His chest.
His abdomen.
His bare fucking torso.
Breath catches in my throat as sun rays hit his skin in every right way possible. Everywrongway if I want to live through this.
Fuck. Me.
As if his face isn’t killer enough, I stand transfixed by his lean frame, muscles straining beneath his inked skin, taut and sharp, pumped from whatever he’s been doing to gift me the scent of his clean sweat.
Skylar stares too, reminding me I never bothered to put a shirt on in the first place, and the charge between us—the one he all but admitted to last night—it kicks in stronger than ever, and for that hot moment, we gaze at each other as though there’s no one else in the fucking world.
It really is a moment, though. I hear Sol calling my name and it dispels the thick air, blanketing us in awkward tension instead.
I step around Skylar. He lets me. But even as I move away from him, the space between us feels too fucking small andtoo much, and the absurdity of it spins my head.
Skylar props a shoulder on the wall, watching me back up. His eyes glitter like smoke on frost. Amused, maybe, but it feels like more.
I want it to be more.
Because maybeIneed reminding we’re never gonna fuck.
7SKYLAR
Mal doesn’t sleep.
I hear it from Jack. Then from Sol.
Then I see it for myself when my rest days have me running out of ways to swerve him.
It’s Monday. Jack doesn’t work in the pub past morning and Sol always tries to be home to cook dinner.
I’ve been known to dodge that too, but I haven’t seen them much since Mal came home, and the truth is, Jack and Sol are the family I chose, and I miss them.
I find Sol in the kitchen, poking at a pan of meat sauce. Straight up, the way he’s hunched over it catches my attention. “What happened to your ribs?”
Sol glances over his shoulder. “What makes you think anything happened to them?”
“Everything about your posture. And your shit attempt at deflection.”
He narrows his eyes, but his glare doesn’t last. Never does. “I slipped.”
“On the boat?”
“Yeah.”
He’s lying, but Jack comes upstairs before I can call him on it, and he looks chill enough that even the coldest parts of me can’t bear to fuck that up.
Sol adjusts his posture as Jack slips into the kitchen.Alone, which bothers me more than it should. I don’t care where Mal is. Why would I? As long as he doesn’t trash the bathroom we share—he doesn’t, I barely know he uses it—his whereabouts mean nothing to me.
I back off Sol and take a seat at the table—the same spot on the bench as the morning I first saw Mal here. No Oscar tonight. I wonder if he’s out on the boat or home with his kid, but I like watching Sol and Jack grin at each other more than I need to know, so I drag the local paper towards me and immediately regret it.
The burned carcass of the lifeguard base stains the front pages, alongside a photo of the girl who drowned on the beach. Her face is unfamiliar to me. I only saw her grey and lifeless, and I’m an old hand at pushing death out of my mind. But I could do without the reminder that a functioning lifeguard base could’ve saved her and I slide the paper away from me, cauterising the frayed knots in my gut. I haven’t eaten dinner with Jack and Sol in weeks, and I owe them this for all the times they haven’t pointed it out.
Jack comes to the table. I can tell by his demeanour he hasn’t noticed Sol shuffling around. He stoops to give me a one-armed hug and muss my hair the way only he can and I’m glad I didn’t ruin his mood. “You all right, Skylar?”
“Can’t complain.”