“He lived with Sol in Lowestoft.” Jack nudges a pawn. Changes his mind and goes for the knight move that’s going to wipe the floor with his best friend if he comes back in time to lose. “I only met him a few times before he found me in Birmingham, but I don’t think I’d be here without him.”
“Why’s that?”
Jack raises his stare from the board, steadier than I’ve seen him since I got here. “Because I didn’t always think living like this was worth it, and Sol couldn’t shout loud enough to reach me.”
“Skylar shouted at you? He doesn’t seem the type.”
My words are irreverent. But I hold my brother’s stare, letting him know I heard him. And that it fucking hurts to know he was so close to the edge—that it’salwayshurt.
It’s all I have. We’re not good at this. Never have been. We’re the masters of brushing things aside and ploughing on, leaving abandoned thoughts and feelings in our wake. But here in Porth Luck, maybe we’ve run out of road.
Jack nods and answers my question. “Skylar doesn’t need to shout to be heard. It’s what makes him so good at being invisible.”
There’s no time for me to decipher what that means. Sol and Skylar emerge from the kitchen. Jack’s gaze reroutes to Sol and for a fleeting moment, he eyes his friend with the same scrutiny as the chess board, a healthy, firing synapse away from sniffing out the lie Sol told him earlier.
But it’s brief. However frayed I’m becoming from lack of real sleep, it’s nothing compared to the sudden exhaustion that descends on my brother.
“Fuck.” He blinks hard, his head dropping like someone’s shoved it from behind. “I’m going to bed.”
He rises from the couch, his body lopsided as if a fucking anvil tethers half of him to the floor, and it’s so profound I blow forward.
To help.
To bear his weight.
I don’t know.
And I never will. I take one step before scorching hands—Skylar’shands—restrain me, and Sol gets there first.
He doesn’t speak. Just drapes an easy arm under Jack’s shoulders and guides him out of the room. A moment later, a couple of doors open and close, and Sol doesn’t come back.
It’s Skylar’s cue to release me. But his grip on me remains, and I do nothing about it.
I could easily break his hold.
Break his fucking hands.
I choose not to, and with my brother safe with Sol and out of sight, the heat of Skylar’s touch seeps into me, the thrill of it laced with something way more tranquil than any encounter I’ve had with him before.
Something easier, but no less entrancing.
I like that he’s behind me. So I can’t see his face as I allow myself an infinitesimal lean and he doesn’t step away. As he movescloserand the hands on my hips become an arm at my waist, his forehead resting on my shoulder, his torso shifting with the slow, even breath he takes.
ThatItake. As if my body is his.
And his is mine.
I like that too, but I know this surge between us is temporary. I know it’s over before he raises his head and lets his arm drop from its curve around my ribs.
We’re separate people again.
He moves back to the couch, stretching out with the hood of his borrowed sweatshirt pulled over his face.
It reminds me of the night we met. Of the hours and hours it took for me catch a real glimpse of him. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. For me, though probably not for him.
This is his home. My brother and Sol are his friends—family, if I’ve read between the lines right. I’m the one who doesn’t know where the fuck to put his feet next.
“Mal.”