There’s nothing harsh about Folk, but somehow his expression softens and I fucking hate how it makes me feel. “We were in the same place for a while way back when. If he hadn’t had that blast to his head, then yeah…I’d expect him to know me.”
Folk speaks gently, but I hear his words as if he’d shouted them in my face. And I shouldn’t. Jack’s already told me what I needed to know, but maybe I wasn’t listening hard enough.
“I don’t remember.”
I tip my head in thanks. Folk returns the gesture and guns the engine of his bike. Then he’s gone, taking the rest of them with him, and leaving me wondering what else my brother has forgotten.
Engine noise fades and I hear footsteps behind me.
Jack.
His presence is warm at my back, not searingly hot like Skylar. “You called him?”
Whitlock. I turn to face my brother, fighting my brain as it tries to default to Skylar and his dirty words to avoid the shitshow of emotion ploughing through me. “I sent him a vague text. Wasn’t expecting the biker parade in response.”
“It’s been a while since they came through.” Jack rubs a hand through his beard, the scattering of silver catching the light of the half-moon now the pub has shut. “Skylar doesn’t know Folk that well, but he has a lot of history with Cam.”
“What kind of history?”
Jack shrugs. “More than I know about. How are you sleeping?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?”
“You’re always awake.”
Irritation swamps me. “How the fuck do you know?”
Jack shuts one eye and turns away from me.
What I’ve learned from Folk tonight digs in deep and I catch his arm, drawing his focus back, torn between telling the truth and giving him something else to worry about, and spitting bullshit he should sniff out in a heartbeat, but maybe he won’t.
My brother has ink all over his body, rough etchings nothing like the refined art I’ve glimpsed on Skylar. The one on the forearm I’m clutching is from the regiment we both joined straight out of school and the insignia bleeding into his skin snares me, like a fist throttling my ribs.
Wind roars in my ears.
Vinnie’s voice.
“Go, go, go!”
We jump before I remember he’s gone forever.
I blink. The tattoo is still there, beneath my palm. My breath is steady and I know my face is as blank as an unwritten letter. But my chest knots like rusted razor wire and the need to be anywhere but here is so potent I almost shove Jack away.
“It’s quiet at night,” I say eventually. “And I’m not used to my life being so fucking slow.”
Understanding floods Jack’s gaze. I hate it as much as I hated it in Folk, andIturn away. But he’s quick to stop me, his hands firm on my shoulders, strength in his grip. Purpose. As if my fucked-up silence has given him enough time to regroup and knock me off balance all over again. “You should talk to Skylar about that. He’s the same after too many night shifts.”
Skylar.
I bite my tongue, reminding myself Jack doesn’t know the heady thrum of his friend’s presence in the room next door is the only thing stopping me jumping out of my window and running till I drop dead. Or until dawn, whichever comes first. That even when Skylar’s not there, listening for his footsteps on the stairs keeps me occupied all night long.
My brotherdoesn’t knowit’s taken me barely a week to nurture an unhealthy obsession with someone I’ve shared three questionable conversations with.
More than a week.
Jack definitely doesn’t knowthat, but whatever he sees in me now has him holding onto me, his stare so intense I almost fucking squirm. Before the eye that seems to bother him flickers again.
He curses, pulling back, and I’m too relieved to do anything but let him go, even as he grinds the heel of his hand into his eye socket.