle discomfort flares in him again, and his eyes really do roll with exhaustion this time, like they did when he fell.
I’m not in a hurry to see that again. I’d rather fucking die. “Lie down with me for a while?”
He nods, slow and dazed. I take advantage of his softer state of mind and get him in my bed. On his side, tucked under my arm, his forehead resting against the ribs that bear the mark of his fists.
Sleep takes him hard, and it’s different to the altered state he’s been in since he went down, cycling in and out of awareness. A world away from dozing in the sunshine by the lagoon. This time he’sgone, unmoving and breathing so soft I have to keep checking it’s happening, and it takes me a while to relax.
I don’t know if I sleep. Just that I lose some time and open my eyes to him shifting closer to me, and I know how fucking special that is, even if he’s not doing it consciously.
He feels so good pressed up against me. My dick agrees, but I ignore it and try to keep my mind as still as Skylar is. Thoughts of the past, of the future, they can wait. Everything can. But I’m not as strong as I used to be, and matching Skylar’s disordered eating with the knowledge that his parents drugged him to conceal their twisted depravity, it fucks with me, and my pulse jumps around, demented and raw.
It’s the kind of fuckery Skylar’s noticed in me before, but even though his palm is splayed on my chest right now, he doesn’t stir. And I’m glad of it. I don’t want him to look at me and know what I’m thinking. What I’m imagining and how it makes me feel.
Movement in the hallway rescues me.
Sol.
Even without shoes, his footsteps are louder than Jack’s.
I turn my head as he appears at the open door and his eyes widen a touch to see Skylar sleeping in my arms.
He puts a couple of water bottles where I can reach them. My phone. He catches sight of the abandoned yoghurt bowl. “You hungry?”
Not at all. But I’ve learned this version of my body well enough by now to know I need to eat as much as Skylar does, or I’ll be no good to anyone.
I somehow manage to communicate this to Sol. He disappears for a few minutes, taking that damn fucking yoghurt bowl with him, and comes back with a sandwich I can eat one-handed while he watches me with forlorn Bosanko eyes that make me think of the pewter-grey dog I’ve had to put out of my mind to be present for Skylar. “Where’s Jack?”
Beyond being holed up in his room with Sol, I have no idea how my brother has spent his day since he helped me.
Sol’s eyes warm a little at my quiet question. “He’s been checking on you, but I convinced him to take Fiadh to the beach while it’s dry.”
“Say what now?”
“He named the dog.” Sol says the old Irish name again, nailing the pronunciation—Fee-a—though he still sounds Cornish as fuck. “He won’t tell me what it means. Think he’s worried he’s messed it up.”
“It meansof the forest. And you know what’s funny about that?”
“Go on.”
“I found her in the woods and I never told Jack that.”
“Saint did.”
“Saint?”
“Malone,” Sol clarifies. “The Kings found her pups. Took them to my parents’ place. Saint came by to tell us, and that’swhat I came to tellyou. We’re heading out there. Probably spend the night, give you some space.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say absently, my mind on the Rebel King who seems to be everywhere right now, fixing shit I either can’t or haven’t thought of yet.