It’s my fault.
I step back.
Mal’s lips twitch, like I’ve just given myself up.
Go.
I spin around.
He calls my name and I want to face him again as much as I want to cleave a hole in the door to the past and crank that bitch wide open. I’ve shown him enough weakness already, and it makes me wish I’d just fucked him that night instead of letting him see me. That I’d made him forget everything except whatever pain and pleasure we’d carved outtogether.
But it’s too late for that. We didn’t fuck. And we’re not going to. Which means we’rethis. Acquaintances who gloweraccusations at each other in the dark, before one of us walks away.
BeforeIwalk away.
And yet I don’t move, save a slow spin to where he still sits on the freezer, his melodic voice wrapped around my name softer than silk, and it fucking annoys me. “What?”
Mal skewers me with a stare he probably thinks is casual. “I’m not apologising for pissing you off. But I am sorry for caging you in down here. You make me fucking crazy and I’m wondering if it’s the only thing keeping me sane.”
The air between us is as messy as that sentence. Polluted by the bullshit I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to escape. But…it’s not his fault, and I can’t live with letting him think it is. “You didn’t piss me off.Idid. And it was me caging you. So don’t ever think it’s the other way round.”
I leave before he can respond and ascend the steps to the pub. It’s closed while I’ve been in the depths of the cellar. Lights out, money stashed, the scent of stale beer and mayhem clinging to the walls. I don’t linger long enough for it to cling to me. I keep going, more stairs, until I reach the flat. Until I’mhome, windows closed except for the sea breeze gusting through Mal’s open bedroom door.
He needs it.
And I can live with that. I follow the light to where Jack and Sol are still up with Sol’s Norse god chess set between them, the TV on low in the background.
They’re halfway through a game, but that tells me nothing about how long it’s been going. Jack plays chess to oil the cogs in his damaged brain.
Sol plays for him. Everything always for him.
I move past them and to the kitchen. I’m not hungry, but I eat when I can, loading up for when I can’t. I dig a protein barfrom the cupboard no one ever goes in except me. Because it’s a hellscape of bland things.
“What’s with the white food?”
The bar goes down like dry sand. I take water to the living room and park myself next to Jack, knowing I need company for however long it takes for the lump in my stomach to retract its spikes.
He’s frowning at the board. Then he frowns at me, too caught up in the game to adjust his expression. “All right?”
His eyes are the same colour as Mal’s. Hair is different. His build. His entire personality. But they share enough that it’s hard to look at my friend long enough to tell him I’m fine.
I nod.
Jack studies me a moment longer, then returns his attention to the board. He never hassles me. He just loves me and hugs me when I need it.
Sol’s harder to keep quiet, but he’s distracted tonight, and I’m perversely glad of it. And I hate myself for it. Sol’s hurt, and he needs me to be a better fucking friend.
But I need a minute first.
Or however long it takes me to forget I left Mal in the basement and he hasn’t come up yet.
8MAL
I come upstairs with every intention of hauling Sol off somewhere andmakinghim tell me what the fuck is going on to have him bullshitting to my face and hiding an injury from my brother.
Then I reach the doorway to the living room and see the three of them huddled around a chess board, and even the worst person I’ve ever been can’t bear to shatter the peace.
I lean against the old wood, watching them through eyes that have begun to ache in their sockets. Jack and Skylar are on the same couch, close together. My brother wears a deep frown, thinking hard about something. Sol and Skylar seem to be waiting for him to figure it out, and when he does, I swallow hard at the sight of Skylar smiling and rubbing Jack’s back.